the counterfeit.

"But, for God's sake, gentlemen, do you not hear

the horrid shrieks opposite?"

We rushed to the window- terrible and fearful voices rang across from the empty house; we fancied we saw the old Counsellor pursued by his image in the morning-gown, hurry past the window repeatedly. On a sudden all was quiet.

We gazed on each other; the boldest

over to the house — we all agreed to it.

among us proposed to cross

We crossed the street - the

huge bell at the old man's door was rung thrice, but nothing could be heard in answer; we sent to the police and to a blacksmith's — the door was broken open, the whole tide of anxious visitors poured up the wide silent staircase - all the doors were fastened; at length one was opened, in a splendid apartment, the Counsellor, his iron-gray frock-coat torn to pieces, his neatly dressed hair in horrible disorder, lay dead, strangled, on the sofa.

Since that time no traces of Barighi have been found, neither in Stuttgard nor elsewhere.

LINES ON A SKULL DUG UP BY THE PLOUGH.

FROM THE GERMAN OF FRIEDRICH KIND.

I.

COULDST thou not sleep upon thy mother's breast?

Was't thou ere day dawned, wakened from thy slumbers?

Did earth deny to thee the quiet rest

She grants to all her children's countless numbers ?

In narrow bed they sleep away the hours

Beneath the winter's frost, the summer's flowers;

No shade protects thee from the sun's fierce glow,
Thy only winding-sheet the pitying snow.

11.

How naked art thou! Pale is now that face

Which once, no doubt, was blooming― deeply dinted,

A gaping wound doth thy broad brow deface;

Was't by the sword or careless plough imprinted?
Where are the eyes whose glances once were lightning!
No soul is in their hollow sockets brightening;

Yet do they gaze on me, now fierce, now sad,
As though I power o'er thy destiny had.

III.

I did not from thy gloomy mansion spurn thee
To gaze upon the sun that gilds these fields;
But on my pilgrim staff I lift and turn thee,
And try if to my spells thy silence yields;

Wert thou my brother once--and did those glances
Respond to love's and friendship's soft advances?
Has then a spirit in this frame-work slept?

Say, hast thou loved and hated, smiled and wept?

IV.

What, silent still! - wilt thou make no disclosure?
Is the grave's sleep indeed so cool and still?
Say, dost thou suffer from this rude exposure?
Hast thou then lost all thought, emotion, will?
Or has thy soul, that once within thee centered,
On a new field of life and duty entered?

Do flesh and spirit still in thee entwine,

Dost thou still call this mouldering skull-bone thine?

V.

Who wert thou once? what brought thee to these regions,

The murderer or the murdered to be?

Wert thou enrolled in mercenary legions,

Or didst thou honor's banner follow free?

Didst thou desire to be enrolled in story,

Didst fight for freedom, peace, truth, gold, or glory? The sword which here dropped from thy helpless hand, Was it the scourge or guardian of the land?

VI.

Even yet, for thee, beyond yon dim blue mountains,
The tear may tremble in a mother's eye,
And as approaching death dries up life's fountains,
Thou to her thoughts and prayers mayest still be nigh;

Perhaps thy orphans still for thee are crying,

Perhaps thy friends for thy return are sighing,

And dream not, that upon this little hill

The dews of night upon thy skull distil.

VII.

Or wert thou one of the accursed banditti

Who wrought such outrage on fair Germany?
Who made the field a desert, fired the city,
Defiled the pure, and captive led the free ?
Didst thou, in disposition fierce and hellish,
Thy span of life with deeds like these embellish?
Then-God of righteousness! to thee belongs,
Not unto us, to judge and right our wrongs.

VIII.

The sun already toward the west is tending,

His rays upon thy hollow temples strike;

Thou heed'st them not; heed'st not the rains, descending On good and bad, just and unjust alike.

The mild, cool breeze of even is round me playing,

Sweet perfume from the woods and fields are straying; Rich grain now waves where lances bristled then ; Thus do all things proclaim God's love to men.

IX.

Whoe'er thou wert, who by a fellow mortal
Were hurried out of life; we are at peace;
Thus I return thee to the grave's dark portal,
Revenge and hatred on this spot should cease.
Rest, where thy mouldering skeleton reposes,
And may the perfume of the forest roses
Waft thoughts of peace to every wanderer's breast!
Thou restless one! return thee to thy rest.

A PLAN OF LIFE.

[The fate of the late Mrs. THEODOSIA BURR ALSTON, daughter of Col. A. Burr, has excited a deep interest in the public mind. From a variety of manuscripts, in her own hand-writing, now in my possession, I have selected the following scrap. If you think with me, that it is not unworthy a place in the American Monthly Magazine, you will be pleased to insert it in your next number. I transmit you a literal copy of what bears evident marks of being the original, and perhaps the only copy ever made. Those who had the happiness to know her, will acknowledge this effusion as descriptive of her feelings.-D.]

How charmingly does Rousseau describe his maison champêtre. How fascinating does he render a country life. Yet I differ from him. I would have a commodious house, surrounded by a large garden, in the midst of a considerable city. I should prefer to be wealthy, that abundance unstinted, comforts and elegancies, might surround me; that I might frequently give agreeable parties, without long premeditation or studied preparations; that my friends might be sometimes pleased with those trifling, but delicate proofs of attention which sweeten the intercourse of life; that they might sometimes receive more useful marks of my attachment, if overtaken by the storms of adversity, and that I might relieve the sufferings of my fellow-creatures.

Nothing about me should be very costly. My expenses should be so regulated, that no article, by approaching the verge of my utmost income, should put it in the power of any one to distress me by a momentary accident. My furniture should never be rich: I would rather change it frequently, to preserve that air of freshness which so enlivens an apartment: and, distinguished rather by taste than fashion, my dress should be characterized in the same way. My parties should never be crowded or expensive. I should not care that any one on leaving my house burst forth in admiration of my ball-room

or my supper table; but that all should say - "I hope Mrs. A. will soon give us another party." There should be but few servants in my house; but high wages and some indulgences should procure the best.

I would have only a small library, consisting of a few favorite authors; but by subscribing to the best public collections, secure a larger choice than any private fortune could aspire to; and thus preserve myself from the chagrin incurred by the constant loss of lent books, or the ill-will which is produced by refusing them.

The whole morning should be devoted to domestic affairs—such as are incumbent on every woman to study, or to the intercourse of the heart in the exclusive society of those I love. At dinner, frequently a few friends; always room for one or two. In the evening my house should be open; my musical visitors should find the best instruments, and all should share in good cheer without the appearance of exertion from any one. Frequent small select parties at supper would render my house attractive to the sprightly.

My father and my husband would be sought by men of literature and talents. To render my conversation worthy of them should be a part of the morning's business; and, though unable to strengthen or illuminate, I might chance sometimes to throw in an airy ornament, and hang now and then a wreath of violets in the temple of Minerva. Large assemblies I would never enter. The necessary preparations; the loss of time so disproportionate to its object; the bustle and the crowd, all render them detestable.

I would have, too, a small country residence-a cottage near a town, where every thing should be rustic. A wild exuberance of fruits and flowers; multitudes of singing birds attracted by security; a deep grove, where Æolian harps should sigh through the trees; a bathinghouse; some books, musical instruments, and pure air should render my cottage delightful. I would sometimes retire to taste solitude. Thither my friends might ride with us, to partake of a rural meal distinguished by simplicity and ease-not prescribed to any particular place, in set regularity; but in the dining or breakfast room; the piazza, or on a rock overhanging a river, or among the old trees richly adorned with garlands exhaling perfumes.

My great rule should be never to aim at competition in things extrinsic and really trivial. I would seek the honey-cup, and let those who choose prefer the corolla.

ANTIQUITIES OF NORTH AMERICA.

In the history of our country every thing relating to the earliest inhabitants must be interesting, not only to the professed antiquary but to the general reader. There is much evidence to show, that the postdiluvian earth was originally but one continent that this country, America, was peopled from CENTRAL ASIA, before the dismemberment of that single continent — that the people brought with them the manners, arts, and civilizations of Central Asia; perhaps the very manners, arts, arms, and modes of warfare described in the Homeric poems; and that, some time after America was separated from the other continent, immense hordes from the NORTH OF ASIA Crossed Behring's Straits, and gradually took possession of the country.

Before these barbarian invaders the inhabitants retired south into Mexico, carrying with them the arts and civilization that afterward so astonished their more modern invaders from Spain.

It is a fact well known in history, that Cortes found in Mexico arms and utensils such as are known to have been used in Asia Minor, and such as have been found nowhere else. And the discoveries recently made at Palenqué and Vehemel, plainly point to Central Asia as the country of their origin.

That the Indians found here by the discoverers were not the original inhabitants, has, we believe, never been disputed; on the contrary, it has ever been acknowledged that there was a distinct race anterior to them. But whence came this race, whither they went, and what monuments they have left here, are questions that have afforded matter for much speculation. It has generally been believed that the mounds in the western country are the work of their hands, notwithstanding that some ingenious gentlemen have lately argued, perhaps to their own conviction, that the mounds are the direct work of nature, and raised by the action of water. But as to the mounds, we leave the question where we find it- the old race have left other

monuments.

The Indians found here by the discoverers, in fact never pretended. to be the original inhabitants; but had a tradition, that their forefathers came into the country across the sea probably Behring's Straits that they found the country inhabited - that with the inhabitants they waged a long war, and ultimately drove them south into the sea. the fact probably was, that the conquered

Such was the tradition

people retired to Mexico.