little orphan sat up in his cradle, and smilingly | her part, was far from suspecting that the female stretched out his little arms to his mother. "Re-so simply dressed, so quietly seated in the miserdouté," she said, as she took the child and kissed able garret, was her still envied rival. it," did you not tell me that he was born the As the artist glanced from Maria-Louisa to the same day with the King of Rome?" beautiful face of Josephine-for it was still beau"The same day and hour, madame," answered tiful, though bearing the impress of grief even the young mother

more than of years-he observed that an unwonted

"Was it mentioned to the emperor at the expression of haughty disdain now clouded that




brow, usually so radiant with benevolent kindness, No, madame; we were happy then, and my and he half dreaded the result of this unexpected poor Charles had too independent a spirit to ask encounter. And now Maria-Louisa, without one anything from any one while he could work. caress to the child, or noticing it in any way, exHe was an engineer; and though employment plained in a few words the object of her visit. fluctuated, yet still we were never reduced to "Your intention is most laudable, doubtless, want. At his leisure time he used to construct madame," said Josephine, still keeping her seat model-machines, from one of which, novel and but you are rather late; the young mother and ingenious in the invention, he expected both fame the child are under my protection." Mariaand pecuniary advantage; but he has been sud-Louisa, with a haughty glance at her who thus denly taken from me, and I am left alone to presumed to address the empress, said coldly, "I struggle with misery and wretchedness. I am have some reason to believe that my patronage sinking lower and lower, and gradually every re- will be a little more advantageous." Here the source has been exhausted. Alas, I need not tell chamberlain quickly interposed, "It is quite ceryou !”—and she glanced sorrowfully around thetain that you, madame, have the power of elevatmiserable little apartment.

"To-morrow you shall quit this wretched, unwholesome abode," said the empress, as she gave the child to his mother, after fondly caressing him, and putting her purse into his little hand. "I will send you my own physician; his skill, and the comforts with which I hope to surround you, will restore your health. I rely on you, my good friend," added she, turning to the artist, to arrange all this for me."


ing the boy to any position you may choose for him, however high." With a momentary bitterness of feeling, excited by the involuntary retrospect of what she once had been, Josephine's dis dainful eye seemed to measure the speaker from head to foot, as she said, "And pray, sir, what leads you to conclude that I am not able to raise whom I will still higher?"





"The lady doubtless intends," said MariaLouisa in a tone of irony, to place her protégé She was rising to quit the room, amid the tears on the steps of the throne." and blessings of the widow, whose heart she had Higher still, madame, if such were my pleas"made to sing for joy," when the door opened, ure," warmly retorted Josephine, now rising to and a young lady entered, at sight of whom Re-withdraw; "for aught you can tell, I may have douté stood motionless with astonishment. It was given kings to the world.” Maria-Louisa, accompanied by a newly-appointed Beware, madame," hastily whispered Rechamberlain. As Maria-Louisa was never known douté; your majesty will betray yourself, and to visit the poor man in his abode of poverty, the emperor will be displeased." Josephine was Redouté had some excuse for the uncharitable silent; and the artist, who was upon thorns, judgment he formed on the instant-that this un- hastily added, "I do not see why either of these usual proceeding on her part was intended either ladies need give up her share in the happiness of as an attempt to rival Josephine in the popularity doing good. I shall feel honored in accepting for gained by her active and unwearied benevolence, my happy protégés whatever kindness it may. or to please the emperor, as proving the lively please either to bestow upon them." Josephine interest she took in a child born the same day and made no answer, but with head erect left the room; hour with the King of Rome. But whatever and Redouté, respectfully bowing to Maria-Louisa, might have been her motive, certain it is that she was following, glad to have prevented an outbreak was now standing in the widow's humble abode | which might have had serious consequences, when without deigning a salutation to any one in it. a hand laid upon his arm made him turn round: Josephine was sweetness and gentleness itself; it was the chamberlain. but there was something in this want of common courtesy that grated upon the pride of caste which, as a Creole of an illustrious race, the wife of the greatest captain of the age, and as one still feeling herself the empress, she retained amid desertion and the disgrace of her repudiation. It may oe, too, that she recognized Maria-Louisa, though she had only seen the portraits of her who now filled her place; and she therefore resumed her seat, as if fearful that her standing might have been construed into homage.


Sir," said he in a low whisper, "do you know that the lady whom I have had the honor of attending here is her majesty, the Empress MariaLouisa."


Sir," answered Redouté in an equally low voice, "the lady that I have had the honor of attending here is the Empress Josephine."

In less than two years after this meeting Josephine had sunk under the never-healed wound that Napoleon's desertion had inflicted, and died at Maria-Louisa, on Malmaison; and Maria-Louisa had, it may be

From Chambera' Journal.



joyfully, quitted a country which she had never | knowledge which is power, and of that talent loved, and in which she never succeeded in making which is one of those possessions described by herself beloved. During these two years the Aristides in his celebrated maxim, "Heap up no widow had lived upon the daily bounty of her treasures save those which, should shipwreck royal patronesses, and was consequently now as come, will float with the owner." destitute as when they first entered her abode of poverty. In vain had Redouté often placed before Josephine his view of what patronage, to be really useful, ought to be the helping others to help themselves. In vain had he urged her to establish the widow in some way of earning her independence. "Time enough for this when the boy is grown up." But death came, and reverse of fortune, and no friend now remained to the widow and the orphan but the artist, and nought remained to him from the vast wreck but his talent and his reputation. Circumstances might indeed render the productions of his pencil less a source of emolument, but these circumstances were but temporary; the artist would again rise to fame and fortune, while Napoleon and Maria-Louisa had fallen irretrievably.

WHAT a dreary phrase! How suggestive of hungry cravings and empty cupboards-of restless wanderings to and fro—of gloomy certainties and gloomier anticipations! How it disturbs a man's relations with society! You have lost a vantage-ground. That which a week ago was possible is now impossible. You are become a pariah without intending it; and you eye squalid people with a sort of shudder, half-persuaded that ere long you will be of them. How grudging and envious the world seems to have grown! You fancy that every one is as well aware of your feelings as you are yourself, and whatever discourse may be addressed to you sounds as if pointed with an embittered sting.

Nothing to do is bad enough; but out of work!

Redouté acted on the principle he would have had the widow's royal patronesses to act; he procured employment for the widow; and, thanks to his influence, she was enabled to earn sufficient to place her above want, while he took upon himself the education of her child. But the mother's-hope-stifling words-takes us far beyond, even health was failing; and when Redouté, previous to a short absence from Paris, went to take leave of her, she expressed her belief that he would not find her alive at his return, and with tears she solemnly commended her boy to his care. Though he had not attached much weight to her presentiments, yet it was with a somewhat uneasy feeling that, immediately on his return, he went to the house. The door was open; and as he ran up stairs, a sound reached him which struck upon his heart: they were fastening down the coffin of the widow, and in a corner of the room was the little Charles weeping bitterly. Some distant relations stood by the coffin in cold and audible debate as to what was to be done with the child.

"I see nothing for him but the Orphan Asylam," said one.

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‘Oh, no, no! pray do not send me there," cried the child. My own dear mamma worked for her bread, and so can I. You do not know how much I can do if you will but try me." At this instant he caught a glimpse of Redouté, and throwing himself into his arms, he exclaimed, "You are come back, dear, good friend, and you will not send me to the asylum!" The artist pressed the poor boy to his bosom.

"Have you no hearts?" he said, indignantly turning to the relations. "This boy shall be my care." And what the most powerful among the powerful had not done, he did-he, the comparatively obscure and humble artist. He secured to his protégé present comfort and future respectability, by teaching him, as soon as possible, to help himself. Charles Blanger became not only his best pupil, but a celebrated painter, making the same use as his noble-minded master of that

across the Rubicon of desperation. And yet it is something to know what the phrase really does mean. It is a test to which you look back with feelings similar to those which possess the survivor of a shipwreck or other fearful calamity. You would avoid the trial if possible; but having gone through it, are rather glad than otherwise at having endured it. Such retrospections, it may be said, are not congenial, yet it appears to me that human experience, if reviewed in a right spirit, can hardly fail to convey a useful lesson to those who read its history. My remarks are prompted by what has happened to myself, and may on that account, if on no other, present some slight claims to notice.


Out of work!-how the grim reality haunts you, and how vain the efforts to shake it off! Then you understand fully why Keats speaks of sleep as comfortable," and join heartily with Sancho Panza in "blessings on the man who invented sleep." The approach of bedtime was as welcome to me then as to a travel-worn pedestrian, and I shall never forget the soothing charm as the unconsciousness of sleep gradually stole over me.

Its influence would remain for a few brief moments on first awaking the next morning; but presently a vague apprehension of some impending ill would creep over me, and then, when fully awake, my heart swelled with one huge choking throb, and the leaden gloom settled down on my mind for the rest of the day.

How the moral reacts on the physical! I used to walk briskly; now I went about with a hesitating step, and with a bearing that threatened to degenerate into a slouch. I once believed my principles firm, and my faith in essential points

How often the few remaining dollars were counted!-this was in New York. I despised myself for calculating on how little my family could be made to exist for a given time. My heart grew hard, and I often shuddered lest it should never soften again. How slowly time passed! the days had grown longer on purpose to torment me, and the thousand bewildering thoughts that preyed upon me had ample leisure for their work.

sound-that my mind was made up as to social again employed, there were times that I shrunk rights and moral duties—but the anchor-hold had from the thought of work as an owl shuns the suddenly given way, and I was adrift on a sea of sunlight. uncertainties. I began to fancy myself ill-used, and that he was the wisest who, in the general scramble, grasped most. What had I done to be thus summarily deprived of ways and means, while men whom I thought not half so deserving were in full work? It was a hard question to answer under the circumstances, and harder still to acknowledge that I had no right to complain. Again, how many there were who could live in ease and comfort without laborious toil, while I, at the best of times, had nothing but my manual Facilis descensus averni; the phrase is as true skill and a week's wages between my little house- now as when originally penned two thousand hold and destitution. Turn it which way I would years ago. When first cast loose, I had felt sure the idea was a harassing one. The new spirit of readily obtaining employment in my regular that possessed me seemed endowed with a resist-trade: the idea of condescending to inferior occuless power of gravitation.

pation was not to be for a moment entertained; it would damage my respectability, and disturb my self-esteem. But as the weary time wore on, the imperative necessity of providing food for a certain number of mouths every day left no alternative, no possibility of over-scrupulousness in Respectability soon ceased to

Society, in my view, had become inordinately selfish how cleverly it had entrenched itself within laws and statutes, so that if I-bodingly anxious without the pale-ventured to help myself to the superabundance of others, it would be under peril of liberty! What right had society to conventionalities. make a law which seemed expressly intended to aggravate my necessitous condition? Was I not

be a bug-bear; if cabinet-making was not to be had, I would take carpentry or jobbing-work.

the victim of a wanton injustice? Such thoughts These failing, I next called on the shipwrights, as these make the work of temptation very easy but with no better success; and then I bethought for the tempter. Whatever might be society's myself of trying other resources. It had always notions on the matter, mine were, that retaliatory been one of my purposes and pleasures to see as measures would be perfectly justifiable. much of other trades as possible, to visit and inI walked about-it seemed to me that I sneaked spect all sorts of workshops, by which means -seeking for work. The masters surely had their most obvious details had become familiar to leagued against me; how, otherwise, could be me. I knew enough of shoemaking, bookbinding, explained their malicious negative to my in-printing, and some other trades, to be able to earn quiries? There was the roar and bustle of life small wages at any one of them. Should these and traffic in the thoroughfares, which made me also fail, it was all but certain that some sort of loathe my forced idleness. I had no business rude labor could be hunted up, which would there; I was one too many in the world. How furnish at least a pittance till more prosperous the aspect of affairs had altered! When in full days came round again. My heart often failed work, I had not unfrequently considered it a hard-me while following out this new quest, yet I did ship to work so many hours every week for so at last get through my task of seeking any kind comparatively small a remuneration. Now, in retrospect, the wage appeared an enviable fortune. Unconsciously to myself I was learning a significant lesson, fraught with profound instruction. Could I have appreciated it then as I do now, what a load of heartache it would have spared me!

of work. In some respects it was a repulsive task, for in the lower grade of shops and places of work I found a lower class of workmen; men on whom vice had set its mark, in whom depravity of mind and heart had become habitual, whose talk was as coarse as their looks. "Misery," Staying at home became irksome to me: home says Shakspeare, "acquaints a man with strange appears somewhat strange to a workman on a bedfellows," and the dread of being compelled to working-day, and although my perambulations iningle with debased associates increased my apmight be fruitless, it seemed that I was less idle prehensions. Necessity, however, has no law; a when so occupied than when loitering within needy man must work, if not where he would, doors. Some mornings a faint revival of hope then where he can. It is a critical time; for would make me feel certain of getting work in there is more or less danger that contact and custhe course of the day, and I started forth animated tom may lead a man to “ put up" with his altered by all my former confidence. Unsubstantial trust! position, and gradually assimilate himself to it. The first disappointment brought back all my Many a man in such circumstances is apt to say, irresolutions, all my bitter forebodings. I had "What's the use of trying to keep a fair front made up my mind to brave it out, but the effort to the world? Who cares whether I sink or was too much for me. By a strange contradic-swim? Let things take their course." However, tion, too, notwithstanding my eager desire to be on the occasion here more particularly referred

to, my asking for work proved fruitless; whether | pied by my bench; I got it into working trim, it was that I looked too dejected or too unprac- sharpened my tools, and sawed a pair of ends for tised, no one would employ me. a chiffonier out of a mahogany slab which I had

Who shall describe the prostration of heart and by me. These were planed up and properly squared soul with which a man who has been wandering before I went to bed that night; and wondrous was the whole day in a vain seeking for occupation | the effect which manual labor produced. "Fling returns at night-fall to his home? The dispiriting but a stone, the giant dies," says the poet, and

is occasionally so extreme, that for a time the
solaces which there await him fail of their effect.
It is in such circumstances that a man learns to
appreciate rightly the value of a good wife; one
to whom he can say with truth-

When pain and anguish wring the brow,
A ministering angel thou.

most truly; for, as my limbs fell into their accustomed movements, and the shavings whistled from my plane, the anxious cares forsook me—and hope resumed her sway, strong in the vigor of self-help. It is true the prospect of profit was but slender. That, however, was not the prime advantage, which lay in the restoration of my mind to its healthy tone still, in a large city purchasers are always to be found for fabricated wares, and a small gain is better than complete inaction. Besides which, a man who keeps himself employed is more ready to improve such opportunities as fall in his way, than one whose working habits are weakened by disuse.

If she be kind and considerate, she will know that now is the time to display that affection which includes no thought of self in its warm desire for another's happiness. True it is that she has her own share of the general trouble to bear; but she has not been worn out by a desponding walk; the rebuffs which solicitation seldom fails to evoke Idleness is by all means to be eschewed, and I have not fallen on her personally; besides which, would urge this point strongly on the attention of women are less irritated by adverse fortune than working-men-my late companions. The resource men. If, on such occasions, the wife will strive which I adopted is such an obviously natural one, in sincerity to become a "ministering angel," how soon will her gentle words soothe the chafed spirit of her husband! With what blessedness her sympathy reänimates his hope and subdues his impatience! How his bitter thoughts take to flight as she suggests some comforting anticipation, and a brightening faith takes the place of despair! Ere long, the sustaining influences overmaster him, his children again claim his notice, and share his smile, and the dejected man finds in the light of home a solace for all his disquietude; so true is it that there is no condition of life without its bright side, no adverse circumstance without its compensating quality. Herein the married man is more favorably situated than the unmarried-the one has a sustaining resource which the other knows nothing of. But, on the other hand, no fate can be more deplorable than that of a man out of work with a comfortless home, a careless wife, and contumacious children.

It must be confessed that the general aspect of such a season of trial as above indicated is sufficiently discouraging; the downward tendency appears to be inevitable. But there is a remedy; and this remedy is to be found in the spirit of self-reliance-in firm moral principle. And it will be a lasting satisfaction to me that I was enabled to apply this remedy, as a fragment of my experience may serve to exemplify. The mental and physical condition which I have endeavored to portray in the foregoing paragraphs was not permanent—it was but the stunning effect which the natural reäction would presently dissipate.

as to have since caused me much surprise that it did not occur to me with distinctness before the second week of my wanderings. And mine is no exceptional case; what I did may be done by others. There are few trades at which a man cannot work at his home-that is, if he has the will to do so. If he will only exercise a proper thrift while in work, he will not lack the means of purchasing materials on which to employ himself when necessity compels. Let those who may feel disposed to undervalue such apparently insignificant means remember that it is easier to obey a fixed habit, than to recover it if broken or lost; and no purpose, however slight, is to be despised which may serve to keep a man out of the way of evil associates or temptation. It would be well, also, if every artificer would learn something of other trades as well as his own, as he would thereby not only multiply his resources, but be better able to judge of fitting occupations for his children.

There is no reason either, as I afterwards had occasion to prove, why the days spent in looking for work should be altogether wasted. For, without losing sight of the main chance, I took occasion to visit the noteworthy parts of the city, publio buildings, wharves, docks, and, when practicable, factories and workshops. Nor did I confine myself to the town, but walked a few miles in various directions into the country, where, if nothing else was to be seen, there was always natural scenery, whose influence on the mind is ever quieting and elevating.

Lastly, in integrity of character consists the One evening, after a long spell of involuntary most potential remedy; it is the spring of all the idleness, I was seated thinking over my prospects, rest. It is that which gives and maintains the when all at once the thought struck me, "If no energizing impulse. A wise writer has observed one will employ you, set yourself to work." No that " a straight line is the shortest in morals as sooner was the thought formed, than I started up well as in geometry." And so it is, even in a to act upon it; one side of our kitchen was occu- calculative point of view. The steady, honest

workman is less exposed to loss of work or dis- tion of mind and heart is possible to every man. missal than he who has no settled conviction as I would endeavor to impress it on all who shall

to what is right or wrong; he is better able to keep money in his pocket, and to provide for his children. Here is so much clear gain; but when we come to higher views, how immeasurably superior does moral rectitude appear-that which springs from the soul, and aims at something beyond mere pecuniary advantage! And such a condi



THEY Say my youngest is a pet,
And has too much her way;
It can't be so, I think, and yet
.I would not dare say nay.
For if my memory serve me right,
And truth must be confessed,
Each youngest that has blest my sight
Has seemed to be loved best.

Thus one by one has shared the love
Of a fond father's heart;

The youngest tenderer thoughts could move
Than those who had the start.

The oldest was to me most dear,

So was the next-so all;

The youngest came my age to cheer-
On her my love did fall.

"Tis not that she is loved the most,
But she is loved the last;
The youngest may my fondness boast,
But so could all the past.

My youngest, then, is not a pet,
More than each child before;

I think so, certainly—and yet
They say I love her more.


A SWALLOW in the spring,

Came to our granary, and 'neath the eaves
Essayed to make a nest, and there did bring

Wet earth, and straw, and leaves.

Day after day she toiled With patient heart;, but ere her work was crowned, Some sad mishap the tiny fabric spoiled,

And dashed it to the ground.

She found the ruin wrought,

But not cast down, forth from the place she flew, And, with her mate, fresh earth and grasses brought, And built her nest anew.

But scarcely had she placed

The last soft feather on its ample floor,
When wicked hand, or chance, again laid waste,
And wrought the ruin o'er.

But still her heart she kept,

And toiled again, and last night, hearing calls,
I looked, and lo! three little swallows slept
Within the earth-made walls.

What truth is here, O man!
Hath hope been sitten in its early dawn?
Have clouds o'ercast thy purpose, trust or plan?
Have FAITH and struggle on.
Nat. Intel.

read what I have here written, as an unfailing resource throughout the changeful circumstances of life. Possessed of that spirit of eternal justice which does as it would be done unto, a man will find that "out of work" is divested of half its bitterness, while a double blessing attends the sweets of prosperity.

SOUTHEY'S INTENTION OF COMING TO AMERICA. -In the first number of "The Life and Correspondence of Robert Southey," published by the Harpers, occurs the following passage, disclosing the fact that the poet, early in life, contemplated taking up his residence in the United States. Writing to a Mr. Bedford, under date of July 30, 1794, he says: ""Tis my intention soon to join Mr. Wales, then proceed to Edmund Seward, seriously to arrange with him the best mode of settling in America; my brother Thomas will gladly go with us, and perhaps two or three more of my most intimate friends. In this country I must either sacrifice happiness or integrity. I shall in


scribe Joan of Arc to you; it will be my legacy to this country, and may, perhaps, preserve my memory in it. Many of my friends may blame me for so bold a step, but as many encourage me; and I want to raise money enough to settle me across the Atlantic. If I have leisure to write there, my stock of imagery will be much increased."

To the literary man the speculation is a curious one, what Southey might have produced if he had carried out his intention of making this the country of his residence. Our immense rivers and lakes, our mountains and cataracts, so infinitely beyond those of Europe in number and grandeur, would doubtless have made a profound impression upon him, and possibly have given to the world a poem commensurate with their beauty and sublimity.-Buffalo Courier.

JEWISH SCRIPTURE MSS.-In transcribing the Sacred Writings, it has been a constant rule with the Jews, that whatever is considered as corrupt shall never be used, but shall be burnt, or otherwise destroyed. A book of the law, wanting but one letter, with one letter too much, or with an error in one single letter, written with anything but ink, or written on parchment made of the hide of an unclean animal, or on parchment not purposely prepared for that use, or prepared by any but Israelites, or on skins of parchment tied together by unclean string, shall be holden to be corrupt; that no word shall be written without a line first drawn on the parchment, no word written by heart, or without having been pronounced orally by the writer; that before he writes the naine of God, he shall wash his pen; that no letter shall be joined to another; and that if the blank parchment cannot be seen all around the letter, the roll shall be corrupt. There are certain rules for the length and breadth of each sheet, and for the space to be left between each letter, each word, and each section. These Maimonides mentions as some of the principal rules to be observed in copying the sacred rolls. Even to this day it is an obligation on the persons who copy the sacred writings for the use of the synagogue to observe them. Those who have not seen the rolls used in the synagogues, can have no conception of the exquisite beauty, correctness, and equality of the writing.-Carpenter's Popular Lectures.

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