For the Magnolia. The Choice. By Gustavus Adolphus Lovelace, Gent. At twilight, in a shady grove, When long had passed the noontide heat, A sighing lover chanced to rove, And two enchanting maids to meet. One stood, with light upon her brow, · And diamonds sparkling in her hair, As bright as genii-forms that now Are flitting thro' the liquid air. The other came-a pensive shade Accept my heart, myself, my soul!" of greater worth than diadems. The Return. The dark and lonely valley of Einterfeldt is traversed by the lordly Rhine, which, having poured its mighty waters through the, lofty oaks and tufted shrubs of that sombre ravine, continues its course along the base of a mountain, clothed with gigantic pine trees. The mountain-shrubs dip their branches into the noble river, while it pursues its way in untroubled majesty; reminding us of the even tenor of a good man's life. For Upon the summit of the mountain, and overhanging as it were, the calm waters of the Rhine, stood an ancient edifice, the residence of many successive generations, who had, by turns, passed away, like the flowers of the field. From the earliest ages of the world, when fresh and young it arose in unsullied beauty, from the hands of its Creator, the river had quietly pursued its course. upwards of four hundred years the castle, erected by the hands of man, had stood reflected in its waters. The inanimate works of the Almighty remained; the edifice raised by his creatures were yet unshaken; but the fair the young, the brave, where were they? In the feudal days when proud barons had there exercised a tyrannic sway, streams of human blood had mingled with these waters; reeking corpses had there found an unhallowed grave. Sounds of fierce conflicts had issued from these time worn walls, and they had also rung to notes of wassail. step into our places as lightly, and fill them as unthinkingly as we do those of the departed.-Little is it to be wandered at that the superstitious should have peopled their chambers with the ghosts of their predecessors, whose tables they sit at, whose seats they fill, on whose couch they freely repose; and that they should imagine them as returning to claim, or at least to haunt their original possessions. Did thoughts such as these occupy the mind of the young boy, who sat by the margin of the river, gazing wistfully on the surrounding objects, with looks so anxious and uncertain? His age might be fifteen, but his countenance wore an air of thought unsuited to his years, and still less in keeping with the parti-colored dress, his harlequin's jacket, and fantastic cap, which betokened him to belong to a company of wandering players. The sun had not yet dispersed the mists of the morning; the dew was without luster upon grass and flower. A solitary star still lingered in the heavens, as if faintly disputing the empire of the night with the rosy clouds, which gradually flushing into a deeper crimson; announcing the near approach of the sun. The boy sat at some distance from his companions, a group of strolling players, who had been performing at the provincial theatre of the neighboring town; and who, in their fantastic dresses and shabby finery, formed a scene worthy of the pencil of Hogarth. Joyously occupied in emptying an old can of Rhenish, and singing, in chorus, occasional snatches from a drinking song, in honor of the Rhine; they looked towards him now and then, jeering at his sadness or addressing him in mock-heroics. The young harlequin rose and wandered along the banks of the river, unheeding their jests; he came to a rustic bridge thrown across the water, on the other side of which stood an old out-house or barn belonging to the castle. He crossed the bridge, and entering the barn, sat down on the ground in a wistful reverie. "It is strange," said he to himself, "but these scenes seem all familiar to me-that old castle, this barn, the deep blue river-perhaps the rising sun may dispel these foolish fancies; but voices that I have known and loved seem forever ringing in my ears." As he spoke, a peasant girl passed by, singing, in a sweet, clear voice, a well known German air. The boy listened with breathFair ladies had looked from these "narrow less attention, and sighed deeply as the sound windows; harps and lutes had echoed through died away in the distance. At that moment these halls; nor had the voice of love been the sun bursting in glory through a veil of mute there, though there too, perhaps, the clouds, dispelled the mists of morning, and tears of wounded affection had flown; for poured his crimson light upon valley, mounwhere love is, there is also wo. And infants tain and river. A Gothic church appeared in had clung to their mother's knee; and glad the distance, embosomed in trees, the gliternursery shouts had awakened the sullening spire and the lowly houses of the adjacent echoes. But now they are still. Powerless lies the gallant knight; dull is the eye of beauty; hushed is the voice of infant glee.All are bound by the same spell; and that spell is death. Thus do we tread upon the dust, upon by-gone generations, to be in turn trod upon, when it is our hour to join the mighty family of the past. Then others shall hamlet, becoming gradually more distinctly visible, while the deep toll of the bell, as it swung to and fro, announced the commencement of some village festival. But the attention of the wanderer was guddenly diverted from the contemplation of inanimate scenery, by the striking appearance and picturesque beauty of two little girls who were crossing the bridge, carrying between them a basket of freshly-gathered roses, while from under their snowy caps their fair hair was blown aside, like clusters of waving silver. They came on, tripping lightly, until they reached the barn where the harlequin had taken up his resting place. "Surely," exclaimed the boy, "I am in a dream; for the faces of these children are familiar to me. The air to which I now listen, I have heard before; or rather, voices which I have heard, and forms which have appeared to me in my dreams, have suddenly become realized." Meanwhile the children stood gazing with faces expressive of innocent wonder, but without any mixture of fear, on the intruder. They spoke to each other, and his eyes glistened, with tears. Another chord of memory was struck. The little girls looked at him with sympathy; and at length the elder of the two, advancing timidly, asked him if he wanted any thing. "Nothing," said the boy; " and yet I should wish you to tell me the name of this place, and to whom it belongs?" "That is the castle of Einterfeldt, and our father is the Baron de Walstein. We live there we have always lived there. My father is very kind, he will give you whatever you are in want of, though he does not like to see strangers, for he has been very sad and lonely since mother died, and that was of grief for the loss of our poor brother, Carl, who was lost many years ago? "Carl!" said the boy," that is my name. If I had two little sisters like you, how I should love them!" "And have you none ?" "None: nor father, nor mother " "How sad!" said the children; and as they spoke, they drew nearer and sat down one on each side of him. My story is indeed very sad," said the boy, "I do not know who I am, nor where I was born, nor who are my parents. But I can remember, when a very little child, I lived in a castle, by the side of a large river. And I also remember the accident that separated me from my parents." frightened, but in a few moments, finding myself upon the broad bosom of the river, descending like a bird upon the wing, I became delighted, and clapped my hands for joy.Thus I went on for a long time, But at length I grew weary, and lay down in the boat to sleep. Totally unaware of my danger, though born along with dreadful velocity, I was soon wrapped in slumber. My dreams were sweet and peaceful, but were suddenly interrupted. The boat was caught in a whirling eddy near the shore, and was instantly upset. I was cast into the water, and with the violence of the shock I awoke. For a moment I struggled with the waves; the waters were soon piled over my head, and I sunk senseless into the bosom of the river. I remembered nothing more, until I found myself surrounded by strange faces, and a multitude of persons, whom I had never seen before. They were a company of strolling players, who had found me cold and senseless on the bank of the river. They had the humanity to take me with them and afterwards became fond of me: and as in their roving life, they had no means of discovering who I was, or who my parents were, they brought me up, taught me to tumble, and performa feats for exhibition; and when I grew old enough, they made me appear as their harlequin. They have preserved the cloths I wore when they found me, as the only chance of my ever being indentified. I have led a strange, wandering life, and have travelled through many countries; through France, Spain, and Switzerland. I have seen the blue skies of Italy, the beautiful bay of Naples, with its orange groves and volcanoes -the vineyards of Spain, and the Alps crowned with snow. Yet, waking or asleep, the remembrance of some other country which I had before seen has always haunted me: and I have a dim remembrance of my father, and of the blue eye and gentle smile of my mother. To-morrow we go on to Munich-and this wandering life, which I have never liked, seems more distasteful to me than ever. Strange foolish fancies have come over me. It seems to me that I have seen that castle before; that old church, and this broad, rolling rivereven that I have somewhere before heard your voices, and yet, surely it cannnt be!" The two little girls who had listened with attention, now looked at each other with tears their eyes, and the elder said, Come with us to our father, Carl, he will like you for your name. Come, and perhaps he will be able to assits you." So saying, the children rose, and Carl followed their guidance, they arrived after a short walk, at the castle. "Tell us!” cried both the children eagerly "I remember," said the boy, "that on the margin of the river was a cove shaded with trees, and that I used often to go there attend-in ed by my nurse, to play by the edge of the water. I reccollect that a storm of rain set in and I was not permitted to go there as usual. One day tired of this confinement, I stole from my nurse, and ran down, alone, to the cove. I found it had been extended by the floods, which had been supplied by the rains, and poured from every mountain and slope. The river was rushing by in a dark blue torrent, and all the hill-sides around me were sending their noisy rills into its convulsed and whirling bosom. I was delighted with the uproar around me, and seeing a little boat dancing on the edge of the water, I climbed into it, and pushed into the cove. No sooner had the boat swayed from the shore, that it was caught by the currant, and swept down the stream like an arrow. At first I was An old gray-headed porter, who seemed almost superanuated, sat at the gate, and smiled on the children as they passed. The boy looked at him doubtingly, and seemed about to address him, but after a lingering look passed on. A noble wolf-hound, that crouched at the old man's feet, came fawning up to the children, Carl, looked at the dog so earnestly that the little girls thought he was afraid, and told him he need not fear, for that Leolf was old and gentle. But the boy seemed like one in a trance, and looked at every tree and flower with a bewildered gaze. At length the children, with a joyous exclamation pointed out their father, who stood before the door of the castle, leaning on his staff. His hair was grey and his steps were feeble, but it seemed as if grief, and not time had impaired his strength and silvered his locks, for the lustre of his eye was undimmed as he fondly gazed on his children, while, with eager gestures, they related their adventure. The boy stood behind a few steps, with his eyes fixed in vacancy. But when the Baron advanced and spoke to him, he started like one awakened from a dream. They gazed at at each other for a few moments. The voice of nature prevailed over time, absence, and change. The father and son rushed wildly into each others arms, and 'remaind locked in a long embrace. No word was spoken, no doubt was expressed on either side-and it was not until Carl was seated by a blazing fire in the castle-hall, with his little fair-haired sisters clinging to his knees, that the baron would listen to his story, or relate in his turn the events which followed his disappearance; the agony of the parent, the fruitless search, the reward offered in vain for his discovery, and the death of the mother who could not survive the loss ofher favorite child, but worn out by fears and anxieties, sunk into a premature grave. The next day, proper measures were taken to ascertain the identity of the young harlequin with the only son of the Baron de Walstein. These were soon procured, but the baron needed only to trace in the features of his son the likeness of his departed wife. On the following Sunday solemn thanks were offered up to heaven for the return of the young wanderer to his native land; and that evening, Carl, with his newly-found sisters, knelt before the grave of his mother and hung a chaplet of white roses on her tomb. The flowers were wet with the dew of the evening; but with it were mingled the tears of the young and the innocent.-The Token. A Newspaper. A newspaper! It is the cradle of genius,-the record of truth. Wood cut engravings adorn it, and the muses smile graciously upon it. A newspaper! A city newspaper is a picture of the world. Cast thine eyes over its grim pages; like that, all is confusion and bustle-each one pushing forward to attract attention by arts no matter how trival. Little ships and big ships; steamboats with their roaring wheels and black smoke, whiz pastus; rail cars, post coaches and postboys; boxes of tea and barrels of cogniac; Franklin gridirons and Lafayette bedsteads; strayed and found animals, are mingled promiscuously together. "Money!" cries the lottery office. "Fire!" cries the insurance company. Strange that between both, men cannot get money and keep it. Some applicants for public notice are very modest in their approaches, only soliciting favor as long as they deserve it; others are not aware of their claims on public gratitude, and surely some are prompted by the very spirit of philanthropy. The same diversired scene! In one column a fire, in the next a successful speculation. Here a man eats himself to death, there a child is starving; the widow solicits a pittance, and the rich man offers his load; the register of death numbers the old, the middle aged and the young.Matrimony! ah, the list is generally long and appalling. Notice! alas some Jonathan is close at hand, advertising his refractory rib; what is the matter with thy wife, friend? is thy steak cooked too much? or are thy potatoes burnt up? or thy door locked at twelve P. M. and thou on the out-side? or did she love gadding about? she must be a mild creature, for she makes no angry retort. A newspaper? it makes one love this little round ball of earth. All the ships are well built, copper bottomed, and fast sailing; the houses are in good repair-extensive out-grounds, delightfully situated; no lime-bleached linens or damaged cambrics; no mouldy almonds or musty oranges, or sour raisins; madeira wine and spanish segars are all of transatlantic origin. In short every thing comes from its proper place. Human beings, too, seem to be very social-so many partnerships. Sometimes, indeed, we find some little soul, armed with a patent right, elbowing his way through the crowd, threatening "chains and slavery" to all who dare invade his proper sphere; but generally men seem to have coupled themselves together in loving fellowship. Much as our world has been abused by misanthropes and despised poets, we doubt whether they would find in the clouds any thing half so convenient. Why, here is every thing, theatres and circusses, rope dancers and singers, gardens und gun-powder, doctors for the sick, teeth for the toothless, wigs for the bald, braces for the ill shaped, rouge for the pale, and white lead for the rosy. It is indeed a bright and beautiful world, and we pray gen tle reader, that thou mayst be preserved from the spirit of love and poetry; only read thy newspaper punctually, and it will always appear to thee bright and beautiful. A Derbyshire Tale. About twenty or thirty years since, a gentleman named Webster, who lived in the woodland, a barren range of hills in Derbyshire, bordering upon the confines of Yorkshire, had occasion to go from home. The family, besides himself, consisted of the servant man, a young girl, and the housekeeper. At his departure he gave his man a strict charge to remain in the house, along with the females, and not on any account to absent himself at night until his return. This the man promised to do; und Mr. Webster proceeded on his journey. At night, however, the man went out, notwithstanding all the earnest entreaties and remonstrances of the housekeeper to the contrary, and not coming in, she and the servant girl at the usual time went to bed. Some time in the night they were awakened by a loud knocking at the door. The housekeeper got up, went down stairs, and enquired who was there, and what was their business? She was informed that a friend of Mr. Webster being benighted, and the night wet and stormy, requested a night's lodging. She forthwith gave him admittance, roused up the fire, led his horse into the stable, and then returned to provide something to eat for her guest, of which he partook; and was shown to his chamber. On returning to the kitchen, she took up his great coat in order to dry it, when perceiving it to be, as she thought, very heavy, curiousity prompted her to examine the pockets, in which she found a brace of loaded pistols, and their own large carving knife! Thunderstruck by this discovery, she immediately perceived what sort of a guest she had to deal with, and his intention. However summoning up all her courage and resolution, she proceeded softly up stairs, fastened the door of the room in which the villain was as well as she could, with a rope-then went down, and in great perturbation of mind waited the event. Shortly after a man came to the window and in a low, but distinct tone of voice, said, "are you ready?" She grasped one of the pistols with a desperate resolution -presented it to his face-and fired! The report of the pistol alarmed the villain above who attempted to get out of the room, but was stayed in his purpose by her saying, "Villain, if you open the door you are a dead man."She sent the servant girl for assistance, while she remained with the other pistol in her hand, guarding the door. When help arrived, the villain was taken into custody; and, on searching without, they found the servant man shot dead. Another villain, who was taken shortly after, met with his deserts; and the housekeeper, who acted with so much fidelity and such unparallelled intrepidity, was soon after united to Mr. Webster. "The last diabolical stroke of Russian policy has been to intoxicate the children of the condemned Poles, in order that they may sing while on their way to the mines."-Extract of a Letter. Forth went they from their father-land, A fallen and a fettered race, To find upon a distant strand, Their dark abiding place. Forth went they-not as freemen go, But with the bowed-down mien of wo, The aged in their silver hair; The young, in manhood's might; THE MAGNOLIA, IS PUBLISHED EVERY OTHER SATURDAY, BY P. DEAN CARRIQUE, Hudson, N. Y., at One Dollar per annum, in advance. Persons acting as Agents, or forwarding Five Dollars shall receive six copies, and in the same proportion for all they may obtain. All letters and communications must come postage paid to receive attention. VOL. I. OR, LITERARY TABLET. Published Semi-Monthly, at One Dollar Per Annum, in Advance. HUDSON, FEBRUARY 8, 1834. The Dying Soldier. The sunset clouds, that brightly blending, throw The evening breeze, that o'er the drooping flowers A sacred spot, freed from oppression's gloom, C. D. No. 10. incident of human life, whether gay or solemn ; and from almost every person with whom he met, no matter what his temper standing or disposition; of course he had opportunities enough of exercising his uncommon gift, and he rarely suffered an opportunity to pass unimproved. The beau in the presence of his mistress, the fop, the pedant, the purseproud, the over fastidious and sensitive, were Ned's favorite game. These never passed him uninjured, and against such he directed his severest shafts. With the rest of the human family he dealt more tenderly, but not less humorously. With these he commonly amused himself, by exciting in them every variety of emotion, under circumstances peculiarly ridiculous. He was admirably fitted to his vocation. He could assume any character which his humor required him to personate, and he could sustain it to perfection. His knowledge of the character of others, seemed to be intuitive, It may seem remarkable, but it is true, that though he lived his own peculiar life for about sixteen years, after he reached the age of manhood, he never involved himself in a personal rencounter with any one. This was owing in part to his gigantic stature which few would be willing to engage; but more particularly to his adroitness in the management of his projects of fun. He generally conducted them in such a way as to render it impossible for any one to call him to account without violating all the rules of decency, politeness, honor and chivalry at once. But a From the Southern Recorder. few anecdotes of him, will give the reader a The Character of a Native Georgian. much better idea of his character, than he can possibly derive from a general description. If There are some yet living, who knew the these fulfil the description which I have given man whose character I am about to delineate; of my hero, all will agree that he is no imaand these will unanimously bear testimony, ginary being-if they do not, it will only be that if it be not faithfully drawn, it is not because I am unfortunate in my selection. overdrawn. They cannot avouch for the Having known him from his infancy to his truth of the anecdotes which I am about to grave-for he was a native Georgian-I conrelate of him-because of these they know fess that I am greatly perplexed in determinnothing; but they will unhesitatingly declare, ing what portion of his singular history to lay that there is nothing herein ascribed to him, before the reader as a proper specimen of the of which he was incapable, and of which he whole. A three day's visit which I once would not readily have been the author, sup-made with him to Savannah, placed him in a posing the scenes in which I have placed him, to be real; and the thoughts and actions attributed to him, to have actually suggested themselves to him. They will further testify that the thoughts and actions are in perfect harmony with his general character. I do not feel at liberty as yet to give the name of the person in question, and therefore be shall be designated for the present, by the ppellation of Ned Brace. This man seemed to live only to amuse himIf with his fellow beings, and he possessed the rare faculty of deriving some gratification of his favorite propensity, from almost every greater variety of scenes, and among a greater diversity of characters, than perhaps any other period of his lite embracing no longer time: and therefore I will choose this for my urpose. We reached Savannah just at night-fall, of a cold December's evening. As we approached the tavern of Mr. Blank, at which we designed to stop, Ned proposed to me that we should close our acquaintance until he should choose to renew it. To this proposition I most cordially assented; for I knew that by so doing I should be saved some mortification, and avoid a thousand questions which I would |