—

were to

Rew Serics.

PAES ts PRUE LIBERTY WHEN FREE-BORN MEN—HAVING TO ADVISE THE PUBLIC—MAY SPEAK FREE.”

XamMiner,

AND SEMI-WEEKLY INTELLIGENCER.

—Mitvron’s Evripiprs.

pe abt twa dads oss CHARLOTTETOWN, NOVEMBER 27,1850... ~~~» Voi. 1: No. 85 wn creer ererne aatreeen te lanend hae tesiees Se

FOR THE EXAMINER, OLD WINTER IS COMING,

New Version. uo Winter is coming, old Winter go dear, The snow flakes, and sieigh-bells, proclaim he i@ neur,; Mad these «re his Heralds—* his voices” that aay, “The spirit of Summer is passing away.”

its dews, aye, and cool, balmy breezes are o'er,

Aad ourswveet walks at eve by the silent sea- shore ;

But what of all thet? we now ride through the dell,

Where Kcho greets Echo, and bids it farewell.

@id Winter is coming! the frolicsome time, When robed in our furs and our trappings so fine, ‘

With our fiery black steed, rearing high we shall vo Vor many a drive o’er the ice and the snow.

Why the veriest despot would envy the life

@f the youth with his girl—the maa with his wife,

Who ean muster” a turn eat,” eed e quarter” to spare,

To see how they bound through—almost thro’ the air

Aud to notice the mirth. and the jollity too, That's told!

Of the party alate with frolic and fun

yy the eve, and entivens the brow

At the thougits of « skate on the ice, or a run.

Who'd dare say that “ the musie of childhood no more

ts borne on the breeze from the eottager’s door,

That in joyance of sport no longer are seen

The light-hearted villagers dance ca the green?

When they'd look at the forest of boys on the hill,

Seq them movwnt their light sleizhs and slide down to the rill—

dud that cot, smi! but fullef the bounties of e4 rth,

Aad the rosy-cheek’d children that sit round the hearth.

Mear the old Bagpipes plisy as they alwivs have done, ,

Aad the Fiddle still give the old-fashioned hum;

See the old join the young folks, anc all trip the flour,

Te the tune cf “Jack Shepperd” or “ Rory O’ More.”

Barely there’s none that should ever complain *

Because merry old’ Winter is coming again,

Or to his hale heralds “ unwelcome” eer say,

Tho’ ‘' the

:piritt of Summer is passing away.”

‘The snow, like 2 mantle, is spread o'er the enrth—

‘The birds do not sing im the land of their birth— :

Bor doth the rock caw as he wingeth his firght

Q’er the meade where are creeping the sha- dows of night.”

Bat e’en be it so—it is all for the best;

From the first there was promised ‘aseason of resi —

OF rest to all nvtvre—te mon, bird and beast,

And Wiuter’s that season, no doubt in the seast,

Thea welcome, Old Winter!--Old Winter so dear--

“Phe snow ond the sleigh-bells proclaim thou art here:

And weicome the signs and the voices that say

‘Phe spicit of Summer is passing away.’ YOUTH. Garlottetown, November 26, 1929,

The Lady’s Choice.

BY MRS. EMMA C. EMEURY.

“in terms of choice | am not solely ted By nice direction of a maiden’s eyes.”’

Merchant of Venice.

(Continued from our last.)

The arch look of the speaker interpret- ed the equivocally worded compliment, and with a joyous laugh, Miss Heyward resumed :

“It was about the time of your mar- riage, and shortly before your departure for Kurope, that I became acquainted with Frank Harcourt. You must remem- ber his exceeding beauty. The first time I beheld him, Byron’s exquisite des- criptionof the Apoilo Belvidere rose to my lips:

—‘‘In his delicate form—a dream ef Love Shaped by some solitary nymph, whose heart Longed for a deathiess jover from above And maddened im that vision, is exprest Ail that idea! beauty ever blessed

‘The mind with in its most unearth!y mood.”

[fis admirable symmetry of form, and a face of such perfect contour, such exgui- sile regularity of feature, that its sem- bBlance in marble might have been valued asarelic of Grecian ideal beauty, were alone sufficient to aitract the aduiiration of such a lover of the beautiful as i always fave been; out the charm of perfect colouring, the effect of light and shade was hut wanting inthis finished picture. fis fal} dark eye sparkled beneath a snow-white forehexd,—his cheek was bronzed by exposure and yet brignt witb health,—his lips were crimson and velyei like as the pomegranate flower,—bis teeth white as the ocean pearl,--his raven curls tell in those meh sheht tendrils so rarely seen except on the head of infancy, —while the soft and delicate shadowing in his lip and chin resembled rather the silken texture of @ ledy’s eyebrow, than the wiry and matted masses of hair vanal- ly cherished under the name of whiskers and moustache.”

* You are quite impassioned in your description, Mildred; what would your husband say if he were to bear you!”

* He,would agree with me in thinking that Frank Harcourt is the most beautiful! specimen of humanity that ever presented itseif to my admuring eyes.”

* Tle has less jealousy then in his nature than most of his sex.”

* A man has little cause to be jealous of a rival he has su utterly discomfited.”

* Harcourt soon professed huaself my admirer, and ueed [| say that his atteations were by no means displeasing to ime. The buzz of admiration which met my ear Whenever he appeared,—the delight with which ladies accepted his slizhtest eivilities,—the manotuvres. constantly practised to secure hia society, all tended to render me vain of his homage. Had he been merely a. beautiful stetue—a rich but empty casket, | should soon have become weary of my conquest. But Harcourt possessed a mind above medi- ocrity, fine taste, elegant manners, and, what was especiaily useful to him, great

‘skill in decyphering character and con-

summate tact in adapting himself to its various peculiarities. When those beau- tiful lips parted only to utter the language of high-toned sentiment, or to breathe the impessioned words of Byron and Moore,—when those bright eyes glistened with suppressed tears at the voice of me- lancholy music, or sparkled with merry delight at the tones of gayety; when that fine person swayed itself with inimitable grace to the movements of the mazy dance, or bent its towering altitade with gentle dignity ever the -elight form of a delicate virl, it is mot strange, that, even tomy eres, he should seem all that was

noble and majestic in mind as well as person, — Flattered by his courtly atten- tions, congratulated by my fashionable friends, and captivated by his brilliant qualities, ny Imagination soon became excited to a degree which bore a strong seinblance to affection. He offered me his hand and was accepted. You Jook surprised, Emily; [ thought you knew that | was actually engaged to him.”

“Indeed Ll did not, Mildred, aud I re- eret now to learn that such was the case. There is something to me very wrong,— Tmight almost sav disgraceful in the dis- ruption of such bonds; and the levity with which young ladies now make and break engacements, argues as ill for the inorality of sucicty,as doea the frequency of bankruptcies and suspensions,”

“Lagree with you, Emily, and since it has become the fashion to consider the most solemn obligations only as a strait- laced garmentwhich may be thrown off as soon 48 we Can shut out society from our solitude,—singe women pledge their hands without even knowing whether they have such an article as a heart to accompany it,~—since men with equal ease repudiale their debts and their wives, tam afraid the next generation has little chance of learning morality from their parents. But sometimes, Emily, the sin is. in making not in breaking the engage- ment. klowever, hear my story, and then judge.

* All'the world knew that I was affi- anced to the handsome I*rank 7Harcowrt, and | was quite willing to enjoy my. tri- uinph as long as possible, before I settled myself down to the dull routine of domes- te life, ‘This disposition to defer my marringe might have led me to suspect the nature of my feelings, for no woman will ever shrink from a union with one to whom her seul is knit in the close bonds of affection. My lover was res- pectably connected, but had been elu- cated for no profession and was not possessed of fortune. te had left his native village to find emptoyment, and, as he heped, wealth, in the busy mart of the Empire state. How he managed to satisfy my father, who, in the true spirit of an old Dutch burgomaster, looked npon every man as arogue if he did ‘not possess sone visible occupation, | never could discover. He probably flattered his selflove by listening toall his schemes for the reforination of society; and I am ngt sure that he did not draw up the con- stitution and by-laws of a certain associ- ation which my father wished toestablish, —to be entitled a “Society for the En- couragement of Integrity emong men of Business,” and of whiel: the old gentle- man meant to constitute himself presi- dent.

“{t wae agreed that the marriage should take place at the expiration of a year, and my father (who was as fond of coincidents as a newspaper editor) declar- ed that onthe very day of our nuptials, the name of Harcourt should be added tothe very respectable firm of March- mont, Goodfellow & Co. . Avert this part of the arrangement | cared very Inte. [ enjoyed the present moment, and }a- vised my time, my thoughts and my feelings as foolishly as I did the gold with which my father supplied me, IJ was a mer® child in my knowledge of the duties of life, and perhaps there never was one ofmy age to whom the word ‘ responsibility’ was 80 mystical a sound.

“ T spon discovered that ] had a serious rival in the affections of myefuture hus- band. Frank Harcourt leved himself far better than he did tis mistress; and though his tact enabled Dim te avoid any offensive expreasion of this Narcissus like preference, it was still very perceptible tome. Yet her could f biame him when

I looked upon his handsome pergon? [n- deed [often found myself quoting Pope’s celebrated couplet, but with a differ- ence, “Ifto his share a coxcom)’s errors fall, Look in his face and you forget them all.” The truth was, that my vanity induced me to excuse his weakness. I was proud of exhibiting, as my lovér, the man whom all admired; and I felt redoubled satis- faction in hearing him applauded by the very people who had already bestowed on me the meed of praise. I was even so foolish as to be vain of his costume, and although [ knew that he wasted hours upon the adornment of his person, I de- lighted to see him appeak attired in thet manner, so nedlillate his own, which gave a graceful negligence to a toilet the most sougnee, and made a fancifal poet once style his dress * an elegant impromp- tu.” Like some other (so-called) iv- promptus, many a weary hour had, been estowed upon the task of waking it seem extempora neous.

(T'o be continued.)

FL SE ARES

Music ano Patnrina.--Music has been given us, by our bountiful Creator, to assist in smocthing the path of buman life. The samebeing wh5 has covered the surface of nature with bright and beautiful colours, has filled the air with sweet and expressive sounds. He has taught us to listen to the melody of the birds, the sigh of the passing breeze, and the accents of the human voice, with feelings akin to those with which we gaze on the glorious heavens, the verdure of the woods, snd the meadows enamelled with a thousand flowers. And He hae taught us, too, to make our sense of the beauties of nature, derived from the eye or the ear, the foundation of two exqui- site arts, by which not only our percep- tions of these beauties are quickened and enhanced, but our intellectual and mo- ral qualities are called into action. Paint- ing and music perform much higher parts than that of merely ministering to human pleasure.

Grnius.—They say of poets, that they must be born sucn; so must mathemati clang, SO must great generals, and so inust lawyers, and 80, indeed, must creat menu of al] denominations, or it is not possible that they should excel; but with what- ever faculties we are born, and to what- ever studies our genius toay direct us, studies they still must be. Nature gives a bias to respective pursuits; and this strong propensity is what we mean by genius, Milton did not write his “ Para- dise Lost,” nor Homer his * had,” nor Newton his Principia,” without immense Jabour.

War Insurtous ro Traorx.—Of all folly, cruelty, and madness, war is the most hateful, abominable, ane destrue— uve. It pours out the biced of the strongest citizens like water, and waetes the wealth of the nation in smoke ; ail this is done to gratify the pride, malice, or ambition of rulers, who feel pretty sure that, however thickly the balls may fly, their own heads will Se safe, and at ihe same time have a firm pergussion tliat their tamihes will be enriched by the spoils of the battle-field, Hence, in all contests, the position of the aristocrasy and of the masses is just the reverse. The former will ve safe, the letter wali bleed; the former will be enriched; the latter impoverished. Im wars, the work- ing-classes have nothing to gein, but every thing to lose—even victory leaves them to groan under a burden of taxation far heavier than any impost that a con- querer would venture to exact; while. on