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[From the lips of an Octogenarian.]

Won by the charms
Of goodness irresistible. Thornton.

"You sec, ma'am," said the old man, " my mother died when I was twelve years old. About that time old Mr. C came down, and set up for a great marchant. Well, his wife was sick, and she sent to ,

where she came from, for a widow-woman to come and take care of her. This widow-woman had three children. Her husband, had been a sea-faring man, and he was wrecked and lost down there at Halifax,—and left his wife with nothing at all, and these three children to take care of."

"Well, my daddy, ma'am, fell in with her, somehow or other, and married her. She was a nice woman—as good a mother as ever was,—and had great laming, and knew how to do every thing,—only she didn't know nothing about country-work, you see. Well, her oldest daughter came down, (for my dad had agreed to take one of the children,) and she was a nice gals and a while after the boy came down. Well, there was nothing said; we all worked along; and the daughter

she got married—married Mr. H , (you know his

folks .'—) he broke his neck afterwards, falling from his horse."

"Well, awhile after this tother daughter came down. Debby was dreadful plain!—I thought she was dreadful plain '. !—but she was a nice gal—smart, working—and good to every body. You see, there were four young children of the second crop, and they had got ragged; and Debby spun, and wove, and clothed, and mended them up. Well, she went back,—but they couldn't live without her, and sent for her again, and so she came. She took care of every thing—saw to my things, and had them all in order,—and every thing comfortable for me in the winter, when I went in the woods,—but I thought nothing, no more than if she'd been my sister."

"Well, by this time I was a youngish man; and in my day, the young folks had a sort of a frolic every night. I used to go,—and sometimes went home with one gal, sometimes with another,—but never thought of

Debby. Well, there was a Mr. came to see her,

but she wouldn't have nothing to say to him; and after that, one came from the Shoals—a rich man's son; his father gave him a complete new vessel, and every thing to load her; but Debby wouldn't have nothing to do with him noiAer. Then I wasn't worth so'much as this stick!—Well, I wondered, and so I says to mother, "Mother, what's the reason Debby wont take this man?—she'll never better herself!"—"Don't you know, John?" says mother. "No." So I says to Debby— "Why don't you have him, Debby?" "Because," says Debby, says she, "if I can't have the one I want, I wont have nobody!"

"Well, I thought nothing,—but went on, frolicking here, and frolicking there, till one night as I was going home, just towards day, with one of my mates, says I, "Tom," says 1, " i wont go to another frolic these two months! If I do, I'll give you a dollar!"—"You?" says he, —" you'll go afore two nights I" "Well, you'll see," says I.—Well, I stayed at home steady; and after

a while says father, says he to mother, "Suzy," says he, (for that was the way he always spoke to her—) "Suzy," says he, " I guess John has got tired of raking about so,—and I'm glad of it." "I hope he has," says mother.

"Well, one day we were all sitting at table, —mother got there,—and father got there,—and the hired man next him,— (for we had a hired man, and hired gal,) and Debby was next to mother, and the gal next, and I between the hired man and hired gal. Well, mother was joking the hired man and gal,—(she was a great hand to joke,) and I cast an eye at Debby, and I thought, "I never see any body alter as you have, Debby!"— She looked handsome T.- Well, Debby was weaving up stairs; and I was mowing down by the well, close by the house; and I felt kind of uneasy, and made an excuse to go in for a drink of water. Well, I went in ;— and I went up stairs, and into tother chamber—not the one where Debby was weaving,—(for I was kind of bashful, you see,—) and then I went in where Debby was—but said nothing,—for I had never laid the weight of my finger on the gal in my life. At last, " Debby," says I, " what sort of a weaver are you, Debby?" " O, I guess I can get off as many yards as any body," says she; "and I want to get my web out, to go up on the hill to sister's, this afternoon." "Well," says I, " tell her to have something nice, for I shall be up there." "We shan't see you there, I guess," says Debby. "You will though," says I; "see it" you don't I" Father had a great pasture on the hill,—a kind of farm like, (for my father was a rich man !—) so just afore night up I goes, and they had every thing in order. So a while after supper I says to Debby, " Debby, 'tis time for us to go, for 'twill be milking-time, by the time we get home." So we went right down across,—and on the way we talked the business over. I married her—and a better wife never wore shoe-leather!"


Palestine derives its name from the Philistines, who inhabited the coast of Judea. It has also been called "The Holy Land" as being the scene of the birth,sufferings and death of our Redeemer. It was bounded on the north by Syria, on the east by Arabia Deserts, on the south by Arabia Petrea, and on the west by the Mediterranean. The principal divisions of the country were Galilea in the north, Samaria in the middle, and Judaja in the south. This country is at present under the Turkish yoke; and the oppression which it now experiences, as well as the visible effects of the divine displeasure, not only during the reign of Titus, and afterwards in the inundations of the northern barbarians, but also of the Saracens and Crusaders, are more than sufficient to have reduced this country, which has been extolled by Moses, and even by Julian the Apostate, for its fecundity, to its present condition of a desert. Galilee, the northern division, is divided by Jose phus into Upper Galilee, called Galilea of the Gentiles because inhabited by heathen nations—and Lower Galilea which was adjacent to the sea of Tiberias, and which contained the tribes of Zcbulon and Ashur. Galilea was a very populous country: containing, according to Josephus 204 cities, and towns, and paying •200 talents in tribute.

The middle district, Samaria, had its origin in a division of the people of Israel into two distinct kingdoms, during the reign of Jeroboam. One of these kingdoms, called Judah, consisted of such as adhered to the house of David, comprising the two tribes of Judah and Benjamin. The other ten tribes retained the name of Israelites under Jeroboam. Their capital was Samaria, which also became the name of their country. The Samaritans and people of Judea were bitter enemies. The former differed in many respects from the strictness of the Mosaic law. Among the Judrcans, the name of Samaritan was a term of reproach.

The southern division, Judaea, did not assume that name until after the return of the Jews from the Babylonian captivity—though it had been called long before "the kingdom of Judah," in opposition to that of Israel. After the return, the tribe of Judah settled first at Jerusalem; but afterwards spreading over the whole country, gave it the name of " Judaea."

The only rivers of any note in Palestine are the Jordams, and the Leontes, which latter passes through the northern extremity of Galilea. The Jordan, according to a curious story of Philip the Tetrarch, has its origin in a lake called Phiala, about ten miles north of Ca-sarea of Samochon. This is said to have been ascertained by throwing into the lake some straw which came out where the river emerges from the ground, after having run fifteen miles beneath the surface of the earth—Mannert the German, thinks this fabulous, and places the source of the river in Mount Pancas, in the province of Dan. The Jordan holds a south-westerly course—flows through the lake Samochon, or Samochonites, or as it is called in the Bible, Merom; after which, proceeding onwards till received by the sea of Tiberias, or lake of Genesareth, it emerges from this, and is finally lost in the Dead Sea. In ancient times it overflowed its banks annually, about the period of early harvest; and thus differing from most other rivers, which generally swell in the winter, it was supposed to have a subterraneous communication with the Nile. But now, we can perceive no rise, which is probably owing to the channel baring been deepened by the swiftness of the current. The name is supposed to be derived from the Hebrew "Jardtn," on account of the river's rapid "descent" through the country.

The Dead Sea, called also Asphaltitcs, from the "asphaltos," or bitumen, which it throws up, is situated in Jmla-a, and near 100 miles long and 25 broad: but is stalled by Tacitus "Lacus immenso ambitu." Its waters are extremely salt; but the vapors exhaled from them are found not to be so pestilential as they have been usually represented. It is supposed that the thirteen cities, of which Sodom and Gomorrah, as mentioned in the Bible, are the chief, were destroyed by a Tolcano, and once occupied the site of the Dead Sea. Earthquakes are now frequent in the country. Volumes of smoke are observed to issue from the lake, and new crevices are daily found on its margin.

The country is mountainous. The range of Libanus, so named on account of their snowy summits, from the Hebrew " Lebanon," white, is imperfectly defined. The principal part of them lies towards the north of Galilee, but the name of Libanus is sometimes given to several parallel chains, which run through the whole extent of Palestine. Between two of these ranges lay a valley

so beautiful that some have called it a terrestrial Paradise; though situated in a much higher region than the greater part enjoys perpetual spring— the trees are always green, and the orchards full of fruit. Libanus has been famed for its cedars. Mount Carmel is a celebrated mountain, properly belonging to Samaria, but on which the Syrians had an altar, but not a temple, dedicated to their god Carmelus. A priest of this deity, according to Tacitus, (Lib. 2, cap. 78,) foretold the accession of Vespasian to the throne.

The principal towns in Galilea were Dio-Ca;sarca, Jotapata or Gath, Genesareth, and Tiberias. Tiberias was built by Herod, near the lake of the same name, and called after the emperor. After the ta king of Jerusalem, there was at Tiberius a succession of Hebrew judges, till about the time of the abdication of Dioclesian and Maximinianus. Epiphanius, bishop of Salamis, says that a Hebrew copy of St. John, and the Acts of the Apostles, was kept in this city.

The chief cities of Samaria were Neapolis, Antipatris, Archelais, Apollonia, Samaria, and Casarca. Cn> sarea, was the principal, and was anciently called "Turns Stratonis. It was much embellished by Herod, who named it Cajsarea in honor of Augustus—and was the station of the Roman governors. Samaria was situated on Mount Sameron, and was the residence of the kings of Israel, from the time of Omri, its founder, to the overthrow of the kingdom.

In Judah, were the cities of Engedi, Herodium, Hebron, Beersheba, Jericho, and Jerusalem. Jericho was in the tribe of Benjamin, near the river Jordan; and is called by Moses the city of palm-trees, from the palms in the adjacent plain, which are also noticed by Tacitus. It was destroyed by Joshua, but afterwards rebuilt. Jerusalem, the capital, was anciently called Salem, or Jebus, by the Jebusites, who were in possession of it till the time of David; but it was then called by the Hebrews Jeruschalaim, signifying "the possession of the inheritance of peace." "The Greeks and Romans called it by the name of Hierosolyma. It was built on several hills, of which Mount Sion, in the southern part of the city, was the largest. To the north was Acra, called the "second," or "lower city"—on the cast of which was Solomon's temple, built on Mount Moriah. North-east of this was the Mount of Olives, and north of it Mount Calvary, the place of the crucifixion. This city was taken by Pompey, who thence derived his name of Hierosolymarius. It was also taken and destroyed by Titus, (in the year of our Lord 71, by the account of Tacitus—but according to Josephus,) on the 8th of Sept. A. D. 70—2177 years after its foundation.

In this siege 110,000 persons are said to have perished, and 97,000 to have been made prisoners, and as Josephus relates, sold as slaves, or thrown to wild beasts for the sport of the conquerors.


Martorelli was occupied for two years in a treatise to prove that the use of glass for windows was unknown to the ancients. Fifteen days after the publication of his folio, a house was found in Pompeii all whose windows were paired with glass.


There are, to whom to live alone,
Sounds in their ear the funeral moan
Of winter's night breeze, sad and deep,
A prelude of sepulchral sleep.
To live alone I have no dread,
And careless hear upon my bed,
Between the wintry night wind's howl,
The hootings of the forest owl;
Reckless I wrap myself in gloom,
And court endurance for the tomb.
Time was, my feelings were not so:
When Spring upon the drifted snow
Breath'd warm, and bade the waters flow;
When turtles coo'd; on the green hills
Skip'd the spring lambs, murmur'd the rills,
And spread their cups the daffodils,
I was as gay, and with me played
Full many a budding, blue-eyed maid;
My heart, the merriest thing of all,
Bounded within me at the call
Of laughing nature. Ah! 'twas then
The thought of living far from men,
And festive throngs, and social glee,
Had seemed a living death to me.
I loved; but I was plain and poor—
My fair one rich—and from the door
She sign'd my passport—bade me go,
And, as I might, digest my wo.
One shrug'd, and said, " he must confess,
To cling to one so purposeless,
Would be a folly all would blame
As more than due to friendship's claim."
Another cut our feeble tye,
Because I pass'd all chances by •

To mend my fortunes, unimprov'd,
Too weak to be sustain'd, or lov'd.
At last I found a pretty one,
Who lov'd me for myself alone.
I was thrice dear to her, but she
A thousand times more dear to me:
I was the happiest one that liv'd,
And should have been, while she surviv'd.
I saw her suffering, saw her fail—
And in my eye the sun grew pale;
Nature's stern debt she early paid,
And in the earth my gem was laid:
My heart then grew, as marble, cold—
And, fortune's worst endur'd, grew bold.
Supine in nature's busy hive,
Men deem'd me dead, though still alive.
One and another slid away,
And left me lonely, old and gray.
'Tis all a vanity, I said,

And to my lot bow'd down my head

Found pensive gladness in my gloom,
A prelude requiem of the tomb,
And felt myself too sternly wise
With useless grief to blear my eyes.
As my slow hours still strike their knell,
I fancy it my passing bell,
And strive, ere yet I pass away,
To grow insensible as clay.


Far away—far away—
Far away—as far at least
Lies that valley as the day
Down within the golden East—
All things lovely—are not they
One and all, too far away?

It is called the valley Nis:
And a Syriac tale there is
Thereabout which Time hath said
Shall not be interpreted:
Something about Satan's dart
Something about angel wings—
Much about a broken heart—
All about unhappy things:
But " the valley Nis" at best
Means " the valley of unrest."

Once it smil'd a silent dell

Where the people did not dwell,

Having gone unto the wars—

And the sly, mysterious stars,

With a visage full of meaning,

O'er th' unguarded flowers were leaning,

Or the sun-ray dripp'd all red

Thro' tall tulips overhead,

Then grew paler as it fell

On the quiet Asphodel.

AW each visiter shall confess

Nothing there is motionless:

Nothing save the airs that brood

O'er the enchanted solitude,

Save the airs with pinions furled

That slumber o'er that valley-world.

No wind in Heaven, and lo! the trees

Do roll like seas, in Northern breeze,

Around the stormy Hebrides—

No wind in Heaven, and clouds do fly,

Rustling everlastingly,

Th ro' the terror-stricken sky,

Rolling, like a waterfall,

O'er th' horizon's fiery wall—

And Helen, like thy human eye.

Low crouched on Earth, some violets lie,

And, nearer Heaven, some lilies wave

All banner-like, above a grave.

And one by one, from out their tops

Eternal dews come down in drops,

Ah, one by one, from off their stems

Eternal dews come down in gems!


The Greek of the New Testament is by no means, whatever some zealots assert, the Greek of Homer, of Anacreon, or of Thucydides. It is thickly interspersed with Hebraisms, barbarisms, and theological expressions. The Evangelists differ much in style among themselves. St. Matthew is not as pure as St. John, nor he as St. Paul. St. Luke is the most correct—e»pedaily in the Acts.



A pleasing land of drowsy head it was
Of dreams thai ware before the half shut eye,
and of gay castles in the clouds that pasa
Forever flushing round a summer sky.


Mr WHiTt— It is a long time since I threw my mite into the treasury of your book; Nugator's occupation's gone! was my ejaculation when last I wrote to rou. The same devouring -element which has recently plunged New York in misery and gloom, had just then triumphed over much of my earthly possessions, but over none more foolishly prized than sundry small wares which were intended for your market. As there was no prospect of getting Congress to extend the lime of the payment of my bonds, to which one would think I was as justly entitled as the rich merchant, I had to set to work as best I might to repair the ravages of fire. In the midst of saws and hammers, of bricks and mortar, my ideas have been so vulgarized, that you must not expect to see a Phoenix rise from my ashes. From me you must never expect any thing but trifles, as my signature portends; yet when I reflect that this world is made up of small things as well as great, and that the former are as essential to constitute a whole as the latter, and that your book ought no mpre than the world to consist altogether of the grand, but should soitetimes admit the trifling, I am encouraged to begin again, although already scorched by more fires than one, having encountered the fire of some of your critics. As the mouse sets off to greater advantage the bulk of the mammoth, the critics should rather be pleased than otherwise, to see my wretched skeleton in contrast with the vast proportions of some of your contributors,—but enough.

Romances and novels made my neighbor Castellanus a castle-builder; nothing can be more dissimilar than the world he inhabits and that ideal one in which he has always lived; like certain persons who shall be nameless, he has been literally in the world and out of it at the same time, and his experience therefore might justify a seeming paradox. I think it was Godwin in his Fleetwood, who drew so beautiful a contrast between our night dreams and day dreams. Castellanus never could bear the former, attended by hag and night mare, where we are forever struggling to attain some goal, which we can never reach; he did not like to start affrighted out of sleep; to sink through chasms yawning beneath his feet;

"Sor toss on shatter'd pla.-ik far out upon some deep." No, I have heard him exclaim, "Give me the dreams of day; let me recline upon some bank in summer shade, supine, where fancy fits her wings for pleasant flight, and quickly ushers me into her radiant halls. No hope defeated can there make me grieve; no cup untested from my lips be dashed; no light, receding ever, there can shine, but whatsoever there be of joy or love to mortals known, is seized at once and easily made ray own." There are few persons, perhaps, who do not at some period of life, construct these gay castles, yclept in air, and well indeed is the appellation bestowed, for though more splendid far than the works of old; more passing rare than all of which we read;—Balbec's!

Palmyra's!—none could excel them,—yet in a moment they will topple down, nor leave one marble column, spared as if to point to the scene of desolation and to mourn for its brethren, broken, ruined, and overthrown. Such monuments are sometimes seen standing amid that decay, produced by Goths and Vandals; and Goths and Vandals still in modern times will break, irruptive, on the castle-builder's chosen spot—misfortunes! griefs! pale care! tormenting debt!—Then fancy, all thy revelry is forgotten; reluctantly from our sweet couch, we rise and homeward frowning hie to toil and writhe and fret. But such is the skill of the artist, that he has but to ramble forth where all is still and wave his wand, when in an instant, like the enchantment of old, his shining palaces will upward climb. It is not so, alas! with those works barbarians overturned; none know how to raise them to such sublime heights; lost nre those arts by which they towering rose, and we but gaze on them to sigh and curse the hands which slew them.

This practice of castle-building had been the habit of Castellanus from his boyhood. It gave him a strange unsocial turn and made him shun the inmates of his father's house. He fled all company, and the pleasures which others pursue were rarely pleasures to him. One enjoyment he had which never palled. Some lonely seat beside a "wimpling burn" or waterfall, where human sounds fell distantly; there with book in band, he drank in the lulling music with which such a place is fraught; there would he draw forth, unseen, some old romance with wom and dusky lid, of "haunted Priories" with bloody hand, or dark "Udolpho" with its deep mysteries, its gliding ghosts, and secret pannels. Then would fall the curtain on this mortal vale and all its hateful realities, and his rapt soul would revel in the high wrought tale of fancy. For him these fictions had an unspeakable charm—gallant youths were his companions. He trod with them over Alps and Appenines, where banditti lurked amid the dreary forests and lights were seen to glance and disappear. Soft maidens, too, were there, whose superhuman charms won every heart; encompassed by ten thousand dangers, he could not leave them, until he saw them safely locked in love's triumphant arms. Though a very ugly fellow, he had deceived himself into the belief that he should one day or other marry one of these delightful creatures, and had even settled that her name should be Julia, and thought he should be one of the happiest fellows upon earth; but, Mr. Editor, who do you think he now is? a clodhopper!! aye a miserable clodhopper! Theowner of land and negroes!! In that one sentence, I sum up all of human misery—and what do you think is his wife's name? Peggy! Phccbus what a name!

"Cobblers! take warning by this cobbler's end."

Yes, ye castle-builders! look upon his undone condition and take warning. Take warning, parents, and bring up your children to suit the sphere in which they are to move. I shall not trouble you with the why and the wherefore of his present condition, but suffice it to say that such it is, and then picture to yourself the untold miseries he must endure when I depict to you the sort of life he is leading, with such passions as I have already described his ruling ones to be. Imprimis: there is Peg—but I had better say as little as possible of her, out of "respect for the ladies and out of regard for my friend, because in truth like "Jerry Sneak," he has not eaten a "bit of under crust since he was married," but follow me if you please upon his farm, and let me introduce you to his plagues and tormentors. Let us look for the overseer—we shall find him, if at home, which is seldom the case, seated on a stump, with the symbol of his office under his arm. There he is, you see, mounted on his throne lazily looking at the laborers; working the land to death by injudicious cultivation; extorting the last drop of vitality from it; a foe to every species of improvement, and obstinately bent upon going on in the jog trot of his predecessors. This is Castellanus' companion ex necessitate. Shades of the Orvilles and Mortimers! pity him. What can there be in common between them? What can they talk about? AboutEvelina and Amanda ?—cottages covered with woodbine and honeysuckle?—landscapes and glorious sunsets?—the warbling of birds?—Oh no, Suk

and Sail, negro cabins or pig-styes, corn fields and

yes, they can talk of birds, but they are blackbirds and crows, and devil take their warbling—of sunset, but only to lament the shortness of the days. His (the overseer's) themes are rogues and runaways—he is eloquent upon hog-stealing, and neither Simon Sensitive nor Timothy Testy could recount more readily the miseries of human life. His are the miseries of Geoponies. Rot—rust—weevil—fly and cutworm, haunt his imagination and dwell upon his tongue. Castellanus had rather be a dog and bay the moon than discuss such subjects. But my friend's delight was once in horses j it was one of the few pleasures he had. His fancy was early captivated by Alexander mounting Bucephalus; a horse gaily caparisoned and mounted by a steel clad knight, was a sight upon which his imagination feasted. The red roan charger of Marniion at the battle of Floddcn had thrilled his every nerve,

"Blood shot his eyes—his nostril spread
The loose rein, dangling from his head
Housing and saddle bloody red."

Oh what a picture! and that I should be obliged to exhibit to your view the counterfeit presentment. The ploughboys are just coming out of the stable with their master's horses going to plough. Here, sir, is Buck-cfallus, as the negro boys call Bucephalus. There is no difficulty in mounting Aim; they have knocked out one of his eyes; he has a blind side and cannot see the shadow cast by the sun. If his spirit was ever as high as his namesake's, he has lost it now—that little ragged urchin can ride him with a grape-vine—raw-boned, spavined and wind-galled! let him pass and let us see the next. This is Smiler!" Lucus a non lucendo," I suppose; alas! he never smiles—he reminds one of Irving's wall eyed horse looking out of the stable window on a rainy day. His look is disconsolate in the extreme; from the imperturbable gravity of his manners, you perceive he is dead to hope; melancholy has marked him for her own; bad feeding, constant toil, and a lost currycomb, have made him " what thou well mayst hate," although he once "set down" as "shapely a shank" as Burns' Auld mare Maggie ever did. Do you see that long legged fellow, that Brobdignog, mounted upon the little mare mule? His legs almost drag the ground, and he ought in justice to toot (aye, sir, toot, a good word, an excellent word, and one upon which I

mean to send you an etymological essay some of these days,) the animal he bestrides. There are some singular traits about that mule GoUiver, as the boys by a singular misnomer call her. She keeps fat "while other nags are poor;" it is because she lives in the corn-field. She can open the stable-door by some inscrutable means, some sort of open sessamc; gates are no impediments to her, and even ten rails and a rider cannot arrest her progress. She seems to have a vow upon her never to leave the plantation; she will go as far as the outer gate with her rider, but if he attempt to pass that boundary his fate is scaled. He is canted most unceremoniously over her head and made to bite the dust; that gate is her ultima Thule; her ne plus ultra; the utmost bound of her ambition. She has acquaintances enough, as Old Oliver says, and wishes not to extend the circle. Her policy is Chinese, or perhaps like Rasselas, she once escaped from her happy valley and was disappointed in the world—"one fatal remembrance" perhaps casts its "bleak shade" beyond that gate.—I know not in sooth, but heaven help me! what am I doing? If I go on thus, with the whole stud of my neighbor, and write at large upon every thing which torments him, I shall never have done. Suffice it then, that I give you a hasty, panoramic sketch of what he has to encounter in his rides over his farm. See him mounted on his little switch tailed grey, which has the high sounding title of White Surrey, and whose tail is nearly cut off at the root by the crupper—the mane in most admired disorder,and fetlocks long and bushy. Now what does he behold? Barren fields—broken fences— gates unhinged—starving cattle—ragged sheep—and jades so galled that they make him wince—hogs that cat their own pigs and devastate his crops—mares that sometimes cripple their own colts—cows on the contrary which have so much of the milk of tacrine kindness, that they suffer their offspring to suck after being broken' to the cart—bulls even, that suck—rams, so pugnacious, that they butt his mules down, as the aforesaid Gulliver can attest, for often have I seen her knocked down as fast as she could rise—upon my life it's true, Mr. Editor, and you need not add with Major Longbow, what will you lay it's a lie? It was amusing to see the ram, with head erect and fixed eye, moving round in a small circle and watching his opportunity to plant his blows, with all the pugilistic dexterity of Crib or Molyneux. I once knew my unfortunate neighbor to have a fine blooded colt, foaled in the pasture with his mules. These vicious devils had no sooner perceived that the colt was without those long tars which characterize their species, than they set to work with one accord to demolish the monstrous production, and in spite of all the efforts of the mother, which fought with a desperation worthy of some old Roman, beset by a host of foes, succeeded in trampling to death her beautiful offspring. What a picture this is of some "political zealots and envenomed critics, who no sooner perceive that a man has not asses ears, like themselves, than they commence a senseless outcry against him and compass his destruction. I have somewhere read of a madman, and perhaps he was right, who, when confined, protested he was not mad; that all mankind were madder than he, and that they were envious of his superior intellect and therefore wished to put him out of the way. Castellanus goes to ride out with Cecilia, Camilla, the

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