The ladies' garland. [volume], April 22, 1826, Page 44, Image 4

About The ladies' garland. [volume] (Harpers-Ferry, Va. [W. Va.]) 1824-1828

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rV'T I) ■ r'-lfii-M.1 If I ■ .j u i»i, • , T J •
and adorn , ami s<> [on;; :t> ’!. ) •• of
niaiii*Ms iriHti- i r :i»• n*i of u.-.m. -’...i:
Tt/ilv },(><-, ]. i a 1 ■ ■) in :< *mbranc« above
tin* otIt<>i* i»a*ions * r » • earth. she a- -rands
i k«* Viob<- »ri t- r-, Mit, ueautiful in h<-r Ti --i.ni
oli-jiy, sin- w .!! ( «. .nun to a:i object ot rev . re.li
kial worship » to! in of Id .la'rv. hv all to win)
li i\ “ sc / ?: !i*t !i:i' -• i»* Matues, aii'i to v. hum llv'r
paintings a:. 1 In;- p ■ -y arc known.
I III S 1 r.!» \i() [ J t r. 1 { — v < .n \ y k i 4 if:.
It* tin* » ol Sucn^-Vitn^, the guards of a cas
tle found a than !y mg in the i; Id w ho appeared hilt
recently to haw- » :i murdered. At a little dis
tance th -y found two -rod.- rs whom they took in
ti) custody, as the pr.»! nl: muidc rers. As, how
ever, the decree *• 1 had hut one wound, which eon
serjuentiv gave < aloe to sutuns-- hut out: perpetra*
tor, the ijuestioii arose, which of the two had done
the deed ' Neither <1 the i>rothers would accuse
the other, each of 'diem declaring that lie, and not
his broth' r, w as tie esassin. The case was brought
before the king.
I o grant Me to both," said the king, “ would
%»e to sh «\v merry tonne murderer; to have both
■vccute I, where only one can he guilty, would be
•' •iiel and again t the law. W ell, then 1 let the mo
de rof dio.se men he railed, and let her opinion de
■ de tin. ir fate ; for she vvill know her children best.”
^o s.ud, so done. The mother was informed of
’he king’s command. “ If,” said the poor woman,
'misting into a flood of tears, “if I am then com
pelled to choose—let the eldest live !”
The king expressed his great* surprise that the
mother should not have chosen the youngest, for
the younger children are generally cherished the
most by mothers. “Yes” said she, “lie whose
life I now save, is not the offspring of my own bo
dy, but a son of my late husband by his first mar
riage . I have solemnly promised his father alway s
to treat him as my own child, and until now I have
always kept my word. I should now break that
promise, were I, from maternal tenderness, to sa\ c
the life ofm\ youngest son, to the detriment of the
other. 1 feel what this sacrifice costs rny lu-art”
Cries and so’is here choked her utterance.—The
king pardoned them both.
utixtiov.
The same sweet sensations that glow through the
closer ties of society, which pant in the bosom of
the husband and the lather, pervade-, likewise, the
whole mass of beings ; and though weaker in pro
portion to the distance of propinquity, yet be can
not be called wretched, who is drives, or communi
cates the smallest portion of their influence, from
the impassioned feeling*, of the mother, to him who
stands joyless on the verge of apathv, the tide of af
fection Hows in a long and devious course. Clear,
full, and vehement, it descends into the vale of life,
where, after a shmt time, becoming tranquil and
serene, it separates into many branches ; and these,
again dividing, wander in a thousand streams, dis
pensing, as they move along, the sweets of health
and happiness.
Superiority in virtue is the most unpardonable
provocation that can he given to a base mind. In
nocence is too amiable to he h . held without hatred;
and it is a secret acknowledgment of merit which
the wicked are betrayed into, when they pursue
good men with violence. This behavior visibly
proceeds from a consciousness in them, that other
people’s virtue upbraids their own want of it.
Poll IT.NT.SS.
p',1 ♦•■ncs-.is common to iKTcate souN of nil
n.i" and it is not peculiar to anv one poo pit*.— :
I \‘ i‘* *l I'olliU U hut the thrill cstabhshrd in the* i
uiih-rcp: r:-iintri# -s tm* c\pr< ssir.g that polr-ness of
s iul. l»i* intfunal poll!ciiohS is\e;\ d fK-rcnt
trom tlini supfi tubal civility It is evni'css <.f h>u1,
wI.k h <• \<d’ 11!i■ s at the mime tune both insensibiliH
*in 1 tuo much <‘u: nest ness ; it suppnsi s ;i quick
*if‘Ss in discerning whnt may suit the different cha- j
racteisof men ; it is i sweet condescension, hr ,
ule. h \iv .'iiiajit Miifs- Ives to each man’s taste, not i
tn Matter his passion, but to avoid provoking him. In
a word, it is a forgetting of ourselves, in order to seek '
udt.it n;a\ !»e- agreeable to others ; but in so ch !.- ,
cate a manner, as to let them scarcely perceive that
i we are so employed, it knows bow to contradict
uitli respect, and to please without adulation, and 1
i-. equally remote from an insipid complaisance and 1
, a low familiarity.
“ KIJKVITY I 111'. SOt'h OK WIT.”
I lie celebrated l)r. Abernethv Isa man of un
. common brevity ot expression. V lady who was
: ac(]uaintcd with this peculiarity of tit® doctor, once
j called upon him with one of her arms hadlv hnrnt, 1
liir advice, when the following dialogue took place: I
Mrs. II.--( Deposing her arm) “a horn.”
Doctor.—“I see it is, poultice it.” f 11>• re Ice ;
wrote a prescription for a poultice, and handed ;
I her.]
Second visit. Mrs. IV — [(exposing her arm as
| before,] “ better.”
Doctor.—“(dad of it, continue die poultice.”
| Third visit. Mrs. II.—[Showing her arm] “ well.”
Dnctar.— “ Very glad.”
Mrs. IV—“ What’s the fee
Doctor. — “Nothing—you are the most sensible j
woman 1 have ever seen.
POETRY.
1)1.WIS IIAMI’SOX—riik last ii.um ok k.uin.'
The fame <>! the brave shall no longer be sonnilecl,
The last of our Ivards now sleeps cold in bis grave ;
Maggilhgan’s rocks, where his lavs have resounded,
Trown dark at the ocean, and spurn at the w;ive.
For, Hampson, no more shall thy soul-touching fin
ger
Steal sweet o’er the strings, and w iId mclodv pour:
1 V> more near thy hut shall the villagers linger,
\\ h.ie strains from thy liaip warble soft round the
shore.
No more thy harp swells with enraptured emotion,
I by wild gleams of fanes forever are fled ;
No longer thy minstrelsy ( barms the rude oeean,
That rolls near the green turf which pillows thy
head.
Yet vigor and youth with bright visions had fired
thee.
And rose-buds of health have blown deep on thv
check ;
Ibe songs of the sweet Hards of Krin inspired the eg
And urged thee to wander hke laurels to seek.
Yes, (.It iiast thou sung of our kings crown’d with
glory,
Or, sighing, repeated the lover’s fond lav
And oft hast thou sung of the Hards famed in story,
Whose wild notes of rapture have long passed
away.
Thy grave shall be screened from the blast and the
billow.
Around it a fence shall posterity raise ;
Frio’s children shall wet with tears thy rold pillow;
Her youth shall lament thee, and carol thy lay .
’ J.ady Morgan, in the “ Wild Irish Girl,” gave
an interesting account of this “ Son of Song he
c}icd i>i 1S08, at the advanced age of 1T>.
i uom the (iiwKmii'T M11!Kciri
III. V I II or AN IN 1 AN r.
I truth found strange beauty in that clirrnl) brow
And dash’d it rut. i !;rrr was a t it it of rose
On ebeek and lip :—lie toueb’d the veins with ice,
\nd the n- ■ laded, forth from these blue eves
1 0. re iu aiii'd a uislifid tenderness, :i doubt
\\ In liter to grieve or sleep, which innorence
\li.ne may w, ar. With ruthless haste lie bound
1 he silken fringes of these curtaining lids
1 orever.—There had been a murmuring sound
\\ i’Ii which the babe would claim i*s mother’s ear •
Charming her even to tears. The spoiler si t
! I is seal of silence. Hut there beam'd a smile
<o liv'd and holy from that marble brow,
lK atli gaz’d and h It it there ; he dared not ste'd
The signet-ring of Heaven.
“ fit), MARK Ill.lt CHI'.I K
I:V LtNTUIS.
<;», mark her cheek '—the ro-v hue
Of heaiitj once w as there ;
Anil o’er its bloom no shade had past
(If w oe—no trace of care!
The rose that blossom’d there is dead :
Aye, faded on the stem—
Its sjii'ivi lied leaves were bright enough
'Till falsehood wither’d them.
Ho, mark her eye !—once wanton’d tie. re
Bland passion’s spirit-beam—
And hope shot forth in eccrv glam •.
Its sunravs o’er life’s dream .—
The orbs that once shone g'lorioush
Are fading from their spheres—
And grief hath dimm’d their passion-ligiit
\\ illi wrong’d love’s wretched tears '
<■". mark her firm !—fram'd in the mould
And fashion of those ones,
That float op cherub wings among
fair waters and bright suns .—
Now grace is fled, and nought is left
Hot shadow-like, and wan,
Cold relics, of a warm heart, crushed
By the faithlessness of nuui '
HOl’E AM) MEMDI5V.
Hope, adieu !
Faithless charmer, fly mv view •
I tor substance quitting semblance,
•Shadowy hope tor Mire remembrance.
Siren, then no longer woo :
I lope, adieu !
Memory, hail '
'Tis with thee 1 tain would dwell
Dupe of Mope no more I languish,
Smiling hope but lures to anguish
Thy firm pleasures never fail :
Memory, hail '
MEMORY AND HOl’E.
Memory, hence !
f orm’d for bliss and innocence
Me thou tell’st of wasted leisure,
Faithless friends, and faded pleasure,
Wound’st with former pain mv sense
Memory hence !
Hope, he near !
With thy lights my prospect cheer :
Half disclose the scene at distance,
Show me joys, and shade resistance ■
Nurse of airy pleasures dear,
Hope, he near :
A MOTHEIt’S KISS.
Throughout the reign of childhood’s year.
Its tender woes, its transient tears,
Which mar its smiling bliss ;
O, what is that so sweetly found
A soothing halm for every wound '
It is—a Mother’s Kiss.