those blessed tears, sent like the dews of heaven, to revive the heart in the parching hour of anguish,

To render her widowed situation more desolate, she had incurred her father's displeasure, by her unfortunate attachment, and was an exile from the paternal roof. But could the sympathy and kind offices of friends have reached a spirit so shocked and driven in by horror, she would have experienced no want of consolation, for the Irish are a people of quick and generous sensibilities The most delicate and cheering attentions were paid her by families of wealth and distinction. She was led into society, and they tried by all kinds of occupation and amusement, to dissipate her grief, and wean her from the tragical story of her lover. But it was all in vain. There are some strokes of calamity that scathe and scorch the soul-that penetrate to the vital seat of happiness-and blast it, never again to put forth bud or blossom. She never objected to frequent the haunts of pleasure, but she was as much alone there as in the depths of solitude. She walked about in a sad reverie, apparently unconscions of the world around her. She carried with her an inward woe, that mocked at all the blandishments of friendship, and "heeded not the song of the charmer, charm he never so wisely."

The person, who told me her story, had seen her at a masquerade. There can be no exhibition of far-gone wretchedness more striking and painful than to meet it in such a scene. To find it wandering like a spectre, lonely and joyless, where all around is gay-to see it dressed out in the trappings of mirth, and looking so wan and wobegone, as if it had tried in vain to cheat the poor heart into a momentary forgetfulness of sorrow. After strolling through the splendid rooms and giddy crowd, with an air of utter abstraction, she sat herself down on the steps of an orchestra, and looking about for some time with a vacant air, that showed her insensibility to the garish scene, she began with the capriciousness of a sickly heart to warble a little plaintive air. She had an exquisite voice; but, on this occasion, it was so simple, so touching--it breathed forth a soul of wretchedness, that she drew a crowd mute and silent around her, and melted every one into tears.

The story of one so true and tender could not but excite great interest in a country remarkable for enthusiasm. It completely won the heart of a brave officer, who paid his addresses to her, and thought that one so true to the dead, could not but prove affectionate to the living. She declined his attentions, for her thoughts were irrecoverably engrossed by the memory of her former lover. He, however, persisted in his suit. He solicited not her tenderness, but her esteem, He was assisted by her conviction of his worth, and a sense of her own destitute and dependent situation, for she was existing on the kindness of friends. In a word, he at length succeeded in gaining her hand, though with the solenin assurance that her heart was unalterably another's.

He took her with him to Sicily, hoping that a change of scene night wear out the remembrance of early woes. She was an amiable and exemplary wife, and made an effort to be a happy one; but nothing could cure the silent and devouring melancholy that had entered into her very soul. She wasted away in a slow, but hopeless decline, and at length sunk into the grave, the victim of a broken heart.

It was on her that Moore, the distinguished Irish poet composed the following lines:

She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps,
And lovers around her are sighing;

But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps,
For her heart in his grave is lying.

She sings the wild songs of her dear native plains,
Every note which he loved awaking-
Ah! little they think who delight in her strains,
How the heart of the minstrel is breaking!

He had loved for his love-for his country he died,
They were all that to life had entwined him;
Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried,
Nor long will his love stay behind him.

Oh! make her a grave where the sun-beams rest,
When they promise a glorious morrow;
They'll shine o'er her sleep, like a smile from the west,
From her own loved island of sorrow!

AMERICAN CHARACTER.

(FROM COBBETT'S REGISTER.)

There is a strange notion prevailing in England, that the society, in America, is yet in a rude state; that the American is and must be for some time, an unpolished nation; that, when they become polished, and when great riches are accumulated by individuals, they will have as much pauperism and as many crimes as we have; and, that ours has only been the unavoidable progress of civilization and refinement. If this were true, it would be impossible to deny, that during this king's reign, we have made a most wonderful progress in the sublime arts of polishing and refining, seeing that since 1760, the paupers have increased an hundred fold. But, sir, if I look back to the days of Pope, I do not perceive that there is much proof of an increase of the quantity of the highest talent. If, by polish and refinement, are meant hypocrisy in all its various branches, we have

certainly arrived at the pinnacle. But, as to the Americans being in a rude state, on what is the notion founded? Their dress, their amusements. their manner of eating and drinking are so much like ours, that were it not for the absence of beggary, nisery, and filthy streets, a man dropped down in an American town would imagine himself still in England. There is no science, no art known in England, which is not studied and practised in America, and, in numerous instances, with greater success than in England. Their courts of justice have the same forms; law is administered in the same manner; in many cases it is the same law. In matters of commerce and navigation, the Americans almost equal us, and are in a fair way of outstripping us; and, as to the affairs of war, whether on land or sea, they have made us feel, and they have convinced all the world, that they want no lesson from any body.

Where, then, are we to look for these marks of comparative rudeness? Not in the speeches made in congress, nor in the notes and other papers of their diplomatic ministers; for as to these latter, it makes one blush for one's country to view their vast superiority. Is it in their friendly and dignified deportment towards foreign nations; in the wisdom and gentleness of their government and laws; in the peaceable behaviour of their citizens; in the absence of crimes, and in the want of rotten boroughs and a “new drop ;" is it in any, or in all of these, that we are to look for proofs of this alleged rudeness ?

So far, sir, from its being true, that the Americans are in a mass, compared to us in a rude state, that the very contrary is the truth. In America, there are none of the brogues or dialects, which distinguish Scotch, and Irish, and English, and Yorkshiremen, and Wiltshiremen, and Cockney's from each other. These cease with the emigrant, whose children speak good and correct English In Amcrica, reading and writing, and something beyond merely these, are universal. The American farmer has other charms under his roof besides those of attending his hospitality. He can converse with you upon almost any subject. The Bible alone does not form his library. He comes in from the heat of the sun, stripped to his shirt. takes down a volume of his Encyclopedia, or some book of science, travels, history, law, politics or poetry. When he has rested himself, he returns to his fields or his yard. There is no law of his country, no regulations which he does not understand; no right that he possesses; that he does not know how to go to work to defend; no public ques tion in which he does not feel a lively interest, and as to which he is not liable to express his opinion. I must be understood, of course, to speak with exceptions. There are stupid men in all countries. But, as a general description, I pledge myself for the truth of what I have here said, with the expectation that, in less than four months, this letter will find its way to every part of the country of which I am speaking, and with very powerful reasons not to be looked upon, in that country, as a dealer in falsehoods, and more especially as a flat

terer.

Well then, sir, if what I have here stated be true, will not you, with all your still unshaken attachment to old England (and which, after all, I cannot refrain from participating with you) with all the sorrow that you must feel at seeing distant regions carry off the fruits of the talents, the labours, and the sufferings of Sidney and of

Tooke, will not your rising envy be stiffed by that generosity which will make you exclaim" blasted be the man who would destroy the harmony and freedom of such a people!"

66

As to the effect of great individual fortunes on the liberties and moral state of the Americans, such fortunes already existed. There are men in America worth half a million sterling each. But as these riches have not been derived from taxes, they have not impoverished and degraded any part of the community in accumulation; and as it is impossible that they should be employed in the purchase of boroughs, they do not appear to be dangerous to public liberty. The Edinburgh Reviewers flatter themselves, that these rich merchants will, in time, become the lords of the country; and, they will tell us, that our government ought to conciliate their friendship beforehand. These wise critics know, or appear to know, very little about the matter.-They seem very uneasy at the existence of a great democracy. They are anxious to see it converted into a more dignified" state, with "a great body of aristocracy able to PROTECT the people against the throne, and the throne against the people." In short, they itch all over to see a list of "royal burghs" in America. I dare say, the Americans will be much obliged to them for their anxiety; but, I am very 'sure, that they will think themselves better protected by their power of choosing their own public servants, than they would be by any "great body of nobles," even if imported from Scotland, and if Mr. Jeffry himself were to go out as king. No, sir, I do not believe that the Americans will be very likely to fall upon the scheme of rearing a THRONE for the purpose of wanting "a body of great nobles" to PROTECT them against that throne. Such brilliant schemes they will leave, with all humility, to the polished and refined nations of Eu rope.

MARSHAL GROUCHY

(From the New-York Columbian.)

His fa

At

Count Emanuel de Grouchey was born at Paris, in 1766. mily was noble, and his sister married the celebrated Condorcet. an early age he entered the artillery-afterwards served among the light troops was admitted into the body guards in 1783; appointed colonel of the regiment of Conde, and made the campaign of 1792, in

Savoy, the conquest of which he contributed in accomplishing. He served with distinction in the war of La Vendee as a general of division, in 1792, and afterwards in Italy, under Joubert. In the disastrous battle of Novi, he displayed an intrepidity bordering on rashness charging at the head of cavalry with his hat on the point of his sword, as a substitute for the standard which had been lost, he was cut down by the sabres of the enemy, and made a prisoner. After his exchange, he joined the army of Moreau, and reaped fresh laurels. on the plains of Hohenlinden.

In all the campaigns of the Imperial army, he commanded a divie sion of dragoons, and increased a reputation already well established. His conduct at Prentzlow, where Prince Hohenloe was captured, as well as at Friedland, was particularly noticed in the official bulletins. He also served in the fatal Russian campaign, and on the retreat commanded the Sacred Guard,' a corps of officers which accompanied the Emperor. On the return of Napoleon from Elba, he declared in his favour, and was sent in pursuit of the Duc d'Angouleme, whom he soon compelled to surrender. He was then created a marshal of the empire, and as such commanded at Waterloo. His escape from the persecution of the Bourbons, and his arrival on our shore, are events too recent to particularize.

MESSAGE

OF

DANIEL D. TOMPKINS,
Governor of the State of New-York,

TO THE LEGISLATURE,

FEBRUARY, 1815.

GENTLEMEN,

In my last public communication to the legislature, I had the honor to advert to the present happy condition of our country, and to intimate, the existing state of society, and the general disposition of mankind, seemed propitious to the promotion of the interests of literature, religion, freedom, and humanity.