no doubt, but considered it as a proof of indifference to me. I was but little in his room,-I left to others those attentions which I only should have paid.

"He never more left that room, but there ended a life, many years of which might have been happy, but which were miserable.

"That sensibility which might have given birth to the purest and most exquisite pleasures, was, by a want of candor and plain dealing, changed into an instrument of torture.

"The happiest life is not exempt from moments of lassitude, weariness, perplexity and disgust; whenever the countenance or manners indicate either, let the friend who feels the chilling influence, scek for the cause, and let confidence and explicitness banish all distrust or suspicion."

Washington City.

S.

MY WINDOW.

When scorn and injustico have passed with their blight,
O'er the warm heart that reason to sorrow might move,

And bid the eye kindle in passionate light,

That would melt into tears beneath kindness and love.

When the dear and the trusted-the beings on whom
Hope, happiness, life almost, trembling depend,
Prove cold or unfaithful, and anguish, and gloom,
With the pride that will rise beneath injury, blend.

I know where the summer air sweetly is stealing,
I know where the summer stars smile in their love,
And even that breeze has a balm that is healing,
And even that ray brings its peace from above.

I bare to the soft breath my brow, and the burning,
The fever of Pride and of Passion is o'er,
While my eyes to that heaven, confidingly turning,
Grow gentle, and calm, and untroubled once more.

There is nothing to chill in the mild summer air,
I may drink in its fragrance, and shrink not away,
The smile of the starlight-no falsehood is there!
My spirit may fearlessly trust in its ray.

The voice of reproach cannot trouble me now,

And the false may grow cold, and the heartless may smile, If the breezes of heaven breathe over my brow,

I, too, can be careless, and happy the while.

THE CALENDAR. AUGUST.

RAMBLING.

FLORENCE.

"Digression is so much in modern use,
Thought is so rare, and fancy so profuse,
Some never seem so wide of their intent
As when returning to the theme they meant ;
As mendicants, whose business is to roam,

Make every parish but their own their home."

August, or the eighth month of the year, was dedicated to the honor of Augustus Cæsar, because in the same month he was created Consul, thrice triumphed in Rome, subdued_Egypt with its proud line of haughty monarchs to the Roman Empire, and made an end of civil wars. It was styled, ere this, Sextilis, or the sixth month from March, which stood first in the old Roman Calendar established by Romulus.

At the close of an excessively warm day, which had been emblazoned by one of those scorching suns which July plentifully affords, wearied in body and exhausted in mind by a devoted application to professional study, I sallied forth to enjoy the cool quietude of a beautiful evening.

"Hacknied in business, wearied at that oar

Which thousands, once fast chained to, quit no more,
But which, when life at ebb runs weak and low,
All wish, or seem to wish, they could forego;
The statesman, lawyer, merchant, man of trade,
Pants for the refuge of some rural shade."

My steps, without much volition on my part, directed themselves to their wonted promenade-to my favorite walk, Beacon street Mall. It is here that one can enjoy in solitude, such as even Zimmerman might have envied, his deepest reveries subject

to no interruption, save the solitary footfall of some idler scarce heeded in the distance. It is truly delightful, as the welcome shades of night come on, to shut out

to come up hither and refresh one's jaded spirit by a solitary stroll in the midst of such invigorating influences as are centred here. Ere I proceed to sketch some thoughts which rose to my mind during one of my usual evening rambles on this lovely spot-this "beauty spot" of Boston-justice to myself impels me to guard the reader against any misconceptions of my character arising from the use of the epithet solitary, as connected with my walks. I fear that I shall be set down at once as a stiff old bachelor, a complete and incorrigible misogynist, who loves his walk, his cigar, his claret, his room in solitude. But whatever be the sins which do so easily beset me," a dissocial disposition cannot be reckoned in the number.

Man is a social being. His powers and faculties, especially his organs of speech, whereby he can communicate to others the most secret thoughts of his inmost soul, clearly evince that such is his nature, and that consequently he was made for society. His heart, with its kindly sympathies, yearns after and fondly clings to countless objects of regard within the sphere of its influence. Even when thrown into loneliness, and unavoidably cut off from society, it proves its social character by linking its affections and sentiments with the glorious works of God, finding friends in brooks and waterfalls, reading an expression of kindnsss on the face of nature as if addressed to itself, and feeling a responsive emotion enkindled in its profoundest depths that struggles to escape, and go forth to meet its sister spirit. Such, and many more, which might be selected from society, are some of the indications that man lives not and cannot live to himself alone. Now this essential element of humanity would be the last I would be willing to part with. An eye, an ear, a limb I could forego if the sacrifice were required, but the power, aye, the sacred privilege of sympathizing with my kind in joy and sorrow, in pleasurable and painful emotions, methinks it would be impossible for me to resign. Divested of this attribute, I should feel that I wore, indeed, the outward lineaments of a man, but that the inner temple had been spoiled and desecrated, the altar thrown down, "and the light which

was in me becomo darkness." Oh no! Let me still "rejoice with those who do rejoice, and weep with those who weep." Still, my kind reader may reply, "why then the solitary walks when so easy to indulge your sympathetic feelings in unison with some fair friend?" The answer to this enquiry brings me to the point on which I would offer some reflections. To a patriotic mind, whereby is meant a mind that is devotedly attached not only to its country generally, but to the place of its nativity, that sacred spot where are garnered up all the sweet associations of home and kindred; the little joys, and hopes and fears of youth; the proud aspirations of manhood; the thoughtful and affectionate assiduities which hover over old age, like a a host of angels, to protect its feebleness and minister to its many necessities; the love of well-tried friends, which has proved stronger than the proud world's scorn; the confidence of affection, the truest guardian of our honour and good name; the ashes of our ancestors which repose in peace, and the tears which we have shed over the remains of those whom we held dearest here on earth; the trials and difficulties which a gracious Providence has summoned us to bear, that by a more watchful self-discipline, the best energies of the mind may be called forth from the engrossing cares of this earthly state, and directed to the holy work of advancing itself in moral purity, thereby attaining unto the true end and essential dignity of its being these, and more than these, start up unbidden in the memory at the very mention of the name of our birth-placebold, indeed, is his heart, and void of all generous sensibility, who stands unmoved by the recollection of such scenes as these.

"Who that would ask a heart to dulness wed,
The waveless calin, the slumber of the dead ?”

To a patriotic mind, then, as thus understood, there is nothing so embarrassing as the desire to vindicate the good name of your native city against all and every cavil and objection which may drop from a stranger-guest as he takes his tour of observation under your auspices, asking the usual questions, What is this? What is that? Its use? Why is this so? Why is that not so? &c. &c.

I was placed in this unpleasant predicament as, arm in arm with a particular friend of mine from the South, who had been domiciliated in France just long enough to think and act as a

countenance.

Frenchman, and find fault with every thing American. We promenaded up and down our really beautiful malls. He resorted thither in hopes of seeing the elite of the city, but alas, according to custom, these rural walks were deserted! Among the very few who passed us, I recognized not a single familiar As for the ladies, not one bright cyc, not one light step were there to vary the dull monotony of the hour. "How is this?" exclaimed my friend, suddenly breaking in upon a delicious reverie into which I had unwittingly fallen. "How is this? Where is the fashion, the beauty, the gaiety, the aristocracy of your far-famed city? If this be not, where are your Tuilleries, your gardens, your public promenades? Where do your citizens air themselves after the confinement of the day? I see none here? Where do the romance-loving fair, and surely there must be such among you, or clse human nature is sadly changed, say, where is the resort for them to feed their fancy with mysterious imaginings as they drink in the holy influences that throng from

"The crescent moon, the diadem of night :
Stars countless, each in his appointed placo,
Fast anchored in the deep abyss of space?"

Finding my friend growing poetical, I immediately hastened to vindicate in the ladies of my native city what appeared to him to be bad taste, want of sensibility to the beautiful in nature, and an entire absence of poetical feeling. But it would not do. He would not forgive the apathy which suffered these splendid promenades to be deserted. My reasoning was briefly this. I told him, that as for our good, honest citizens, they did not need airing; the idea was ridiculous. After the labour and engagements of the counting-house were over, they returned home, and infinitely preferred the fragrance of a cigar to the sweet odour of all the hay-stacks which could be crowded on the Common, and the bright crimson of their claret to all the gorgeous array of clouds, dipped in the various colors of the prism, as they float in the ruddy West! The ladies of our city, I reminded him, were celebrated for their unobtrusive virtues, and shrank from public observation. The time which their sisters in other cities and countries spent idly in public squares, as spectacles for the frivolous of our sex to gaze at, our young ladies devoted at home to the cultivation of their minds, and the improvement of their social natures. They were noted for