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cast an occasional furtive glance at his old partner Peebles, suspecting that the latter might be laughing in his sleeve. Satisfied, at length, that such was the fact, and conscious that he was playing a part somewhat ridiculous, he cried out, 'Let

the clue garnets, my

lads ! let go! My figure-head has such a heel to port, that no carpenter can right it! Upon this he sprang forward, and suiting the action to the word, jerked with so much violence

upon the curtain, that the hooks which supported it gave way, and Tarbox and scenery came down together.

The Squire, as soon as he saw that his friend had sustained no injury, exclaimed, 'Order ! gentlemen ; Captain Tarbox has the floor.' He then waved his hand, as a signal for three rounds, in which, however, being convulsed with laughter, he was unable to join. The only actual sufferer on this occasion was Mr. Martin ; it being customary with the Squire, whenever he uttered what he deemed a good joke, to remind him of it by a punch in his ribs. It was as much as to say, 'Do you catch the idea ?'

This at times was no easy matter, even for those who had some quickness of apprehension ; and to this Martin had no claims. Rising from his chair with some difficulty, the Squire again wished them to adjourn for a short interval, till Marcy' had repaired damages. I think,' said he, ‘that as this was emphatically a drop-scene, it is but right that we take a drop.' Here he again punched Martin, and in a most excellent humor led off, followed by all the gentlemen.

The fourth tableau, which was to conclude the evening's entertainment, was well calculated to excite an interest in every American bosom. This was ‘Washington taking leave of his family. Miss Peebles had been unremitting in her endeavors to render this tableau worthy of the subject; and she was so fortunate as to find at Dr. Snaggs' an engraving of this very scene. No pen can describe the emotion of the spectators, when this affecting exhibition opened to their view.

Old Major Smith, who was 'out in '79,' actually shed tears, and even the Squire looked grave, and doubled his allowance of rappee. Mr. Snoodles, who personated the faithful black, was redolent of Day and Martin, and assumed a gravity of demeanor suited to the

Miss Peebles, as Lady Washington, was dressed in a rich drab silk, and a lace cap, high in the crown, and bordered with a deep ruffle. A cambric handkerchief concealed her face, and it was undoubtedly wet with tears; for she tottered with emotion. Squire Peebles, on account of his great corpulency, was considered as the best qualified to represent the Father of his Country, and in that character he was urged to appear. But he was deaf to all their entreaties, and, as the only alternative, it devolved on Dr. Snaggs.

The person of this gentleman afforded a fine contrast to that of Peebles, being short in stature, and almost as destitute of flesh as one of his own skeletons. A casual glance at him, would leave any thing but the impression that he was born to command. But a closer observation would detect a carriage decidedly military; a broad pug nose, indicative of firmness, and an eye of fire. In fact, Dr. Snaggs, though professedly a disciple of Apollo, was in reality a worshipper of Mars. He at one time held a commission in the Tabbyville Blues,




was afterward attached to the staff in the division, and was always distinguished for his daring in the autumnal sham fights. It was this predilection for garments rolled in blood, that probably led him to treat his patients after the method of Sangrado. Between the doctor and Miss Peebles, there was some little difference of opinion relative to the appropriate ornament for the General's head; the latter contending for a three-cornered hat, in conformity to the engraving, and the doctor being equally strenuous for a tin cap, surmounted with horse hair, and worn by the Tabbyville Blues. The matter was finally arranged to the entire satisfaction of both ; Miss Peebles yielding in favor of the tin cap, on condition that the Doctor would appear in her brother's buff vest, which, when stuffed with a pillow, made a tolerable fit. The uniform coat he had obtained from one of the cavalry; it had the usual quantity of scarlet, edged with gold cord, but was lamentably deficient in the skirts. In the tableau, the general appeared with his right hand clasping that of his lady, his attitude erect, his eye averted, and the base of his nose elevated to an angle of forty-five. From the expression of his countenance, it was evident that there had been an agonizing struggle between love and patriotism, and that the latter had triumphed.

At this moment, Snoodles, anxious to give a finishing touch to the picture, or else fearful that he was not sufficiently conspicuous, advanced to the front of the stage, and clasping his hands together, rolled his eye-balls gradually to the ceiling. But in the endeavor to preserve his balance, in this new attitude, he displayed a portion of his person

that led to results wholly different from his anticipations; this was his artificial African heel, somewhat elongated. As might well be imagined, this unexpected sight occasioned a cachinnation among the treble in the front seat, which was soon joined by the alto of Mr. Popkin, and at length closed with the deep bass of the Squire. Doctor Snaggs, surprised at this ill-timed levity, and, from his position, ignorant of the cause, started back indignant. His motion, however, was much too violent for the buttons of the buff vest; and the pillow bursting from its confines, produced a roar of laughter, which it was impossible to suppress. Meanwhile, the unfortunate Snoodles, perceiving nothing amiss, and unconscious that he had been the cause of all these moving accidents,' was completely paralyzed by this sudden change from grave to gay; nor, until Lady Washington herself rushed forward, and dropped the curtain, was Snoodles • himself again. These were the first ‘tableaux' at Tabbyville, and the last. Miss Peebles, mortified at the total failure, has announced her determination to give no more parties, and even is ‘not at home to any except Miss Nancy Bean. It is certain that no one else, with the present raw matériel, will have the courage to attempt a similar exhibition.


So fine his muse, 'tis half a crime
Burns ever wrote without a rhyme;
But then his prose so pure and terse is,
'Tis Reason's triumph o'er his verses:
Some brains have so bemuddled either,
We wish they had attempted neither,

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LEONORA started from her sleep,

Oh mother, what is lost, is lost,
With morning's dawning ray,

And what is gone, is gone!
Her heart oppressed by boding dreams, Death, deuth! it is the only good;
At WILHELM's long delay.

Would I were never born!
With Frederick's force her soldier went, Go out, life's light — for ever out;
To meet his country's foe,

Die, die in night and dread;
And since, no tidings had he sent,

With God there is no pity, To tell of weal or wo.

Oh, would that I were dead! The king and the proud empress-queen,

"Gop! into judgment enter not Weary of endless war,

With this thy wretched child; At length renounce their fruitless strife, She knows not what she uttereth, And welcome peace once more :

She raves in phrenzy wild;
Rejoicing on their homeward way, Forget, poor maid! thine earthly woes,
With many a festive garland gay,

And think on joys above;
With blare of trump, and beat of drum, For there thy stricken soul no more
The weary, toil-worn warriors come! Shall need the bridegroom's love.'
And every way-side, every path,

"Ah mother! what is heaven's bliss, Is thronged with eager feet;

Ah mother! what is hell ?
Of friends and kindred hurrying forth, With him, with him, is happiness,
The coming host to meet.

And oh! without him, hell!
Now God be praised ! the mother cried, Go out life's light, for ever out,
Fond greetings murmured many a bride, Die, die in night and dread;
But ah! for LEONORE alone,

No joy hath earth or heaven for me, No kiss, no lover's welcome tone!

Would, would that I were dead! She wandered up and down the road, Thus raged the frenzy of despair, To frantic fears a prey,

Within her burning brain ; And vainly questioned all that came, Thus’gainst God's righteous providence, Throughout that weary day;

She strove with anguish vain. The army now had all passed by!

She beat her breast, and tore her hair, She tore her raven hair,

Till the still night came on; She threw herself upon the earth, Till the moon high amid the stars In desolate despair.

Had tossed her silver horn. Now to her aid the mother hies,

When lo! she hears a courser's hoofs To try her soothing art;

Ring on the frozen ground; •What ails my darling child ? she cries, A knight alights before the gate, And folds her to her heart.

His clauging arms resound: Oh mother! what is gone, is gone! And now the portal bell doth ring, Now world and all may go;

Its soft alarum, 'kling, ling, ling;'(there, With God there is no pity,

While well-known accents, murmured Ah, wo is me! ah, wo!

Sound bollow on the midnight air : "Who knows our heavenly father's love, 'Rise, love! unbar thy chamber door! Knows he can aid impart;

Art watching, or asleep? The blessed sacrament shall soothe

Hath Leonore forgot her vows, Thy pierced and bleeding heart.'

And doth she smile, or weep ?' "No balm upon this burning heart "Ah, Wilhelm, thou ! so late at night? The sacrament can pour;

Oh, I have watched and wept, No sacrament to love and life

That from thy Leonora's side,
The cold, cold dead restore !

So long her love hath kept!'
But child, how if the faithless one, ' At midnight only do I ride;
In some far foreign land,

For thee I come, though late,
Forgets his plighted troth to thee,

To claim thee for my plighted bride; In a new marriage band ?

Wilt share thy lover's fate?' Let the false rover templ his fate,

"The wind blows thro' the hawthorn bush, And each wild wish pursue;

It whistles loud and shrill; For this, when soul and body part, Come in, and warm thee in my arms; God's vengeance he shall rue !

Ah! why so cold and still ?

'Let the wind through the hawthorn blow, Now where the moonbeams faintly fall, Or howl across the meer;

Yon frantic rabble see;
The black horse paws, loud clank the spurs, How fearfully they wheel and spin,
I dare not linger here;

(speed, Beneath the gallow-tree ! Come don, thy snow-white robes with Halloo! halloo ! ye grisly crew, And swiftly mount behind;

Come here, and follow me;
We ride a hundred leagues ere day, ‘Around us prance a festive dance,
Our bridal bed to find !'

And quit the gallow-tree.'
"Ah! tell me where the bridal hall, And now across the dreary waste,
And where the couch is spread ?'

They hurry on behind; "Oh, far, far hence; cold, narrow, drear, A sound like dry and withered leaves Lies our low marriage-bed!

Low rustling in the wind. Hast room for me? For thee and me; And onward, onward still they speed, Come, busk thee! bonny bride;

Nor rock nor stock their course impede; The wedding guests are waiting,

While horse and rider pant and blow, The door stands open wide.'

The fire-sparks flashing as they go. The maiden donned her robes with speed, Fast flies the quiet moon-light scene, On the black steed she sprung;

Fast, fast and far it flies; Then round the knight her snowy arms Fast fly the fleecy clouds above, In trembling silence flung:

And fast the starry skies. And on they gallop, fast and far,

'Still dost thou fear?'the moon shines clear, Nor mount nor stream their course can bar, Soon will our course be sped ! While horse and rider pant and blow, The dead ride swift, buzza! huzza !' The fire-sparks flashing as they go !

Oh wo! - leave, leave the dead !! Still as they ride, on either side,

"Methinke I smell the morning air, The riven rocks resound;

And hark! the cock doth crow! The bridges thunder 'neath their tread, Then onward speed, my trusty steed! And rings the hollow ground:

Haste! haste ! our sands run low; Ha! doth my Leonora fear

Our race is run, our course is done,
With her true love to ride?

And we are at the goal;
The midnight moon shines cold and clear, Swift ride the dead - huzza ! huzza !
Dost fear to be my bride ?

Come, priest, bind soul to soul!'
Hark! wailings float upon the air, Up to an iron-grated door,
And hollow dirges ring!

With slackened reign they ride,
Why tolls the bell that solemn knell, When lo! the massive bar and bolt
Why flaps the raven's wing?

Back from their staples glide ! Lo! 'iis a funeral train draws near; And now, with harsh recoil and clang, They bear the coffin and the bier, The doors upon their binges swang, And like the frog's hoarse, croaking cry, And still the rider and his horse Sounds their sepulchral symphony. O'er mouldering graves pursue their course. • Bury your dead, when midnight's past, Sudden on her bewildered gaze with wild lament and prayer;

A fearful vision burst! To-night I wed a bony bride,

The rider's armor, piece by piece, Our banquet ye shall share;

Fast crumbled into dust; Come priest, and choir, and mourners, all, She sees a hideous skeleton, Come crone the marriage song;

Of ghastly horror, stand Come priest, and bless the bridal bed, Before her glaring eye revealed, And join ihe merry throng.'

With hour-glass in his hand ! Now fades into the dusky air

High reared the fiëry, frantic sterd, The coffin and the pall;

And trembled with affright; And like a torrent on they come,

Then sunk into the yawning earth, The mourners, priest, and all;

And vanished from her sight! And faster, faster still they speed,

Wild howlings echoed through the air, O’er wild morass, and moonlight inead, And from the graves beneath, While horse and rider pant and blow, While Leonora's throbbing heart The fire-sparks flashing as they go !

Trembled 'twixt life and death. How swiftly, on the right and left, Now round her, in the pallid light, The mountains hurry by!

The wheeling spectres fly, How swiftly on the right and left

And as they weave the circling dance, Town, tower, and forest fiy!

In hollow murmurs cry : Doth my love fear? the moon shines clear, / 'Be patient, though the heart should break, Ah ha! dost fear the dead ?

Submit to heaven's control; The dead ride swift - huzza ! huzza !' We yield her body to the earth, 'Ah, speak not of the dead !'

May God receive her soul!



"Thus error's Proteus shapes from earth are driven ;

They fade, they ly; but TRUTH survives their flight:
Earth has no shades to quench that beam of heaven;
Each ray that shone in early time, to light
The faltering spirit in the path of right,
Each gleam of clearer brightness, shed to aid
In man's maturer day his bolder sight,

All blended, like the rainbow's radiant braid,
Pour yet, and still shall pour, the blaze that cannot fade.'


LORD Bacon, in his ‘Novum Organum,' establishes the principle, that all theories are useless, unless based on fact. And this principle, so obvious to common sense, has produced changes more wonderful than steam, more beneficial than gunpowder, quite equal, in many respects, to printing; indeed, printing would be worse than nothing in that art, if the matter it promulges were only crude hypotheses and wild imaginations. The long mystification of the ancients upon the subject of astronomy, was owing to their founding their theories on conjecture. This new guide of Lord Bacon, in scientific researches, opened the eyes of philosophers, as suddenly as a flash of lightning shows the way to the lost traveller, journeying in the dark night. The present received theory of the heavenly bodies is nearly the same with that system taught by Thales of Miletus, who lived five hundred and forty years before Christ. With him it was merely conjecture. He had no facts, no proofs by which to establish it; and at his death, his theory was buried; disregarded for the sake of notions seemingly more rational, but utterly false. Like the blinded one, in a play of children, they were often near their object, and sometimes had it in their grasp, without being able to distinguish truth from error. How painful to follow them in their devious course! Dispersi jactantur gurgite vasto.' Lord Bacon, if he could open eyes upon


present generation, would be not a little disgusted and surprised, to see his great principles so much disregarded by the multitude. Humiliating to the pride of intellect is it, to hear such expressions as these used by people of liberal education, and by some who stand at the head, nominally, of societies and professions : ‘I will not believe it ;' I would not believe my own senses ;' • It cannot be true;' • Who ever heard of such a thing?' with regard to phrenology, animal magnetism, and other subjects. Some people seem to think the world is about as wise as it can be ; that there are to be no more improvements and discoveries ; that every opinion which disagrees with their notions, which are most probably the notions of their fathers and grandfathers, handed down together with old tankards, China, brocade dresses, and bureaus, to an admiring posterity, must necessarily be wrong. But it is delightful to think that new principles are ever destined to come to light, to meet the wants of man, and that they will be correspondingly great and sublime, with his improved capacity to enjoy and use them. The great woods which cover an unsettled country, are first used by the emigrant for fuel; as the coun


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