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years old. It is a very old picture, and is looked upon rally prevailing. It is, however, a very healthy with a degree of reverence and attachment by the place, and one can enjoy much solid comfort. The inhabitants which it is difficult for us to understand. hotels are of the best description, the restaurants It is said that Napoleon was induced to leave it in } are good; provisions are plenty and cheap; the soits place, for fear of exasperating the Genoese too c iety is better than in any other city of Italy, and highly by removing it to Paris, as he contemplated. foreigners, with proper credentials, find no difficulty

The Bank of St. George, the oldest in Europe, } in obtaining an entrance into it. (though that honor is also claimed by Venice,) is Above all, Sardinia is free! the press is as free still here in a flourishing condition.

as could be wished. The soldiery are intended for The walks and drives in the neighborhood of the enemy, not for the citizen ; life, property, conGenoa are surpassingly beautiful. Close to, and science, all are safe. Here oply, in Italy, the priests overlooking the city, are the Peschiere and Zerbino have been elevated to the level of their fellow-citigardens, where the inhabitants are allowed to walk. zens. The peculiar privileges under which they have At a distance of five or six miles, are the Pellavicini so long battened have been removed, and they take and Lomelini Villas, which merit a visit as much as their places with, instead of above their flocks. anything in Genoa. In the former, art has almost Sardinia is now the cynosure of all true lovers of superseded nature, which has left only the fine views freedom for Italy. She is looked upon with little which everywhere break out among the walks. love by Austria, Naples, and the other despotisms Grottos, caves, castles, summer-houses, Chinese pa of Europe; and the time is not far distant when godas, obelisks, bridges, and lakes; all unite to make she may have to defend her freedom with the gword. a most lovely spot, to which the memory reverts with It is to be hoped that, when that day arrives, and very great pleasure.

the standard of freedom is erected in its last Italian Tho climate of Genoa is very good, and the only home, the governments of France and England will drawback in winter is the high wind which is gene- be found ranging themselves by the side of Savoy.

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An me! Am I really a rich man, or am I not? s back part of my store musing on some matter of That is the question. I am sure I don't feel rich; business, when I saw a couple of ladies enter. They and yet, here I am written down among the spoke to one of my clerks, and he directed them back 6 wealthy citizens" as being worth seventy thousand to where I was taking things comfortably in an old dollars! How the estimate was made, or who fur arm-chair. nished the data, is all a mystery to me. I am sure “Mr. - I believe ?” said the elder of the two I wasn't aware of the fact before. “Seventy thou ladies, with a bland smile. sand dollars!” That sounds comfortable, doesn't it? I had already arisen, and to this question, or raSeventy thousand dollars! But where is it? Ah! ther affirmation, I bowed assent. There's the rub! How true it is that people always "Mr. G- " resumed the lady, producing a know more about you than you do yourself.

small book as she spoke, “we are a committee, Before this confounded book came out, (" The appointed to make collections in this district for the Wealthy Citizens of Philadelphia,") I was jogging purpose of getting up a fair in aid of the funds of on very quietly. Nobody seemed to be aware of the the Esquimaux Missionary Society. It is the design fact that I was a rich man, and I had no suspicion of the ladies who have taken this matter in hand to of the thing myself. But, strange to tell, I awoko have a very large collection of articles, as the funds one morning and found myself worth seventy thou of the society are entirely exhausted. To the gensand dollars! I shall never forget that day. Men tlemen of our district, and especially to those who who had passed me in the street with a quiet, fami have been liberally blessed with this world's goodsliar nod, now bowed with a low salaam, or lifted —this was particularly emphasized—“ we look for their bats deferentially, as I encountered them on important aid. Upon you, sir, we have called first, the paré.

in order that you may head the subscription, and “What's the meaning of all this ?” thought I. thus set an example of liberality to others." “I havn't stood up to be shot at, nor sinned against And the lady handed me the book in the most "of innocence and virtue. I havn't been to Paris. I course" manner in the world, and with the evident don't wear moustaches. What has given me this expectation that I would put down at least fifty dolimportance ?"

lars. And, musing thus, I pursued my way in quest of Of course I was cornered, and must do something. money to help me out with some pretty heavy pay I tried to be bland and polite; but am inclined to ments. After succeeding, though with some diffi. think that I failed in the effort. As for fairs, I never culty, in obtaining what I wanted, I returned to my did approve of them. But that was nothing. The store about twelve o'clock. I found a mercantile enemy had boarded me so suddenly and so comacquaintance awaiting me, who, without many pre pletely, that nothing was left for me but to surrender liminaries, thus stated his business :

at discretion, and I did so with as good a grace as “I want," said he, with great coolness, " to get a possible. Opening my desk, I took out a five dollar loan of six or seven thousand dollars; and I don't bill and presented it to the elder of the two ladies, know of any one to whom I can apply with more thinking that I was doing very well indeed. She freedom and hope of success than yourself. I think took the money, but was evidently disappointed; I can satisfy you, fully, in regard to security." and did not even ask me to head the list with my

“My dear sir,” replied I, “if you only wanted six name. or seven hundred dollars instead of six or seven “How money does harden the heart !" I overthousand, I could not accommodate you. I have heard one of my fair visitors say to the other, in iust come in from a borrowing expedition myself.” a low voice, but plainly intended for my edifi.

I was struck with the sudden change in the man's cation, as they walked off with their five dollar countenance. He was not only disappointed, but { bill. offended. He did not believe my statement. In “Confound your impudence !" I said to myself, his eyes, I had meanly resorted to a subterfuge, or, thus taking my revenge out of them. “Do you rather, told a lie, because I did not wish to let him think I've got nothing else to do with my money have my money. Bowing with cold formality, he but scatter it to the four winds ?” turned away and left my place of business. His And I stuck my thumbs firmly in the armholes manner to me has been reserved ever since.

of my waistcoat, and took a dozen turns up and down On the afternoon of that day, I was sitting in the my store, in order to cool off.


“Confound your impudence !" I then repeated, income for my family. To aid me, sir, in doing this, and quietly sat down again in the old arm-chair. I now make an appeal to you. I know you are able,

On the next day, I had any number of calls from and I believe you are willing to put forth your hand money hunters. Business men, who had never and save my children from want, and, it may be, thought of asking me for loans, finding that I was separation." worth seventy thousand dollars, crowded in upon The woman still remained closely veiled; I me for temporary favors, and, when disappointed couldn't, therefore, see her face. But I could perin their expectations, couldn't seem to understand it. ceive that she was waiting with trembling suspense When I spoke of being “hard up” myself, they for my answer. Heaven knows my heart responded looked as if they didn't clearly comprehend what I freely to her appeal meant.

“How much will it take to purchase this establishA few days after the story of my wealth had gone ment?" I inquired. abroad, I was sitting, one evening, with my family, } “Only a thousand dollars," she replied. when I was informed that a lady was in the parlor, I was silent. A thousand dollars ! and wished to see me.

“I do not wish it, sir, as a gift,” she said ; "only A lady!” said I.

as a loan. In a year or two, I will be able to repay “Yes, sir,” replied the servant.

it." “ Is she alone ?"

“My dear madam," was my reply, “had I the “ Yes, sir."

ability, most gladly would I meet your wishes. “What does she want?”

But, I assure you, I have not. A thousand dollars “She did not say, sir.”

taken from my business would destroy it.” “Very well. Tell her I'll be down in a few mo A deep sigh, that was almost a groan, came up. ments."

from the breast of the stranger, and her head drooped When I entered the parlor, I found a woman, low upon her bosom. She seemed to have fully dressed in mourning, with her veil closely drawn. expected the relief for which she applied; and to be

“Mr. G- ?" she said, in a low, sad voice. stricken to the earth by my words! We were both

I bowed, and took a place upon the sofa where } unhappy. she was sitting, and from which she had not risen “May I presume to ask your name, madam ?” said upon my entrance.

I, after a pause. “Pardon the great liberty I have taken,” she be “It would do no good to mention it," she replied, gan, after a pause of embarrassment, and in an un mournfully. “It has cost me a painful effort to ou... steady voice. “But, I believe I have not mistaken to you; and now that my hope has proved, alas ! in 'your character for sympathy and benevolence, nor vain, I must beg the privilege of still remaining a erred in believing that your hand is ever ready to stranger." respond to the generous impulses of your heart.”

She arose, as she said this. Her figure was tall I bowed again, and my visitor went on.

and dignified. Dropping me a slight courtesy, she “My object in calling upon you I will briefly was turning to go away, when I said, state. A year ago my husband died. Up to that “But, madam, even if I have not the ability to time I had never known the want of anything that grant your request, I may still have it in my power money could buy. He was a merchant of this city, to aid you in this matter. I am ready to do all I and supposed to be in good circumstances. But ho can; and, without doubt, among the friends of your left an insolvent estate ; and now, with five littlo s husband will be found numbers to step forward and ones to care for, educate, and sopport, I have parted į join in affording you the assistance so much desired, with nearly my last dollar, and have not a single s when they are made aware of your present extremifriend to whom I can look for aid."

ty." There was a deep earnestness and moving pathos The lady made an impatient gesture, as if my in the tones of the woman's voice, that went to my words were felt as a mockery or an insult, and, turnheart. She paused for a few moments, overcome } ing from me, again walked from the room with a firm with her feelings, and then resumed :

step. Before I could recover myself, she had passed “One in an extremity like mine, sir, will do many into the street, and I was left standing alone. To things from which, under other circumstances, she this day I have remained in ignorance of her identity. would shrink. This is my only excuse for troubling Cheerfully would I have aided her to the extent of you at the present time. But I cannot see my little my ability to do so. Her story touched my feelings family in want without an effort to sustain them; ? and awakened my liveliest sympathies, and if, on and, with a little aid, I see my way clear to do so. { learning her name and making proper inquiries into I was well educated, and feel not only competent, her circumstances, I had found all to be as she had but willing to undertake a school. There is one, stated, I would have felt it a duty to interest myself the teacher of which being in bad health, wishes to in her behalf, and have contributed in aid of the give it up, and if I can get the means to buy out her { desired end to the extent of my ability. But she establishment, will secure an ample and permanent } came to me under the false idea that I had but to



put my hand in my pocket, or write a check upon } And still the annoyance continues. Nobody but the bank, and lo! a thousand dollars were forth. myself doubts the fact that I am worth from seventy coming. And because I did not do this, she be to a hundred thousand dollars, and I am, therefore, lieved me unfeeling, selfish, and turned from me considered allowable game for all who are too idle mortified, disappointed, and despairing.

or prodigal to succeed in the world; or as Nature's I felt sad for weeks after this painful interview. } almoner to all who aro suffering from misfortunes. On the very next morning I received a letter from Soon after the publication to which I have alluded an artist, in which he spoke of the extremity of his was foisted upon our community as a veritable docucircumstances, and begged me to purchase a couple ment, I found myself & secular dignitary in the of pictures. I called at his rooms, for I could not church militant. Previously I had been only a pewresist his appeal. The pictures did not strike me holder, and an unambitious attendant upon the Sabas possessing much artistio value.

bath ministrations of the Rev. Mr. — But a “What do you ask for them ?” I inquired.

new field suddenly opened before me. I was a man “I refused a hundred dollars for the pair. But of weight and influence, and must be used for what I am compelled to part with them now, and you shall I was worth. It is no joke, I can assure the reader, have them for eighty."

when I tell them that the way my pocket suffered I had many other uses for eighty dollars, and, was truly alarming. I don't know, but I have setherefore, shook my head. But, as he looked dis. riously thought, sometimes, that if I hadn't kicked appointed, I offered to take one of the pictures at loose from my dignity, I would have been gazetted forty dollars. To this he agreed. I paid the money, } as a bankrupt long before this time. and the picture was sent home. Some days after-} Soon after sending in my resignation as vestryman wards, I was showing it to a friend.

or deacon, I will not say which, I met the Rev. Mr. “What did you pay for it ?” he asked.

- , and the way he talked to me about the earth “Forty dollars," I replied.

being the “Lord's and the fulness thereof;" about The friend smiled strangely.

our having "the poor always with us;" about the ««« What's the matter?" said I.

duties of charity, and the laying up of treasure in “ He offered it to me for twenty-five."

heaven, made me ashamed to go to church for a " That picture ?"

month to come. I really began to fear that I was “Yes."

a doomed man, and that the reputation of being a " He asked me eighty for this and another, and “ wealthy citizen" was going to sink me into eversaid he had refused a hundred for the pair."

lasting perdition. But I am getting over that feel“Though he lied. He thought, as you were well ing now. My cash book, ledger, and bill book set off, that he must ask you a good stiff price, or you me right again; and I can button up my coat and wouldn't buy."

draw my purse-strings, when guided by the dictates "The scoundrel !"

of my own judgment, without a fear of the threatened " He got ahead of you, certainly."

final consequences before my eyes. Still, I am the “But it's the last time," said I, angrily.

subject of perpetual annoyance from all sorts of And so things went on. Scarcely a day passed people, who will persist in believing that I am mado in which my fame as a wealthy citizen did not sub of money; and many of these approach me in such ject me to some kind of experiment from people in a way as to put it almost entirely out of my power want of money. If I employed a porter for any ser to say “no." They come with appeals for small vice and asked what was to pay, after the work was amounts, as loans, donations to particular charities, done, ten chances to one that he didn't touch his or as the price of articles that I do not want, but hat and reply

which I cannot well refuse to take. I am sure that, "Anything that you please, sir," in the hope that since I have obtained my present unenviable repuI, being a rich man, would be ashamed to offer him tation, it hasn't cost me a cent less than two thouless than about four times his regular price. Poor sand, in money given away, loaned never to be repeople in abundance called upon me for aid; and turned, and in the purchase of things that I never all sorts of application to give or lend money met would have thought of buying. me at every turn. And when I, in self-defence, And, with all this, I have made more enemies than begged off as politely as possible, hints gentle or ļ I ever before had in my life, and estranged half of broad, according to the characters or feelings of those } my friends and acquaintances. who came, touching the hardening and perverting} Seriously, I have it in contemplation to "burst influence of wealth were thrown out for my especial up" one of these days, in order to satisfy the world edification.

that I am not a rich man. I see no other effectual VOL. XLV.-8

remedy for my present grievances.

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I've been forth into the world, mother-into the world

alone, And in all hopelessness of good come I back to thee, my

own; To thee, the only one whose voice I can in trust believe Who will not, with a gentle smile and winning tone, deceive.


I hate this world, I hate false friends, I hate all else but

thee; The very sight of things once loved is hateful unto me: I laugh in reckless mockery at dreams of fancied bliss, Ay! laugh in scorn and bitterness—the world hath taught

me this.

I weep not for the trusty friends which war has swept away, Though my gallant brothers all are dead-and my sisters,

where are they? And my home, my own loved cottage, the happiest in the

vale, Its ashes sweep—yet I heed it not-on every passing gale. I weep—but, stranger, selfish tears no Tyrol cheek can

lave: Our hills were freedom's sunlit thrones—they now are free

dom's grave; My country's heart is gasping, her voice is a voice of wail; Despair shrieks on each mountain-top, and death shrouds

every vale. But we'll weep no more! Why should we weep? Is the

spirit of freedom dead ? We'll change the hue of sorrow soon from the dark to the

bloody red; And the shout of the free again shall ring from mountain

top to shore, And the peasant shall joy on his chainless hill, and the

Tyrol wail no more.

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Proud castles, built with hope, lie hurled in ruins sadly

low; The prism through which I viewed the world was broken

long ago : Now banished the dreams that gave delight, earth's care

lines mark my brow; Each bright tint's faded from

d life 's one color now. Tis strange and very sad, thou 'lt say, that one who hath

scarce seen The joyous birth of leaf and flower in the summertime

eighteen, Should speak so solemnly of life, of its mournful gift of

tears, And the tones that Sorrow whispers thus unto unwilling

ears. But oh! I've trusted in such faith, finding that trust in

vain, That with the same free openness I ne'er can hope again; My loftiest thoughts are scorned the most, deemed but the

false untrue Cold eyes and colder hearts here judge of what they never



COME, sit thee down beside me now,

My sister and my love,
And let me look into thine eyes,

Blue as the sky above:
A very heaven they are to me,

So gentle and so still;
Bright with pure thoughts, borne from thy soul,
Like blossoms on a rill,

My sister dear!

The life-flame burns so fast, mother, I fancy 'tis death-fed, And such a hot, hot band, mother, is laid upon my head! Sweet voices murmur in my ear from out an angel throng; A blessed hymn-anon, anon comes a fierce, fiendish song.

I know that thou art weeping, mother! I feel upon my

cheek Fach hurried tear that silently tells woo thou canst not

speak: But ah! my fount of tears is dry-I never more may weep; I can but lay me down and die—sing me to my death-sleep.

May never shod a sweeter smile

O'er the glad earth than thine!
June hath no roses in her lap

Thy blushes to outshine:
A darker pall than thy black hair

Night ne'er drew o'er the skies;
Whence thy white brow, like breaking morn,
Gleams with thy starry eyes,

My sister fair!

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