"I WOULD DIE YOUNG," AND YET I WOULD NOT.

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"I WOULD DIE YOUNG," AND YET I WOULD NOT.

BY MRS. JANE E. LOCKE.

"Happy are they who die in youth when their renown is around them."-Ossian.

"I WOULD die young," while soft hands press | And yet I would not reach the grave

Bodies are cleansed by water; the mind is purified by truth.

GRAVE OF MARGARET M. DAVIDSON.

In a recent visit to Saratoga Springs, we found time to look round upon several things, natural and artificial, which were worthy of notice, to some of which we may hereafter refer, as time and opportunity present. In the mean time, we now notice the result of a short walk one pleasant morning, believing there are some who will find a sympathy in the object of our excursion, though the narrative should fail of interest.

Leaving the magnificent grounds of the United States Hotel, we wandered along the railroad track a short distance, and then turning to the right, we mounted a "stile," which aided an entrance to the cemetery of the place. It was a neatly disposed burying ground, with many evidences of correct taste in the living, and of their means of expressing regard for the dead. Little wooden enclosures marked the limits of family resting places; and the white marble told the age and relationship of those who had been laid below. In one place the elevated tomb marked the spot where reposed the ashes of one whose wealth could not redeem him from death. In another, a neat headstone contained the record of the affectionate regard and gratitude of a mistress for her faithful slave. Farther on was an invocation, that one, who, in good old age had sunk from life, should rest in peace. Between two simple slabs, were the remains of the youth and beauty of one brought to the place to regain health and vigor.

"She bowed to taste the wave and died."

Gorgeous monuments denoted that great possessions could not bribe the tyrant to relinquish a single claim. Among the lofty records, were scattered here and there little memorials of the birth and death of some who had come into life, twined about hearts which have been torn by early separation, tokens, these, of the interest of parents in the beings of another life.

After moving thoughtfully among these mementoes, and indulging the reflections which they naturally suggest, we turned inquiring looks for the burying ground of a family, whose name is now connected with the literature, and, what is more, with the piety of the country. Redolent of sweets is the name of Davidson. In the western extremity of the lot, and opposite the side of entrance, is a little enclosure, into which opens a small gate, which we passed. In the centre of this is a grave, and at its southern side is a tall, handsome monument. Its inscription will tell the story of its

erection :

THE BROTHERS

OF

MARGARET MILLER DAVIDSON

Have erected this structure as a testimony of their affection.
She was the daughter of Dr. Oliver and Mrs. Margaret Davidson.
She has sculptured for herself a more lasting monument;
and when this shall have crumbled into dust,

her name shall continue to be "the

good man's glowing theme."

On another side of the pediment, was sculptured the representation of a broken harp, with some appropriate lines.

Leaning against the corner of the column, we gave a few moments to those reflections which the scene suggested. Looking upward-for when we think of such a one as Margaret Davidson, we look not down, we send not cur thoughts into the dark cavern below; beautiful and heaven-like as was the form which earth received, it was

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but the tenement; and he who looks into the grave for what was admirable in such a one, must feel the rebuke, "why seek ye the living among the dead?"

The voice of a companion in the visitation aroused us from our reverie.

"It is a beautiful monument," said he, "and how appropriate the form," We looked upward-it was a "broken shaft.”

"How appropriate the form," said he; "the column, polished and lettered, denotes the beauty of Margaret's life, and broken as it appears, it is emblematical of her untimely end."

To us, there seemed nothing appropriate. The cold marble scarcely represented the warmth of Margaret's heart. Its bright polish poorly compensated for the lovely transparency of her character. And the shaft, broken to denote incompleteness, what had that to do with the life of her who had outlived Methusaleh, in her fifteen years? Her column was not broken-all with her was complete. No broken shaft, no obtunded pyramid, could represent her character or years, in which all are perfect. The artist who would prepare for Margaret Davidson an appropriate monument, should represent a finished cone, perfect in all its parts.

The water pillar would be a better emblem, the base resting upon the ocean, while a cloud, bending downward to its apex, draws thence the streams of fluid which are to descend in genial dews to make green and beautiful the earth.

We cut a few leaves from a decaying rose bush at the base of the column-not for ourself, but for one whose soul seems connected in bridal affiance with hers, in whose name that column stands-and folding them into our pocket book, we turned away from a place consecrated to the remembrance of virtues which ripened early for the skies, feeling how unpliable to good is one of a half a century, while youth moulds itself to piety and grace, and is called away, leaving nothing fitly to represent its loveliness-few, very few, to comprehend its excellence.-U. S. Gazette,

ANECDOTES OF NAPOLEON.

EARTHLY state never reached a prouder pinnacle than when Napoleon, in June, 1812, gathered his army at Dresden-that mighty host, unequalled in all time, of 450,000, not men merely, but effective soldiers-soldiers skilled in chivalry and conquests, and there received the homage of subject kings.

NAPOLEON'S WAY OF MAKING AN ALPINE ROAD. Four of the strongest oxen of the country, led by the best guides, trod down the snow, in which they sank, and almost disappeared; they were followed by forty peasants, who cleared and formed the path. A company of sappers assisted them, and perfected the trench; two companies of infantry, marching in very close files, completed the operation of smoothing and consolidating the snow. The van guard was followed at some distance by a company of dragoons of the 10th regiment, then came a detachment of artillery, and a hundred beasts of burden, and the escorts closed the march.-Memoirs of Dumus.

THE KING OF CONVERSATION. Napoleon and Talleyrand wrote to one another in the beginning of this century very affectionate and confidential notes, wherein they chatted together very familiarly. One day Napoleon said to Talleyrand, "You are the king of conversation. What is your secret?" "Sir," replied Talleyrand, "I'll speak frankly, and shall derive my answer from a comparison taken in your profes

sion. When you are making war, you would willingly select your fields of battle." "Certainly," replied Napoleon, "it would be convenient and useful to say to the enemy's general, ‘Just go a little farther into that mountain pass, or spread over that plain.' But the enemy cannot be ordered about in that manner. What are you driving at?" "Well, sir," resumed Talleyrand, "I choose my own ground of conversation. 1 engage in it but when I have something to say; I make no reply to the rest. In general I do not suffer myself to be questioned, except by you, or if asked any thing, the questions have been suggested by myself. Formerly, when I went out shooting, I always fired at six paces; I killed little game; the others fired at random, I when I could not miss. In conversation I let a thousand distant things pass to which I could make ordinary replies; but what rises between my legs I never miss."

NAPOLEON'S POWERS. This organization, these immense preparations (for the Russian war), were terminated about the month of February, 1812. I had several times written from the dictation of the emperor; and I had occasion to admire his inconceivable memory, and the precision with which, without having recourse to the lists, he bore in mind the effective force of the several corps, in order to determine the means of raising them to the complete war establishment, according to their wants. One day, having laid before him a general table which he had desired me to give him, and which he ran through very rapidly, he dictated a distribution of conscripts, founded on this statement of the effective force of all the corps of the army, without once hesitating, and stated the actual force of each of the corps and their position. He walked rapidly up and down, or stood still before the window of his cabinet. He dictated with such rapidity, that I had scarcely time to set down the figures clearly, and to indicate by abbreviations the notes which he added. For full half an hour, I had not been able to take my eyes from the paper on which I wrote. I had no doubt but that. he had before him the general table which I had given him; and when lie paused a moment, and I was able to look at him, he perceived and laughed at my surprise. "You thought," said he, "that I was reading your table. I don't want it; I know it all by heart. Let us go on."-Memoirs of Dumas.

Original.

WHAT IS MIGHTIEST?

AN ALLEGORY.

BY MISS L. S. HALL.

"Night is the time for dreams,

The gay romance of life,

When truth that is, and truth that seems,
Blend in fantastic strife."

I HAD a dream. I am no dreamer-no relater or expounder of dreams; nevertheless, I had a dream, which, related, will be its own interpretation. Perhaps it is childish-call it so if you will-but there is many a dreamer in life, and many a life that is naught but dreams.

Nature had spread her nocturnal wing, a kindly shelter, over her wide-spread chamber. Richly embroidered drapery hung in luxuriant folds around the hemisphereal couch. Deep sleep had fallen upon man-it was fitting I should dream. Nay, but I

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slept not. I felt how delicious it was to be alone-rather, I was not, I could not be alone. Visitants thronged thick and fast about my pillow; ethereal spirits methinks they were-purer society than the beings of earth, doing their errands of love to wakeful immortality. I love the stillness of the midnight hour, so calm, so tranquil, so sacred. Was it not meant as well a closet for the reflecting mind, and a hush for the turmoil of passion, as a rest for languishing nature, and a protection for the weak and shelterless? It has often been the noon of thought; and sometimes it invites to a disturbed communing with "truth that seems." Such was that hour to me. My being seemed elated with excess of life. I tossed from side to side, like a child too happy to be quiet, in the very unrest of pleasure itself. The moments were too precious to be given to Morpheus. With eyes fixed on “aereal nothing,” mind was busy reconnoitering the furniture and adjusting the wardrobe of its own inner chamber. Memory and Fancy did the rest, and invited the senses, so many guests, to hold conference with the inhabitants of their miniature world-for they had not omitted the colorings of life, or the attributes of humanity.

Now I saw in my dream, as it were, an antiquated castle, with its fortresses and towers, its balustrades and bars, and its many fingers pointing heavenward. It was not easy of access, standing as it did upon a lofty eminence, a thing apart. It occupied an extensive territory, by undisputed right. Its workmanship was exquisite, its material enduring. But of these I may not talk. When I looked for its pinnacle, it was lost among the clouds. The spectacle was grand and imposing beyond description. It was an enchanting, not a forbidding awe that fell upon me, and I wished never to quit a scene so thrillingly beautiful.

Broken crags and shaggy cliffs formed a threatening precipice on the one hand, and the huge billows "that cannot rest" tumbled and foamed and raged, then died away to tumble and foam and rage again, on the other. A dense forest, like a mighty phalanx, in the background, echoed forever to the music of the wind god, shaking anon, their strong arms defying the potent tempest. The armaments of the spacious grounds in front were in perfect consonance with the august tower and the appurtenances thereof. They were fantastically sweet, strangely beautiful, wildly simple. Here and there a lone oak reared its crowned head-the king of the forest was but a prince here—and the green ivy, in queen-like affection embraced her lord. The tall pine waved its dark green tassels, and the changeless evergreen looked silently on. The straying wild-rose in the wildest corner of nature's wildness, bloomed never so wildly, so fragrantly, so perfectly, as here. The snow-colored lily shared and enhanced the picturesque charms, and the meek-eyed violet and sweet-scented clover were as much at home among these great ones of the earth, as were their modest sisters on the plains beyond, or in the valley beneath. There was wildness in that grandeur, serenity in that sublimity more attractive than beauty that wins by its sweetness alone. Not a frowning feature in that dark gray rock, or moss-covered wall, but had its ample counterpart in the dreamy quiet, the spirit-like hush of that goodly land. I looked on with a reverence, akin to devotion, for the temple before me bore the impress of ages, though it bore no token of decay. I could not but regard it as the shrine of the world's best treasure, and longed for once to set my foot within its hallowed precincts. Might I hope it? or was the thought presumption? I resolved to venture the experiment, and ask admittance there. Being at a loss how to introduce myself, I was musing on the project when the sound of voices fell upon my ear. I looked toward the speakers: they were a motley group, intently fixed on some object of pursuit, and I watched their movements. I heard but indistinctly, yet soon found they were striving for the mastery, and each a competitor for the prize. My own scheme being yet unformed, I drew near, hoping to learn something by observing these strangers.