1 Şubat 1839 Tarihli Burlington Free Press Gazetesi Sayfa 1

1 Şubat 1839 tarihli Burlington Free Press Gazetesi Sayfa 1
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NOT THE GLORY O P C JE S A R BUT THE WELFARE OF R O M F. BY II. B. STACY FKIDAY, FEBRUARY 1, 1839. VOL. XII No. 606 TO THE MOON. Wrillcn during llie Annular Eclipse of llio 16th September, 1838. Oil llion Rreal mistress of llie liilcs, Patron of thieves nml homicides Absent by night, the friend of had men, Present by night din fiiend il'in:id men, Who talk lo ihee of love and glory, From out llieir grated dnrmitoiy 5 'ilion smiling queen of silent night, Array'd in robes of silver while, I linie 11 message for thine ear, Which not a mortal soul may hear Then lift awhile, and heir me mention A few tiling well wordi lliino attention. Thou rrgulatest, liy thy million, rieidea the ri'lnj; of ihe ocean, The time to pull up noxious weeds. Plant pumpkin mid muskmelon seeds, Set hop-poles and cut limlit-r trees. Stick cranberry hems anil Irtish your peas, And gather heilis of healing virtue, Which, healing nut, may e" nol hurt you ; For all such things aie safetl ilone Old ladies say, by time of mion. Some pay tha'l thou nrl made of cheese For folks say tinv thing thej please ; If so I'd like to have n slice To bail the traps lo c.itch llie mice. Philosopher?, wilh much ?uaiiy Say ihou hasi some specific gravity. Ilui I am rcriain dearest moon Thou'rl light as any air balloon Thou know'st aa well as I, of yore, lolks Thought il waii wrong lo stand before folks I And ilogg'd 1 heir cliildrrn, lo remind ilicui I When men were by, to stand behind them ; Then while describing jour ellipses, ' I pray you 10 avoid eclipses ; Or if il needs must be that one pass, Turn lo ihe right and lei the sun pass. R. V , Jr. 1 From the Boston Cultivator. 1 ORCHARDS. I Wo would not say mod) on Orchards at ilhis time of year wcro wo not constantly reminded, winter and summer, ns we pass along the road, of the amount of labor that has been thrown wholly away by inefficient attempts to plant an apple orchard. VVc have come to tho conclusion from the orchard we have observed in our various travels that the owners of ninety-nine in a hundred had generally thrown away their labors and that the orchards they attempted to plant were only a nuisance to their grounds. These lands were generally quite rich enough for trees of this kind. This was not the evil. The trees were not well elected at the first they were not care fully taken up they were not properly set tin the ground they were not tilled after setting, and the cattle in most cases were (called in to trim the irees. It was an old maxim that ho who plants an orchard plants it for the next generation. We should sav for his cattle to rub against, or for his horr8 that were fond of the bark of the trees. Now he that plants an orchard need not make up his mind that ho is necessarily at work forothcr8, and we hope if wo can but make him believe he is at work for himself and is not an hireling or disinterested he will proceed in his labor with faithfulness and skill. We will warrant him, if ho will exercise any common degree of judgment, a good rrnn of annlca within five years of his transplanting, and if he plants an acre, he shall have winter and fall fruit enough for a dozen in a family. Now to the work. I J is land should have been tilled tho year before setting Mb trees, and made as rich as usual for Indian corn. It should be ploughed in llie spring, before setting the treep, and well harrowed. This ploughing need not be deeper than for corn. It is a great error to set trees deep in the earth, some do it to procure moisture for the tree somo to mnko room lo thrust in & quantity of manure and somo so that the tree may have a firm support and not be jacked by the winds. Now wo say to you, brethren, imitate nono of theso modes j a Irco, ect deep, is act in the poorest earth. Place your treeB eo that the roots may havo the richest. Never put manure of any description about the roots if you would have your trees live. Place nothing but good garden mould next tho roots. Give them sufficient room. Make tho hole for them broad but not deep, When you have covered tho roots with good garden mould and spread out (he fibres so as not to crowd a peck of them into one heap roots aro not fond of close intimacy. Liko bachelors they always prefer a eoparate bod ; and liko old maids they should always havo 0110. When you havo covered theso roots with good soil, takofrom your cow-yard any coarse litter that will retain moisturo, and place it round tho tree, treading it down closo eo that il shall form a support to the trco. This lit tor should lie several inches thick after it has been trod down. Il yuu huvu iiuuo til this litter, coarso manure may be used old stnek hay or straw will answer the purpose. This litter must lie hero through the season and bo kept trod down closo. Now you need no stake to gall the trees, your litter is a sufficient prop. You need put no water about tho roots, for your litter or coarse hay impedes evaporation to such 0 degree that tho earth under it will continue moist through the wholo summer. If tho tree is racked a litlloby the winds so much the better, it is thus taught early to rely on itself for support. A staked tree is like a spoiled child. Spoiled wilh too much nursing. Tho litter about tho trco will prevent the racking by the winds, and tho opening of the ground to let the air to the roots and will save you the trouble of any hoeing or tilling for the first year. No weeds will grow under 1 1i is litter no grass the two great obstacles to tho extension of the roots. Your soil will thus be kept mellow, and poroup, and moist. In autumn before any snow falls, you must remove all tho litter, that has not be come rotten, to a distance from tho trees. You will thus give somo offence to mice that arc always fund of making their bed, like politicians, close to some towering object that may afford them future support. If your cat have done their duty and killed off their frcshmeat stock in dun time you have nothing further lo do the first season. But if your cats have been negligent and jot their rations out of your commissariat rather than glean them abroad in honorable services in the field, you must go out as soon as tho first snow has fallen and tread it down close about the roots of your trees. Your field mice must now seek some other habitation, in case they had commenced building as squatters on your soil, and you need be at no further trouble through the winter, for they, liko the Clierokees, are not for voluntary emigration in ihn midst of snows. Now your trees ore well set. They have not only put out the leaf, but their limbs have extended if you saw to the work yourself from half a foot to a font each way. They will need but very little trimming the second season if you trimmed them a little on setting them. They must have top. Their leaves arc their lungs, and a good proportion of leaves arc indicative of good health as good lungs aro in animals. What will you do with your trees the second summer? Will you Euffijr the grass and weeds to draw away all moisture from the neighborhood of tho roots and occupy the space intended for them? Wo trust not. Keep your land in tillage three or four years at the least. You may raise exhausting crops if you will apply manure. You may raise beans or drilled turnips without manuring this sea son you may sow turnips broad cast as late as the first of July without injury to the trees. In fine you may plant almost any thing among your trees and they will grow quite as fast as they should grow, provided always you keep up good tillage. On tho first of October in the fourth year we will call on you in case you took your trees from our nursery and help you pick half a dozen barrels of winter apples from an acre of trees. If this happens not to be a bearing year wo shall wait one year longer and then give you n friendly call and seo that you have appointed some lion legged animal to trim in preference to such as sometimes, for want of proper in. struments, cut a little too close and do not leave the body quite so smooth as it might be left with a knife. More may bo said, next week, on this subject if you will draw your chair up closo so that this everlasting clatter on tho pave ments shall not interrupt our converse. Will you call at our offico again ? From Blackwood's Edinbuigh Magazine, THE ONTx RING, It was on the afternoon of a summer day that Arthur Edmonstone. n young barristnr, left his chamber in the Temple, and walk ed to the northeastern part of London, where exists a whole roc ion of human life, never heard of in fashionablo society. He reached, at last, an obscure and equnlid street, whore tho doors of most ol Ihe houses stood half open for the convenience of the several lodgers. Through ono of theso entrances ho passed, and mounted three UiGtils ol stairs till ho reached a small closod door, at which ho lapped. A low voice said, "Coma in," and ho entered tho room. It was small and dim, and was nearly filled by a pallet. bed, on which lay woman, falie was covered with a loose and tattered wrapper, through which her wasieu tiguro was plainly to bo traced Her smail and pleasing features wore flushed with a deep red. Sho raisod her bluo eyes as Arthur entered, and said sho was sorry to havo givon him tho trouble of coming to seo her ; but sho added that bIio , was too unwell to go to him, 'I am very glad to coiiio lo you. But toll mo who you are, and what you want ol me ?' I am a faimor's daughter. Your old schoolfellow, Henry Richards, became ac. quaintcd with me in tho country, nnd at last ho persuaded me to go owav with In in and be privately married, for his friend would give him no encouragement in such a matter, any moro than mine would help mo. Ah! sir, that disobedience of mine was thorootof all our misery! Wccaiiin to London, and ho tried to support himsell by writing things to be printed ; and so we managed pretty well for some limo. But, at Inst, tou much confinement and over work made him ill. and I hog pardon, sir, fur crying be died just before my babe was born, tic told me, at tho last, that he did nut know any ono who would help mo, unless it. wero my own friends, or an old schoolfellow of Ins; and then he wrote vour noma and direction. It was thicc months ago, and I havo gone on as well as I could, ever since. But it is a hard thing lo live, sir, in this world, without friends. And I was ill myself, and three days ago my baby died, and I could not get it buried without help. There's the coffin that I bought with tho money you sent me.' Arthur looked, and saw tho little coffin in a dun corner opposite where the woman lay. She went on, 'I asked a neighbour to writo to you, for I was still ashamed to send to my friends, and besides, ihcy are too far off. God bless you, sir, God bless you for coming to sec me. ' 'Had I not belter sec about tho funeral ' 'Oh ! would you, sir ? I have no money, and if I had, 1 am too weak to go about it mysoll. In half an hour Arthur returned wilh the necessary help, and then followed the little corpse to its last resting place. He after wards went back to tho mother, talked to her for a considerable time about her bus band nnd child, provided her with money, and advised her, so soon as she should be able, lo writo to her family and ask for their forgiveness. He found her perfectly disposed to do so from a Iceling of Christian duty, though her own life, 6he believed, would last onlv a lew days. Uul the Ui b!e, she said, had become more and more her comfort, and sho now wished for noth w but lo do her duty, according to tin: principles of the Gospel. Arthur lelt nor. intending to seo her ooain, afiu returned 10 his chamber. An other dreary picture, he thought, from the great (uncrtM gallery ol lilc. I'or years I have lost sirIll 01 Kicnarus, nno on now melancholy a tombstone do I now read his epitaph! On all hantb tho world shows nothing but disappointment ono wretched ness: and it is from the very extremity of misery now that wo endeavour to extort some hope for the future, fancying that the worst must change to tho better, and draw nifT a cviation rom the enormity 01 our distress, as a man warms himself for n nio mont by kindling for luel the wreck of his house which has becon swept away. chai'tur 11. That evening a great 6nuaro in the wes torn part of London rattled with carriages Many well-known names wont sounding 011 up the staircase ot one of its largest houses. The spacious rooms were full of people, glittering under the clear light, and there was a lively uproar of music, dancing and conversation. 1 here wcro, of course many beautiful and admired women prcs ent, who appeared, for tho most part, ani mated and gratified; but one, to some eyes the fairest ot (hem all, sat retired, and evi dently wishing to avoid observation. The simplicity of her dress and the quiet llm't fulness of her countenance wore in perfect accordance with the position she had cho sen. The serene and expressive character of her beauty was heightened by the mode in which her shining black hair was knot ted at tho back of the head, and accorded beautifully with the perfect and full regu larity of her figure and tho gracefulness of her neck and shoulders. Jim there was look of subdued reflective earnestness and feeling in the face, such as of old would hardly have been assignod to any nymph or goddess. Two or three people were close to her and engaged in conversation with her, and among them stood Sir Charle Harcourt, a raihcr ynungand very wealthy baronet, wilh high pretensions to taste and refinement. They were joined in a few minutes by a young man, pale, and with dark hair and eves, and a look of supprcs sed excitement, who hoved, blushed, and nsked her to dance with him. She, too blushed, though much moro slightly, and assented ; and in (ho course of the next quarter of an hour tho following dialogue passed between lliem, though often inter ruptcd by the changes of the dance, or the nearness of those who wcro not meant to hear whnt passed: Miss Lasccllos, for you will not let me call you Marin, you seemed much interest eft in air Charles Harcourt s conversation perhaps you regret that I withdrew yoo from it ?' 'No indied ; ho never interests me much Ho was talking about pictures, and he h collected u great deal of information on tho subject ; but I do nnt generally approve of his taste, or at least, it differs very often from mine. Ono cannot help rather liking him, for ho is very good-natured and well bred.' 'Why do you not add very rich and fashionable r 'Because riches and fashion have but slight charms for me, as I fancied, Mr l'Jdmnnstono, that you must Know.' 'Onco, at leaRt, I, too, thought so; but as one is deceived in so many other things why not in that 'Now you must fool that you oro unjust and 1 need not answer you.' 'Do you consider, Miss Lasccllcs, to what miaerablo tuspenso and agitation our present position exposes me" I (In inn Uiniw wliy ynu hIiiiiikI ci tnplniii more titan 1. buret my reliiiion lo my undo and aunt is ns anxious and unhappi s nny tiling inai you navo 10 sutler. All uspnnso will be ended il'you will agree to let me inform them of what has passed be tween us, and tn nbule by their decision. hat, you well know, would at once extin guish I'very hope. Whnt, then, can I ay? Often and bitterly havo I repented that I ever let you itirpriso mo into on cknowludgcmcni ol my feelings. But, us went so fnr astray, I must now only insist either that you agree on my confessing the truth, or that yon never speak to mis again but in tho language- of n friend at least, until bettor times.' 'And can you promise mo when those will come !' 'Surely that must depend upon yourself. or not, nt least, on me. v Ifyour industry in your proiession raises your worldly pros pects, it may be possible that my relations

will listen, not, perlmps, with approbation, but with acquiescence, to our to your wishes.' 'And if years pass away in tho mean time, and you continue to frequent such scenes as these, and o meet daily tho rich and tho noble, is it. not possible that at the end of those years I .nay seo you tho wife of another !' The lady's cheek low flushed, and she cast n sudden look nt her partner, and then turned 6ligh ly nwnj and wos silent. A few moments nfinrwnrils she said, 'I am wrong to feel indignant nt vour nnestion. hen I remember ,ho" instances I have seen of Iniihlessncss in man nnd woman. But I will still ask you, if ynu do not think my willingness to remain in my present painful and almost unworthy position is In go for nothing with ynu? I-i it. not mmo videnceof stronger feeling than any winch your present hasty discontent indicates? I would rather, however, not n'k vou this. but beg ynu to say no' more to me on the ubject. I must bear mv lot as I can, and ynu have in yours the inestimable blessing thnt. yon can hopo to improve it by your own excruon. They wero now obliged to separate Miss Lascellcs occupied her former scat, and, when again asked lo dance by some one else, declined cn the plea of fatiue Arthur looked dissatisfied nnd unhappy. and walked into tnnihcr room out of hor sight. But soon after she again saw him one of n Kroul of four or five persons cn gaged in eager conversation, of whom be ppcarcd tn bo the most earnest. Sh watched the play of his fine nnd inttillin-nnt but restless features, and fancied she could hear the words that ireompanied the clinn ges of Ins countenancj. Had a deaf nlivs ingnornist seen him, le must ha vis nt onco xclaimcd, ' I hat is mo of tho mri-t eln quent of men?' Inuge nficr image, she well knew, by the India nf Ins counmnmns as well as ins own, we:e gushing nnd snarl; ling from him ; and f-lio could almost divine the wide nnd Ihe picUresqne views of art and history, nnd nature, nnd individual life which he was suggesting or illustrating But in his intervals of silence there was a look of sadness ami bewilderment about hint, and lie stood at last, apparently. reverie and indecision , till, with one mourn fill glance towards Maria, he passed lo tho door, as if departing from tho house. In the mean-tune n lutly. who had been ono of those conversing with him. came to Miss Lascolles, ond said, 'Dear Maria, I do wish you had been with me. Mr Edmon stone has been moro brilliant than ever. ! am sure to-night even you, who admire so few people, must hive admired him.' '! thought I admired a grcnt many noo pie. uiii wnni was lie speaftinir of j" Well, perhaps vou do. But, nt least them aro so many things which every bodv else is delighted with that you do not can tor, liuitc lately, you know, iherc were the Siamese I wins, and tho man who plav cd upon his chin, and Hungarian Count who improvised the neighing-) and the words ol command, anJ '.he trumpets of regiment of cavalry nil at onco. I thought it wns quite acknowledged that you are"so lasuoious. 'And which of theso exhibitions was it that Mr rjdmonstone'i conversation 1110 reminded you of? Was it the chiii.thuinn ing. or ine neiginng. or was t. nerhoD the Siamese Twins." Don't now, Maria,1 said tho ladv : 'I nm sure you know what I mean. But you are so provoking.' And she proceeded to tivo an account, in her own way, of what Ar uiur bad said. CHAPTER III In the moan tune, although it was still comparatively early in the evening, Arthu returned lo his chamber. When ho had shut himself in his Miiall and dismal room, the impression ol tho scene which he had left still remained with lum. The lively and gracoful figures danced in fingmcnts alonn- the dim wall, and bright eyes seemed looli ing at him out of the backs of tho bonks in tho dingy book case. But it was Maria who came to him tho most vividly, and stayed longest. He gazed at tho vacant space, and saw tlicro tho simple nnd clus sical knot of glossy black hair, wilh its one pale flower which so well becaino the hinl smooth forchrad Now, again, he saw the quiet expressive features, in which the eyes ami lips appeared so full of inielligonl nun nctugnant meaning, which they dis dained lo exhibit for tho admiration 0 others, The fully formed and thoroughly groccful person, with its long nock nnd slender hands, wero no less present to him and ho felt again, ns ho had often done be fore, that independently oven of beauty, nn elegant and deeply cultivated woman, In word, a truo lady, sums up and represents many ages of tho world's mental progress Yet of what avail, ho thought, tiro her many lovoly und delightful qualities to mo? Had I, indeed, llio forluno which I want, or tho rank which, on any other account. I would not accept, I might hope to gain the consent ill lu;r ri'lni ives niiO guardian But now what must I look to? Years of irksome worthless labor in the dreariest of human studies; and then when life has be come c.tipty nod uiijoyous, and both our hearts aro chilled and closed, the remnant of mo mny. perhaps, bo united tn all that will then rounin of Maria. 0 for the free and passionate life of nature, and poetry, nnd love! Meanwhile, I must only now nnd then approach her like an evil spirit afraid to draw near to some holy being. Or I must attempt to forget her and myself the vain display of talents which as I am aced arc useless for the true ends ol life : and must chew my own disgust at tho van ity, which, while I speak, nukes me derive pleasure from tny own selected words nnd parkling fancies, and from the wonder Hint these excite in others." A door, nearly opposite lum, into another room, stood open, and looking up ho saw the faint moonlight mil through tho window of tins farther space. In this dull light it seemed to him that a figure was standing with eyes raised towards the heavens, with tears faintly learning on her checks, and her hands crossed meekly nnd plaintively on her bosom. It was still olnria whom he saw ; but before a minute had passed the form nil features melted soft I v into those of the lying woman whom he had that morning visited. She too. grow fainter and fainter. ud seemed, ns she vanished, mounting in the moonlight towards the sky. Ho turned sadly awny, nnd looking round him, saw nn the table a paper which he did nol know of. He opened it, and found bill for a considerable sum which had een long due ton tradesman; a literary undertaking winch would havo supplied him with the means of discharging the debt had been for weeks neglected, while he dreamt pod fretted over his unhappy fate, and now he knew not whither to turn. In rder to divert his thoughts he took up an old book of Necromancy which ho had been consulting, and read a few pages lull ot strange transactions nnd forgotten spells but nothing he now lighted on interested him till ho came to the following passage. "Ot a truth, there be mnny potent and secret arts born of tho wits of wic men, more than ihcy have thought good to divulgate thro the world, ns doubling nf the discretion nf purblind mortals in exercising such a right Of which inference, doubtless, shrewd reasons may be noted in the nso, say rath r, ihe most blunt, prolanc, and nuadrupc dal nouse ot their present small and poor prerogatives, by mankind perpetrated nnd customary . Thus, I doubt not to affirm uch truths in llio main ocean of time lie iiir ied and drowned, or may from thence, by bravo and constant divers, hereafter iearl wise, be fished up, as would change llio whole order and groundplot of men' lives, no less than a great and polite king changes the compass and fashion of the barbarous castles and pnvillions in some trango city, by him now invaded and sub dund. Thus, by tho manner of example mnv, pcrliap--, spells, charm1", and amulets. be discoveiud. if nol in the Eastern people now frequent, to (urn dust to gold, vinegar to nectar, clay nnd oides lo orient jewels, if dead and mouldered stumps do make fruits grow divine and unmalchable : what know I ! In n word, to make money plen tiful as men's modes of spending it; tri sheathe lightnings even as we sheathe 1 olcdo-blades, and again draw ihctn to the confusion of the enemies of our lord the king (whom God prcs-erve !); to turn one man into another or into many. And here witli. perhaps, when that seal of Solomon lound again, and worn, where it would si become, on the hand of our dread and bounteous sovereign, to purge gross mailer to sriril, nnd to make of men angels : even sons of grubs and worms come forlh but terflies, and of noisome smoke nnd ashes, the divine nnd Paradisaical Phoenix is begotten and prnccedeth. But mav those who attain lo such skill of arts ever itidi. ciously ond temperately practice and adum brate their parts and wisdom, even as shall here be done; not openly and popu'aritv declaring, but rather keeping the light of too resplendent truth in due films and veils concealed." When he had twice read this singular and grotesque passage, he opened Ins win dow and looked cut. The stars were visi ble in tho small spot of sky which came within his survey, and there was still n faint light from the moon. The night was calm, and he descended from his room nnd walked about the court. Hero his former thoughts returned and mixed themselves in n fantastic combination with the strange magical images which he had been en gaged by. Why. ho mused, as ho raised his head and looked above the old round tower of the Templu Church why should that which wo so much desire be placed beyond our reach? Is our nature then nn endless contradiction ? If I so long to be able to change my lot, why has not tho system of things that gavo mo this longing, also given mc tho power to gratify it? And then, not himself believing ihe fancy he indulged in. he began to paint the des tiny that ho would select if ho possessed the power of choice. At last he asked himself the fatal question. If I could thus change myself and all about mc, should I not lose Marin's love, which is given to me, cud not to nuy such figure, ns 1 might wish to assume. But thou tho demon answered, Ay, but if I could also change so ns to for get her, how should I suffer! It is not plain that my removal would be to her the chief of blessings, as relieving hor from the heavy perplexity in which shu to night complained she is involved? This suggestion hud too strong a hold upon his weakness. But nt this moment Ins relleclions'wero broken by nn unex pected sound. It seemed to him that ho heard a faint sad noto from tho organ in the neighboring church. Ho listened, and it sounded ngain, eaddor, but moro distinct. Ho walked round lo tho door, but now inard nothing, and alter 11 iiunute nr two of delay, was about lo depart, when the nolo sounded for the thild time. The deep low arch, wilh its pillar work and Gothic sculpture, was close at hand. He pushed tho door ; it opened at his touch, and as ho made a step forward into the dun and empty tpoce, slipped from his hand, and closed behind him. At this moment, the clock struck twelve. The building now used only a vestibule la the larger church beyond, but is in itself a most curious nnd vcnernblo monument, and contains the tombs of several knights clad in armour, and with their legs crossed. riiero was now no sound audible but hi own footsteps as ho walked ncrosstho widr area, nnd again turned. While lie paced the pavement, his former confused and wavering thnughis pursued him still. At last, ho exclaimed, half aloud, "If so much of pain and self-reproach clings inseparably to this miserable identity of mine, why can not I cast it of, nnd migrate into somo new form of being ?'' You can ! answered a low clear voice, apparently closo nt hand. Arthur was bravo by temperament, and his imagination had familiarised him with innumernblo kinds of danger. But he now staggered two or three paces back, and looking round, saw, not four vords from iin, n human figure. Il was an old man 10 a long dress, the form of which was not di-linctly visible, while, in tho twilight, Irs whitu head and venerable features stood out like those of a saint in some early Ger- rrmi picture, bo have the more ancient artists nficn represented Joseph, tho hus band of .Marv. Would vou' he said, in a sweet but melancholy voice 'in troth, accept the nfi'.'r of exchanging, niynur own pleasure. your own personal existence for that ot other men ?' After n moment's pause, he answered boldly. 'Yes,' 'I can bestow the power, but only upon these conditions. You will be nblc to as. sumo a new pari in life only onco in every week, r or the one hour an cr midnight on each Saturdoy, that is. for tho first hour of the new week, you will remember nil that you have been, and whatever characters you may have chosen for yourself. At the end of the hour, you may make a new choice, but if then deferred, it will be again a week before the opportunity will recur anew. You will also be incapable of re vealing to any one the power with which you arc gifted. And if you once resumo your present being, you will never again be able to cast it off. If, on theso terms, you agree to my proposal, lako this ring, and wear it on the forefinger of your right hand. It bears the head of t!,o famous Appollonius of Tyana. If you breathe up on it nt the appointed hour you will immc d'ately become any person whom you may desire to bo of those already existing in Ihe age you live in, and who in this ago are alone p issible.' Arthur hesitated, and said, 'Before I assent to your offer, tell mo whether you yourself would think me wise to do so.' 'Young man, were I to choose again, my only choice would be to fill the situation where nature brought mo forth, and where God, therefore, doubtless designed me to work. If you accept my ring, it must he used this night, or il will vanish Irom your hand. If not, roiurn to your dwelling, and devote yourself to the duties which your present state imposes on you.' Arthur remembered his desolate cham ber, the hopeless manuscript, nnd unpaid bills, and the melancholy image of Maria, whom, for years, ho could nol hope to make his own. lie held out his hand, received the ring, and placed i'. on his finger. The night was now so much obscured, that ho could hardly see the figure of the old man. But he heard the words, 'Re member, that if the present hour passes before you have made your choice, you will lose lor ever the privilege you have obtained.' It now became altogether dark, nnd Ar thur felt that ho was alone. Ho remained in mournful perplexity overpowered by tho strangeness of the event. But ho still felt tho ring upon his finger, and knew that he was not dreaming. The moments flew on and on. nnd tho quarter had struck twice since he received the ring, so that but a few minutes of the hour now remained. At last he began to consider that ho must needs, at all events, compose his mind and come to some determination. But when he endeavored to dccido what he should do, what character ho should choose to assume, a Ihousnnd images seemed floating confusedly before him. and nono of them distinct enough to secure his preference. He fancied that nil the shapes he had ever seen flowing along the neighboring streets of the city wero now wilh him in tho old church. But he could bring no ono more vividly before his eyes than another. At length, n single figure separated itself from the crowd, ho knew not how or why. Ho regarded it with a mingled Iceling of envy and dislike. But, at this moment, he heard the preparatory jarring of the clock, and feeling spell-bound to uso tho ring, he rais ed his hand toward his face. The onyx bend glowed with a spark of fire in tho darkness, and while ho brcaihcil nn it, and pronounced to himsclf',111 n tremulous whis per, thu name of Sir Charles Harcourt, tho sound of tho clock thrilled away. At the same instant, Arthur Edmonstone ceased to bo conscious of existence. I'l'o be continuedt I've raised a new pair of boots,' said A, to B , pulling forward ono as a sampla a handsamc fit, oh ! I bought them to wear in genteel society!' 'They will be likely tn Inst you your lifo lime,' rejoined B.,'and worth something to your hnire.- Ertttcrn Arsut,