his favor. His whole appearance is imposing, and in the highest degree gentlemanly and prepossessing. I dislike and disapprove of his administration; but, if his face is an index of his character, General Jackson himself is both an upright and a fearless man. I shall ever entertain the high personal respect for him with which this interview has inspired me. He remarked by the way, that he had been sometime intending a visit to the northern states, but could not compass it till the next year. I hope, in such an event, that no party feeling will interfere with his reception, that he will be treated with the universal distinction to which his services to the country and his private worth, quite apart from his office, fully entitle him.

I visited Mount Vernon yesterday. This, of course, is the most interesting pilgrimage that can be made by an American. We took the steamboat down the Potomac to Alexandria, thence pursued its banks seven miles to our destination. This celebrated spot has been described often, and I have no time, if it were worth while, to describe it minutely again. The estate is the most superb gem of national scenery, I do not hesitate to say, in this country. It stands on a terraced bank of the Potomac, eighty or a hundred feet above the water, overlooking that majestic river for a great distance, and commanding from the front piazza its boldest bend towards the sea. All this fine natural beauty is a proper preparative for the associations of the place; and after gazing at the scene till my mind

was elevated and calmed, I followed the decrepid old family servant, who had served Washington himself forty years, to his master's tomb. It is an humble place enough—a mere mound, with a brick front and a plain slab of marble inscribed with the name of WASHINGTON-but no man could stand before it without emotion. My heart swelled, and my eyes filled with tears. I stood by the side of his old white-headed servant, I know not how long, without the power or the disposition to ask a question. I came away, after breaking a branch from one of the cedars that grow on the spot-sure that wherever I might tread amid the relics of human greatness, I should find nothing which would move me so much, nothing which had about it associations of such moral sublimity, as the unadorned and humble tomb of Washington.

THE SABBATH BELL

BY LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY.

WHERE mid the crowded city glide
The gorgeous trains of pomp and pride,
Till even the laboring pavement groans
As folly's surges wear the stones,
And through the reeking hour doth rise
The tide of fashion's heartless sighs,
What speaks from tower and turret fair
With solemn knell,

To break the tyranny of care,

And fearless warn the proud to prayer?The sabbath bell.

From yonder cottage-homes where meet
Round the low eaves the woodbine sweet,
And the young vine-flower peering through
The rustic rose-hedge, rich with dew,
Pours on each passing zephyr's breast
A gush of fragrance pure and blest,
What lures gay childhood's throng away?
Why quit they thus at morning's ray

Their sweet sequestered dell?
What guides them to God's temple-door,
Their holy lessons conning o'er?-
The sabbath bell.

The chastened spirit worn with care,
That scarce can lift its burdened prayer

Above the host of ills that thrust

Its broken pinion down to dust,

That loves the path where faith doth rise
In contemplation to the skies,

Yet crushed beneath a rugged chain,
Betakes it to its task again,

What bids its sacred rapture swell, And brings, though sorrow lift the rod, Communion with its Father-God?— The sabbath bell.

And thou, whose glance of rapid ray
Does lightly scan this simple lay,
When to thine eye yon astral spark,
And earthly skies and suns are dark,
What to the fair and lighted hall
Where cherished friends hold festival,
What to the pensive, listening ear,

The tidings of thy death shall tell?

And summon to thy lowly bier
The bursting sigh, the bitter tear?—
The sabbath bell.

THE AUTHOR.

BY THEODORE S. FAY.

THE INTRODUCTION.

"Prudence, whose glass presents the approaching jail,
Poetic justice, with her lifted scale,

Where in nice balance truth with gold she weighs,
And solid pudding against empty praise."

I WALKED out one summer afternoon, to amuse myself after the troubles of a long and toilsome day, spent in poring over musty volumes of the law. As I rose from my fatiguing studies, and breathed the fresh, free air of heaven, I enjoyed that natural cheerfulness which is always felt when the elastic mind soars from the object to which it has been bound down, and sports away at pleasure through the regions of fancy. After having groped among the shadowy labyrinths of ambiguous science, wearied and bewildered in its mazy path, I rejoiced to be in a lighter sphere, amid merriment and bustling adventure-where the brilliant confusion of Broadway gave a livelier character to my meditations, and the rosy-cheeked, bright-eyed girls who passed by me imparted a sweeter sensation to my mind.

It had been extremely warm and sultry, but now