plume, and the sable hearse, move from every point of this globe to that shadowy realm, where the mourner soon becomes the mourned. We will then, sweet one! build our altar to hope, and earnestly look for that promised land where tears and farewells are unknown; where the countenance of the dweller is ever filled with perfect light; where the unwithered and uncrushed flowers still breathe their fragrant homage; and where the rich harp-string mingles its music with the voice of the streams, as they flow

'Fast by the oracle of God.'

Could any thing, reader, tempt our thoughts back to this earth, and the brilliant vanity of its cities, it might perhaps be the splendors of a saloon in the Serra palace of Genoa. Here walls and columns, covered with mirrors and gold, a floor of tesselated marble, and tables of richest Mosaic, fascinate the eye; and you at first half conceive yourself realizing the gorgeous fictions of some oriental dream; and you begin to forget the poverty, strife, and wretchedness, which disfigure the condition of man. But there is one painting among the many which adorn the costly galleries of this mansion, that brings you back to the painful reality; it is from the vivid pencil of Carlo Dolci, and represents that scene in the garden of Gethsemane, in which innocence, amid the sorrows and dismay of our shrinking natures, resigned itself to the agonies and ignominy of the cross! He that can gaze on this scene, and feel no emotions of grief and reverence, must have a heart that pity cannot touch, or heaven forgive!

I could take the reader to other princely edifices, to the unrivalled paintings which adorn them, the statues and marbles which heighten their claims to admiration for no city in the world is so rich in palaces as Genoa — but I have not room to record my impressions, nor he time to peruse them. But there is one feature of this city which must not be passed unnoticed; it is the provision which has been made, by individual wealth, for the relief of the unfortunate and poor. Here the deaf and dumb are taught to communicate their feelings, and catch the meaning of others, without the aid of an articulate language; here the aged, whom the turning tide of fortune has left wrecked on the shore, find a simple but generous asylum; here the orphan boy is furnished the means of procuring a present subsistence, and of acquiring a knowledge that may subserve his after years; and here the little girl, who has no mother and no home, may find a cheerful refuge, where she may braid her flowers, receive the avails of her work, and at a becoming age, perhaps make another happy with her beauty and timid worth. These are the benefactions of the more wealthy citizens of Genoa, and bespeak virtues that will be revered when the usual forms in which wealth expresses itself shall be remembered only to be pitied and despised.

We were cautioned in coming here not to go in our purchases beyond the assurances of our own knowledge; and we at first hesitated distrustingly over the genuineness of a string of coral beads, those little gifts which one gets abroad for an infant sister, a lisping niece, or one deeper in the bond of years, but capable of receiving them without a surrender of the heart. But in all the purchases we made, and they were many, and some of no inconsiderable value, I heard

no complaints of the 'Ligurian fraud.' The jewelled watch, that exhausted my little purse, has proved as true to the promise of its vender, as a steed to the word of a Turk. I wish 1 were as regular, and as true to my real interest, as this is to the sun. But I am not; neither, dear reader, can you be; but were it as easy for us to correct our faults as it is to detect them, virtue would lose the merit she now derives from the conflict: the hardest substances polish the steel the brightest.

The Genoese, especially the young females, are remarkably neat in their persons. Even those in the humblest condition seldom offend you in a negligence of dress. The kerchief that protects the bosom, may have been rent, but it has been repaired; its snowy whiteness blushes back the living carnation of her cheek; the stocking may betray the frequent efforts of the needle, but it sets snugly to the round instep, and then there is nothing else there to make you wish the gentle wearer had forded one of her mountain streams. The daughter of the simple gardener, as she sits at market, by the side of her little vegetable store, seems to have caught her conceptions of propriety from the violets of her parterre; and the blooming girl of Recco understands how to give an additional attraction to a smooth orange, or a cluster of grapes; she comes in her blue silk boddice, her rosecolored petticoat, her Maltese cross of gold, with her hair fancifully braided and interlaced with flowers; and the tuberose, the blossom of the pomegranate, and the sprig of rich jasmine, in their mingled fragrance and beauty, are not more captivating, than the bright smile which plays over her sweet face. Who would not purchase of such an one? I could not have passed her by, though her basket had contained only the blighted fruit of some vainly cherished tree. I have ever observed, that he who solicits charity for another, or pressed by need, essays to sell what is his own, is most successful when he rather stirs our admiration than pity. Emotions awakened by objects in themselves agreeable, are ever more welcome guests at the heart, than those which come merely to claim our compassion. Hence it is, that rich men dying heirless, oftener bequeath their estates to the rich than the poor. What a miserable thing, after all, is human nature! But I am moralizing again: this habit will be the ruin of me, and my narrative in the bargain. But can a stream leave the spring and not carry with it the properties of its fountain? There is egotism in that remark: but let it pass.

We could not leave Genoa without a farewell visit to the Mary Magdalen of Paul Veronese, in the royal palace. This meek being is represented in the house of the pharisee, at the feet of our Saviour; and so full of life and tender force is each limb and feature, that your feelings, unperceived by yourself, begin to flood your eyes. Her attitude, so meek and devoted; her long and flowing locks of gold, concealing more of her face than her emotions; the timid hand, half failing in its office; the look of grief and love; the tears, as they swim and fall, make you feel that there is a sweetness and loveliness in piety, which nothing can surpass or supply, in the female heart.

We have been to the palace of the doges, but there is only enough there to make you grieve for what is gone. The great council chamber, with its lofty ceiling of vivid frescoes, and stately columns of beau

tiful brocatello, remains; but the marble statues which once adorned it, have departed, and their niches have been supplied with such representations as plaster and stiff drapery can produce. These men of clay and buckram, standing so astutely in this hall of legislative wisdom, remind me of those members of our congress unconditionally instructed by their constituents. But there are memorials here, to which an American heart can never be wholly dead; a marble bust of Columbus, and two letters in his own hand, addressed to the citizens of Genoa. These remains reconciled us to the desolate sensations of the spot; they brought back with vivifying power the virtues and trials, the triumphs and sufferings, of one to whom the world owes its greatest debt of gratitude, and who sunk to his last rest in distrust, desertion, and chains! But it is not for me to dress his bier; nor will I presumptively cast a flower into that fragrant, imperishable garland, which Irving has woven on his grave. Virtue may be misrepresented, persecuted, and hurried to the tomb; but the righteous wake not more assuredly to the reality of their hopes, than this to an immortal remembrancel

The reader must not suppose that every thing in Genoa wore to my eyes so much of the couleur de rose, as this description may at first seem to intimate. I might have darkly shaded some features in this picture, without being unjust to the original; but my first glance of the city, from the sea, disarmed me. I was like a painter sketching the face of the one he loves. I might with truth have brought into mournful prominency the ignorance of the great masses; their delusive confi dence in the pageantries of their religion; their easily disruptured connection with a virtuous life; the jealousies and guilt which trouble their social relations; the absence of incentives to enterprise and industry, in their civil condition; the spirit of discontent which breaks and embitters their seeming repose; and above all, the massive despotism which grinds them to the earth. The lingering forms of freedom have at length departed from Genoa; her doges are in the grave, and her commerce has fled the ocean. Egypt and Palestine, Asia Minor and Thrace, the Mediterranean and Levant, with the thousand bright isles which gemmed these waters, and where she was once respected and obeyed, now know her no more. Even Venice, her ancient rival, has ceased to dream of her power; to all the East she is only what are now the hosts that went from her bosom to battle in the Holy Land; a phantom of perished greatness.

But a better day may yet perhaps dawn on Genoa. She is not yet the ruined votary of vice, nor the crouching slave of tyranny. Another Doria, like her first, may yet arise to rally her scattered strength; to break the iron that eats into her soul; to send the malignant despot who rivets her chain, back to his petty isle; and, sustained by the shouting vigor of fraternal cities, to grapple with the force of Austrian interference, and with indignant energy hurl back the broken links of her fetters into the very teeth of that Moloch of despotism. May this day come; may these eyes see it; and Genoa, were not the proffer beneath thy pride, here are hearts and hands for thee! Strike for freedom and for self-respect; for the greatness lost, and the gifts that remain! Thousands mourn thy slumber, and the spirits of thy fathers speak to thee from the grave!

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'I had a dream, which was not all a dream.'


THE weather is so warm, and I have eaten such a dinner, that I am confident I shall fall asleep, if I go to afternoon church. What shall I do, mother?'

'Go to church, Louisa, as your father desires. Listen to the service, with proper devotional feeling; and give Mr. Snorer's sermon your undivided attention, and you will be in no danger of falling asleep.'

Mother, I have tried that, and for the life of me, I can neither keep my feelings nor my attention alive enough to keep my senses awake. I have to pinch myself, and run pins into my knee, yet all will not do; some invisible power presses down my eye-lids; and before I am aware, there I sit, my stupid head nodding, with its eyes shut, in full view of the congregation.'

'You have said all this before, Louisa; but you cannot stay at home, without displeasing your father; so let me advise you to make a virtue of necessity, and do your best to overcome this unlady-like habit of sleeping in church.'

Louisa's mother might have added more; but her father's voice was now heard, summoning her to attend him; and as in silence she pursued her way by his side, along the dusty path, beneath a scorching sun, her heart rebelled, and she longed to be in her own pleasant garden, or seated beneath the cool piazza. However, to church

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