The waves which rolled be

which are blighted and dead, at noon. neath him, were an emblem of his ruffled mind. He thrust his hand in his pocket, and unable to endure the bitter sarcasm of the bag, with a nervous jerk of the arm, tossed it into the river.

When he got on Long-Island, and was fairly proceeding on his homeward journey, his anger boiled over. Deep and bitter were the imprecations which he heaped on the imaginary causes of his failure. He called them no better than thieves and robbers. It was all because he was a poor man; it was the jealousy of the rich against the poor, and a settled scheme to ruin his fortunes. He went growling and grumbling along, and from the vasty deep' of his in་ dignation, conjured up the spirits of outrage and wrong. He relieved himself by again beating his mules. A man who continues in an angry humor, often renders himself ridiculous, by transferring the energy of his violence from its primal cause, upon petty vexations, not sufficient in themselves to have produced it. To go into a great passion, without some present object to vent it upon, or without an ostensible cause, he cannot, with any pretext or show of reason; if, however, the cause be of so flimsy a texture as to be scarce apparent, while visiting his wrath on the innocent, he draws equal laughter or contempt upon himself, by what appears a senseless and bombastic passion. If you would respect yourself, respect or be respected by others, remember, in the most perplexing straits, to keep your proper temper.

per

It added very much to his nervous irritability, that he fell in with nearly every man, woman, and child, with whom he was acquainted. They met him, and they overtook him; they came out of taverns, and they confronted him at sudden turns of the road, for all the country knew that the Kushow property was to be sold. He saw, or fancied that he saw, their countenances beaming with sardonic smiles. The man who is conscious within himself of folly, sees every where the reflection of his inward reproach. The inarticulate voices of nature are interpreted into reproof. On board the boat, the rapid plunge of the piston seemed to utter, in the plainest irony, Ten cent! ten per cent! ten per cent!' and now, the very cat-birds on the hedges made game of him; and a little wren, 'in shape no bigger' than a nutmeg, popped on a branch immediately over his head, doubling, and redoubling, and trilling into his very ear. Bob-b-b, pret-t-t! prop-r-t-t-t!' Take that!' said he, and shattered the branch with his whip; but while the leaves and feathers were flying in all directions, the little dusky bird dropped on another branch, shook his tiny wings, and persevered in the same provoking strain: Pret-t-t-t prop-r-t-t-t!'

When a person returns from disgrace by the same road that he went, every step that he takes, occasions by its associations a humiliating contrast of the feelings. When Robin arrived at the 'rut' where he had been so vexatiously overturned and detained in the morning, he could not help soliloquizing with himself, and thought how much better it would have been for him, had his wagon been broken all to smash, and he permitted to advance no farther on his journey. He had however learned a lesson, which, like every valuable one, is bought with pain. At last the sun sank down behind

the Back-Bone range upon his left, the shades of twilight were falling, and the cool breath of evening fanned his brow. He took off his hat, drew out of it his handkerchief, and wiped the perspiration from his face; then halting, and alighting where a pure spring gushed from the hill side, bent on his hands and knees, and took a long draught. He permitted the mules to do the same, and then jogged slowly on. His temper was wonderfully cooled down; he began to reason philosophically on his adventure, and to look at it in a variety of lights. He was approaching Crow-Hill, and his little illuminated dwelling appeared in sight. He approached it as a welcome harbor, after the agitation of the day; for however much the world might jeer at him, in the bosom of his family he was sure to meet with affection and respect. Happy man! that he still possessed a home, when he had so nearly bartered it for money. His views were essentially changed. He thanked his stars that his project had not succeeded, and thought that if Crow-Hill were offered to him in one hand, and ten thousand dollars in the other, he would decidedly take the Hill. If money were to produce the same effect on him that it had on others, he guessed it was better to be without it. He should be sorry to exchange conditions with his former neighbor, Hans Carvel, who sold his place and became rich, and what was the consequence? He did nothing but smoke his pipe, in perpetual idleness, and trouble his industrious neighbors. He neither wrought himself, nor permitted any one else to work, if he could help it. Dick Van Bokkelen, was far from contented since the sale of his land. There was Ralph Sicklen, whom he had known ever since he was a boy. He bought a lottery ticket, 'drawed' the highest prize, and he was rich. What was the result? He became crazed. The change was too much for him, and he could n't stand it. His senses were always' scary,' and then they flew away for ever. Trustees took care of the money, he himself was held in durance, and thus lost both the capacity and power to enjoy what he had paid for with his reason. There was old Col. who was induced by the speculators to sell his estate. But it won't do for the silver-haired man to put his patrimony from him. It is clasped by too many tendrils to his heart, and in a little season he is sure to die. You might as well tear up the old oak, which bears its honors so nobly, and expect its roots and bleeding fibres to adhere to foreign earth. But it never lifts up its head any more.

With such arguments Robin consoled himself, and found them very satisfactory to his own mind. But what sort of a story should he make to his wife? How should he account for it, that every thing had gone wrong? This perplexed him. Alas! how hard it is for a man to confess that he is ashamed of himself! It was a smart spell' after dark when he reached the top of the hill, and was just driving his team through the gate, when an enormous bull-frog rushed into the pond, and literally vociferated, in the most prodigious voice, 'B-O-B K-SHOW!' Ha, ha! you may well say 'Bob Kushow,' said he, desperately laughing, and wheeling into the cow-yard. At the same moment, the door of his dwelling opened, and the wellknown figure of his wife appeared. 'Robin,' cried she,' is that you? Your tea is a-waitin.'

Ay, ay,' answered Bob, rather hesitatingly.

He could not bear to enter the house. He had his creatures to feed and take care of, and to provide with beds for the night; and he staid so long about it, dogging among their heels with a lantern, that his good woman, who began to feel anxious, was on the point of going out to see what kept him,' when he entered. All things were prepared for his arrival. The children were put to bed, the tea-kettle was simmering and 'whistling like a Canary bird,' on the fire, and the table neatly spread for the evening meal. The wife sat with a countenance of anxious expectation, to hear the result. Well, Robin,' said she, with a faint smile, and looking at him, as he sat himself down, with rueful sighing, 'what luck?'

He answered not a word. She was on the point of repeating the question, when suddenly starting from her seat, she came close to him, eyeing him all the time as if through spectacles, and turning him violently around by the shoulders, screamed out in a voice of the greatest surprise, 'Bless my soul, Robin! - where is t'other half of your coat-tail?'

"Coat-tail?' replied he, stammering, and twisting his neck around, as if he half understood the allusion, wh- where 's any coat-tail?' Ay, ay, sure enough, where's any coat-tail?- but make haste and let me know all about this visit to York, I beg of you.'

At first he 'hemmed and hawed' a good deal, not knowing exactly how to unburthen himself of his message; but presently plucking up courage, with a straight-forward honesty, he told 'just how it was.' And what think you, did his wife say? Did she upbraid him, as many would have done, for his failure, or did she go into hysterics? By no means. She did all she could to soothe his disappointment. Oh! she was a jewel of a woman! Ah! Robin, Robin!' said she, ‘I was a-feared nothing good would come of getting rich all to-once. But never mind, never mind; do n't let us repine at the ways of Providence. It's all for the best, and so let's make the best of it. It's true that our land is n't ploughed, and our seed is n't planted, and it's too late now. Times and seasons wait for nobody. We have not sowed in spring time, we cannot reap in harvest, and we shall never be much the richer for spekellation. But let us learn a lesson which shall be of more value than this year's crop; never to leave what is sure, for the most tempting uncertainty. For the present, we must live along as we can, and I will work my fingers to the bone, but the children sha' n't want for bread.'

At this truly christian speech, Bob felt his heart melt within him, and he thought that all the treasures earth could give, were small when weighed in the balance with such a woman. He was truly happy, and his head, which had been so much turned of late, of a sudden got right again. That night he went to bed, and slept soundly, and the next morning was up with the lark, whistling about the farm, and endeavoring by industry to make up for past neglect. Crow-Hill soon recovered what it had lost, and the next season, Allegany Avenue bore the best corn in the neighborhood. As his children grew up, they were sent to the district school, and he was enabled to place the eldest boy at the academy at Jamaica. There he made a very respectable progress in his studies, and although he neither

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turned out a clergyman nor a lawyer, prepared himself to be a very useful member of society. The wife's heart was contented. As for Robin, he toiled constantly, and nothing troubled him, except an occasional touch of the fever-and-ague. He frequently carried his crops to the city, but he never, never paid another visit to the Merchants' Exchange.

Shut out the world's coarse discords, till no more
The heart shall hear of violence or grief,
And heaven, in mercy to our lot, restore
The bloom of Eden, blissful, but how brief!

Charleston, (S. C.,) September, 1838.

W. G. S.

NOTES BY A RETIRED SCHOLAR.

Memini bene; sed meliori
Tempore dicam.-Horace.
Quod cumque inciderit in mentem.-TERENCE.

PATRIOTISM.

Is PATRIOTISM a mere name? A vague notion, which the smart of oppression alone makes a reality ? Was Leonidas, who died for it, an enthusiast? Is our admiration of Roman virtue a dream ? A simple-hearted man, who, from a limited experience, looks out upon the intrigues of politicians, their pliancy, their low fellowships, their self-contradictions, their falsehoods, might well doubt. Yet the love of our country bath reason in it; it belongs to humanity, and cannot be severed from it. It has a virtue too. It warms the blood, strengthens our best purposes, adds to our sense of personal dignity. Our country is our larger home. Our fellow citizens are our kinsfolk. Our words are the same - is not our heart one ? Therefore, we love our country. But to love deeply, the heart craves always somewhat outward and visible, to which it may attach itself, and which shall become to it a symbol of the idea it loves. The oak which shaded our boyhood, the fountain which moistened our parched lips, when the day's sport had wearied us, as they are abiding memorials of our home, will not suffer our love of that home to perish or decay. Our country gives us few memorials of itself, and has no visible form. Our constitution is that oak, not 'gnarled,' but unwedgeable.' That fountain of plenteous prosperity is our union, from which we drink, all of us. But it requires an effort to regard them so, seldom love abstractions; and the wise may well fear, lest, in a country so vast as ours, and under a government so simple in its forms, a shortsighted selfishness may finally come to govern the mass of our people, and a worse and meaner selfishness its more active spirits.

In the more heroic exhibitions of patriotism, there has always been another element than love. It may be called the element of wrath. Grounded on a sense of right, when that right is invaded, it becomes indignation; when trampled on, fierce resistance. This it is which brings life into peril. He who in quiet times shows his love for his country, by industry, and good faith, and orderly obedience to her laws, when her hour of trouble comes, and her name may be dishonored, or her freedom circumscribed, shall stain his hearth-stone with his blood for her sake. "We have been led to these thoughts, if they are worthy of the name, by reading again the · Leyer und Schwert of Theodore Körner. The source of his inspiration was an ardent patriotism. The feeling lived in him. It was his life. He possessed it in all its elements, of personal interest and hope, of fond attachment to the land of his fathers, reverence for its time-honored institutions, jealousy for its fame, sympathy for the suffering, and a righteous hatred of the invader. Originally of a poetic temperament, endowed with a fine fancy and meditative enthusiasm, this passion furnished

and men

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