A brighter wealth by far Than the deep mine's yellow vein Look forth, ye toiling men; Though little ye possess, Be glad that dearth is not on earth, Let the song of praise be poured, By the rich man with his garners stored, The feast that warfare gives Is not for one alone 'Tis shared by the meanest slave that lives, And the tenant of a throne. Then glory to the steel That shines in the reaper's hand; And thanks to God, who has blessed the sod, SAMUEL WARREN. FEw, if any, writers of fiction of the present century hold a more pow. erful pen than Samuel Warren. In vivid painting of the passions, and in faithfully depicting scenes of modern life, his tales have enjoyed a very great and deserved popularity. Of his most celebrated work, “The Diary of a late Physician," an able critic' remarks: "We know of no book in the English language so calculated to rivet the attention and awaken the purest and deepest sympathies of the heart as this book. The man who has not read these tales has yet to learn a lesson in the mysteries of human nature, and, though "Ten Thousand a Year" may, as a literary composition, claim precedence, we think it lacks something-a very little-of that truthful simplicity, that trusting and religious fervor, that refines every sentiment, and hallows every aspiration inspired by the elder work." His last work is Now and Then"--" a vindication, in beautiful prose, of the ways of God to man. A grander moral is not to be found than that which dwells on the reader's mind when the book is closed; conveyed, too, as it is, in language as masculine and eloquent as any the English tongue can furnish."2 "Oxford and Cambridge Review " 2 London Times." DEATH AT THE TOILET. "'Tis no use talking to me, mother; I will go to Mrs. P——'s party to-night, if I die for it-that's flat! You know as well as I do that Lieutenant Nis to be there, and he's going to leave town to-morrow-so up I go to dress." "Charlotte, why will you be so obstinate? poorly you have been all the week, and Dr. are the worst things in the world for you." You know how says late hours "Pshaw, mother! nonsense, nonsense." "Be persuaded for once, now, I beg! Oh dear, dear, what a night it is too-it pours with rain, and blows a perfect hurricane! You'll be wet and catch cold, rely on it. Come now, won't you stop and keep me company to-night? That's a good girl!" Some other night will do as well for that, you know; for now I'll go to Mrs. P's, if it rains cats and dogs. So up—up— up I go!" Such were very nearly the words, and such the manner in which Miss Jexpressed her determination to act in defiance of her mother's wishes and entreaties. She was the only child of her widowed mother, and had but a few weeks before completed her twenty-sixth year, with yet no other prospect before her than bleak single-blessedness. A weaker, more frivolous and conceited creature never breathed-the torment of her amiable parent, the nuisance of her acquaintance. Though her mother's circumstances were very straitened, sufficing barely to enable them to maintain a footing in what is called the middling genteel class of society, this young woman contrived, by some means or other, to gratify her penchant for dress, and gadded about here, there, and everywhere, the most showily dressed person in the neighborhood. Though far from being even pretty-faced, or having any pretensions to a good figure, for she both stooped and was skinny, she yet believed herself handsome; and by a vulgar, flippant forwardness of demeanor, especially when in mixed company, extorted such attentions as persuaded her that others thought so. For one or two years she had been an occasional patient of mine. The settled pallor, the sallowness of her complexion, conjointly with other symptoms, evidenced the existence of a livercomplaint; and the last visits I had paid her were in consequence of frequent sensations of oppression and pain in the chest, which clearly indicated some organic disease of the heart. I saw enough to warrant me in warning her mother of the possibility of her daughter's sudden death from this cause, and the imminent peril to which she exposed herself by dancing, late hours, &c.; but Mrs. J's remonstrances, gentle and affectionate as they always were, were thrown away upon her headstrong daughter. It was striking eight by the church clock, when Miss J lit her chamber-candle by her mother's, and withdrew to her room to dress, soundly rating the servant-girl by the way for not having starched some article or other which she intended to have worn that evening. As her toilet was usually a long and laborious business, it did not occasion much surprise to her mother, who was sitting by the fire in their little parlor, reading some book of devotion, that the church chimes announced the first quarter past nine o'clock without her daughter's making her appearance. The noise she had made overhead, in walking to and fro to her drawers, dressing-table, &c., had ceased about half an hour ago, and her mother supposed she was then engaged at her glass, adjusting her hair, and preparing her complexion. Well, "Well, I wonder what can make Charlotte so very careful about her dress to-night!" exclaimed Mrs. J, removing her eyes from the book, and gazing thoughtfully at the fire-"Oh! it must be because young Lieutenant N- is to be there. I was young myself once, and it's very excusable in Charlotteheigh-ho!" She heard the wind howling so dismally without, that she drew together the coals of her brisk fire, and was laying down the poker when the clock of — church struck the second quarter after nine. "Why, what in the world can Charlotte be doing all this while?" she again inquired. She listened-"I have not heard her moving for the last three quarters of an hour! I'll call the maid and ask." She rung the bell, and the servant appeared. "Betty, Miss J is not gone yet, is she?" "No, ma'am," replied the girl, "I took up the curling-irons only about a quarter of an hour ago, as she had put one of her curls out; and she said she should soon be ready. She's burst her new muslin dress behind, and that has put her into a way, ma'am." "Go up to her room then, Betty, and see if she wants anything; and tell her it's half-past nine o'clock," said Mrs. J. The servant accordingly went up stairs, and knocked at the bedroom-door once, twice, thrice, but received no answer. There was a dead silence, except when the wind shook the window. Could Miss J— have fallen asleep? Oh, impossible! She knocked again, but unsuccessfully as before. She became a little flustered, and, after a moment's pause, opened the door and entered. There was Miss J-sitting at the glass. "Why, la, ma'am," commenced I was there within a few minutes, for my house was not more than two streets distant. It was a stormy night in March: and the desolate aspect of things without-deserted streets-the dreary howling of the wind, and the incessant pattering of the rain, contributed to cast a gloom over my mind, when connected with the intelligence of the awful event that had summoned me out, which was deepened into horror by the spectacle I was doomed to witness. On reaching the house, I found Mrs. J-— in violent hysterics, surrounded by several of her neighbors, who had been called in to her assistance. I repaired instantly to the scene of death, and beheld what I shall never forget. The room was occupied by a white-curtained bed. There was but one window, and before it was a table, on which stood a looking-glass hung with a little white drapery; and the various paraphernalia of the toilet lay scattered about-pins, brooches, curling-papers, ribands, gloves, &c. An arm-chair was drawn to this table, and in it sat Miss J- stone dead. Her head rested upon her right hand, her elbow supported by the table; while her left hung down by her side, grasping a pair of curling-irons. Each of her wrists was encircled by a showy gilt bracelet. She was dressed in a white muslin frock, with a little bordering of blonde. Her face was turned towards the glass, which, by the light of the expiring candle, reflected, with frightful fidelity, the clammy fixed features, daubed over with rouge and carmine the fallen lower jaw, and the eyes directed full into the glass with a cold, dull stare, that was appalling. On examining the countenance more narrowly, I thought I detected the traces of a smirk of conceit and self-complacency, which not even the palsying touch of death could wholly obliterate. The hair of the corpse, all smooth and glossy, was curled with elaborate precision, and the skinny, sallow neck was encircled with a string of glistening pearls. The ghastly visage of death thus leering through the tinselry of fashion-"the vain show" of artificial joy-was a horrible mockery of the fooleries of life! Indeed it was a most humiliating and shocking spectacle. Poor creature! struck dead in the very act of sacrificing at the shrine of female vanity! She must have been dead for some time, perhaps for twenty minutes or half an hour, when I arrived, for 4 What nearly all the animal heat had deserted the body, which was rapidly stiffening. I attempted, but in vain, to draw a little blood from the arm. Two or three women present proceeded to remove the corpse to the bed for the purpose of laying it out. strange passiveness! No resistance offered to them while straightening the bent right arm, and binding the jaws together with a faded white riband which Miss J- had destined for her waist that evening. On examination of the body we found that death had been occasioned by disease of the heart. Her life might have been protracted, possibly for years, had she but taken my advice and that of her mother. I have seen many hundreds of corpses, as well in the calm composure of natural death as mangled and distorted by violence; but never have I seen so startling a satire upon human vanity, so repulsive, unsightly, and loathsome a spectacle as a corpse dressed for a ball! MARTIN FARQUHAR TUPPER, 1810 THIS distinguished author-distinguished for the fine fancy, deep thought, and elevated moral tone of most of his writings-has recently' made us a visit. He came, not to be lionized, but to see our country, and exchange kindly words with those who had loved and honored, though unseen, the author of the "Proverbial Philosophy." He is the son of the eminent surgeon, Martin Tupper, F. R. S., of London, and was born in that city in 1810. He took his degree of B. A. at Christ Church, Oxford, and subsequently entered at Lincoln's Inn. In due time he was called to the bar, but never practised as a barrister. Mr. Tupper's first publication of any importance was the first series of "Proverbial Philosophy," which appeared in 1837: the second series followed in 1842. This work at once excited attention, and called forth the most favorable criticisms. His next work was "Geraldine, a sequel to Coleridge's Christabel, with other Poems," published in 1838. This was followed in 1839 by "A Modern Pyramid, to commemorate a Septuagint of Worthies," designed to furnish illustrations and descriptions of character of seventy of the most remarkable personages of sacred and profane history, ancient and modern. In 1840, appeared a pleasant volume of odds and ends, called "An Author's Mind." His next work was a moral novel, published in 1844, entitled "The Crock of Gold," designed to illustrate the Sixth April, 1851. |