became necessary, in giving orders to the board, under the act, to determine what routes for roads and canals were of national importance in the view contemplated by the act, as such only as the President might deem to be of that description, were authorized to be examined and surveyed. In examining this point it became necessary to advert to our political system in its distribution of powers and duties between the general and state governments. In thus regarding our system it was conceived that all those routes of roads and canals, which might fairly be considered as falling within the province of any particular state, however useful they might be in a commercial or political view, or to the transportotion of the mail, were excluded from the provisions of the act."* Our limits do not permit us to present to our readers, the views of Mr. Calhoun as to the accomplishment of the proposed plans of interual improvement. The operations of the last year are succinctly stated in the following extract from the President's message:

"Under the act of the 30th April last, authorizing the president to cause a survey to be made with the necessary plans and estimates of such roads and canals, as he might deem of national importance, in a commercial or military point of view, or for the transportation of the mail, a board has been instituted, consisting of two distinguished officers of the Corps of Engineers and a distinguished Civil Engineer, with assistants, who have been actively employed in carrying into effect the object of the act. They have carefully examined between the Potomac and the Ohio rivers; between the latter and lake Erie; between the Alleghany and the Susquehanna; and the routes between the Delaware and the Raritan, Barnstable and Buzzard's bay; and between Boston harbor and Narraganset bay. Such portion of the Corps of Topographical Engineers as could be spared from the survey of the coast, has been employed in surveying the very important route between the Potomac and the Ohio. Considerable progress has been made in it, but the survey cannot be completed until the next season. It is gratifying to add, from the view already taken, that there is good cause to believe that this great national object may be fully accomplished.

It is contemplated to commence early in the next season the execution of the other branch of the act, that which relates to roads, and with the survey of a route from this city, through the southern states to New-Orleans, the importance of which cannot be too highly estimated.t

We are unable, on this occasion, to enter into an examination of the documents from the Treasury department. We must however remark, that the Seretary's proposition as to a discrimination in the payment of duties between our citizens and foreigners, by withholding the accustomed credit from the latter, stands on precisely the same footing as prohibitory

* Documents, &c. p. 59.

+ Message, &c. p. 10.

duties on importations, and on auction sales.-Let not our merchants be deceived-once admit the legislative regulation of trade, and it is chimerical to attempt to impose bounds on the interference of congress. Let us not adopt errors at the moment that other nations are beginning to abandon them.

A DRAMATIC SKETCH.

SCENE I, A Room. AMELIA, (alone.)

THREE days, three weary days since I have seen
My faithless Edward!-Oh, how slowly time
Doth fly when sorrow weighs his pinions down!
Yet he was wont to fleet too swiftly, when

Youth's bright spring-flowers were scattered in his path.
Oh, we were happy then-here on this spot
We often sat, while the moon's trembling rays
Diffused a gentle beauty o'er the scene,

And through the opened lattice shone upon
Our lovelit eyes that spoke of bliss too deep
For utterance.

On such a night as this he plucked a branch
From the sweet orange-tree, and, as he twined
Its pure pale blossoms in my hair, he said
"Oh let no richer gems adorn the brow

"Of my young bride than these! When all their bloom
"Is fled, their fragrance will endure, and thus

My love shall last, though each endearing charm

"That won my heart should fade !" This is the love,

The constancy of Man!-And yet 'tis sweet

To think that he will never know my sorrow;

Will never know that I have marked his coldness,
That I have seen another's picture lie
Upon his bosom, and that my fond heart
Has bled and broke in silent loneliness,
Until the grave has covered me, and closed
The portal of repentance.-He will weep,
And then-forget me.-I must die, and he
Will live and love another.-Be it so.
Oh, let me gaze on thee, my happy rival!

How beautiful those dark bright eyes!-Those lips,

(Taking out a picture.)

That seem as if the breath of Heaven had fanned them,

They are so innocent!-The high white brow,

Like a bright shrine for pure and holy thoughts-
The pale and leaf-like crimson on the cheek,

So purely delicate-I wonder not

That he should love to look upon a face

So fair, and yet-what made my cheek so pale?
Thank heaven he comes-but he must not see this-
(Hiding it in her bosom.)
And I must meet him now with smiles, and hide-

Where is De Montfort?

Was he not with thee last evening?

He knew not thou wert absent.

E. How I do hate these smooth-tongued, fair-faced men,
With rosy cheek, and smiling brow, and lip
So red and-faugh!

A.

I thought he was thy friend.

E. He was, till he became thy favorite,

A.

E.

Until

I will not trust thy lips' false witchery more. A. What can this mean?

E.

Why would'st thou have me speak

In plainer language? Shall I say thou art

Nay, I must not offend thy shrinking ear

With bold unwelcome speech-but times are changed.

A. Oh! were it not my heart is crushed beneath

A weight of sorrow, surely this would rouse

My woman's pride; but now

E.

That it is true.

A.

Thy heart replies

Now listen to me, Edward!

I scarce had seen eighteen short summers, when
I first beheld thee; and how well I loved
Thou best canst tell. I left for thee the home

The friends of infancy, and then we were

Like two gay birds in a bright summer-bower,
We were so happy and so innocent.

Now scarce two years have passed, and I am wretched.
E. Why speak of what has been? Would that I could
Forget it, and forever!-but De Montfort-

A.

E.

Why was he here?

Give me thy hand, dear Edward!
There, place it on my heart-say, can'st thou feel
A quicken'd pulse when thou dost say De Montfort?
It beats too faintly for affection.

Ha!

What hast thou here? a picture-give it me! A. I cannot.

A. In pity, Edward, look not on me thus!
Forgive me-I will tell thee all.

E.

A.

E.

A.

What's this?

Confusion! Laura! woman, whence hadst thou this?
Speak.

When thou first didst leave me thus alone,
I loved to seek thy room, to breath the air
Which thou hadst lately breathed; to touch, to kiss
The books thou hadst been reading; and to lay
My aching head upon the ground where last
Thy foot had pressed.-One morning I retired
To weep o'er these insensate things that were
More blest than I-then first I saw this picture.
I gazed upon it till the sickening pangs
Of jealousy o'ercame me—and I made
A faithful copy of it.—I have dwelt
For many a lonely hour upon that face,
With bitter thoughts.

Amelia, my Amelia,
Thou knew'st all this, and yet I never heard
One cold reproach.

Could I upbraid thee, Edward?
There is in woman's breast a noble pride
That bids her shroud her struggling passions from
The selfish world.—It is a mournful joy
To think that the beloved one ne'er will know
The withering grief, the sickness of the heart,
That throbs for him until the heart is broken.
E. Oh! I have been the fool, the dupe of wild
And reckless passion. Canst thou not forgive me,
My own, my injured girl?

A.

E.

A.

E.

Forgive thee, Edward!

Forsake such purity and gentleness
For beauty?

She indeed is beautiful;

And when I saw the loveliness that dwelt
In that bright face, I felt how vain were all
My hopes of happiness.

Trust me, my love,
We yet may be most happy. Canst thou not
Smile when I call myself thy own forever?

A. Edward, if thou hast taught her gentle heart

To love thee-does she know that thou art wedded?

E. No, my Amelia; she is a poor orphan,

Without a friend in this wide world to guide Or guard her youthful heart. Oh, she is guiltless As Heaven's own purest angel. Yet she doesOh! curse me not, Amelia, she does love me. A. And but for me she would be happy tooAlas! the hand of grief too slowly works, And yet I may not urge the hour of death. E. Oh! talk not thus, Amelia, we shall yet See many happy days.

She hears, she heeds me not.-I cannot bear it. A. A burning weight is pressing on my brow,

-Would these eyes

A deep, dark scene around me.

Could shed a tear.-He's gone.-I'll try to follow.
But haply he now seeks his Laura-I

Am quite forgotten.

SCENE II. A Chamber.

[Rushing out. *

AMELIA on a couch. EDWARD enters without seeing her.

E. Oh! what a host of passions war within

A.

E.

This wayward heart! 'Tis true, my wife demands
My warmest tenderness; she gave me all

Her hopes of happiness, her fondest love,
And she has shared with me each fleeting joy,
And soothed each sorrow; she has calmly borne
Coldness, unkindness, selfishness, from me
Who should have loved and cherished her forever.
Oh! can it be that passionate love endures
So short a time? In vain, in vain I seek
To tear the thought of Laura from my heart,
For she has trusted me so fondly, yielded

With such full faith her young affections to me,
Told her sweet tale of love with lips so pure,
That from my memory I dare not chase
Her innocent voice away! Alas! alas!

How have I cursed myself! my guilt has doomed
To helpless wretchedness two gentle hearts
Worthy of Heaven's selectest benison.
But I have sacrificed my guilty love,

And Laura's long-nurst hopes, to duty-I

Have told her all my sin and shame, have borne
Her misery, and there is not in fate

A sharper pang than that. What I have suffered
Fits me to meet my noble wife with smiles.

She shall not see me sad.

(turning, he discovers Amelia.)
Thou here, Amelia?

Then thou hast heard-Oh? shrink not from me thus,
Amelia, my beloved!

Forgive me, Edward,
That I, unseen, have witnessed all the strife
Of warring feelings in thy generous heart.
And thou wouldst ne'er have told me this-

Alas!

If thou wouldst not break This bursting heart, I do conjure thee, speak No more of this.