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ancient dramas. It is seriously to be wished that the more excellent species of dramatic composition, may be afforded us, and we believe the Boston managers are willing to please the town with such productions, instead of the melo-dramas, the monstrous progeny of an union of pantomine and tragedy.

The actors too, should recoilect that they are in some measure brought forward as pubiic instructors; and they certainly have some influence in the formation of the cominon taste. Their utterance should therefore be chaste, free from profanity, solecisms, vulgarity, or provincialisms; their costume strictly correct, and their characters thoroughly maintained.

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with a passion equal to his own, and the day was fixed to make” them happy., It was the 20th of June, 1778.

The Prussian troops are always ready to take the field; and on the 19th of June, at ten o'clock at night, the Count's regiment received orders to march at midnight, for Silesia. He was at Berlin, and his mistress at a country house, four leagues from the town. He set off consequently without seeing her; and he wrote to her from the first place where he stopped, that it was impossible for him to live without her, that it was essential to his happiness that she should foliow him immediately, and that they should be married in Silesia. He wrote at the same time to her brother, who was his intimate friend, to plead his cause with her parents. She set out, accompanied by this brother, and by her lover's mother. Never did the sands of Brandenburg appear so heavy as to this charming girl; but at length the journey ended, and she arrived at the town of Horstadt :—it was in the morning, "and never," said her brother to me," did my eyes see a woman lovelier than my sister. The exercise of the journey had added to her boom, and her eyes painted what passed in her heart." But,

how deceitful are human prospects! How near is the moment of wretchedness to the moment of le.icity. The carriage stopped to let some soldiers pass, who, ad

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vancing with slow steps, tore in their arms, a wounded ofàcer. The tender heart of the young làdy was affected at the sight: she little expected that it was her loSome Austrian strangers had approached this town, and the young Count went out to repuise them. Burning to distinguish himseif, he rushed with a dour before his troop, and fell the victim of his unhappy impetuosity.

To describe the situation of this unfortunate young woman, would be to insult at once your heart, and your imagination. Her lover is placed in his bed his mother is at his feet, and his mistress holds his hand. "O Charlotte," cried he, opening a dying eye--he wanted to speak; but his voice broke, and he melted into tears. His tone had pierced the soul of his mistress; she lost her reason, and

No, I will not survive you,' cried she, quite frantic, and seized a sword. They disarmed her; and he made a sign with his hand, that they should bring her to his bedside. She came; be grasped her arm; and after two painful efforts to speak, he says, with a sob- Live, my Charlotte, to comfort my mother,"--and expiredWhen I passed through Berlin, in July, 1779, the unfortunate lady had not recovered her senses.

Wilt thou break a leaf driven to and fro."

This touching question of Job, me with all its force into my

mind, as I was yesterday sauntering on the battery, and what can be more pathetic? A very old man was leaning upon his staff, as if weary. I asked him why, instead of standing in the sun, he did not sit beneath one of the elms. He raised his countenance to answer me it was pensive, but not gloomy; a faint, melancholy smile gleamed from his eye, and gave his features the expression of tranquil resignation. He told me that the shade recalled his sorrows; I am, said he, alone-but why do I complain? I deserved nothing; I have lost all.-Feeling an interest in the man, I asked him what calamities had stripped him to poverty. He began to collect his thoughts, and without a single word of complaint, related the events of his life. He had lived seventy years, and not a day ever passed, without bringing some new misfortune. His voice, while he was speaking, was, for the most part, calm and even; but when he told me of the death of his wife, and only daughter, his utterance was choaked. His limbs are now palsied, his eyes are aim, his ears are thick. But though his senses are leaving him, he is not querulous; his God, he knows, is love. Surely there is another state. Whe does not acknowledge, that unrepining patience deserves a reward higher than earth can give? There is indeed a world, where sorrow and sighing shall flee away, and where tears shall be turned into joy.

CAUSE OF THE PATHETIC.

It was wont to be jocularly said of a Mr. Lockhart, a celebrated pleader at the British bar, during the last century, that the amount of his honorarium, or fee, could be easily discovered in his countenance for, if handsome, he appeared deeply affected at the justice of his client's case; but if unexpectedly great, he regularly meited into tears.

CYGARRS.

In face of a host of arguments, our literary loungers contumaciously insist on being indulged the gratification of tickling their noses, and burning their tongues. If y you alledge that the practice is vulgar and democratick, you are answered, Sir W. Raleigh is equally famous as a man of fashion, and a philosopher, as for his habit of smoking. Should you object to them the ladies dislike to the practice, they tell you, that queen Elizabeth, of glorious memory, was fond of a pipe, and used humourously to say, that all the pleasures of the evening ended in smoke. If lastly you oppose to it kingly authority, urging that James I. wrote a treatise against the smoking of base tobacco, the smokers will reply, we burn none but what is good.

Public contempt, what is it? It is a dream, it is nothing. Who then, will fly from it, as from the

lowest misery? At worst, it is easily borne, and even under its coldest frowns, the warm smiles of hope, and cheerful, brightening, anticipation, are playing on our

cheeks.

Popular applause, what is it? It is the shadow of a dream, it is less than nothing. Who, then, would pant for it, as for the highest happiness? At best, it is quickly gone, and even under its warmest caresses, the cold tears of fear, and dismal, darkening, apprehension, are stealing from our eyes.

DEFINITION OF MAN.

The best, which has ever been given, is anonymous. "Man is a cooking animal." Disquisitions upon man, are among the most abtruse that perplex metaphysicians. Much of the difficulty has arisen from establishing a wrong definition. Men are naturally mad, different individuals approximate in different degrees towards reason. Many are completely mad, none are perfectly rational. Whatever distance some few, more fortunate than the rest, may have passed in the attainment of rationality; still every day of their life will discover some symptoms of their original state. Every man occasionally finds deviations from the path of reason, in every one of his acquaintance, which cannot be accounted for on any other position, than the one I have assumed, that men are naturally mad

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"Worth makes the man," Pope says, and every body acknowledges the truth of the sentiment ; but then the question is, what makes worth ?-The moralist will tell you, "it is virtue ;-but the man of the world says, "it is money." And indeed, in this age of Reason, the latter definition seems almost universally to prevail. When it is asked, how much a man is worth, the answer generally has an exclusive reference to his property. If he has wealth, the replier to the question says, he is worth so many pounds; but if he be very poor, though he should possess the intelligence of a Newton, and the benevolence of a Howard, "He is not worth a groat." Thus the worth of a man, like that of beef and butter, is reckoned by pounds, shillings, and pence.

Modern music resembles Goth

ic architecture, whose parts, instead of captivating, puzzle and confound; while the harmonious strains of antiquity, like the Gre cian temples, charm by an union of grandeur and simplicity.

From the Hudson Bee.

Mr. Printer,

Passing through Warrenstreet the other day, I observed the arm of a person, apparently a female, and perfectly naked, hanging out of a door a little before me. Wondering what the cause might be, that should induce a person to be exposed to the street, without clothes, I cast my eyes towards the figure as I came nearer, and was much surprised to find the lady (for so she happened to be) in other respects dressed very elegantly. She wore a collar, like the modern beaux close up under her Her gown had no sleeves to it; but it was not from poverty, as she had jewels in her ears, and rings on her fingers, worth enough to buy two gowns, sleeves and all

ears.

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my mistake, being told that he was

rent.

a nederate man, and a tender paIndeed it seemed, after all my suggestions and enquiries, that this strange spectacle was the effect of the young lady's own fancy, and was suffered by her parents, from too much fondness and indulgence. But this discovery only increased my curiosity to discover the true cause, and as I pursued my enquiries, I found myself involved in many difficulties. I found she was not a person whose employment in life made long sleeves an incumbrance to her, as in washing, &c. She was not in want of money to buy more cloth for her garments. She did not mean to be considered a person of loose habits, and common use. Nor had she such arms as they, shew in New-York, at the Museum, on a Venus; for if so, her generosity, and the public spirit might have induced her to exhibit them for the gratification of public curiosity. But her flesh was red and white, like goose-flesh, as the day was cold for the season, and I saw several ladies clothed in furs, and woollen coats. And I really am afraid the poor girl caught cold, and possibly laid a foundation for a consumption, a disorder so fatal, and fashionable, with young ladies, ́After all, I suppose I must put up with the old plea of following the fashion, although most fashions have some kind of pretences on the score of convenience, or beauty, or economy. And perhaps, too, in the course of time, I may hear of some advantages in this fashion, if it ever prevails in the country. Though on account of saving cloth, this fashion has no advantage; for there is more

wasted in the long trails to the gowns, than is saved by having no sleeves. But I hope the fashion will never get esta blished, on account of my two daugh ters, whose arms are so disfigured by a burn, a scald two or three sores, and being bled several times, that to expose them to the naked sight, would excite laughter or scorn and I suppose they would dress, or rather undress like other folks Beside, if the fashion of stripping should prevail, no one knows to what degree it may be carried The Lord's payer says, "Lead us not into tempia. tion," and the ladies ought to mind the precept For my part, I would not be responsible for my daughters, or my sons, in case this nakedness should become too common. And I would forewarn my neighbours, that if any thing happens to their girls from my boys, they must take the blame upon their own heads. If rudeness is invited, it ought not to be resented. let the tempter look out. Hoping these things will be better regulated by the public morality or taste, I hope I shall no more

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have occasion to take notice of such a strange and dangerous custom--and remain your well wisher.

JOSEPH MEANWELL.

MARRIED,

On Thursday, the 6th inst. by the rev. Mr. Low, Mr. Benjamin E. Coe, to Miss Catharine Nostrand.

On the 19th ult G orge Washington Clinton, Esq. son of the Vice President of the United States, to Miss Ann Floyd, daughter of General Floyd, of the county of Oneida.

By the rev. Dr. Beach, Mr. Asher Marx, to Miss Catharine Stout, daughter of Mr. Jacob Stout.

On Saturday evening last, by the rev. Dr. Cooper, Mr. John H. Oldershaw, to Miss Mary Coris.

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