Muses, by all the noise of an iron-monger's goods, or by that horrible concord of discord, which, last New-Year's eve, disturbed our late Mayor. Let me add one more suggestion to the youth of our city. The present taste for music is fictitious and exotic. Were this country Italy, where every breeze is music, every syllable melody, every word harmony-where man is mere sensation, and where sensation is rapture, all this might be tolerated; but among our grave business-like people, the republican descendants of puritans and Hollanders, this taste should not exist. We have graver employments and more exalted amusements. Little would it flatter our pride to have our country called "A land of singing and of dancing slaves, Love whispering woods, and lute resounding waves. Though even, if we desired it, I fear we should never attain to our desire. Of our many musicians, few have arrived even to the commendation of mediocrity; and of the serenaders whom it has been my misfortune to hear, most are rather calculated to make night_hideous, than to charm spirits from their spheres. No art of pleasure can ever deserve praise for mere absence of fault. Whatever is not necessary, can only claim applause for the exquisite pleasure which it affords. To go back to my old school book, Horace tells us, that music, as well as poetry, Si paulo e summo decessit, vergit ad imum. I am, &c. A PLAIN MECHANIC MATRIMONIAL LOTTERY. Ir has often been said, figuratively, that marriage is a lottery; but we do not recollect to have met with a practical illustration of the truth of the simile before the following, which is a free translation of an advertisement in the Louisiana Gazette: "A young man, of good figure and disposition, unable, though desirous, to procure a wife, without the preliminary trouble of amassing a fortune, proposes the following expedient to attain the object of his wishes. He offers himself as the prize of a lottery to all widows and virgins under thirty-two. The number of tickets to be six hundred, at fifty dollars each. But one number to be drawn from the wheel, the fortunate proprietor of which is to be entitled to himself and the thirty thousand dollars." The plan is ingenious, and, if adopted generally, without the limitation of age, might be productive of the happiest effects on society, inasmuch as it would tend to diminish the number of those," who pine in single wretchedness," and, by keeping alive that hope of a helpmate, the want of which is the chief source of the ill temper, which is said to characterize a certain class of a certain sex, it would add much to the comfort of many domestic circles. We doubt, too, whether of the matches formed in this way, an equal proportion would not prove as happy as of those made in the usual manThe prize being known, no lady would enter for it without, at least, as much reflection as precedes ordinary marriages ;—and, although the gentleman would run the risk of an unpleasant helpmate, he would be certain of one of the objects, which is supposed to be essential to connubial happiness. ner. FEELING. A GENTLEMAN, who liked gardening, was one day pruning a branch, and, by his awkwardness, pruned his leg also, by a gash from which the blood ran abundantly. The gardener looking on, raised his eyes, and in a melancholy tone exclaimed, "Oh, sir! what a pity to spoil so fine a stocking!" DREAMS. [Morning Chronicle. Baltimore.] When THERE is nothing, perhaps, that bewilders philosophic speculation more to account for than dreams. we say that reason slumbers, and that fancy is awakened, we, in fact, say nothing, for the question still occurs, what do we mean by the sieep of reason and the vigilance of fancy? Mere metaphoric expressions-mere, words without meaning, for we know that neither reason nor fancy can possibly sleep; and it is astonishing to consider how much of figurative phraseology in this world passes for philosophy. There is one peculiar situation of the mind, in our dreamy moments, that excites much astonishment. A man, for instance, dreams that he is conversing with a friend, he propounds a question, and he pauses for an answer. The reply strikes the enquirer with amazement, with hope or fear, joy or sorrow. Who is it that answers this question, that occasions such conflicting emotions? who is this shadowy being, called a friend, or, perhaps, an enemy? He is the production of the slumberer's own mind, a slumbering fancy, that the first beam of the sun dissipates. Here, then, is a mind unacquainted with its own movements, asking questions and receiving answers from itself-intelligence exciting the hopes or fears, joy or grief, as if two distinct souls resided in the same human body. We have so little control or command over our own minds in our dreaming moments, that we know not our own thoughts, and are astonished at their development. While on this subject, it may not be improper to introduce a dream, which actually did happen, although we can produce no other evidence of the fact, than our own declaration. Methought, we were standing, in company with a few select friends, on the margin of the ocean, and the moonbespangled billow was rolling its golden surges at our feet. There was nothing seen before us, but an immeasurable expanse of waters, on which we could observe the track of the rising sun in a path of flamy brightness. While we were all gazing on the grandeur and magnificence of the spectacle, a small and indistinct appearance of something resembling a cloud was seen in the opposite horizon. It gradually swelled upon the vision, and assumed a more definite form at every glance. It was first mistaken for a cloud, but, at length, it proved to be a floating island, approaching every moment the margin of the ocean on which we stood. Nearer and nearer it still gained upon the view, until we were at last favoured with a distinct glance of the object, that had, for so long a space of time, arrested our attention. Glorious spirits, adorned with robes of shining whiteness, were seen, with harps in their hands, passing by the side of murmuring fountains; the air was bespangled by every beautiful variety of plume, and gales loaded with fragrance, with melody, and with song, came over our enraptured senses with all the magic of enchantment. Small was the space-narrow the interval that divided us from a region of so much lustre. We embarked in a boat, every heart was buoyant with spirits-every hand was upon the oar, and we tugged for the possession of this island. Just as the bow was touching the consecrated soil, it appeared to recede; we redoubled our strokes with the oar, but all our labour was lost-the island itself vanished into the distant horizon. The sky was suddenly blackened by a rising tempest, the ocean rolled its liquid mountains, and our feeble bark was made the sport of the surges. We were driven violently on an unknown shore, and our bark was dashed into a thousand fragments; but what was our astonishment and rapture to behold the dispersion of the clouds-the return of the solar beams, and ourselves in the possession of that very island by a shipwreck, that we could not gain by all our exertions. We beheld a rosy cloud descending, that finally overshadowed us, and from which our features seemed to catch the glow of immortal youth, and a voice distinctly whispered, although the lips were invisible, that complete happiness was not to be enjoyed until after death. TO THE DYING YEAR. THOU desolate and dying year! Emblem of transitory man, Whose wearisome and wild career, Like thine, is bounded to a span : It seems but as a little day Since Nature smil'd upon thy birth, Sad alteration now, how lone, How verdureless, is Nature's breast, The sprightly bird, whose carol sweet, Thou desolate and dying year! Yet lovely, in thy lifelessness, In Death's clay-cold and dark caress; Which breathes, which lingers round thee still, Yet, yet, the radiance is not gone, Gleams upon Nature's aspect fair, Thou desolate and dying year! Since Time entwin'd thy vernal wreath, And knelt beside the bed of death: For all that were our blessings here, Thou desolate and dying year! Promise of youth! fair as the form Of heaven's benign and golden bow, |