still farther on, as the realities of the case grow more indistinct and disjointed in the distance, it starts up into a sin so deadly, that we are ready to stab our federal brothers for practising it, and to strangle our Union mother for giving them countenance. We have reached by then the high latitudes of morality; and in the fashion of religious sectaries, who enforce creeds with drum and bayonet, the farther we are from knowing the exact quality of the thing we differ about, the more we are ready to eke out the inconclusiveness of our arguments by the undeniable conclusions of fire and sword.

If, differently from other nations, we refuse to pin our patriotism to the soil rather than to the governing principle of our country, we do not cheat the soil or its productions of the homage of as strong and steadfast a faith. No matter where we were born, the geography of our position determines our moral convictions. We are of the great army of proslavery morals, or anti-slavery morals, according to whether we are raising wheat on one side of a river, or cotton on the other, and still more markedly when the geographical distinction is between those who grow cotton and those who only manufacture it; and yet greater between those who plant the sugar-cane, and those who distil its sweets into rum. Those extreme sections could no more bring their opposing moralities to an affectionate equation, than those great divisions of the Church who fain would have baptized the world in blood and fire for their respective faiths, could agree whether a painted or a carved image in a church were the most necessary to God's glory. Most perilous of all, however, would be the heresy of proposing to love God, serve man, and to use or to dispense with both, as seemed best to each man. Fancy such a cool absurdity as non-intervention hazarded in a conclave of devout iconoclasts! As well hint at the morality of Abolitionism in fiery South Carolina, or the innocence of slave-holding in godly Massachusetts. Their geography would cry aloud against the word.

The expansiveness of our patriotism, and the stringency of our sectional morality, are alike a puzzle to the foreign student of our national characteristics. It is a mixed problem, altogether above our science, and we take it, as we do the fruits that represent the various shades of latitude opinions, without the fatigue of analysis; and hold them all good, if moderately taken, especially if they don't all meet at once in angry Congress, and quarrel for precedence. Apples and abolitionism have a genial climate, and the first rank north of 400 north lat. ; but when apple trees and abolition principles are carried south of that line, they are less prosperous and honored. The juicy, genial peach indicates a softer clime, and a greater capacity for tobacco and toleration. As the kindly, complaisant fig comes up to meet it, this moral sentiment passes from the careless quietude of peaches, pears and indifference, to the decisive generosity of protection. From a crime among the apples and cherries, it is modified to an "inconvenient necessity," neither to be absolutely censured, nor unqualifiedly ap proved, among the apricots and nectarines, and becomes, at last, "an admirable social arrangement," wherever a plate of fresh-gathered figs graces the planter's welcome to his hospitable board. This delicious fruit only prospers in those sections of the Union adapted to sugar, rice, and cotton; and its luxurious shade informs you as distinctly as an inscribed pillar, that here abolitionism is highly immoral, exceedingly dangerous to society, and disgraceful to its professors. It is not a favorable latitude for the

growth of fine pippins and high-flavored anti-slavery men, and the inhabitants cultivate, in good faith, what suits best their climate-in morals and agriculture.

Now, in pious and prudent New-England-coming back from figs and cotton to apples and buckwheat-this anti-slavery faith, which from 380 to 280 is such rank heresy, is as necessary to a perfectly comme il faut social standing, as white kids at the opera. It is in those states the finishing touch to an irreproachable moral toilette, while, in as many more states at the extreme South, it would be as unseemly and out of place as those same white kids would be in the black vesture of a new-made widow. The blame of this halting and contradiction in the morals of our dear mother, the Union, who thus shows such different colors on her opposite cheeks, should be entirely laid on the shoulders of those obstinate witches, latitude and climate. If they would consent to grow fine crops of sugar and cotton on the hills of New-Hampshire, and make the swamps of Louisiana propitious to apple-trees and common schools, to wheat and butter, and white labor, we would soon reconcile all difficulties, in a grand convention of common interests. Since, however, latitude and climate will not consent that pears and oranges shall thrive alike in the same orchard, and potatoes and pine-apples flourish together under the same hoe, this schism of slave morality can only be healed by a cordial and liberal sectional interchange of all good fruits, whether of the heart, the head, or the soil. While we are creeping and stumbling—instead of walking quickly and resolutely over the roughnesses of the path-towards the middle platform of fraternal equity and forbearance, strangers must often be perplexed to guide themselves among our confused crossings. It is but charity to give them a slight land-mark or two, that while floating in the midst of our moral shallows and sectional eddies, they are not stranded on an unfriendly bar, in pure innocence. Here is a simple chart, that the traveller can put in the hollow of a cherry-pit, and keep in the smallest corner of his vest pocket. No need to beat about, and make long observations. Ask at the earliest, of the one whose class of products and principles it is necessary to sound before you commit yourself, and ask en amateur, like one who feels an interest in good fruit, whether his state produces superior apples. If he hesitates and qualifies, do you the same; his morals on the abolition question are, at the best, doubtful. If he answers promptly and decidedly in the affirmative: he also affirms, incidentally, his soundness on pro-slavery principles. The opposite are to be forthwith dismissed from sight, unless the questioner has a serene confidence in his talent for controversy. If a word or two is added in especial commendation of cider, he should trust to nothing, for he has a descendant of the pilgrims before him, and it is cheapest to brail topsail at once. If the careless reply is rather favorable to apples, with a warm addenda in regard to peaches, the questioned is of the indulgent latitudes of the middle states, and you may discuss the matter without fear and at length; lying on the border, where the immoral is in steady course of transition into the moral, and where his pocket and his prejudices are not deeply implicated, he may flow between them as impartially as the Ohio.

The apple is the test at the North, but the fig is the safest indicator south of the line of dubious morality-say from 39° down. After the climate has fairly changed the color of its morals, and converted popular and praiseworthy abolitionism into a felon and peace-breaker, it is well to deal cautiously with it to avoid explosions. Not only is the morality of the

thing now on the other side of the fence, but it takes sharper texts, and more practical illustrations. The moral duty of preaching for abolitionism is, at the North, but a safe and pleasant theory, which you may wear constantly or leave off, at will, like your finger-ring; but the moral duty of guarding against it at the South, is a practical necessity, like your daily raiment, which cannot be omitted. The northern moralist will show you on one side of the leaf your obligations to your colored brotherthe southern will turn the other, and read as fair a homily on what he owes his family and kindred. You cannot digest with figs the code under which cider is pressed. In any case, he has but to recollect that our moral susceptibilities on slavery shade off with our fruit latitudes; and with this fact before him, it will be altogether his own fault, if the traveller does not take care to adjust his principles, as well as his dress, to the changes and exactions of our varied climates.

PARIS.

Were all this world can give of hollow show,
Of rapturous pleasure and of bitter woe,

Of scenes entrancing, soft with love's delight,
Of days delirious or of sorrow's night,
Of wealth unlimited in strange display,
Of hopeless poverty in dark array,

Of virtue, thronging the cathedral's aisle ;
Of vice, alluring with invidious smile,-

In one brief word contracted, it would be,
Thy name, O Paris,-centred all in thee.

What have thy streets not witnessed, mighty town;
Beneath the sceptered sway of many a crown?
What is the tale thy stones could not relate;
What wonders cease to tell of church and state?
Here, where thy river rolls its sluggish flood,
A revolution poured its heated blood;
Here, where this garden smiles in fragrant green,
Once shameless stood the fatal guillotine ;-

No more with regal joys this palace rings,
For from its portals fled "the last of kings!"
Where this proud column taunts Republic day,
Ambition's mightiest monarch held his sway;
Whose dust once crumbling on Helena's isle,
Now honored sleeps beneath yon swelling pile.
Under thy Gothic arches, Notre Dame,
Which echoes oft the choral pealing psalm,

Where white-robed priests their matins murmur low;

And swing the solemn censor, to and fro,

Hath war's relentless cannon poured its sound;
And steel-clad soldiers scarred thy sacred ground!

Within the circuit of thy stately walls,
Rises the tide of human life, and falls;
Thy darkened waters picture misery's day,
Or brightly leap in sparkling fountains gay;
Here, generous Art no longer fears to roam;
Here, genial Music finds its cherished home;
And bustling commerce jars the crowded street,
Where beauty, beggary, birth, commingling, meet ;-
City of cities in thy precincts hurled,
Are all the joys and ills which make a world!

THE PODESTA'S DAUGHTER.

In the month of June, 183-, my diplomatic duties made it necessary for me to visit Genoa, that old republic of grand seigneurs and wealthy merchants, transformed into the brightest jewel in the diadem of a young monarchy. The Genoese gentry are intellectual, hospitable, and remarkably polite. Strangers are graciously received, and kept in faithful remembrance when found not unworthy of the kindness bestowed upon them. The two weeks of my stay, passed in society of the most distinguished men and the most amiable women, were fraught with enjoyment of which the remembrance is still infinitely pleasing.

Nearly all my evenings were brought to a close in the brilliant saloons of the Prince C**; and among the persons whom I there habitually encountered, the most distinguished was a Sardinian gentleman, the Chevalier de Lipona. He was past the prime of life, but possessed of an open and prepossessing countenance, and a sympathetic voice. He accompanied a superior mind, and an amiable character, with the most thorough breeding. His conversational powers were of a high order, and irresistibly attractive. He seemed to convey ideas not only by words, but also by the most furtive glances and the most involuntary gestures; whether he expressed himself in Italian, French or Spanish, his elocution was equally clear, elegant and picturesque, and his remarks, whether ingenious or profound, were always replete with curious facts. Almost upon the commencement of our acquaintance, we were mutually inspired with a warm and sincere friendship, and he, with the most cordial good will, proffered his services as my cicerone during my stay at Genoa. In the morning, we visited the palaces and churches of the city; at the hour of dinner, we returned together, because he was always a guest at the houses where I was invited. In the evening, we occupied his box at the theatre; and when the opera was over, we took tea with the Prince C**, of whom he was the warmest friend; and finally, he would conduct me to my hotel; or sometimes it would happen that we remained conversing until day-break on the terrace which overlooked the peaceful waves of the Gulf.

On the eve of my departure we attended, as usual, at the opera, and as we were expressing our mutual regrets at an approaching separation, the box opposite was opened, and immediately occupied by three persons, viz., a gentleman of about 60 years, and two young ladies of the most surprising beauty. These placed themselves in the front of the box, while the former remained standing behind them.

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On their arrival, a lively sensation manifested itself throughout the audience. The ladies leaned from their boxes, and the gentlemen of the parterre and the orchestra turned their heads, to catch a glimpse of the new Venuses, whom my friend saluted with the air of an intimate acquaintance. "Who are these charming persons ?" I demanded of him. They are my country women of Sardinia," he replied, with a certain loftiness of manner, "and I by no means regret an opportunity to show you, before your departure, such a specimen of the beauties of my dear country." "In that case the chance has served you well," said I. "When you visit me at Sassari, you shall dance beneath flowering orange trees, with twenty

belles as beautiful as those." "Your island must certainly be the land of promise," I replied with enthusiasm. "A land of promise which produces forbidden fruit," said he with a mixture of archness and melancholy. I smiled at that reflection with much of French flippancy, and then, with my lorgnette, examined with greater care the isolated belles. Evidently, they were sisters, and so much resembled each other as to be perhaps twins, but the one on the right of the box was a little more pale than the other. They were both tall, elegant and graceful, and as free in their movements as children of the mountains. Their features were regular and expressive, but it appeared to me, that they favored more the Spanish than the Italian type. Their black, almond-shaped eyes, glittered with vivacity without losing any of that sweetness which seemed to be their habitual expression.

Magnificent hair, at the same time dark and brilliant, fell in rich curls upon their shoulders, forming an elegant contrast to the clear whiteness of the complexion. Notwithstanding the picturesqueness of their attitudes and the animation of their glances, none could accuse them of coquetry, but only of a lofty and noble confidence in their truly marvellous beauty, and I remarked as much to the Chevalier. "Our ladies are not coquettes," he replied, "but their love shows itself as unmistakably as their hate."

"Do these ladies reside throughout the year at Genoa?" "They are now here since some months, but their habitual residence is in Sardinia. The property of their father adjoins that of mine: we are country-neighbors." Then, you are well acquainted?" "None more so." "I infer that one of them is married?" "What leads you to that inference ?"

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"Because

only one of them is in mourning, from whence I conclude that the loss she has sustained is not common to the family." "Your observation is very just. The weeds she wears are in truth personal; and she has made a vow never to cast them aside; yet she has never been married." "You pique my curiosity." "So much the better, since I have the means of satisfying it." "You are always obliging." "No, always gossiping; agree with me, it is not the same thing." "I will agree that you are the most amiable and best of men, it is all I can do for you. It seems, how

ever, that you have a story to relate ?" "Yes, and a very curious story it

"When

is, one that I think could have transpired only in our island." shall I hear it? You know I have but little time to lose." "To-morrow evening." "But I leave after dinner." "I have long postponed a visit on business matters to Naples, and I intend now to accompany you as far as that city. Thus a business voyage becomes a pleasure trip." I silently pressed the hand of my friend, in acknowledgment of his kindness. "To morrow evening," he resumed, "we shall be on the deck of the Francis I.; the moon will mirror itself in the blue waves of our beautiful and poetic Mediterranean; the breeze will come to us laden with the ener vating perfumes of the orange trees on its banks, and no one will come to interrupt our impressions; that will be a choice moment for you to listen to the history you desire to know. But," added he, "in order that your interest in it may be enhanced, I will now, if you wish, present you to the family."

The

"If I wish!" cried I, "it is above all things that which I desire." first act of the opera being finished, we repaired to the box of the isolated beauties. The Chevalier entered first, and presented me in terms of which my modesty will not permit the repetition, but which produced for me the most gracious reception. The father gave me cordially the hand, and