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mUbi LIBERTA9, IB1 pATBTA.,"-cicro.-l-Vhere liberty dwells, there i mr Country."
BY MITCH EN EU St MATHEWS.
v pof.tr y.
- ; THE RAINBOW.
J do Mt mjr boir In tin tloud, and It shall be a token of
covenant between me and the earth." Gin ix. 13.
(toft ftll the rhlld reviving sfiewer
. ;, '?.. From iummer'i changeful skier, .
."' . And rain drops bend each trembling flow'r, , ,
; I ' ! They tinge with richer dye.
Boon shall their genial Influence cat)
" A thousand bnda to'dar,
"Which, wanting but that balmy fall,
... In hidden beauty lay.: ;
jVn now fall many a blossom's bell
. , With fragrance fills the shade;
And verdure, clothes each graaiy dell,
In brighter tints arrayed.
But 'mark that arch of varied hue . . '
Front heaven to earth la bowedl
: Baste! era It vanish, haste to view
' Tb rainbow In the cloud I
i i ' .. . ' " '. ' '
f Bow bright Its glory) there behold . '
The emerald' verdant rays;
- The topes blends Its ho or gold
With th deep ruby bias. 1
.'. . Yet Dot alone to charm thy sight
Wu given the virion fair;
Gate on that arch of colored light.
And read God's mercy there,
It tell o that the mighty deep,
Fast by the Eternal chatn'd,
' No more o'er earth's domain shall sweep,
' Awful and unrestraln'd.
It tell that seasons heat and cold,
Flz'd by his sovereign will,
Shall, In their coarse, bid man behold
1 Seed time and harvest still.
That still the flower shall deck the field,
When vernal tephyre blow; fl
That U1I th vine its fruit shall yield,
. When autumn sunbeam glow. '
. Then, child of that fair earth, which yet,
. Bmlle with each charm endow'd, ,
Bless thou his name whose mercy set
ThS rainbow In the cloud. :
'" : From the New York American. "
... Hne and Cry after a Lont Damsel.'
f ..Hallool lovely truant maid is mhnlng from ber home, ,
V? We watch for ber from day today, and yet she will not come,
t- f) Tia lit w should through all the earth, our grievioui lots pro.
claim, . . ,s. . . '
b'i publish to remotest lands the truant damsel's name. '
i,fHPool we must describe the garb In which she was arrayed,
When last she bless'd our longing eyes, that young and bloom
ing maid, .
Her robe was of the rod lent glow to which the clouds give
birth, ' ''
When gentle showers have fertilized Ibe freshly verdant earth,
The sunbeams wreathed arounc her brow a diadem so bright,
That nature wore a dewy veil to spare the gazer's sight.
Where'er she pasted, beneath her feet a thousand flowrett
And at her voice reiponslvely the birds their matin tan;
The wood dove cooed her plaintive note, the whispering waters
The balmy air breathed cheerily, the winter winds-were
Halloo! for Nature's favor 'd child how will the bear the shock,
The mining of tills lovel maid, the youngest of the flock,
' The mother's smiles are quenched in tears, all pale and wan
she grieves; '
No teeming blossoms deck ber brow, half hid In sheltering
leaves;' : " '''"''"'.' ,
Her beauteous bands no boon dispense of pet fume breathing
flowers: - -
A pallid snow-drop, here and there. In sickly beauty cowers
Hallool the maid perchance has slept, she cannot leave our
" ' land. '. . : ; '
We pine without the blewcd gift she scatters from ber hand;
No promised plenty clothes the earth the husbandman com
plaint . . '
Ills scattered seeds are Watted by the chilly dews and rains.
Where'er we east our anxious eyes, the earth is brown and
: ; bare; . .
Nor have w felt, through tedious weekt, the balmy, vernaj
' air..' ' " "'. " '
Hallool yet stay, we shall not miss that truant maiden long,
. Bright Bummer comes to fill her place the copies with mirth
' and song; "". ' :" ', 1 ,
' Yet never can our hearts consent Ohl no; we cannot bring
Our constant hearts to yield for aye that blessed creature
. THB ARABIAN STEED.
' BTT. M. ULV. '' '
"Ada wiu the daughter of powerful rajah, who in
tLweign oftheamperor Akbar, dwelt in a superb pat
c on the bank of the Jumma. ' V
Th rajah was proud of his beautiful child, and loved
r, u far a hi stern nature was susceptible of such a
ftssioiv ' But the duties pi hi situation and hi war.,
bit pir'iuils ealtaji him fi-equentl from her; and much
. of the darlceyed Hindoo' time was ipent in dreary ol
' itud amid the gardens of ber father' palace. " ' '
- Beautiful thoe garden wexe, sparkling with giU
M peviliona, the air cooled with lilvaf fountain, and
MderetJ fragrant by th odour of every rare plant.still
. la perpetual lolitude wearied her, the cooiety of , her
famale attendant tailed to interest hor, and a the re.
fined fjeaeath Ibe pendant branch of a date tree, the
fctt mere like a prisoner in eage, than I princes in
lb pWuroarden r her palace..
fib bd ditmitsed her itUndanU, and lay thooglit
Bjny leaning her head upon her hand, when nulling
- amid the branches of an orange tree ittricted her itten.
' tJofi, and (be started to bet feet in an instant with in ex
eUnwtion of alarm and urprie, uika rjittincllf saw
moog the clustering leave and bUsoms, the bright
yes and dark glowing feature of a mm,- ;
- Th tranche hastily parted, and a young Mahomed
. . dan ruubing forward, ltnelt before her.'1;- ;u TV (
"Who art ihou t' !ie ewlainied, "Mercy, wetcy,' X
am defenceless, spar me I"
"iMeroy," replied trie Moor, "'tis ! mint crave mer
cy ef you; I am defenceless, fair lady. 1 am at your
feat, andin your power." - ' r
Whtbroughtyou herel'jahe replied, "Know you
not the danger.!' - i :
"A danger I have braved too often to heed it for an
Inatant itpw"1 . -"Often!
What mean you 'k
' j Daily at this hour, the bourof your solitary rambhr
I entered these gardens, daily have I lurked behind the
shrubs that turround your favorite bower, daily have I
gazed on you unseen, . ';
'For what purpose t' . '
' My purpose I madness deathl' '
"Death' to me who never wronged you, who never
Injured a human being I'
To you,. lady no, ho not to you I would not
harm you for the world.'.
Why what brought you beret
'Accident, or perhaps idle curiosity first brought me
here; and I looked on you for the first time ; need I say
' why daily, alter I had once beheld you, I came again.
'Oh, it you are seen,' cried Ada, "nothing can save
you from my father's rage: you know tho barrier, the
awful impassable barrier that divides your race from
mine madman, begone.!'
The young Moor, whose face and form were such a
might have been chosen by a sculptor who wished to
represent the perfection of eastern beauty, spoke not,
moved not; he continued kneeling before the agitaed
girl, while hi dark brilliant eyes fixed upon h;r coun
tenance seemed eagerly to read it varying expression
that memory might hive a store of tweet thoughts to
live upon, when the reality should no longer tttnd be
fore him. ,
Ada could not bear the earnest gaze of those
fond eyes; where wat her anger, her indignation at the
intrusion ef the stranger. I gone I She called not for
her attendants; no, the trembled lest they-should come.
I await my doom,' at length muttered the intruder.
'I scor n to fly; my dream of secret love is over; my
stolen watching, so dear, though so hopeless, are at
an end; you will call your father' guard, and I (hall
"No.'no, you (hall fiot'die not if Ada can save you
J will not call them, no, I dread their coming.'
'Then you forgive my boldness!'
' 'Yes only begone save yourself.' -1
'Shall we meet again t
- 'Never. - :
'Then I will stay and die; better I o die here, at your;
command, in your presence, than to go hence and linger
out a life of hopeless love, never beholding you again.'
Toot Ada had never ben addressed before in lov'-4
own language. Her hand had been aoug'ht by princes
and nobles, who, secure in her father's sanction, had
addressed her in terms of admiration, but whose looks
and accents were cold and 'spiritless, when compared
,wilh the ardor of the youthful lover who knelt before
her. . v V
. ' 'For mr sake, if not for your own, go,' she cried,
Then, we may meet again?'
'Yeh only leave me now, you know not half your
peril. To.morrow is the annual festival in honor of
Vishnu, I shall be. there, and will contrive to aoeak
to you hark I'
. She pointed to the orange trees, A footstep was
heard at a distance. The moor grasped her hand,pres
sed itto his lips, and was lost among the orange bloss
oms just at the chief officer of the rajah entered the
bower to inform Ada that her father desi-ed her pres
ence. She cast one anxious glance around her,brealh
ed more freely when she found that her lover lay unsuf.
peeled in his fragrant ambush, and followed by hnr at
tendant, returned to the palnce. There was no festi
val in Hindostnn sosplen'lid as tlmt celebrated annually
in honor of Vishnu in the province over which the ra
jah governed. The gardens on h hank, of the Jumm
were splondidly decorated for the orensiori.aiid at nnnn
were filled by crowds ofpersons, sll eager in there v
rious situations either to see or to be saun ; to pay due
reverence to Vishnu, or to be duly reverenced.
Kettle drums' sounded, golden armor glistened, dnw.
ny feather wived in costly turbans; cavaliers bearing
silver batlle-nxea, rode proudly o their milk white
steeds, and princely ladies were borne in glittering pal.
ankeens on the hacks of elephants.
Ada was there, pale and sad: her stolen mysterious
interview with her unknown 'over, was so recent, so
unexpected, so'unlikely to end happily, that the lav on
her rose colour cushions, fanned by her favorite slave,
without taking the trouble to draw aside the amber cur
tain of her litter to look upon the festivities whicb sur
rounded her. ' ' ' ', ' ' '
' Towarda evening th garden were illuminated with
thousand of many colored lamps; she raited herself and
looked around her, but glancing lustily over bright vis
tat and radiant bowers, hereyesrested on I widespread
ing tree beqeath whose overshadowing branches acorn
oaratively dark space remained. She there saw the
form of her unknown lover, he was leaning'against the
tree, with his eyes fixed upon her; she told her ' slave
with assumed levity that she had vowed to gather a
cluster of the blossoms of that tree, alone to gather
them, and desiring hor to await'her return, she hasten,
ed beneath the canopy formed by it oughs, ;
' Selim we indeed there. ' ' -
Speak not,' she earnestly whispered, 'I muit not
Itay tor an instant. I dare not listen to you but mark
my words, and if you love, me obey them. I do not
doubt your love, I do not doubt your constancy, bill I
lhall appear to doubt both when you hear my request.
Speak,' lady, I will obey you,' (aid the Moor. ' '
HSo,' whispered Ada, 'buy the swiftest of Arabian
steeds, ridehim across yon plain three times ' every
day; in the morning, at noon, and in the evening;
and every time you rid him, swim the Jumma on hi
'back."': '.'' ' ""-';
'Is that alt r laid Selim; 'it thall be done.' ' 1
'It i all, replied Ada: to prove your love you will
1 know readily do it, but t prove your constancy, or
rather ensure our safety, It must be done three time
every day for tho spice of one year.!' ; , r A ' 1 ;
Ayeirl "-' '' ;:;. ' ' '"'".'
' 'Ye, indet the expiration ol the year, at this festival
ort this very day, If neither lounge nor constancy have
been wanting, meet me again on thii spot. ' I can wait
for no reply bless you, bleu you.'
NEW PHILADELPHIA; OHIOm THURSDAY EVENING, JUiNE 21, 1641.
Ada, with a few leaves of the tree in her trembling
ba.il, hastened back to her palankeen, and Selim a
gain, alooe, gazed from his shadowy hiding place on
the gav festival, in which his oves beheld one form a
lone. How brief seems the retrospect of one year of
happiness! How sad, how interminable teems the
same space of time in anticipation, when j we know
that at iu close some long, looked for bliss will be ob
tained, ome cherished hope realized! - .
Selim bought a steed, the'whitifst and the wifteil of
the province, and he. (oo loved it dearly,.for it seem
ed to be a living link connecting him wifli' Ada.
He daily three time traversed the vallerj, and thrice
he forded the deep and foaming river; he saw not his
, love, he received no token from her; but if hit eye
did not deceive him, he . occasionally aw ' female
form on the summit of her father's tower, and a snow
white scarf was sometime waved at h speeded rapid
ly through the valley. -. . , '
To Ada the year passed alowly, anxiously; often
did she repent of her injunction to the Moor, when the
ky was dark and stormy, and when the torrents from
the mountains had rendered the Jumma impetuous and
dangerous. Then on her knee on the rajah's tower,
she would watch for her lover, dreading at one mo
ment lest fear ahould make him abandon both her and
the enterprise, and Jhen praying that he might indeed ,
forsake both, rather than encounter the terrors of that
foaming flood I Soon she saw him speeding from the
dark forest; h plunged fearlessly into the riven he buf
feted with iu waves; he gained the opposite shore, a.
gain and again she saw him brave the difficulty, again
he conquered it, and again it wa to be encountered.
At length the annual festival arrived, the garden were
adorned with garlands, and resounded with musio and
gladness; once more, too, Selim stood beneath the
shadow of the wide-spreading tree.
' He saw crowds assemble, but he heeded them not;
he heard the crash of cymbal and the measured beat
of the kettle drum. The rajah passed near him, with
his officer and armed attendants, and these were fol
lowed by a troop of damsels; then came Ada the .rajah'
daughter. Shewaano longer the trembling bashtu'
girl hf had een at the last festival. Proudly and elf
possessed she walked the queen of the procession, her
form.'glittering with a kingdom' wealth of diamond.
Selim' heart sunk within him. '
'dhe is changed, he will think no more of me V he
involuntarily exclaimed. But at that moment her dark
eye glanced towards hi hiding place.
She poketoher attendant,, and the procession pau
sed as she approached the tree alone, and affected to
gather some of it leave.
.'Are you faithful f aid she, in alow tone; 'nay I
'Wrong you by the question; I hjveeen that you are o;
if you have courage, as you have constancy , you are
mine, and I am yourshush -where is your ateedl'.
Selim held its bridle rein.
'Then in your hands I placo my happines,' he ad.
dad; 'these gems shall be our wealth, and your trust,
my trust away! away!'
Selim in an instant bore Ada to the back of hi Ara
bian, anl ere the rajah and his attendants were aware
she had quitted the cavalcade -svift as the wind he
bore her from the gardens.
The pursuit was instantaneous, and uttering curses
and indignant reproaches, the rajah and a hundred' of
his armed followers were soon dote at the heels of the
'Follow! follow!' cried the foremost, 'we gain upon
them, we will tear her from the gratp of the Malium
medan. They approach the river's bank I and turbu
lent as it now is, after the storm ofyesterday.they will
either perish in its waters, or we tl-all seize them on
Still they gained npon them; the space between the
pursuers and the pursued became smaller and smaller,
and l!it) re-capture of Ada seemed certain. When, lo I
to the astonishment of those who followed him, Selim'
well iminod steed plunger! into the foamins '.orient, bat
tled bravely with its waves, bore his burthen safely
through then, and bounding up the opposite bank,'cor
tinued his flight. 1
' The pursuers stood baffled on the river's bank; their
horses having been trained tn no audi leat as that they
hid just witnessed, it would have been madness to have
plunged amid the eddying whirlpools of the swollen
Every tale should have its moral. What then will
be said of mine, which records the triumph of
a disobedient child In a secret, unauthorized
attachment! - A temporary triumph which so rarely
lends to hsppiness For this f art of my story I have
no apology to offer; but from the little history of Selim
and Ada, this small grain of moral inference may be
extracted; Ladies will do well to try the intogrity and
provo the constancy of their lovers ere they merry; and
'overt should endure trials and delays - with forlitu ie,
arid thus prove t'.'ve unchanging truth of their affections.
. Character of Washington. ,
TTaoM4SJirnatoi(. . ,:
, His mind wat great and powerful, without being of
the very first order; his penetration strong, though ot
o acuta as that of Newton, Bacon or Locke; and, as
far as lie a w , no judgment waa ever sounder. It wa
(low in operation, being little aided by invention or
imagination, but sure in conclusion. Hence it was the
common remark ofhis officers, of the advantage Jie de
rived from council of war. where, hearing all suggest
' tions, he selected whatever was best: and certainly no
general ever planned his battle more judiciously. But
if deranged during the course of the action, if any mem.
ber of his plan waa dislocated by sudden circumstances,
he was slow in readjustment. The consequence was,
that he often failed in the field, and rarely, against an
enemy in station, as at Boston and York. He was in
cabable of tear, meeting personal dangers with the calm
est unconcern. Perhaps tho strongest feature in his
character wa prudence, never acting until every cir
cumstance, every consideration, was maturely weighed;
refraining if he saw a doubt, but when once decided,'
going through with hi purpose, whatever obstacle op.
posed. Hi integrity wasmut : pure, hi justice the
moat indexible. I have never known any motive of
interest, or consanguinity, or friendship, or hatred, be
ing able to bias hi decision. ' He was, indeed, in eve
ry sense of the word, a wise, a good and a great man.
His temper was naturally irritable and hiijh toned; but
reflection and resolution had obtained a firm and habit
a! ascendancy over it. - If ever, however, it broke it
bounds, he was tremendunu in hi wrath,' His heart
wa not warm in iu affection, but he exactly caloula
tod every man' value, and gv him olid esteem
proportionate to it, His person you know wa fine,
hi stature exactly what one would wish, hit deport.
;'s-A V- - - I s . -- iv ..'.(
. . V:, ' ' ' -7. .. v : . ' -
ment easv, erect and noble; the best horseman of hi
tge; and the mttt graceful figure that could be teen on
hor-eback. Although, in the circle of hit friends,
where be might he unreserved with safety, he took a
free thace in conversation, his colloquial tslents were
not above mediocrity, possessing neither copiousness of
Ideas, nor fluency of woids
In public, when called upon for a midden opinion,
he was unready, short and embarrassed. Yet he wrote
readily, rather diffusely, in correct style. This be had
acquired by conversation with the world, for his educa.
tion was merely reading, writing, and common arith.
metic, to which he added surveying at a later day. Hi
time was employed in action chiefly, reading little, and
that only in agriculture and English history. His cor-'
respnndence became necessarily extensive, and with
journalizing his agricultural proceedings, occupied
most ofhis leisure hours within doors. 'On the whole,
' his character wat, in its matt, perfect: in nothing bnd,
in few points different; and it may truly be said, that
never did nature and fortune combine more perfeotly io
make great a man, and to nlace him in the tame constel- .
jation with whatever worthies have merited from man
an everlasting remembrance. For his was the singular
. destiny of leading the.armies ofhis country successfully
through the birth of a government now in its forms and
piinniples, until it had settled down in a quiet and or
derly train, and of scrupulously obeying the laws thro
the whole course of its career, civil and military, of
which the world's history furnishes no other example.
The world dishonors its workmen, stones its proph
ets, crucifies its Saviours, but bows it neck before
wealth, however won, and shouts till the welkin rings
again, LONG LIVE VIOLENCE AND FRAUD.
The world has always been partial to itt oppressors
Many men fancy themselves an ornament to the world'
whose presence in it is a disgrace and a burthen to the
ground they stand on. The man who does nothing
-for the race, but sits at his ease, and fare daintily, be
cause wealth has fallen into his hands, is a burthen to
the world. Ho may be a polished gentleman, a scholar
the master of elegant accomplishments, but so long as
he takes no pains to work for a man, with his head or
hands, what claim has he to respect or subsistence t
The rough handed woman, who with a salt fish and a
basket of vegetables provides substantial food for a doz
en working men, and washes their apparel, and makes
them comfortable and happy, is a blessing to the land,
though she have no education, while this fop with his
culture and wealth is a curse. She does her duty so
far as she sees it, and to deserves the thanks cf man.
But every oyster or berry that fop has eaten, has, per
formed iu duty better than he. "It was made to sup
port human nature, and it has done so,' while he is but
a consumer of food and clothing, That publio opinion
tolerates such men is no small marvel.
- - The productive clones of the world are those who
bless it by their work or their thought. He who in
vent a machine, doe no leu service than he who toil
all day with hi hands, Thus the inventor of the
plough, the loom, and the ship, were deservedly placed
among those whose society was honor. But Ihey also,
who teach men moral and religious truth, ' who give
them dominion over the world: instruct them lo think;
to live together in peace, to I ve one mother, and pant
good lives enlightened by wisdom, charmed by Good
nets, and enchanted by Religion; they who build up a
loftier pnpulatioi,, making man more manly, are the
greatest benefactors Of the wW.,They speak to the
deepest wants pf the soul, and give men the water of
life and the true bread of lleavnn. They are loaded
with contumely in their life, and come tn a violent
end. But their influence passes like morning from
laud to land, and village and city grow glad in their
light That is a poor economy, common as it is, which
overlook these men. It is a very vu'gar mind, that
would ruber Paul hud continued a tent-maker, and Je
sus a carpenter,
. Now the remedy for the hard service that is laid upon
the human race consists partly in lessening the number
of unproductivenesses, and increasing the workers and
thinkers, as well ss giving up the work of Otlentaticn
and folly and Sin. It has been asserted on high au
thority, that if all men and women capable of woik
would toil diligently but two hours out oftwenty-luur
the work of the world would be done, and all be as'
comfortably fed and clothed, as well educated and hou
sed, and provided for in general, as they now are,even
admitting they all went to sleep the other tweniy-lwo
hours of the dav and night. If this were dune we
should hear nothing of sedentary and sh-k men. Exer
cise for the sake of health would he heard of no more.
Ont class would n jt be crushed, by hard work, nor
another oppressed by indolence, and condemned in or
der to rosidl the just vengeance nature takes nn them, to
consume nauseous drugs, end resort to artificial and
hateful methods to preserve a life that n not worth
keeping, because i! is useless and ignominious. Now
men muy work at least three or four times this neces
sary ainnunt each day, and yet find their labor a pas
time, a dignity and ablossing, and find likewise abun.
dant time for tindv, fur tixiinl intercourse, and rcren
tinn. Then if a man's culling were to think and writo,
he would not inju.e the world by excetvive devotion to
hit liivurite pursuit, lor the general burthen would still
be slight ()inl for April.
When I was at Florence, I do not cats to
mention how many years ago, 1 was one day
lounging in the gallery, thinking how vastly
different the Medican Venus was from my
bean die a I of female beauty; when, in one of
the less frequented rooms, and in a situation
not eminently compieious, my - eye chanced
to light upon a picture, which at onco rivetied
iu gaze, and on which it I may say feinted
for several weeks afterwrrds. It was a half
lengih, and consisted of a single figure the
portrait of a young lady of 19. She was
dressed in a low gown of puce-colored velvet
without lace or tucker of any kind intervening
between it and Ibe skin of clear, pearl-like
whiteness, against which it appeared in strong
ani remarkable relief. In the centre, howev
er, the bodice, according to the mode of the
period, seemed in some degree to rise, bo as
just to give to view a small portion of very del
icate lace, y.et not in sufficient quantity to fall
over upon the velvet.. Immediately below this
a diamond ornament was placed, which was
matched by two others that formed the loops to
the short sleevess, from beneath which ap
peared arms of a ymmetry and whitflnees it
would be idle to attempt to paint with only des
cription for my pencil. Their - fine rounded
fulness in the upper pari; their delicate gradu
ation to the wrists, and the beautiful hands
which terminated them, were, indeed, 1 among
the most conspicious parts of the picture; in
asmuch as the person represented was in the
act of drawing a golden bodkin, headed with
diamonds, from her hair, which wat falling ia
profusion over her shoulders. ; In . ber - right
band she held (be bodkin, whilst her left waa
employed in throwing back from her face the
hair which in falling bad crowded to cover it
The colour Of the hairSj general complexion,
of tho faoe, wero by no moansItalianjthough
VOL. 2 NO 23. WHOLE NO- ?f.
fiora the namw of the person painted and th
painter; I concluded that the former rtwt hava ,
been so. The catalougue gave H Ritrailod'
Agatha Lanzi; and added, In oame of lb
painter, lhat of one of the immediate success '
sore of Titian. . ', " ;
I was so stiuck with this enchanting picture
that 1 believe upward of an hour efe peed, be
fore I moved from before it, Day afier .day
I used to repair to the gallery, and pais ing by
every thing else without faulting, wis' accus
tomed to eeat myself directly opposite . to. it
sometimes for hours. ' .' V.'.'
The traveller Hods his admiration
warmly sympathized in by a young painter,
who visits tho gallery apparently with ibe pur .
pose of copying the face, but who . keeps . his
picture carefully concealed. , The picture was
.the subject of frequent conversations between
the two, andwben the artist hod completed
his work, he sent the traveller an invitation to ,f
come and see it, ;
I availed myself of hi? invitation, and found .' -him
lo be a man of considerable information
and accomplishment, a it respected mailers
entirely unconnected with his art. Ho pos
sessed, in reality a large portion of that enthu
siasm and poeliy of feeling lo which so many
of his brethern effect to lay claim. He bad
(some literary cult ivition,and strong literary
taste. After we had breakfasted, he took me
into his painting room. The picture, which
was the object of my intense curiosity, was .
leaning on the easel. It represented the inte
rior of a bed-chamber, richly furnished - after
the fasbioq of the lixleenth century,. The lamp
burned upon a side-table, and sired c strong
light upon the bed. Upon it lay a mm yonng
end well-looking, asleep. -Agtiha Lanzi wa
near it also; she knelt upon it with one knee;
her arm was upraised with the long gold du -mond-headed
bodkin, which 1 easily recogni
zed in her hand, as if about to pierce the alee-'
per to the heart. The artist had taken great
pains with the female figure, and had succeed,
ed far beyond my expectations. Agatha wse
represented in a loose night-dress of plain
while; her beaunful bair streamed down her j
back, confined only with a riband between the
shoulders. Her foot, as she knelt upon the
bed, was naked; the slipper which had cover
ed it having fallen to the ground. The posi-,
tion of the uplilted arm hadc.usedtbe sleeve
of lbs night-dress to fall upwards, and dis
played the exquisite arm considerably above
the elbow From tho other shoulder the dre ,
had also slipped. In (his - and the beautiful
bosom, with its pale blue veins branching so- v.
rose the white and delicate skin, the artist had ,
breo paniculary successful. The lips - were
compressed, as if wiih a strong menial effirt
of resolution; and also as if lo bold Ibe breath
lest it should fall upon the ear of the slesnsr
and awaken him. Her dark blue eye was fir
ed with a melancholy expression of caution,
Bternnesp, and even ferocity, upon the object
about to become her victim. How different
from the fi ejoyous smile of girlish conscious,
ness of beauty so remarkable in the other pic
lure; and yet no great lapse of lime could bo
suppossed to have intervened. The figure
before me was in the fulness of beauty prob-.
ably about tweniy-lhree years of age ecr-.
tainly not morel So soon initialed into all the .
sorrow, and storm and temleatious psssions
of numan life, into the deepest and blackest
crime! - . f .
I turned to my friend, the painter, for hie
explanation. . . , - "
.i . . , j i . 1
i can give you iiieuesi, hbiu oa. Agl
tha's own account of her own conduct at tho.'
crisis which I have attempted to represent
The subject of the picture is indeed, taken
from her confession, which has been printed
in a collection of similar pieces. Ii chanced
not long ago to fall under my observation, and
as I recogoized the name, it gave me the first
idea of this picture. , I have modernized ths
Italian for you for, both io spelling and phra
seology, the original wou'd, in all probabilitr '
have proved not very intelligible to a foreig
ner.' Having thus spoken, the painter banded
me a manuscript, of whicb the following is a
translation, , ' , '
. 1 Convent of 153&
' 'My friends have often wondered wby,wben
after many crosses ane disappointments, I ;
was at length united to the chosen lover of mjr.
youth'and heart, we should, at the end of one
short year, have seperated he to go to . tho
wars, and I to bury myself in, this convent: I
therefore write this, that, after my death, they
may know the real truth concerning these my
sterious passage, and that those who may be
tempted, like me, may berth take warning
from my fate. . 1 , . ' . '
Above all things," it has been bitter! to my
soul, that, whilst 1 bote the guilt of the black
est crimes upon my conscience, I should have
received the praises ofthe world, is a dutiful
daughter, and a virtuous and devoted wife, 1
has been the horror ofthe shame that muni
have attended the' acknowledgment of how
vile and guilty a thing waa thus cherished and;
caressed, that has hitherto restrained the con
fession which, has so often trembled) on . toy,
lips, and struggled for life and', utterance, i' ;
I il well known to all who ara ftcquaiatodt. -with
me, that in my early youth 1 received
thevows of LaurentioGonsalvi; ani that rny
heart acknowledged , the. -influence of '
his passion; that our lovo was ' permits
ed until the accursed blight of avtrice fell up.1 ,
on my parents' hearlsand led them U wrbDcJi .
asunder those ties which to human 'pav.ct
eoald otherwise have unloosed; ani i;ta;tivet
y with fetter upon me a chain which' 'p'Al'-i
but fettera could have bold. - Thia i j t, t si
1y palliation I have to ofiot for the awfal en
nave perpetrated; erd in tim C:rt. l
. Which it lightens lU load tf pl'.i frcra , p i,
I- f :, -.
', . '' . ;'
it.' ! U
' " 1