tion this cannot be affected by it, nor is it the hope of reclaiming the delinquent, for we suppose those circumstances to have been atoned for and forgotten. The only object then we can have in view is the gratification of our passions, the inconsistency of which with the proper conduct of the press, has been before illustrated, and the reconciling which with our consciences, will, I fear, be found, on trial, a task of considerable difficule ty. From these remarks, it is obvious, that in many cases the truth” ought not to be considered as a mitigation of the offence, and although the damage that may result to the injured person, from the allegations against his integrity being universally believed, shall by some be deemed a proper punishment for the offences of which he has been guilty, yet the criminality of tear

si ing from the grave circumstances that have almost sunk into oblivion, and for the sole purpose of gratifying a spirit of ani. mosity, remains the same; and however flattering may chance to be the approbation his successful attempts to destroy the hitherto unsullied character of a fellow-citizen, from such as were

а personally at enmity with the accused, there exists an internal monitor, which will not fail of reminding him that the praise of the world can never atone for the impropriety of an action, however speciously gilded over with a pretended regard for the common welfare of society, when conscious himself of its having originated it the most malignant and detestable motives.

H. Y. Baltimore, November 29.

ORIGINAL POETRY-FOR THE PORT FOLIO.

THE NECKLACE OF BONES.

YE bards of Manhattan, who aim by your lays,
To pilfer a sprig of bright Phæbus's bays,
Sing no more of your lilies, pure bloom, or blue eyes,
The bones of the fair are what amateurs prize.

From morn's glowing lustre, or eve's silver dews,
No laurels will rise to encircle the Muse;
If fame is your object, Lucella now owns
Her smiles must be won by admiring her bones.

a

a

Our grandmother Eve, who was nobody's niece,
Though a bit of a flirt-wore a fig leaf pelisse,
Lest gallant old Adam should feel an alarm,
On stealing a glance at her beautiful form.

a

But chang'd are the fashions; a fair who can boast
Each modest attraction to make her the toast:
Whose blush for e'en errors ideal atones,
Can now take delight in displaying her bones.

When Cupid led lovers to Hymen's bless'd throne,
Making “flesh of one flesh, and bone of one bone;":
The tear on the cheek, which affection endeard,
The flesh and the dimple were all which appear'd.

s Since flesh is but grass”-and was uppermost then;
Much more, will our belles be admir'd by the men-
Who, with beauty and grace, take pains to provide
Such bones as Lucella's, and wear them outside.

To the glance of the maiden, whose sparkle is true,
Let bards when in love pen a stanza or two;
Let them sing of their lips, of their dimples and such,
And think you cant praise them or kiss them too much.
But give me the fair, who united to these,
Adds genius to charm, and a temper to please;
Who values as trifles, the treasures she owns,
And boasts like Lucella, a new set of bones.

Such virtues will last when'e'en riches have sped,
When the glow of the cheek, with its roses, have fied
Will prove a support, when misfortunes await,
And aid one to bear or to run from her fate.

E. New York.

FOR THE PORT FOLIO.

The Music of Life-Anew Song, by a Military Cavalier,

of my

The music of life is the

song

friend, When his generous soul expands at my board,

As my wine sparkles round, and my soul I unbend, To know that bland friendship and truth are adored.

The music of life is the voice of the maid, When her lover her ardent affection doth press;

While her cheeks all in blushes, her lips half afraid, The enrapturing “yes” she delights to confess.

The pleasure of life's the relief I can give
To a friend sunk in sorrow and worn by distress,

To see the lorn smile of his hope again live;
And 'tis music to hear what his heart can express.

'Tis the music of life, when the drum rolls to arms, And the soldier's proud spirit beats loud at his heart;

Though the foe is advancing he dares the alarms, Which threat to invade the dear friends of his heart.

The music of life's the anthem's sweet peal, Which swells on the breeze of morning to heaven;

The sounds, no dull mortal can ever reveal, Tis gratitude's song-from the heart it is given.

But the music of life, and the song I like best,
Which shields us from sorrow, supports us in pain,

Is the conscious sweet cadence-when the soul is at rest
And virtue reason our passions restrain. had

Then let us in harmony cherish the song,
Which beguiles our rough way, or enlightens the heart.

May the Handel of Heaven our music prolong, 1
In the realms where true friendship never can part.

i ALEXIS. ·
Belle Fontaine, Missouri, Feb. 4, 1811. ab

a

!

To a beautiful Pittsburgh Lass who has blue eyes.
COULD but the poet reach the painter's art,

And shade his colours in the impassioned line;
The charms of beauty to his verse impart,

And with the matchless form portray the soul divine.
Thou would'st live in deathless song;
Each Muse would oft the endearing theme prolong.

When late at eve we press our gloomy way,

And weary Nature wears her sable dress,
How cheering is the far off taper's ray,

While magic Fancy makes the distance less.
And when black clouds the Heavens deform,
When lightning leads the pealing storm.

If but a parting cloud is seen,

While thunders pause and lightnings rest,
Where Luna sheds a partial gleam,

Oh, how it cheers the lonesome traveller's breast!
The charming blue is seen which leads to heaven,
And peace serene for douts and fears is given.

When in the summer's balmy morn,

Aurora's mantle meets the eye,
We look delighted on her passing form,

Where Nature's richest tints in splendour vie.

But when the Imperial God nesumes his

$ car, And starts his coursers for the morning stars

His daardings beams.obscure the sigiats,

And nature's bosoma hides from view, t.
Tis then we turn from beams too bright

And gaze upon celestial blue.
E'en in the horrid walks of wan,

Where: Valour's heant: is nerved with steel,
Wilence Pity flies from Havoc's car,

And soldiers' bosoms cease to feel.

When struggling manhood pants for breath,
And thousands press the ground in death:

Let but Columbia's banner rise,

In waving blue around the field;
How bounds the heart for Valour's prize,

See! how we conquer, how they yield.

Sweet, blue eyed maid, assay, thy art,

And let thy conquest be a heart
With virtue, truth and valour bless'd,
Then let it to thy own be press'd.

ALEXIS.
Pittsburgh, July 20, 1810.

Allading to the blinding effect of the sun's rays when they act directly on the pupil.

FOR THE PORT FOLIO.

SONG.

The measure (I believe) unique.
If ever you smile on a lover,
And let him your passion discover,

As soon as you sigh

His transports will die;
And Hymen offended, will teach you to cry
That Laye when assured is a rover:

Young Willy was handsome and clever,
And long did he fondly endeavour