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cessantly and incoherently in Cherokee. At length the prisoners were collected on the river bank. The morning was beautiful. The steersmen blew their horns. The shrill sounds reverberated along the neighboring cliffs and up the vallies. The moment arrived when the little girls must be torn from their Indian mother. A young man was sent to take them away; they resisted: the old squaw clung to them in an agony; but they were brought on board. After the fleet had gained the middle of the stream, and was fairly under way, the old woman ran along the beach for nearly a mile. At length, being exhausted, she sat down. The last that was seen of her by those who were watching her from the sterns of the boats, she was sitting with her head covered with her blanket, between her knees, apparently pouring out her unavailing tears.

The way to Nashville was long and wearisome to all on board, except Henry and Emily. The dangers and sufferings which both had passed, were almost forgotten in the joyful anticipations of the future. But at last the long desired station was in the view of the travellers. The settlers flew to the water side. The boats were quickly fastened to the shore. The congratulations were mutual and heartfelt. Some laughed and many wept from excess of joy. The veteran commander and his heroic wife, whose fame had extended far and wide, were the observed of all observers. Every tongue did them reverence. Groups were collected on the decks. Gordon, the spy, was every where. The loud and long roar arose from every cluster that was gathered around him. The removal of the women and children, and the goods of the emigrants, required time; but every one assisted cheerfully. There was peace; and each one had before him "where to choose a place of residence and Providence his guide." Schools were established-temples of christian worship founded. Elegance and taste came flying on golden wings. The arts flourished: the sound of the woodman's axe was heard in a thousand directions.

A day was set for the marriage of Henry and Emily. There was a great wedding. He received a rich reward for his bravery and fidelity in the hand of her who on that day came to the altar with a countenance radiant with virtue, beauty and joy. In the course of time they became the happy progenitors of a highly gifted and honored race.

STANZAS.

FROM A LADY'S PORT-FOLIO.

Oh earth! oh earth! with thy sunny brow,
And gay, alluring smile,

I dare not trust thy radiance more,
That doth so oft beguile.

I would not, now, my years were less,
Or e'en my cheek more fair,
For time hath ever a withering blight,
And I'll not place my heart there.
Nor would I that the breath of fame
My name aloft should raise ;—
For man is ever a fickle thing,
And I care not for his praise.

And wit may flash, and mirth may flow,
But flash and flow in vain,

For they ne'er can cure an aching heart,
Or cool a burning brain.

I love not pomp, I love not power,
And wealth in vain may shine,
And the banquet passes unheeded by,
For I love not rosy wine.
And love hath lost its fairy spell,
My heart forgets to sigh;
I care not now for the brightest ray,
That beams from beauty's eye.

And thanks to thee, I have learn'd to love
And trust the world no more;
For I find that but deceitful show

I deemed so true before.
My silent heart and pensive lyre
Are all I ask of earth,

Whose tears are but an empty shade,
An idle sound whose mirth.

THE BUSY.BODY.

No. III.

S. P.

Saturday, May 5th.

O what a miracle is man to man!-Night Thoughts.

You can scarce pay any man a greater compliment, than by commending him for his perfect knowledge of the world-a phrase to which custom has given two distinct meanings. It is not, in every case, easy to determine in which of these senses it is employed: sometimes, indeed, the two are partially blended, or shaded into one another, and, sometimes, they are united: but, however intended or understood, its application is always considered highly flattering. Knowledge of the world, in either sense, is certainly a great accomplishment-a most valuable acquirement; but this does not seem to be the main reason why it is thought so creditable:-it implies talent, and a nice discernment, and most persons, if they can establish a character for these, are content to leave the actual advantages of knowledge to more dull and plodding souls. Every one knows, that commendation of a boy's mental power is usually the signal for his throwing aside his books, and talking contemptuously of those who still labor on, because they have no kind friends to ruin them by ill-judged flattery. Most persons seem to indulge as much selfcomplacency, when, by a sagacious air, they can gain credit for great knowledge, as if they actually possessed the treasure. Hypocrisy is an homage paid to learning quite as often as to virtue.

But here I should take more particular notice of the two senses, in which, as I have just remarked, the phrase, knowledge of the world, is employed. Sometimes it is intended to signify an acquaintance with the forms and usages of fashion and polite society, of that particular rank to which the person possessing it belongs, or

more properly, of every class of the community into invigorated that he can follow the closest chain of arguwhich he may be thrown. Used in this sense, it may ment, detect the most subtle fallacy, apprehend the be regarded as the true source of gentility, if from the most intricate speculation, when he comes forth among latter we abstract the idea of high birth, so that it be his fellow-men, is, frequently, still wrapt up in mental considered only as the distinctive quality of a gentleman, abstractions-feels nothing that he handles--sees not and define a gentleman, as some author has well done, the objects that cast their images on the mirror of to be a man who is at ease in every sort of company. vision--hears no sound however forcibly its vibrations For this case is always the result of self-confidence, ring upon his tympanum. Or, if he be not thus absent arising from a knowledge of the principles of elegant minded, his thoughts wander and rove about, like birds behavior. It is true, there may be a certain boldness liberated from their cage, dwelling but for a moment on of demeanor, springing from a very different source each object-free as air--as light, too, and empty. ignorance and vulgarity; but this is awkward rude- Nothing makes a lasting impression. The habit of ness, not graceful ease. Knowledge of the world also attentive observation can be formed only by long prac signifies knowledge of mankind—of human nature; and, | tice—not in the closet, but in the busy haunts of active either in this sense, or in one compounded from this life. From the penetralia of the study may issue proper and the former, is most frequently employed. inmates for a cloister; but he, who intends to strive for

din and bustle, the quick eye, the sensitive ear, which no movement, no breath escapes. And the study of which we speak, while it sharpens the outward senses, will compare, to its advantage, with any other, as a mere intellectual exercise.

Different circumstances may alter, at least in appear-mastery in the world, can acquire, only amid the world's ance, the relative value of these two sorts of knowledge. They who engage in the active, arduous business of the world should lose no opportunity of gaining an insight into the principles and motives of human action. There is all the hazard of the gaming-table, in dealing with our fellow-men, if we know nothing of that moral But it has a higher recommendation than its interestarithmetic, by which may be calculated the chances of ing character, or fitness to develope the mental powers-others' conduct. On the contrary, they who make its intrinsic value. Some knowledge of the human pleasure their main object, may, consistently enough nature must be possessed by every one who pretends with this mode of life, prize good-breeding-a fami- to have any, even the most trivial, dealings with his liarity with the usages of society, the most highly. fellow-men; and none, however dull the perceptions, However, it is very certain that each of these, not only however vacant the mind, can go through life without assists, but, in some degree is necessary to the other. acquiring a certain proportion of it. Even the instinct No one can become a perfect gentleman, according to of animals seems to give them some acquaintance with our borrowed definition of that character, without a man's character; and perfect idiots often possess a considerable acquaintance with human nature. With-moderate share of acuteness-a sort of animal cunning, out it, a person may go through the common forms of civility, from mere habit, but is entirely at a loss how to act in any emergency which requires a nice percep-vation, are added close attention and systematic study, tion of the feelings of others, dependence on his own powers of invention, and an inherent sense of propriety. "The least variation from established precedents will totally distract and bewilder him." And, on the other hand, he who would make man his study, beside the ease which is absolutely essential to the successful study of any object, should possess that knowledge of the usages of society, which will fit him for unrestrained and refined intercourse with his fellow-men-the objects of his investigations.

which governs their intercourse with the world. But, when, to the force of habit and necessary casual obser

no bounds can be assigned to our attainable knowledge of mankind. And what advantage—what power does an intimate acquaintance with the human heart confer! In every profession-in every business, they are feil, though they never can be estimated. The learning of the schools, bodily skill, energy, and courage, are of little avail, when knowledge of the world, the guide to all their noblest achievements, is wanting.

But the value of this knowledge is not greater than the difficulty of its acquirement. Few ever attain to a But my further remarks must be confined to a single close familiarity with the various motives-reason, head-knowledge of human character. Even if the passion, fitful whim, and lasting prejudice, which ope study of mankind were productive of no practical ad-rate upon the mind, and determine the will. It requires vantage, it would still be an interesting and dignified a comprehensiveness of intellect, an acuteness of perpursuit; and, if the only solid benefits to be derived ception, and a patient study, which are rarely com from it were that habit of close observation and undi-bined. No pursuit can be more delightful, so much vided attention, and that acuteness of mind, which it that is new and keenly interesting rises to the learner's tends to engender or improve, it might be recommended view, at every step of his progress. And, then, the as an exercise to strengthen the intellect, in preference consciousness of each step's importance of the advanto almost any other. The studies usually adopted for tage which it gives, enhances greatly his pleasure. But this purpose have one great disadvantage: they sharpen the formation of a habit of fixed attention, so necessary the apprehension of abstract truth and error, correct the to any long continued intellectual effort, and, under all judgment, strengthen the reason, and improve the circumstances, demanding great energy and persevememory; but the external senses-those which hold rance, here meets with peculiar difficulties. A person converse with the objects of the outer world, are enfee-accustomed to the profoundest mental abstractions, in bled, or, at least, in no degree benefited. The student the closet, on coming out into the world, if he give himwho leaves his chamber for amusement or bodily exer- self to what is passing around, is confused by the concise, after intense application to mathematical or meta-stant hurry and noise, and the quick succession of physical investigations, his intellect having been so objects, and cannot command his thoughts, or bring

them to bear upon a single point. The attention is called off at every moment. Doubtless many will remember frequent resolutions, made under a strong sense of the importance of the task, to set about the study of mankind in earnest.

THE BUSY-BODY-No. IV.

Saturday, May 19th.

And I dressed myself in my best suit of black, which is the color I always wear--it saves money, when relations happen to bequeath the misfortune of going into mourning.

Lawrie Todd.

The most perfect character is composed of elements the most strongly and incessantly conflicting; their violence, however, being usually imperceptible from the nice correspondence of their strength; the mind being kept in a state of equilibrium, more or less stable, by many antagonist forces. A well poised mind is, proverbially, of all, the best. The predominance of any one faculty or feeling destroys that balance of power, which is no less important in the mental than in political economy.

Wherever these purposes have been formed-in the street, the public assembly, or the drawing-room, they have, immediately, commenced to execute them. An unpractised eye, a mind without discipline, are slow in their operations; and some, after a few glances and listless reflections, have probably concluded, that there, at least, nothing was to be learned, and given up their plan from mere sluggishness. But the greater number have been insensibly led away from the object of pursuit by the thousand forms, material and ideal, constantly flitting before them; have forgotten the task imposed, while indulging the luxuries of sight and hearing, or forming new purposes of study and amusement. Thus, in every character, tender sensibility and The chief difficulty, however, lies in the nature of the ready emotions are opposed, and, to some degree kept science itself. The mind is not like a machine acted in check, by a calculating spirit—a disposition to regard upon by measured and regular impulses. You may utility alone. All have experienced the conflict bedetermine the operation of the most complicated engine tween these repugnant principles. Feeling will someof human invention, with certainty, because the force times creep over the soul, and usurp dominion, when and number of the springs or other impelling powers, conscience tells us that reason should bear sway: pity may be clearly ascertained. The revolutions of planets warm and soften the heart, though justice dictates stern may be calculated, notwithstanding the numerous per- determinations. So, too, thoughts, cold, and worldly, turbations of their orbits. But the various influences and selfish, will oft break in upon the spirit of devotion, which decide human conduct cannot all be detected by the glow of refined joy, the swelling sympathies of the nicest scrutiny. A single disturbing cause, and compassion and of love, and the silent musings of deep that deep-hidden, often produces effects quite contrary sorrow, when they seem polluting and almost sacrileto expectations formed from the most profound deduc-gious. The extreme, in one case, is that entire subjections. Scarcely on any two minds do the same motives tion to impulse and emotion, which makes a man the operate with equal force. And, after all, he who is creature of each momentary feeling: in the other, that best acquainted with human nature, does but calculate constant and passionless regard to the suggestions of chances, when seeking to determine what course another will take under particular circumstances. The sway of passion, as it cannot be controlled, so also cannot be estimated. But, still, though our knowledge of man's character is always an uncertain guide, and as nought compared with the omniscience of Deity, it admits of wonderful improvement; and he, who has profited most by observation and study, will calculate the chance most nearly. When results are variable, we generally approximate the truth, with the increase in the number of accurate observations compounded. This is eminently the case in regard to the investigations of which I have been speaking.

worldly prudence, which might be almost rivalled by an intricate calculating machine. The former failing, however, meets with our ready indulgence, or even our esteem: we are apt to attribute the fault to nature, that gave such a warm heart, such quick sensibility, rather than to the individual himself. But the latter excites disgust and contempt: we call it unnatural; though there seems no good reason for the accusation: Dame Nature, in her freaks-as some irreverently name her eccentricities-is just as likely to leave one heartless, as to make him all heart. The true reason of this difference is, that experience of the qualities, which best fit an individual for social duties, begets in us a dislike for everything akin to selfishness.

But what effect upon a person's own character does a profound knowledge of human nature produce? The idea of founding calculations of pecuniary profit There is certainly danger that the power which it con- or loss upon the possibility of events so mournful as fers will be misdirected; and so may be any sort of the death of relatives and friends is repugnant to all knowledge or any good. No argument against a thing, refined and tender feeling. At least our kindred we drawn from its abuse, can be valid, until it is shown should love as ourselves: this is much narrower than that its advantages are less than the evils of such abuse. the golden rule. If then a man shrinks from the duty A knowledge of mankind may also tend to cherish reli- of framing his last will and testament, while yet in gious skepticism, and a disregard of virtue, in minds health and strength, because of the mournful thoughts not well balanced by education and the force of princi- and gloomy anticipations which the employment brings; ple. But this is the tendency of many branches of because death seems nearer the more attentively it is study-scientific study in particular-at which no one, viewed; according to this law of love, he should feel now-a-days, pretends to rail on that account. Know-the same unwillingness to make a settlement depending ledge, universally, is power; and power, in the hands of men lacking good principles, whether such principles have never been instilled into their minds, or have been corruptly abandoned when possessed, is always prejudicial both to superiors and inferiors.

for its effect upon the decease of a wife or child. These arrangements, indeed, no matter how acute his sensibilities, common prudence forbids to omit. The great evil which might result from their neglect, far outweighs every consideration of mere feeling. But it is very

clear, that he, who regulates trifling interests by a con- | the coffin," none could say. Unluckily, the same daugh tinual anticipation of those times of bereavement, which ter at length fell into the doctor's hands again, and this overwhelm the souls of most men with bitterness; who time nature was outwitted: the child died. Perhaps is willing to conjure up forms of wo, and dwell upon the thought that a coffin waited for her hastened her the thoughts which they inspire, for the least promise end. To her bed of rest she was gathered, and slept of gain, has not a heart warmed by the common affec- not the less peacefully, for being somewhat cramped in tions of humanity. The exhibition of such unfeeling a tenement which she had outgrown. sordidness, as would lead one to provide against the risk of trivial pecuniary loss from the death of friends, by wearing, constantly, the garb of mourning, though, in fiction it may excite only a smile, must, in real life, waken feelings akin to disgust. Still more repugnant to our better nature is the intrusion of these petty considerations of selfishness, upon the consecrated gloom of sorrow; and, if they sometimes come unbidden, the mind should scarce acknowledge to itself their presence; much less should they be exposed to public view, as boasted tokens of superior worldly wisdom.

A few months ago I paid a visit of condolence to a friend of mine in affliction: he had lately buried one of his children—a promising boy of about eight years old. I had put off the call as long as a decent regard to the claims of friendship would permit, as I always do at such a time, unless my assistance in its sad offices be needed. The unfeeling crowd of consolers, that usually throng the house of sorrow, if ever successful in driving away grief, succeed but by harassing the mind of the afflicted mourner-by making the second wo greater than the first. Silence and retirement are the only balms that soften and purify the heart, in healing its wounds. I did not expect to find my friend overcome by the violence of his distress: he had never seemed like one who could easily be melted into tears. He is a man in moderate circumstances, and has a large household to support. Many years ago he settled in our neighborhood, then just beginning the world, and having but a single child. The family has since increased with wonderful rapidity, and the father has received my congratulations, on the accession of every new comer, with smiles growing fainter and more melancholy at each successive visitation, until, on the last occasion, when twins-a fine boy and girl-were ushered into the world, he received the friends that came to rejoice with him, with such a wry face, though striving to appear resigned, that it was evident be had been greatly startled by the magnitude of nature's present.

Some of my readers may have heard the story of a man, who, from motives of economy, bought a coffin for his daughter, before her decease. I will not vouch for its truth-the authority is perhaps doubtful. The child was lying dangerously ill—as he supposed, at the point of death; and even the physicians had pronounced the case hopeless, and had left her to struggle with fate. The agonized father was principally occupied with thoughts of the funeral expenses; and, as there was reason for fearing an advance in the price of boards, and a strike for higher wages among the journeymenundertakers, he soon resolved to anticpate the rising market, and ordered a coffin to be made immediately. But nature peeping out from her retreat, and seeing no physician near, began, though timidly at first, to assert her dominion. Calm sleep once again lulled the girl's young frame, and she awoke, at length, with a brighter eye and a pulse more free. Her father, alarmed for the success of his speculation, could hardly credit the joyful intelligence; but, after assuring himself of its truth, hurried off, with palpitating heart, to countermand his former orders. But the undertaker, with a despatch suited to the supposed emergency, had already done his work-the coffin was waiting for its tenant. The parent returned, in no very enviable state of feeling, to the bed-side of his child, thinking that, perhaps, he had been too hasty in listening to the voice of hope. All doubt, however, was now dispelled. The doctors had returned in time to take to themselves the credit of a wonderful cure, and they congratulated him warmly upon this new triumph of the healing art: in short, his daughter, in due time, completely recovered. It was in vain to attempt concealment. The story had already gotten abroad, and many a joke was circulated at the poor man's expense. Such expense, however, he did not much lay to heart. But there was the coffin upon his hands—a dead loss, in all likelihood; for the town in which he lived was not very large, and was noted for its health. And then, coffins are, usually, made to order, and by exact measurement, which increased his risk to a fearful extent. For some years no tenant for this narrow lodging offered. During that period, he is On calling at my friend's house, to condole with him said to have displayed an uncommon regard for children, for the loss of his son, I found him alone, seated at his particularly such as were of about the size of his daugh- desk, and intent on a paper, which the first glance told ter, surveying them attentively from head to foot, when-me was covered with figures: he is trying, thought I, a ever he met with them, as if to judge of their propor-new remedy for grief-the application of the rules of tions. Whether, at such moments, his "heart was in arithmetic. On hearing the sound of my voice, he rose,

I have said that he was in moderate circumstances; and, without being miserly, he has always seemed fearful of being reduced to want; perhaps not without reason, since the mouths to be supplied have so rapidly increased both in capacity and number. Indeed, while the household has gathered strength, the house has been gradually falling into ruin, for want of repairs. The birth of each child has defeated some plan for painting or plastering; and the twins had like to have driven every such purpose forever from his thoughts, Several times, especially of late, I have found him, when I called, busily engaged in calculation of his "ways and means," and then it has been impossible to lead our conversation away from the subject of finance. If his spirits are at any time dejected, he seeks relief in computing the next month's debts and credits; and the indication, on his balance-sheet, of a surplus revenue always restores equanimity. So particular is he in keeping accounts, that he can tell exactly what the maintenance and education of every one of his children, for each year of its life, has cost; and has carefully com puted how many more youngsters will suffice to ruin him.

and, extending his hand, pressed mine closely, his face wearing a mock expression of deep sorrow. But soon the cloud passed away, as we entered into easy conversation. Every mention, however, of his poor boy brought back a momentary look of sadness, which seemed put on, as if from a sense of duty, and passed away with any change of subject. So I relinquished the office of consolation as unnecessary. At length he began to ask my advice about the proper repairs for his house, and the workmen to be employed. "I know," said he, "that such considerations may appear unsuitable to a time of deep affliction; but overwhelming as my distress has been"-and here he drew a handkerchief across his eyes, and winked them, as if to force a tear-"I must bear up against it. Prudence forbids a man in my circumstances to give way to grief. I have calculated, as well as my troubles would permit-for I can't always help shedding tears when I think of him— how much my poor boy would have cost me if he had lived. He was to have gone to school next quarter, and that, you know, would have been something. Altogether, I think I shall be able to plaster the house at least. Poor fellow! I wouldn't have lost him for a thousand houses!"

I gave my advice in regard to the disposal of what he had saved by his son's death; but he afterwards spent so long a time in perfecting his calculations, that the opportunity was lost: my friend finds himself threatened with another heir!

STANZAS TO HELEN.

By F. W. Thomas, author of "Clinton Bradshaw," &c.

Lady! thou art changed indeed

I may not love thee now,
But view thee as an idol creed,

Unworthy of a vow.

Yet once thy love was all to me:

It was a courted destiny,

Such as his day-dreams show To the fondly trusting boy, Whose fancy is as full of joy As earth is full of wo.

I wooed thy love as prophets woo
The hour they've promised long,
Whose happy scenes should all be true,
And beautiful as song.

How very vain the phantasy

Of those who hope, and hope for aye,
While fickle passion lasts;
Who, like the summer's insect thing,
Flit away on careless wing,

Till comes the chilling blasts.

And then it dies, as my hope dies,

No, never to relume; Devoted, as it highest flies,

To an untimely tomb.

How often in the moonlit grove,

When we have pledged our mutual love,

You've pointed to the star,

And spoke of your unchanging soul, The needle's truth, and of the pole, And of the mariner.

This is love's frailest common-place,
Written oft as spoken;

It is the lover's word of grace,

Before his vows are broken. Yet you, you spoke with such a look, That truth, as in the sybil's book,

Seemed clothed in every word;
And I-I listened and believed:
And who may not be thus deceived,
Who feels it as he heard?

Thou queen of the voluptuous throng,
Where pleasure holds her reign,
No more I hear thy siren song,

Or court thy proffered chain.
No more the meeting hour of gladness,
No more the parting hour of sadness,

Shall light or cloud my brow:
You've broke the vow I loved the best;
I feel I have the power to jest
With any other vow.

They're like thee, in this western land,
As lovely as thou art;

But then they have a warmer hand,
And wear a truer heart.

I may not kneel at any shrine,
So soon since I arose from thine-
I might mistake the maid:
And yet, oh! for the early dream
Of her I left o'er hill and stream,
I'd be again betrayed.

Betrayed!-no, not betrayed by thee-
'Twas manhood's sober thought,
That proved the cold reality

My boyish fancy wrought

To every virtue, every bliss:
Yet who, for such a dream as this,
Who would not be a boy?

With woman for his fairy queen,

And earth as one bright gorgeous scene,

A fairy land of joy.

Yes! ofttimes as I sorrowing pine

For those I've left behind me,

The friends who bound their hearts with mine,
And ever thus shall bind me;

As oft as I recall the hours
When law was left for lady bowers,
And reason left for rhyme ;

I think of those who round thee hung,
The love-note of thy siren tongue,
And of our tristing time.

And when I clasp a friend's warm hand,
Who like me loves the west-
Leaving afar our father-land,
Where thou art loveliest-

'Tis sweet with him to talk of thee,
Thy smile, thy look, thy witchery,
Thy beauty, and thy art;

VOL. IV.-60

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