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JOB PRINTING.

THE COPY-BOOK.

gorean principle of silence, I returned to the solitary absurdity. Being thus unfitted for fresh mental effort, study of Job's stereotype advertisement. At length I and my best days having been consumed in earnest was startled by a sudden and important change in this preparation for my chosen walk of life, I was under the enigma of typography. As I cast my eye one day necessity of following, though with a feeble mind and upon the paper, I perceived at once that Job's adver- broken heart, the course I had begun. My intervening tisement was lengthened. I could not be mistaken, for days have, therefore, all been spent in bringing to perits previous dimensions were engraven on my memory fection the art of composing blanks. I soon found that too deeply to be razed. I soon discovered the occa- mere business-blanks had been already perfected by sion of the change. Beneath the usual laconic notice a business men; and I determined therefore to devote new sentence had been introduced, composed of seven myself to blanks of a superior order, and if possible to words: "Blanks for sale and executed to order." I introduce this sort of composition into all the higher was at once relieved and disappointed; for I found that walks of public life. That I have not been influenced this idol of my imagination was a bona fide trader after by mercenary motives, is apparent from the long and all, just like his neighbors, and my reverence for him weary years of silence, during which I have been sank with my conviction of this fact. But, at the same laying out my strength in solitude, instead of thrusting time, a new mystery engrossed my thoughts. The vil- my unfinished projects on the notice of the public, or lage where I lived was sustained by manufactures, and the patent office. Having now approached so near even at that tender age, I knew its staple products, but perfection in the manufacture, as to feel secure of the the blank manufacture was entirely unknown to me. I result, and being sensible of the approach of age, I am could dwell with painful pleasure on the successive constrained to guard against unknown contingencies steps by which I gradually formed a conception of this and human fraud, by laying a few samples of my art novel fabric, but I spare my readers the detail, and before the public. I request the use of a few columns, hasten to inform them that my chronic doubt and won- therefore, to exhibit my congressional, academical, conder was at length destroyed by my honored father's | vivial, and other blanks, without note or comment, or placing in my hand a sample of the manufacture, which any thing to recommend, and them beyond their be told me was a "law blank." The joy of the dis-own intrinsic merit. In the meantime I subscribe myself covery was lost in admiration of the blank itself, es- by that name which I have for years assumed. Your pecially when I had got possession of a number, and by friend, diligent comparison, had formed a just conception of the genus Blank. The singular vagueness and impersonality of these strange compositions, their punctilious abstinence from all details of time or place, their scrupulous suppression of the names of individuals, and their studied ambiguity even in relation to the sex of the mysterious non-entity referred to, as evinced by the use of h―― for his and her; together with the tantalizing humor of the author, in encouraging the reader to expect some most particular and technical announcement, and then leaving a chasm in the very spot which ought to give the information-all these peculiarities of style, while they perplexed me, charmed me too, and I became intoxicated with a fond ambition to employ my time and talents as a writer of blanks. Never shali I forget the day on which I mustered courage to communicate this purpose to my father. The loud laugh of derision which assailed my ear, when I expected his applause and admiration, went like a dagger to my heart; but even that pang was forgotten in the shock which was to follow. I shudder when I think of the cold-blooded irony and undisguised contempt with which my heartless parent heard and answered my Next morning, taking a guide along, we ascended appeal to the distinguished reputation of Job Printing the mountain until our way became so steep that we as a proof that the blank business was both lucrative found it necessary to dismount and lead our horses. and honorable. Never let me feel again what I then At length, after considerable fatigue, we came to the felt, on being told that my imaginary man was a me-top of the near Bald; from this we had an extensive chanical operation, his Jewish name an English noun, his surname a mere participle! Those who have experienced the sudden demolition of long cherished fancies, may, perhaps, appreciate my feelings at that moment. May they never feel the consequences which I felt. My intellectual being had been so bound up in the existence, personality, and future acquaintance of the great Job Printing, that his sudden disappearance from the catalogue of entities, impaired my understanding. Let this be my excuse for incoherence or

NO. II.

THE BALD MOUNTAIN. While sojourning in this secluded spot of earth, I joined an equestrian party in a visit to a remarkable mountain about thirty miles distant. The party consisted of eight; three of them "bonny, sweet, sonsie lasses." The first day we rode twenty miles along the bank of the river mentioned before, which we forded, and that night lodged at a farm-house. Next day crossed mountain-spurs and ridges; our road a narrow turnpike winding around the declivities of the mountains, from which we occasionally caught glimpses of the vale beneath; and at night we took up our quarters in a log-house at the foot of the mountain which we had come to visit.

and delightful prospect; the air grew chilly, and all our cloaks were put in requisition. After a short pause, we went on to the far Bald, which we found a good deal higher than the near, and the air as cold as winter. From this point the prospect on every side was vast, various, magnificent.

The smoky haze of Indian summer, threw a soft and dreamy veil over the scene.

Around on every hand lay a wide sea of mountains, furrowed, ridged, peaked, with here and there a black

spot, the purple shadow of a cloud. In the distance | the growth of centuries, are reduced in a brief hour to we beheld broad plains, and the speck of a village and blue smoke and volatile gas.

the meandering course of a stream; while in another direction we recognised the river along which we had rode in the deep ravine of two mountains, glittering like molten silver in the sun.

This mountain is named Bald, from its being destitute of trees on top, which is owing, I suppose, to its height and extreme cold. It abounds in deer and bears, and is much resorted to by hunters.

We descended, and passed the night again at the log-house aforesaid. Next morning we took an early start, and found the mountain air very cold, but my fair companion bore it in so soldier-like a style, I was ashamed to complain much.

As we wound along our spiral turnpike, the sun began to gleam from his chamber in the east; huge clouds of snowy mist were to be seen slowly rising from the chasms beneath. It was October; the foliage of the trees was arrayed in purple and gold and crimson. When the morning beams first stream through these painted leaves of autumn, it is a spectacle of beauty, compared with which the dim lustre of a cathedral window is a mere trifle, a Gothic toy.

A PLANTATION IN ALABAMA.

There is not much variety in a cotton plantation: the fields being very large, and only a succession of rows of the cotton plant, or of corn.

Besides the dwelling-house, there are negro-quarters, corn-cribs, stables, sheep-house, carriage-house, smokehouse, carpenter's shop, blacksmith's shop, gin-house, hen-house, turkey-house, bake-house, overseer's house, loom-house, and kitchen. At ten o'clock a horn is blown to call the negroes to their breakfast of bacon and corn-bread. The women, in the winter, are employed in spinning and weaving; each one having a daily task allotted; which she brings in at night. The dwelling-house is usually built of logs: after the lapse of some years, perhaps it is plastered within and weather-boarded without, and thus undergoes a metamorphosis.

On a spring morning you awake at the song of the mocking-bird: mists are suspended over the fields; the trees are in blossom and the flowers in bloom; the bee is humming in the air; the martens have returned to their boxes, and the sun scatters the rosy light of beauty over all the landscape. In the yard the gobbler is strutting with all the pomposity of an alderman, amidst the feathered tribes. About the kitchen is a squad of negro children, sunning themselves. About the house a spoilt boy may be heard crying for bread and butter, or seen persecuting young birds.

THE SOIL.

Agriculture in new countries is carried on in an exhausting and improvident manner. It is quite shocking to see the prodigal waste of timber consumed in clearing a plantation in the west. Entire primitive forests are girdled, and rot away, food for the woodpecker species, (which, by the way, is very numerous in this country,) or are at once felled with the axe and burned in heaps : thus many square miles of sturdy oaks and hickories,

The land once cleared, is exhausted by an uninterrupted succession of crops; until the proprietor, grown dissatisfied, sells out to some less opulent or less avaricious neighbor, and either retires upon a fortune, or removes to some new Elysium in the woods.

There is nothing new under the sun: the same wasteful process has been at work in all the southern states; in which, perhaps, none of the soil retains its original fertility, except the deep alluvial banks of the rivers, and even they begin to feel the effects of wear and tear. The consequence of all this is twofold; first, the poverty of the soil has driven a portion of the population to emigrate; second, a reaction has ensued in the system of agriculture; and the means are employed to renovate the constitution of a soil worn out by cultivation, until "the wilderness again blossoms like the rose."

LINES TO A LADY.

Oh give me a tress of that sunny lock,

Which waves o'er thy forehead fair, Like the clustering vine on the polished rock With its tendrils bright, that seems to mock The soft breeze that kisses it there.

Or weave me a chain of its silken fold,
As light as the gossamer's wing,
Though soft and slight be its meshes of gold,
My faithful heart will it ever hold

Safe by the slenderest ring.

Then give me a tress of that golden hair,

For thy lover so faithful and true!
Thro' far distant lands in my bosom I'll bear
That little tress as a talisman rare,

To restore me to hope and to you.
She severed a tress of her beautiful hair,
For a lover so warm and so true,
And the gay ringlet glittered with one bright tear,
As he placed in his bosom a pledge so dear,
And she sighed on that bosom, Adieu!

REFLECTION

On the Deceitful Appearances of Human Affairs.
Oh! thus 'tis ever, in this world of woe!
Life's stream runs smoothest-most unchecked
When its bright waters onward flow
Toward misfortune's cataract.

Thomas Goff, in the reign of James I. was highly praised as a tragic writer. In one of his tragedies, Amurath, the Turk coming on the stage, and seeing "an appearance of the heavens being on fire," breaks forth in the following strain:

"How now ye Heavens! grow ye so high and proud
That ye must needs put on these curled locks
And clothe yourselves in periwigs of fire?"

THE GAME OF CHESS.

seriously, I hope to love my wife, should I ever marry, with my whole soul. What misery to By the Authoress of "The Cottage in the Glen," "Sensi. have one with such discordant qualities, as would bility," "Losing and Winning," "Fashionable and Unfash-alternately kindle and quench the flame of affec

ionable Wife," &c.

tion! The heart must soon wither under such a process! It is my full belief, that

L'hymen et ses liens

"I can scarcely believe my senses," said Mr. Chauncey, as he was one morning sitting with Mrs. Atkins; "I can scarcely believe my senses, when I see my old classmate, whom I left just out of college, and my little friend, Susan Leigh, whom I found sitting on her father's knee, when I called to take leave before my departure for Eu-doubt whether the society of my wife will increase rope-now married-settled-established in life! It seems impossible! I have always thought of you as a child!"

Sont le plus grands ou des maux ou des biens,' and I would therefore use circumspection in a matter of so much consequence. Let me rather pursue the journey of life alone, than to feel a

Mrs. Atkins smiled. "You forget that we are all six years older than when you left us; and perhaps you forget, too, that I was the youngest child, and had the privilege of sitting on my father's knee much longer than daughters are wont to do. You and Charles are about the same age, and I am but five years my husband's junior. Do you feel too young to marry?"

"O, no,-I am now six-and-twenty-one year , your husband's senior; and now that my wanderings are over, I should really like to marry soon, could I find a woman possessing those qualities I wish in a wife, who would unite her fate with mine."

"I conclude your taste has become fastidious, from your observation of beauty and accomplishments in Europe," said Mrs. Atkins.

or diminish my happiness! Should my heart ever be warmed to love," he added, while his eyes beamed in a manner that showed how deeply he could love-" Should my heart ever be warmed to love, may its fire be unceasingly fed by the same gentle hand that first kindled the flame-and may it burn brighter and clearer, until lost in that world, the only element of which is love! May my wife be a gentle spirit to accompany me in the path to heaven, and lure me back to it, if tempted to stray-and not a scourge to drive me thither as the only place of refuge from herself!"

"You have grown so solemn, Mr. Chauncey," said Mrs. Atkins," and seem to look for a wife so free from human imperfections, so angelic, that I am almost afraid to tell you that I am expecting a visit from two of my young friends, with one or other of whom I had hoped you might be pleased."

"I do not expect freedom from human imperfections, Mrs. Atkins; but I do hope for freedom from gross defects. But who are these friends of

"No-not exactly so—but from close observation of domestic life, I design to be guided by judg-whom you speak?" ment, rather than fancy in my choice; and sincerely hope I shall never be so much fascinated by the charms of any one, as to be unable to form a correct opinion of her real character."

"The eldest, who is not far from my own age, is my couzin, Augusta Leigh-and the other is Abby Eustace, my favorite school-friend, who is two years younger."

"You will not find it particularly easy to fall in love designedly," said Mrs. Atkins, laughing; "nor to save yourself from falling in love, by the efforts of reason and judgment. Of one thing, however, your remark has satisfied me-at pre-man who does not make beauty his first requisite sent you are completely heart-whole."

"And can you tell me nothing concerning them but their names and ages?" asked Mr. Chauncey. "No-positively I will tell you nothing else, except that either of them is pretty enough for a

"That is certainly true; and it is equally true that I am perfectly willing to fall in love with the first lady I meet, with whom there is a reasonable hope of living happily."

"You really contemplate the subject with the most enviable coolness," said Mrs. Atkins, again laughing. "I do not recollect to have heard any young gentleman talk of love and matrimony with such perfect calmness and self-possession. How charming it will be, should the lady of your choice exercise as much judgment, and have as little enthusiasm as yourself! Truly, nothing would be likely to disturb the even tenor of your way!"

in a wife; and each has fortune enough for one who does not marry expressly for money. This is all I will tell you; but as they will be here in the course of a week, you will have opportunity of studying their respective characters for yourself."

After a few minutes' thoughtful silence, Mr. Chauncey said—

"No, Mrs. Atkins, I think I shall not be fastidious; I think I shall be able to overlook imperfections in my wife, as I hope she would be willing to do in me. Qualities and acquirements which many might deem indispensable, I could dispense with; but there is one quality that I consider of primary importance-and next to pure and firm principles, that is what I shall seek for in my

"It is very possible to talk of fire without growing warm," said Mr. Chauncey, smiling. "But choice."

VOL. IV.-30

"And what is that?" asked Mrs. Atkins. "You will forgive me if I do not answer that question. I wish to observe and judge for myself, and shall be more likely to judge correctly, if it is not known for what I am looking."

turn came, her color was heightened to a burning glow, and a slight and rather tremulous courtesy, was the only answer she made to the few words of compliment he uttered." Has he forgotten!" thought she, as she resumed her seat-" Can he have forgotten?"

"Well," said Mrs. Atkins, "you appear very moderate and reasonable in your demands-and Mr. Chauncey lengthened his visit to nearly an yet, were I an unmarried lady, I should be more hour, but it differed not materially from other afraid of you than of any young gentleman I have visits of a similar kind. The conversation was of seen. Really, you are so calm, and reasonable, a general and desultory character, and carried on and scrutinizing, as to be quite terrifying. Give in a lively manner by Mrs. Atkins, Mr. Chaunme the creature of impulse-of passion-of enthu-cey, and Miss Leigh-Miss Eustace never uttersiasm, who will be too much carried away with ing a word, except when directly addressed. On his own feelings, to be able to investigate my cha- taking leave, Mr. Chauncey promised to profit by racter too nicely; whose warm imagination will the invitation of Mrs. Atkins, to visit them very clothe me in virtues and attractions of its own frequently. He was literally in search of a wife; rosy hues. Surely," she added, after a moment- and it was his wish to become really acquainted ary pause, "Surely had Charles been of your with those young ladies he met, in whom there temperament, I should never have known the hap- was nothing which from the first moment told him piness of being his wife!" that an union with them was impossible. The two friends of Mrs. Atkins were certainly not of this number, and his study of their characters soon became deeply interesting: that of Miss Leigh, because she had a great deal of character; was free, entertaining, even fascinating in conversation, with a heart overflowing with kindly feelings, and a head filled with noble sentiments and independent thought; that of Miss Eustace, because he had to judge her by her countenance, as she was extremely retiring and taciturn when he was present. Her face, however, was no very dull study; for of her, if of any one, it might perhaps have been said-"her body thought;” and occasionally, when he met her eye, there was a flash across his memory of something he had long before seen, or felt, or dreamed-an undefinable sensation of pleasure, but too evanescent to be caught or retained.

One day, about a week after the preceding conversation had taken place, Mrs. Atkins was seated in her parlor with her two friends, who had arrived a day or two before, when Miss Leigh, raising her eyes from the work that was in her hand to an opposite window, inquired who the elegant looking young man was, conversing with a lady,

on the other side of the street.

"That?" said Mrs. Atkins, advancing to the window" that is Mr. Chauncey, one of Charles's old friends."

"Horace Chauncey, who recently returned from Europe?" asked Miss Leigh.

"The same," answered Mrs. Atkins. "He will give us a call, presently, I dare say, as he comes here very often."

Before Mr. Chauncey arrives, there is just time to sketch a hasty outline of the portraits of the two young ladies. Miss Leigh was tall, well made, and commanding in her person. Her face was brilliant, with black eyes, and dark hair, but rather pale than otherwise, except when tinted by some degree of excitement. Miss Eustace was rather below the medium stature of woman, beautifully formed, and the most cheerful, happy looking creature in the world. Her eyes, shaded by long silken lashes, were of an undefinable color, and were dark or light, as intellect and feeling were awakened, or lay quiet. Her face was blooming; yet the color was so constantly changing its shade, that it seemed but the attendant on a heart" alive to every touch of joy or woe."

Mrs. Atkins was right. In a few minutes Mr. Chauncey came in, and was made acquainted with the young ladies. When Miss Leigh's name was mentioned, she calmly raised her eyes, and answered his civilities with the self-possession that is common to well-bred young ladies, on being made known to a stranger; but when Miss Eustace's

"How do you like Susan's guests, Horace?" Mr. Atkins inquired one day, after Mr. Chauncey had seen them a number of times.

"How am I to form an opinion of Miss Eustace?" asked Mr. Chauncey. "She indeed looks very much alive, but never utters a word when she can avoid it."

"How!" said Mr. Atkins. "I have never discovered that she is not as conversable and entertaining as Augusta, and far more playful.”

"Indeed!" said Mr. Chauncey. "But it has certainly not been so when I have met them. I think Miss Leigh peculiarly brilliant and pleasing in conversation. She appears to be a fine-a noble girl."

"They are both fine, noble girls," said Mr. Atkins. "It is not every day that we meet those who are equally so."

Mr. Atkins had not often been at home when his friend was at his house, but Mr. Chauncey's remark led him to notice Miss Eustace particularly whenever he witnessed their succeeding in

terviews. One evening Mr. Chauncey was with them, and Mr. Atkins chanced to be seated a little apart from his wife, her cousin, and Mr. Chauncey, who were, as usual, in the full tide of conversation, when Miss Eustace, on rising to leave the room, passed near him. He caught her hand, and drawing her toward him, said, in a low

tone

blooming face; "make me look as pretty as you possibly can."

"There!" said Mr. Atkins, after drawing the cap a little more on one side; "I will leave it to the company if that is not a great improvement. Now, Augusta, let me try my hand at yours."

"No, thank you, sir," said Miss Leigh, elevating her head, while her color was somewhat

"Where is your voice this evening, Abby?" heightened-"I will wear my cap according to my "My voice!" said Miss Eustace.

"O, I am glad you have not lost it—but why have you not spoken for these two hours?” "And have I not?" asked Miss Eustace. "Scarcely," answered Mr. Atkins.

"Then I suppose it was because I had nothing to say," said the smiling girl.

own taste this morning, if you please."

"O, I beg a thousand pardons for my presumption," said Mr. Atkins-" Your taste is certainly much more correct than mine-I really beg your pardon."

Miss Leigh made no reply, but gave her hand to Mr. Chauncey, who was waiting to receive it,

"But you are not usually so silent," remarked and the little party immediately started on their Mr. Atkins.

"Perhaps it would be better if I were. But truly, though you may doubt it, there are times when I had much rather listen than talk." "Especially when my friend Horace is exerting his colloquial powers! hey?"

“Just as you please, sir," said Miss Eustace, again smiling, but with some little appearance of embarrassment, and withdrawing her hand, she left the room.

excursion. For awhile they all were rather silent, and seemed entirely engrossed in the management of their horses; but the weather was charmingtheir exercise exhilarating; and ere long each one was enjoying a fine flow of spirits. They rode several miles, and on their return home encountered a company of Irish people, men, women, and children. They looked way-worn and weary ; and the faces of some of the children even wore an expression of anxiety and depression, as if they felt all the force of the friendlessness, the helpnessness of strangers in a strange land. Mr. Atkins and his friends stopped to talk with them a few minutes, and bestow charity according to each one's ability or inclination, and then rode on.

Mr. Chauncey did profit by the invitation of Mrs. Atkins, to visit her very frequently. Miss Eustace interested him. He loved, when not too much engrossed in conversation himself, to watch the bright, the cheerful, the intellectual, the ever varying expression of her countenance. Her eyes "O, Mr. Chauncey," said Miss Leigh, in a seemed fountains of light, and love, and happiness; low tone, after riding a little way in silence, and the dimples about her mouth and cheeks, the "what pitiable objects those people were! As very abode of joy and content. There was some- good by nature, and undoubtedly, some of them thing about her to soothe and exhilarate at the at least, much more amiable in disposition than same time. But Miss Leigh soon awakened in myself-why is it that there is so vast a differhim a deeper, a more engrossing interest. Her ence in our lots? How is it that I can ever be talents, which were neither concealed nor dis- ungrateful or perverse, while thus distinguished played, commanded his admíration; her compassionate feelings and elevated principles won his esteem; so that scarcely three weeks had elapsed from the commencement of his acquaintance with her, ere he was more sedulously aiming to learn how he might render himself acceptable to her, than to ascertain whether the indispensable quality for a good wife, was a component part of her cha

racter.

One fine morning, Mr. and Mrs. Atkins, Mr. Chauncey, and the young ladies, were to go out on horseback. The three former were ready and waiting in the parlor, when the two latter came from their chamber.

"You have very becoming riding-caps, young ladies," said Mr. Atkins, "but I think neither of you have put them on quite right. Come, Abby," he added, playfully, "let me adjust yours more to my mind."

“O, do,” said Miss Eustace, holding up her

by unnumbered and undeserved blessings!" Her tone was that of the deepest sympathy and humility, and her eyes were swimming in tears as she spoke.

Had Mr. Chauncey uttered the thought of his heart, he would have told her, that she was the most amiable, the most lovely, the most deserving among the whole family of man! And his eyes did utter it, so far as eyes are capable of utterance, though his tongue only spoke of the vast disparity that Infinite Wisdom sees best to make in the outward circumstances of his creatures in this world. When about taking leave at Mr. Atkins' door, Mr. Chauncey received a pressing invitation to return to take tea, and spend the evening-an invitation he promptly accepted.

At an early hour in the evening Mr. Chauncey was seated amid his circle of friends in Mrs. Atkins' parlor. Before tea was brought in, and while at the table, conversation flowed as usual;

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