about to establish an asylum for the instruc- "My brother!" replied the angel of tion of negroes: if she can teach the blacks slumber, "will not the good when they good behaviour, every family, in this city at awaken, own thee as their friend and beneleast, will vote her a crown of gold.- factor, and will they not bless thee? Are we Mr. Philosopher Owen has presented President Adams with a model of his new community; with great modesty he recommends its adoption to the United States; we have not heard that Mr. Adams has made it the subject of a private message to both houses, as yet; how can he delay for a moment, how can he postpone the regeneration of all mankind, when it has been proposed with such benevolence and such modesty! SLEEP AND DEATH. [Translated from the German, for the New-York Literary Gazette.] THE angel of slumber and the angel of death, fraternally locked in each other's arms, wandered over the earth. It was evening; they reclined upon a hillside, and the habitations of men were not far off; a sad stillness pervaded the air, and the evening bell of the village was hushed. Still and silent, as is their manner, the two beneficent Genii of mankind reposed in a mournful embrace, and night came rapidly on. Then the angel of slumber rose from his mossy couch, and softly scattered from his hand the invisible slumber-seeds. The wind of night wafted them to the quiet dwellings of the wearied husbandmen, and forthwith sweet sleep descended upon the inhabitants of the cottages, from the gray-haired sire to the cradled infant. The sick man forgot his pains; the unhappy his sorrows; the poor his cares-every eye was closed. And now, his benign labours being ended, the kind angel of slumber again lay down by the side of his thoughtful brother, and said cheerfully, "When the red morning awakes, then will mankind bless me as their friend and benefactor. Oh! how sweet it is to do good unseen and in secret! how delightful is our duty !" Thus spake the friendly angel of slumber -the angel of death looked upon him with silent sorrow, and a tear, such as immortals shed, gathered in his large dark eye. "Alas!" said he, "that I cannot, like thy self, rejoice in their gratitude: the earth calls me her enemy and the disturber of her peace." not brothers and messengers of our father?" Thus he spake the eye of the death-angel sparkled, and he clasped his brother more fondly in his embrace. MISCELLANEOUS. From the Boston Galaxy. Sugar-Hill, October 27, 1825. DEAR NED,-What the devil, Ned, do you suppose induced me to get married? I really wish that I knew-for besides the pleasure I should have in telling you, it would be a most particular gratification to myself. I think I must have been crazy, or bewitched to get married at thirty, and all for love; how could I be such a dunce. I believe this to be the most dangerous place to bachelors that ever was seen. None have been known to survive, that trusted themselves long in this cursed town. on the shoals of Don't come here, Ned, if you want to remain a bachelor. If you do, you will be inevitably shipwrecked matrimony; you might as well undertake to navigate the Norwegian whirlpool. If you come here, all the cables in Christendom can't bring you up. If I thought you ever had the blue devils, or any other devils, or any thing else to make you completely and perfectly miserable, I would spend no time in relating my calamities; but refer you to the worst part of your own experience, as a mode of estimating mine. But you never was miserable, and never will be; you are still the same laughing bachelor, eternally on the upper side of Fortune's wheel, while I am paddling at the bottom. You are still free as the birds of heaven, or the dew of the forest, while I am bound, fettered, and confined like a condemned malefactor. Don't laugh at me, for I won't bear it-don't pre tend to pity me, I won't endure that-don't say a word to me. I tell you, Ned, you would not know me. Why how do you think I look since I am married? I'll tell you; my gay and cheerful looks are gone-my rosy cheeks are gone-my flesh is gone-my health and spirits are gone-my fine clothes are gonemy money is gone-all gone, Ned, except my wife-she lives, and will live when you and I are dust and ashes. But what do you think I've got for all I've lost? I've got a face as long as your arm, and white (bating the yellow, and a shade or two of brown,) as this paper. I've got a broken constitution, and a broken heart-I've got discouraged-I've got in debt-I've got to be a poor miserable devil-I've got-no, I won't Her manners rude and coarse, her disposi tell you what I've got for a wife in this sen- tion sullen and surly, her temper irritable, implacable, revengeful, and unrelenting and rough as the vexed ocean. Negligent of her person, and ignorant of the most common affairs; idle, discontented, stingy, conceited, obstinate, and foolish, listening with pleasure to the rankest scandal and foulest calumny, and determined, at all hazards, to have her own way. Now, Ned, profit by my folly,-whatever you do, never do you get married. It is all a cheat-it is like a bundle of patent medicines--you may read the imposing and flattering label, and the wonderful cures with impunity; but swallow the prescription and it will help you out of the world for your credulity. Heavens! when I think of all I have endured and suffered, and consider what a happy dog I might have been, my brain is on fire. Perhaps you will say that I should insist on a husband's rights and govern my own house. You know nothing about it-the thing is impossible-you might as well attempt to thaw the polar ice, or imprison the winds, as control an obstinate woman. All your firmness and resolution will avail you nothing: you will at last be subdued. The massive rock that lifts its gray head above the vexed and stormy ocean, makes no impression upon its foaming waters, but is itself gradually worn away and mingled with the dashing waves. And thus your resolution, energy, and firmness would be by little and little annihilated. You have no idea of the countless resources the sex can resort to, in acquiring and maintaining their power. Smiles used sparingly - tears in profusion-sickness and sighsmad fits, hysteric fits, scolding fits, speechAfter all, you can have no idea how much less fits, (these are short) and innumerable I suffered when I offered myself to her. I other expedients are resorted to. What could not speak-I was so much ashamed to will not a woman hazard to have her own ask such a delicate, charming, beautiful girl way-wealth, fame, happiness, and heaven, to marry one so little worthy of her, that I she is ready to risk; whatever may be said was ready to die with fear and mustification. She blushed, hesitated, said she was so young-so little acquainted with the world -what I said was so unexpected to her (she had been thinking I would play the fool for weeks) and finally, she lived so happily at home she thought she never would change her situation. A long pause and distressing silence-hem-but I won't go on with this. It is enough for you to know that your friend conducted himself in a most drivelling manner, and changed his merry face into such a hanging look, as no man could own, unless in the high road to ruin, or determined to get married. about the shortness of life, it is doubtless a great mercy that we do not have to drag the chain for ever. Affectionately, your disconsolate friend, GEORGE GREGG. PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY. JAMES G. BROOMS, Editor and Proprietor, No. 4 Wall-street, New-York. subscriptions received by G. & C. Carvill, 108 Broadway-wherecommunications may be left, or trasmitted through the post-office to the editor No subscriptions received for a shorter term than one year To have done with this part of the story, we were chained together. In three weeks the Post Office, unless the postage is paid. No letters or communications will be taken out of I found that instead of the girl I thought I had married, I had been yoked to a dumpy. awkward, vulgar girl, about twenty-five. Terms-Four dollars per annum, payable in advance. J. SEYMOUR, printer, 49 Join-street. AND Phi Beta Kappa Repository. No. 19. FIDE AC FIDUCIA. NEW-YORK, JANUARY 14, 1826. Ir life be but a journey, and the world a high road to a permanent state, he who travels must still keep native country in view; it is an intermediate resting-place betwixt time and eternity; a support to lean upon betwixt change and constancy; an object to cling to in the storms of revolutions and the wreck of ages; a point of identity whereby to distinguish character, and to mingle personal with general interest. My HOME, MY COUNTRY, MY FLAG!!! these VOL. I. who pretend to make a choice of necessity, or to borrow a colour from chance or ci cumstance; nay, who affect manners at variance with those of the land of their nativity, and impose upon you a preference for the soil of adoption, and (preposterous as it is) a contempt for her nationalities. This I consider as a disease of some magnitude; it is an unnatural growth which false excitements can alone maintain. The stimuli of novel attractions and of pleasures and appetites unsuited to our native education and taste, will support it for a season, to leave the mind and body subsequently more unsatisfied and enervated. The impressions which the arts and sciences produce on us are not at variance either with patriotism or with national stability; on the contrary, they form our minds to more enlarged views, and enable us to enrich the descriptive, or historic page, to embellish our museums, to benefit our institutions, to instruct our fami are all proud and endearing terms, yet the wandering traveller loses sight of them for a the softer touches of mental enchantment, time; the weak man, dazzled by surprise and variety, affects to hold them cheap, nay, probably boasts of his being a cosmopolite, and assumes for his motto "Ubi bene, ibi patria." This season is not of long duration; such a state of the mind is as unsuitable to the rational functions, as uninterrupted fatigue lies, to amuse our friends. The charms of poetry and music, do not estrange us from home. We may convey the delightful sounds by imitation to our own shores, nay, render the former our own by translation, from the acquirement of languages. All the ends of hospitality are promoted and a further extent is given to humanity by the generous reception of strangers; whilst a finished education fits the possessor of it for the and incessant locomotion to the health of very first circles and situations, and enables the body. This appetite, inclination, or him, or her, to negociate for the less learnrage, is but like a fever; it is short, although ed and refined, to facilitate their intercourse ardent; its remedy is repose; and when it with foreigners, to interpret their sentionce subsides, we seldom or never perceive ments and intentions. But when I see a its return, unless it be under circumstances frivolous, or bewildered being, one lost to of uneasiness at home, which require a the love of the land and constitution of his change of air either to restore lost health, or sires, apathetical to the interests of his forto abstract the sufferer from mental distress, mer home, and blinded by borrowed usages, to rescue the guilty from punishment, to so as to be prejudiced against the order of hide the prodigal from shame, or to relieve things which satisfied his wiser ancestors; the diseased intellect by promised but never when I behold native plants metamorphosed realized change of position, just as the incu- into exotics; creatures the slaves of a kitchrable sick shift their posture, their malady en and a dress-maker, wedded to foreign lestill remaining permanent and not to be vities, and pining after the relaxed enjoyshaken off. ments of other countries and climes; when There are nevertheless numbers of each Mary is too languishing, and honest Johu sex who have taken growth in foreign too coxcombical; lastly, when I find peoclimes, have assumed foreign habits, and ple of moderate fortunes, and more confined abilities and prospects, sigh for French gai- deep domestic feelings, such feelings are not eties and Italian airs; pine after costly by any means in exclusive possession of us. viands and expensive wines; sleep away The familiar scenes in the latter books have Sunday, and abuse their country, I pro- occasionally a vein of humour in them; nor nounce sentence of temporary insanity on would Homer expect us always to suppress them; I avoid coming into the same circle a smile at the inexhaustible figments of with them: pity them if incurable, but Ulysses. But the earlier books suggest rewould advise them where advice is either flections which are still more closely conuseful or palatable. nected with our present subject. There is However, the rage for other foreign parts an ingenious artifice, or at least an accident, wears out gradually of itself; an innate which has a very good effect (and we do feeling draws the heart towards its native not know whether it has ever been noticed in shore; sated fancy and appetite pass away, and novelty is discovered to be composed but of extrinsic materials; home sickness follows, and its infallible cure, native air. THE ITALIAN ROMANTIC POEMS. this view), in making the hero himself recite his strange and wonderful adventures. Even now there is something of the comic in the adventure of the Cyclops' cave; but had the poet told all these marvels in his own person, he has let us know enough of him to be sure that he could no more have told them with perfect gravity than the Italian Romancers. The very wonders created by The distinguishing characteristic of the Italian romantic Poems is, that they are not addressed to the feelings, not even to the the Italian poets present peculiar facilities feelings through the imagination, but in their for a certain species of humour. Dwarfs essence merely to the fancy. Whatever we will compensate for their deficiency in perfind in them of the higher order of imagina-sonal strength by trickery and cunning; tive poetry, whatever we find of pathetic, giants, accustomed to rely solely upon brute noble, or sublime sentiment is accidental force, are very apt to be stupid; and where and adventitious, and not involved in the na- they are not very ferocious, their unwieldy ture of the poem. With no aim but enter- good nature and condescension has sometainment, the style adopted by the authors what of the ludicrous in it; and they are of this kind of composition readily admitted apt to have a peculiar sort of bon-hommie, a vein of pleasantry and humour. The like other large people. A disappointed poet might very allowably smile at his own magician is but a sorry spectacle; and marvellous inventions; and it might often fountains of Love and Hatred, of which the be his interest to make his audience or read- wrong persons always drink, cause not only ers smile with him. When they began to complicated adventures, but absurd situaweary of the emotion of mere childish won- tions. The world of marvels, in which the der, he might allure them by the luxurious actors are bewildered, gives them a licence beauty of his descriptions; he might inter- to be in some slight degree ridiculous. A est them in the fortunes and passions of hero, who has once been thoroughly laughed some favourite hero or heroine; he might at, could scarcely hold up his head again make them angry; he might make them among mere human agents; but "let him weep; but it would often do just as well to step forth and slay a giant," or destroy an make them smile; smile they might; laugh enchanted castle, and we feel that he is not they might; but they must not yawn; any a person to be laughed at any longer, and thing but yawning. Where one deep feel- (in the phrase of the old school of criticism) ing pervades the whole poem, the slightest he may "recover his heroism" without approach to the ludicrous is instinctively question. avoided. The religious solemnity of the Je- The degree to which such an intermixrusalem is throughout preserved unbroken. ture of humour, might be carried, evidently In the Iliad, where the pervading sentiment would be regulated by the genius and situais less exalted, there may perhaps be some tion of the poet. Pulci, the earliest of the scenes not quite compatible with highly-ex- Italian Romantic Poets, above the class of cited feelings; yet mortals cannot join in common story tellers, composed his Mor gante for the amusement of Madonna Lucrezia, the mother of Lorenzo de' Medici, and he used to recite it at table to Lorenzo, and Politian, and Marsilio Ficino, and oth the " unextinguishable laughter" of the gods, when they see it springing from a determination of super-human power, which influences the fortunes of heroes and nations; and the main effect of the character er celebrated persons, who were assembled Thersites, grotesquely sketched as it is, is to at Florence. In such circumstances an raise the dignity of the chiefs, who are the abundant portion of pleasantry might natuactors in the poem. The Odyssey is a work rally be expected, and Pulci is not sparing of a different nature; it rests not upon na- of it, nor is it always of the most refined tional, but upon individual, sympathy; and sort. It has, however, a peculiar raciness though the interest turns in general upon from the colloquial simplicity and facility of his versification, which was a necessary that they might be the happiest of the hap py. The bride and bridegroom were not present; the fair one being still busied about her dress, while the young husband was sauntering alone in a distant avenue, musing upon his happiness. characteristic of a style of composition so nearly resembling improvisation. His easy and apparently unconscious medley of poetical imagery, strong delineations of character, pathos, devotion, satire, and buffoonery, have grievously perplexed many critics, "What a pity," said Anderson, "we are and especially those of the French school. to have no music. All our ladies are be The English reader may form some notion of his more happy and polished passage from "Monks and Giants," and especially the two first cantos of the work. The Count Boiardo, the accomplished scholar, statesman, and soldier, the feudal Sovereign of Scandiano, tells his story in a much more lordly manner; yet he cannot refrain from diverting himself with the rogueries of Brunello, who steals Sacripant's horse from under him, whilst he is in a fit of contemplation, just as Sancho loses Dapple, leaving him seated in his saddle upon wooden props; and we give Orlando more than half a smile, when his felon mistress sends him up a pyramid to see prospects, and rides off with Brigliadoro. Throughout, according to Lord Glenbervie, there is a sort of simple naivete in his verses, harsh and uncouth as they often are, which neither Ariosto, his continuator, nor his professed reformer Berni, have been able to surpass. Berni translated the rugged stanzas of Boiardo " into a style of versification possessing graces till then utterly unknown, and still utterly inimitable." In the substance of the narrative he follows closely in the footsteps of Boiardo; "but the moral introductions to each canto, and his digressions, sometimes moral and sometimes satirical, are entirely his own." To such deviations, in such a style, we are indebted for touches of wit far more delicate and elegant than are to be found in any other romantic poet. In the Orlando of Ariosto, his gaiety and humour, inexhaustible and playful as it is, seems thrown comparatively into the shade by the highly poetical character of the whole work: yet all to whom Ariosto is accessible, in any other shape than Hoole's translation, must have smiled at his good-natured satire and his charitable knowledge of human na ture. THE NOVELIST. THE LOVE-CHARM. A Tale from the German of Tieck. [Concluded.] A PARTY of friends was sitting, on the brightest summer morning, in a green arbour, assembled round an excellent breakfast. Laughter and jests passed round, and many a time did the glasses kiss with a merry health to the youthful couple, and a wish clouded at the thought, and never in their whole lives longed for a dance so much as to-day, when to have one is quite out of the question. It is far too painful to his feelings." " I can tell you a secret though," said a young officer; "which is, that we are to have a dance after all, and a rare madcap and riotous one it will be. Every thing is already arranged; the musicians are come secretly, and quartered out of sight. Roderick has managed it all; for he says, one ought not to let him have his own way, or to humour his strange prejudices over-much, especially on such a day as this. Besides, he is already grown far more like a human being, and is much more sociable than he used to be; so that I think even he will not dislike this alteration. Indeed, the whole wedding has been brought about all of a sudden, in a way that nobody could have expected." "His whole life," said Anderson, " is no less singular than his character. You must all remember how, being engaged on his travels, he arrived last autumn in our city, fixed himself there for the winter, lived like a melancholy man, scarcely ever leaving his room, and nevergave himself the least trouble about our theatre or any other amusement. He almost quarrelled with Roderick, his most intimate friend, for trying to divert him, and not pampering him in all his moping humours. In fact, this exaggerated irritability and moodiness must have been a disease that was gathering in his body; for, as you know, he was seized four months since with a most violent nervous fever, so that we were all forced to give him up for lost. After his fancies had raved themselves out, on returning to his senses, he had almost entirely lost his memory; his childhood indeed and his early youth were still present to his mind, but he could not recollect any thing that had occurred during his travels, or immediately before his illness. He was forced to begin anew his acquaintance with all his friends, even with Roderick; and only by little and little has it grown lighter within him; but slowly has the past with all that had befallen him come again, though still in dim colours, over his memory. He had been removed into his uncle's house, that the better care might be taken of him, and he was like a child, letting them do with him whatever they chose. The first time he went out to enjoy the warmth of |