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J)cscrij/tion of a young Creole Litth/.
W c may see a very firm young woman awkwardly dangling her arms with the air of aiie^ru servant, lolling almost the whole lay iiji m beds or settees, her head muffled ip with two or three handkerchiefs, her ■Irens Ioo-e, and without stays. At noon •vo find hei gobbling pepper pot. seated on 'he floor with her sable handmaids around her. in the afternoon she takes her siesto as usual, while two of these damsels refresh her face with the gentle breathing of the fan. and a third provokes thedrovvsy powers of Morpheus by delicious scratching* on the Dole of either foot. When she arouses from slumber her speech is whining, languid, am; childish. \\ hen arrived at ntaturer age, the consciousness of her ignorance makes her abscond from the sight or con versaijpn.o! every rational creature. Her ■ deas are narrowed to the ordinary subjects (.hat pass before her, the business of the plantation, the tittle-tattle of the parish— ••he tricks,1‘superstitions, diversions,and pro fligate discourses of black servants, equally .liberate and unpolished. Intercourse of the Sues.—What makes those men who associate habitually with women, superior to others? What’makes that woman, who is accustomed to, and at ease in company of men, superior to her sex in genera, r \\ iiy are w omen of France so universally admired and loved, for their Colloquial powers? Solely because they are in the habit of free, graceful an<j con tinual conversation with the other sex.— Women in this way lose their frivolity ; their faculties awaken ; their delicacies and peculiarities unfold their beauty and capti •a'ion in the spirit of intellectual rivalry. And the men lose their pedantic, rude, declamatory, or sullen manner. The oin of the understanding and the heart is interchanged continually. Their asperities are rubbed oft', their better materials po lished and brightened, and their richness, like fine gold, is wrought into finer work manship by the fingers of w omen than it ever could by those of men. The iron and steel of character are hidden, like the har ness and armour of a giant, in studs and knobs of gold and precious stones, when not wanted in actual warfare. Anecdote.—A young lady having pur chased an assortment of music at a ware '-.o'i v' H' Philadelphia, on returning to her carriage recollected a piece which sne had neglected to buy. “Sir.” (said she, on ce ntering the shop,) “there is one tiling «vhich 1 have forgot, and which I mast now ret|uest you to gi\e me.” “What is it?” • asked the young music seller.) "It is sit,” (replied she, hesitating and looking over the titles of music siie held in her hand,) “it is One kind ki«s before ire pari.” The jgay youth instantly vaulted over the coun ter. and saluted the fair stranger. It is "ear, ely necessary to inform the reader, • who will recollect the song, commencing * k:?.! hiss bsfore T'3T*t **) that it was an air of a loss touching nature, which the lady expected to receive. _POETRY. THR UNKNOWN Cll.WK. \\ ho sleeps below ■' who sleeps below / It is a question idle all ! Ask of the breezes as they blow, buy, do they heed, or hear thy call They murmur in the trees around, And mock thy voice, an empty sound ! A hundred summers’ runs have showered Their fostering w armth, and radiance bright , A hundred winter storms have lower’d With piercing floods, and hues of night, Since first this remnant of his race Did tenant his lone dwelling-place. Say did lie come from east, from west > from southern climes, or where the pole Wi ll frosty sceptre, doth arrest The howling billows as they roli } Within what realm of peace or strife, Did he first draw the breath of life } Was lie of high or low degree ! Did grandeur smile upon his lot ’ Or, born to dark obscurity, Dwelt he within some lonely cot, And from his youth to labour wed, from toil strung limbs wrung daily bread } Say, did he, ripe and full of years, Hawed down and bent by hoary el J, When sound w as silent to Ins ears And the dim eye-ball sight withheld . Like the ripe apple falling down, Unshaken, mid the orchard brown ; When all the friends that blessed his prime, Were vanish’d like a morning dream ; Pluck’d one bv one bv spareless time, And scatter’d in oblivion’s stream , Parsing away all silently, Like snow flakes melting in the sea Or, mid the summer of his years, When round him throng’d his children young, When bright eyes gush’d w ith burning tears, And anguish dwelt on every tongue, Was he cut off and left behind A w idowed wife, scarce half resign’d 1 Or, mid the suns!.;re of his spring Came the sw.fi bolt that dash'd him down, When she, his cl.osen, blossoming In beauty deerr *d him all her own, And forward look’d to happier vears Than ever blessed their vale of tears ! Ferhaps he perished for the faith,— One of that persecuted i>3nd, Who suffer’d tortures, bonds and death, To fret from nv. ntal thrall the land, And toiling- for the martyr’s fame, Espous’d bis fate, nor found a name ! Say, was he one to science blind, A groper in earth’s dungeon dark > Or • ::e. whose bold aspiring mind laid in the fair creation mark The Maker’s hand, anti kept his soul Free from this grovelling w orld's control 1 Hush, wild surmise !—’tis vain—’tis vain— The summer flowers in beauty blow. And sighs the wind and floods the rain, O’er some old bones that rot below ; No other record can we trace Of fame, or fortune, rank ur race. Then w hat is life, when thus we see No trace remains of life’s career *— Mortal ! who’er thou art, for thee A moral lesson gloweth here ; Put’s! thou in aught of earth thy trust * I ’T ■: fcem’d that dust shall mix with dust What doth it matter then, if thus, Without a stone, without a name, To impotently herald us, We float not on the breath of fame. Hut, like the dew-drop from the flower, Pass, after glittering for an hour f Since soul decays not; freed from earth And earthly coils, it burst away ; Receiving a celestial birth, And spurning off its bonds of clav, It soars, and seeks another sphere, And blooms through heaven’s eternal •. ear ’ Do good ; shun evil; live not thou, As it at death thy being died ; Nor error’s syren voice allow To draw thy steps from truth aside. I.ook to thy journey’s end— tho grate And trust in Him whose arm can save. Opening of Mr. Dima s Poem, the “ Buccaneer The island lies nine league* aw ay, Along its solitary shore, Of craggy rock and sandy bay, No sound but ocean’s roar, Save where the bold, w ild sea-bird makes her home Her shrill cry coming through the sparkling fo&rr But when the light winds lie at rest, And on the glassy heaving sea, 1 he black duck, with her glossy breast, Hits sw imming silently; How beautiful! no ripples break the reach. And silvery waves go noiseless up the beach An island rests the green w arm dell; The brook comes tinkling dow n its side, From out the trees the Sabbath bell Rings cheerful, far and wide, Mingling its sound with bleating* of the flocks, I hat leeu above the vale amongst the rocks. Nor holy bell, nor pastoral bleat In former days within the vale; Flapped in the bay the pirate’s sheet ; Curses were on the gale. Rich goods lay on the sand, and murder’d men, Pirate and wrecker kept their revels then. But calm, low voices, words of grace, Now slowly tail upon the ear; A quiet look is in each face, Subdued and holv fear; F.ach motion’s gentle: ail is kindly done— Come, listen how from crime this isle was wor. Tlie following translation from Camcrns, by Lor Strangford, is exquisite. Oh weep not thus—we both shall know Kre long a happier doom ; There is a place of rest below, Where thou and I shall surely go, And sweetly sleep, released from wo— W ithin the Tomb. My cradle was the church of care, And sorrow rock’d me in it ; Fate seem’d her saudest robe to wear, On the first day that saw me there, And darkly shadow'd with despair My earliest Minute E’en then the Grefs I now possess, As natal hones were giv’n ; And the fair form of Happiness, Which hover’d found, intent to bless, Scar’d by the Phantoms of Distress, Flew back to Heav’n 1 For I was made in Joy’s despite, And meant for Misery’s Slave ; And all my hours of brief delight f led, like the spee A \\ tidsi t s ight, \V iiich soon shall win el their sudden High-, Across my Grave 1