indolent gentleman of the opposition; but had the effect to give a much more decided cast to his studies, for he forthwith discarded the Whig and took to the Enquirer, like a man who was not to be disturbed by doubts; and as it was morally impossible to believe what was written on both sides, to prevent his mind from being abused, he, from this time forward, gave an implicit assent to all the facts that set against Mr. Adams. The consequence of this straightforward and confiding deport ment was an unsolicited and complimentary notice of him by the executive of the state. He was put into the commission of the peace, and, having thus become a public man against his will, his opinions were observed to undergo some essential changes. He now thinks that a good citizen ought neither to solicit nor decline office; that the magistracy of Virginia is the sturdiest pillar that supports the fabric of the constitution; and that the people, "though in their opinions they may be mistaken, in their sentiments they are never wrong"-with some other such dogmas, that, a few years ago, he did not hold in very good repute. In this temper, he has, of late, embarked upon the mill-pond of county affairs, and, notwithstanding his amiable and respectful republicanism, I am told he keeps the peace as if he commanded a garrison, and administers justice like a cadi.

He has some claim to supremacy in this last department; for, during three years of his life, he smoked cigars in a lawyer's office at Richmond; sometimes looked into Blackstone and the Revised Code; was a member of a debating society that ate oysters once a week during the winter; and wore six cravats and a pair of yellow-topped boots as a blood of the metropolis. Having in this way qualified himself for the pursuits of agriculture, he came to his estate a very model of landed gentlemen. Since that time, his avocations have had a certain literary tincture; for, having settled himself down as a married man, and got rid of his superfluous foppery, he rambled with wonderful assiduity through a Wilderness of romances, poems, and dissertations, which are now collected in his library, and, with their battered blue covers, present a lively type of an army of continentals at the close of the war, or an hospital of veteran invalids. These have all, at last, given way to the newspapers-a miscellaneous study very enticing to gentlemen in the country—that have rendered Meriwether a most discon.nting antagonist in the way of dates and names.

He has great suavity of manners, and a genuine benevolence

of disposition that makes him fond of having his friends about him; and it is particularly gratifying to him to pick up any genteel stranger within the purlieus of Swallow Barn and put him to the proof of a week's hospitality, if it be only for the pleasure of exercising his rhetoric upon him. He is a kind master, and considerate toward his dependants, for which reason, although he owns many slaves, they hold him in profound reverence, and are very happy under his dominion. All these circumstances make Swallow Barn a very agreeable place, and it is, accordingly, frequented by an extensive range of his acquaintances.

There is one quality in Frank that stands above the rest. He is a thoroughbred Virginian, and, consequently, does not travel much from home, except to make an excursion to Richmond, which he considers emphatically as the center of civilization. Now and then he has gone beyond the mountain, but the upper country is not much to his taste, and, in his estimation, only to be resorted to when the fever makes it imprudent to remain upon the tide. He thinks lightly of the mercantile interest, and, in fact, undervalues the manners of the cities generally; he believes that their inhabitants are all hollowhearted and insincere, and altogether wanting in that substantial intelligence and honesty that he affirms to be characteristic of the country. He is a great admirer of the genius of Virginia, and is frequent in his commendation of a toast in which the state is compared to the mother of the Gracchi; indeed, it is a familiar thing with him to speak of the aristocracy of talent as only inferior to that of the landed interest-the idea of a freeholder inferring to his mind a certain constitutional preeminence in all the virtues of citizenship, as a matter of course.

The solitary elevation of a country gentleman, well to do in the world, begets some magnificent notions. He becomes as infallible as the Pope; gradually acquires a habit of making long speeches; is apt to be impatient of contradiction, and is always very touchy on the point of honor. There is nothing more conclusive than a rich man's logic anywhere, but in the country, amongst his dependants, it flows with the smooth and uuresisted course of a gentle stream, irrigating a verdant meadow, and depositing its mud in fertilizing luxuriance. Meriwether's sayings, about Swallow Barn, import absolute verity -but I have discovered that they are not so urrent out of his jurisdiction. Indeed, every now and then, we have some obstinate discussions when any of the neighboring potentates, who

stand in the same sphere with Frank, come to the house; for these worthies have opinions of their own, and nothing can be more dogged than the conflict between them. They sometimes fire away at each other with a most amiable and unconvincible hardihood for a whole evening, bandying interjections, and making bows, and saying shrewd things with all the courtesy imaginable; but for unextinguishable pertinacity in argument, and utter impregnability of belief, there is no disputant like your country gentleman who reads the newspapers. When one of these discussions fairly gets under weigh, it never comes to an anchor again of its own accord-it is either blown out so far to sea as to be given up for lost, or puts into port in distress for want of documents or is upset by a call for the boot-jack and slippers—which is something like the previous question in Con

gress.

If my worthy cousin be somewhat over-argumentative as a politician, he restores the equilibrium of his character by a considerate coolness in religious matters. He piques himself upon being a high-churchman, but he is only a rare frequenter of places of worship, and very seldom permits himself to get into a dispute upon points of faith. If Mr. Chub, the Presbyterian tutor in the family, ever succeeds in drawing him into this field, as he occasionally has the address to do, Meriwether is sure to fly the course. He gets puzzled with Scripture names, and makes some odd mistakes between Peter and Paul, and then, generally, turns the parson over to his wife, who, he says, has an astonishing memory.

THE DYING CHILD.-HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN.

Mother, I'm tired, and I would fain be sleeping;
Let me repose upon thy bosom seek:
But promise me that thou wilt leave off weeping,
Because thy tears fall hot upon my cheek.
Here it is cold; the tempest raveth madly;
But in my dreams all is so wondrous bright;
I see the angel children smiling gladly,

When from my weary eyes I shut out light.

Mother, one stands beside me now! and, listen!
Dost thou not hear the music's sweet accord?

See how his white wings beautifully glisten!
Surely, those wings were given him by our Lord!

Green, gold, and red are floating all around me;
They are the flowers the angel scattereth.
Shall I have also wings whilst life has bound me?
Or, mother, are they given alone in death?

Why dost thou clasp me as if I were going?

Why dost thou press thy cheek thus unto mine?
Thy cheek is hot, and yet thy tears are flowing;
I will, dear mother, will be always thine!
Do not thus sigh-it marreth my reposing;
And if thou weep, then I must weep with thee!
O, I am tired-my weary eyes are closing;

Look, mother, look! the angel kisseth me!

THE APOLLO BELVIDERE.-HENRY THEODORE TUCKERMAN.

It was a day of festival in Rome,

And to the splendid temple of her saint,

Many a brilliant equipage swept on;

Brave cavaliers reined their impetuous steeds,

While dark-robed priests and bright-eyed peasants strolled,

Through groups of citizens in gay attire.

The suppliant moan of the blind mendicant,

Blent with the huckster's cry, the urchin's shout,

The clash of harness, and the festive cheer.

Beneath the colonnade ranged the Swiss guards,
With polished halberds-an anomaly,
Of mountain lineage, and yet hirelings!
In the midst rose the majestic obelisk;
Quarried in Egypt, centuries by-gone;
And, on either side, gushed up refreshingly
The lofty fountains dashing in the sun,
And breathing, o'er the din, a whisper soft,
Yet finely musical as childhood's laugh.
Here a stranger stood in mute observance;
There an artist leaned, and pleased his eye
With all the features of the shifting scene,
Striving to catch its varying light and shade-
The mingled tints of brilliancy and gloom.
Through the dense crowd a lovely maiden pressed
With a calm brow, an eagerness of air,

And an eye exultant with high purpose.
The idle courtier checked his ready jest,

And backward stepped in reverence, as she passed;
The friar turned and blessed her fervently,
Reading the joy in her deep look of love,
That visits pilgrims when their shrine is won.
To the rich chambers of the Vatican

She hurried thoughtfully, nor turned to muse
Upon the many glories clustered there.
There are rooms whose walls are radiant still
With the creations of the early dead-
Raphael, the gifted and the beautifui;
Fit places for those sweet imaginings
And spirit-stirring dreams. She entered not.
Gems of rare hues and cunning workmanship,
Ancient sarcophagi, heroic forms,

Busts of the mighty conquerors of time,
Stirred not a pulse in that fond maiden's heart;
She staid not to peruse the classic face
Of young Augustus, nor lingered to discern
Benignity in Trajan's countenance;

But sped, with fawn-like and familiar step,
On to the threshold of a cabinet;

And then her eye grew brighter, and a flush
Suffused her cheek, as, awe-subdued, she paused,
And, throwing back the ringlets from her brow,
With a light bound and rapturous murmur, stood
Before the statue of the Grecian god:

"They tell me thou art stone,

Stern, passionless, and chill,

Dead to the glow of noble thought,
And feeling's holy thrill;

They deem thee but a marble god,

The paragon of art,

A thing to charm the sage's eye,
But not to win the heart.

"Vain as their own light vows,
And soulless as their gaze,
The thought of quenching my deep love
By such ignoble praise!

I know that through thy parted lips
Language disdains to roll,
While on them rest so gloriously
The beamings of the soul.

"I dreamed, but yesternight,
That, gazing, e'en as now,
Rapt in a wild. admiring joy,
On thy majestic brow-

That thy strong arm was round me flung,
And drew me to thy side,

While thy proud lip uncurled in love,

And hailed me as a bride.

"And then, methought we sped,
Like thine own arrow, high,
Through fields of azure, orbs of light,
Amid the boundless sky: