PIERRE. A GERMAN TALE. In a village of Franconia, dwelt a peasant named Pierre. He possessed the richest farm of the country. Three daughters and three sons, which he had by his wife Theresa, were married, and inhabited his house with their respective families. Pierre, at the advanced age of eighty, and Theresa seventy-eight, were beloved and respected by their numerous children, whose most ardent wish was to prolong their days. As they had passed a life of sobriety and industry, they were not afflicted with infirmities in their old age; contented with themselves, happy, and proud of their family, they returned thanks to God, and blessed their children. One night, after the toils of the harvest were over, the good Pierre, Theresa, and their family, reposed themselves, seated on the turf before the door of their habitation, admiring the sublimity of a fine summer's night, which the inhabitants of cities are strangers to. "See," said the old man, "how the sky is illumined with brilliant stars. The moon, hid behind those poplars, sheds a pale and trembling light. The wind has ceased to blow, and the tranquil trees seem to respect the slumber of the birds. The linnet rests its head within its wing. The turtle dove reposes with his mate in the midst of their young ones, who have yet no other covering than their mother's wing. The profound silence is only disturbed by a plaintive and distant cry, that strikes the ear at intervals. It is the owl, image of the wicked, he watches while others are wrapped in sleep, he incessantly complains, and fears the light of day. O my children! be always virtuous, and happiness will attend your steps. For sixty years your mother and I have enjoyed peace and felicity, but may none of you purchase it at so dear a price." At these words some tears fell on the old man's cheeks. Louisa, one of his grand-daughters, who was about twelve years old, ran and kissed him."Grandfather," said she, "you give us so much pleasure when you tell us some pretty story! judge how much we should enjoy the relation of your own! it is not late, the night is fine, and nobody wishes to sleep." All Pierre's family joined their entreaties, and formed a circle round him. Louisa seated herself at his feet, and commanded silence. Each mother took on her lap the child whose cries might have caused an interruption; all remained listening; and the good old man, caressing with one hand Louisa, No. IV. Vol. I. and with the other pressing that of his wife, thus began his history: Many years have passed away since I was eighteen, and Theresa sixteen. She was the only daughter of Aimar, one of the wealthiest farmers of this country. I was one of the poorest peasants of the village, which I only became conscious of when I fell in love with Theresa. I exerted all my efforts to extinguish a passion that could but make me unhappy, as I was very confident that my poverty would be an invincible obstacle to my union with Theresa; and that I ought to renounce her, or seek some means of enriching myself, for that I must have left the village where Theresa lived; this effort was too much, and I preferred offering myself as a servant to her father. He received me; you may judge with what alacrity 1 laboured. I soon became the friend of Aimar, and I still sooner gained the friendship of his daughter. You, my children, who have all married from affection, know how those who love, delight in seeking each other, and what we feel when once the heart is given. Theresa loved as much as she was beloved, I thought of nothing but Theresa; I lived near her, I saw her every day, and I thought this happiness would last for ever. But I was soon undeceived;-a rich farmer came from a neighbouring village to ask Theresa in marriage. Aimar visited the corn fields of him who wished to be his son-in-law, and after having explored his possessions, decided that this man suited his daughter, and the marriage was fixed. Our tears were of no avail, the inflexible Aimar told Theresa, that her gloominess displeased him, and she was compelled to conceal her tears. The fatal day approached, we had lost all hope; Theresa was about to become the wife of a man she detested. She was certain it would cause her death, I was determined not to survive her, flight was the only alternative, we left Aimar's house, but heaven severely punished us. Theresa and I left the village in the middle of the night; she mounted on a little horse, that had been given her by her uncle, and which I decided she might take with her, as it did not belong to her father. A bundle of clothes, some provisions, and a small sum of money, the savings of Theresa, composed the whole of our fortune. Having robbed Aimar of his child, I D D scrupled to take any thing from his house;-thus youth makes virtues of her own. We travelled all night. In the morning we found ourselves on the frontiers of Bohemia ; being out of the reach of pursuit, we stopped in a valley, by the side of one of those little rivulets which lovers are so fond of. Theresa descended from her horse, and we seated ourselves on the grass. We made a frugal but delicious repast, after which we occupied ourselves in considering what we should do. After a long conversation, and having counted our money more than twenty times over, and estimated our horse at its highest value, we discovered that all our riches were not worth more than twenty ducats. Twenty ducats could not long support us. We at last decided to go to some large town, where, if pursued, we should be less easily discovered, and to get married as soon as possible. After these wise resolutions we took the road to Egra. On our arrival we entered the first church and were married. We gave the priest the half of our treasure, and never was money spent with a better heart; it seemed as though all our troubles | were at an end, and we had nothing more to fear; all went on very well for about eight days. At the end of that time our horse was sold, and at the expiration of a month we had nothing remaining What was to be done? What was to become of us? I only knew the rustic labours of the field; and the inhabitants of great cities lay little store by the art which gives them bread! Theresa was as unskilful as myself; she suffered, she trembled for the future, and we mutually endeavoured to conceal our internal feelings from each other. At last, having no other resource, I enlisted in a regiment of cavalry, which was in garrison at Egra. The bounty I received was given to Theresa, who took it with tears. in our fate; every day he promised to intercede with Aimar for us; and as I depended intirely upon him, he had given me his word that he would restore me my liberty as soon as he had appeased my father in-law. Frederic had already written to our village, but had received no answer. Time glided away; my young Captain still manifested great friendship for us; Theresa, however, became every day more melancholy, and when I asked the reason, she spoke of her father, and always endeavoured to change the conversation. I was far from suspecting Frederic to be the cause of her grief. This young man, in all the ardour of twenty, had seen Theresa with the eyes of love, and his passion conquered his virtue. He was well acquainted with our distresses, and knowing how much we stood in need of his assistance, dared to make dishonourable proposals to my wife; she rejected them with indignation, but conscious of my violent and jealous disposition, kept this fatal secret from me, while I, too credulous, praised every day the generous friendship of my Captain, One day, as I was returning home, I perceived Aimar before me; judge of my surprise! " I have found you then, vile ravisher," exclaimed he, "restore me my daughter, give me back the happiness you tore from me, in return for my friendship." I fell on my knees before him, and patiently allowed the first burst of his anger to pass. My tears appeased him, and he consented to listen to me. "I do not pretend to justify myself," said 1, "the harm is done; Theresa is my wife, my life is in your hands, punish me, but spare your child-your only child; do not dishonour her husband, do not make her die with grief. Forget me, and only think of her." In saying these words, instead of conducting him to Theresa, I led him to the habitation of your nurse, my child-Come, added I, come and see another who also implores your pity. My pay was sufficient for my support, and the little works done by Theresa (for necessity had instructed her), gave her the means of subsistence. A child came to bind faster the ties of love. It was you, my dear Gertrude! we looked on you, and thought you would be the comfort of our latter days. At the birth of each of our children we have said the same, and never have been deceived. You were sent to nurse, as my wife could not suckle you; she passed the daying you smiled, and extended your little arms by the side of your cradle, while I, by the most exact observance of my duty, endeavoured to acquire the esteem and friendship of my officers. Frederic, my Captain, a young man of twenty, was distinguished from the other officers by his mildness and handsome figure. He had shewed me marks of friendship, and I related to him our adventures; he saw Theresa, and was interested You were sleeping in your cradle, Gertrude! your fair face expressed innocence and health. Aimar looked at you, his eyes filled with tears, I took you in my arms, and presented you to him. Here is also your daughter, said I; you awakened, and, as if inspired by heaven, instead of cry towards the old Aimar, you seized his silver locks, and approached your face to his. The old man covered you with kisses, pressed me to his heart, and, still holding you in his arms, exclaimed, "come, my son, let us seek Theresa." You may judge, my children, with what joy-I conducted him to our house. During the way I thought that the sudden appearance of her father might too much affect || blow, when piercing shrieks suspended my fate. Theresa. With the intention of apprizing her, II looked, and saw a spectre, half-naked, pale and ran before Aimar. I opened the door, and be- There I remained two days and three nights in a state which you may easily conceive. Ignorant of what had passed, knowing nothing of the fate of Theresa, I only saw my jailor, who answered all my questions, by assuring me that I could not remain long without being condemned. The third day, the doors were opened: I was desired to leave the prison; a detachment awaited me at the door; I was surrounded, and conducted to the square where we used to be exercised. At a distance I perceived the regiment approaching. I saw the terrible instrument of death. The idea of having arrived at the height of misery restored me my courage: with a convulsive energy I quickened my steps; my tongue unconsciously pronounced the name of Theresa, I sought her with my eyes, and regretted her absence; at last I arrived at the fatal spot. My sentence was read, I was given into the hands of the executioner; I expected the mortal bloody, exerting all his efforts to press through the soldiers by which I was surrounded. It was Frederic! "My friends," cried he, " 'tis I that am guilty! 'tis I that deserved death! My friends, forgive the innocent. I wished to seduce his wife, he punished me, he was just: you are monsters if you dare take away his life!" The Colonel ran to Frederic, tried to tranquilize him, and shewed him the law by which I had been condemned, for having raised my hand against my officer. "I was no longer his officer," cried Frederic, "I had given him his freedom; here is his dismissal, signed the day previous to this unfortunate catastrophe, he is not subject to your laws." The astonished officers assembled; Frederic and humanity defended my rights; I was re-conducted to prison; Frederic wrote to the minister; accused himself, and obtained my pardon. Aimar, Theresa, and I threw ourselves at the feet of my deliverer, who confirmed the gift of my liberty, and wished to add money, which we refused. We returned to this village, where the death of Aimar has left me sole master of his possessions, and where Theresa and I will finish our days in peace and happiness, surrounded by our children. All Pierre's family had pressed around him during his recital. He had ceased speaking, and they still continued to listen, while tears bedewed their cheeks. "Be comforted," said the good old man, "Heaven has repaid all my trouble. with your love." In saying these words he embraced them, and all the family retired to rest. April 17, 1306. E. R. R. THE HUNGRY ARAB. A TALE FROM THE TOHFET AL MOJAILIS. AN Arab, who was travelling through the desert, was almost exhausted with hunger and thirst, when he unexpectedly perceived a man who had spread his cloak upon the ground and was taking his repast with an excellent appetite. The Arab saluted him, according to custom, and sat down beside him. "Whence comest thou?" asked the stranger. "From the village," replied the famished Arab, hoping that he should be invited to partake. "Hast thou seen my house?" continued the former. "Yes," answered the Arab; "it is beautiful and magnificent; its roof reaches to the sky, and its court is delightful as the plains of Paradise." Hast thou seen my shepherd's dog? O, yes! He watches thy herds and thy flocks with such vigilance that not a wolf dares to approach them. Hast thou seen my son, Chalid? Yes; he was at school, and was reading to his master in the Koran with great fluency, and in a most impressive tone. How is Chalid's mother? As well as thou canst wish; and there is not a creature, either male or female, in all Arabia, who inanages a house better, or can weave more skilfully, or bears a higher character for mildnes and benevolence. Hast thou also seen my camel, that carries our water? Yes; it is in the best condition. The man hearing all this welcome intelligence concerning his wife, his son, and his property, was so rejoiced that he began to eat with still greater appetite, but offered the languishing Arab not a single morsel. This unfortunate wretch, tormented with the pangs of hunger, was now ashamed of his flattery, and said to himself, "I must attack this covetous and insatiable fellow in another way." At this moment a dog came up; allured by the smell of the victuals, he stood still and wagged his tail. "Yes," said the hungry Arab, "if thy dog were still alive, he would have wagged his tail exactly in the same manner."-Alas!" exclaimed the man, "is my dog dead? How did he perish?" What! did my camel die too? No, replied the Arab, they killed it for the funeral dinner of Chalid's mother. O, heavens! is Chalid's mother dead? Of what disorder did she die? Of what disorder? she struck her head with such violence against Chalid's tomb, that she died of the wound. What! my son dead too? A violent earthquake demolished thy house, said the Arab, and he was buried beneath the ruins. Grief and horror, at this melancholy intelligence, deprived the stranger of his appetite; he ceased to eat, rose from his repast, left his provi sions behind him, and hastened home with all By drinking the blood of thy camel! said the possible dispatch, while the hungry Arab sat Arab. down and regaled himself. DANCES OF THE NEGROES OF THE ISLAND OF MARTINICO. THE European can scarcely distinguish one negro from another; all appear to him equally black; he sees nothing but black noses, thick lips, and woolly hair. The Creole, however, accustomed to live among them, not only distinguishes one individual from another, but will tell you, at first sight, to what nation each belongs. The Mocas have teeth wide asunder, and prominent jaws like monkies. The Caplaous have round faces, and almost all a look of good temper, which prepossesses you in their favour. The Mandingo has a ferocious aspect; you may easily guess that he is a cannibal. The Congos have broad faces and a good physiognomy, and are in general the best adapted to household duties.The Arada may easily be known by his gaiety and vivacity. The Ibo is industrious and afraid of punishment, and will not hesitate to destroy himself. The Calvary negro is distinguished from all the rest by the perfect blackness of his skin, as well as by the beauty of his form; it is among those of this nation that the painter and sculptor should chuse their models. On Sundays and holidays the utmost gaiety prevails among them. The negroes, male and female assemble; they separate into nations, forming so many different groups, each having its particular dance. A negro of the Arada nation, the most distinguished for agility, springs into the air and falls upon one foot; again he leaps, bends, falls flat on the ground, rises in a moment, capers, bounds, runs, flies, as it were, around his partner, while she, stretching out her arms and holding a handkerchief extended in her hands, modestly hangs her head, utters a low sound at intervals, moves every part of her body by the mere action of the muscles, without quitting for a moment the centre of the circle de. scribed by the dancer. The Jouba is another dance, which appears less animated, but none can be more indecorous; the vaunted Fandango gives but a feeble idea of it. The dance of the Caplaous is a faithful representation of the actions of their lives, in which they exhibit the artifices, the solicitude, and the pains of love, the horrors of war, and the terrors of death. No people dance with such lightness, accuracy, precision, and sometimes grace, as the Negroes. We might be tempted to believe that they are better organized for that exercise, and even for music, than the rest of mankind; or, perhaps, as the number of their pleasures is much more limited than that of civilized nations, their fibres are more easily affected. They possess, in full perfection, the faculty of feeling; the sound of any instrument, even the least agreeable makes them tremble; a few measured notes are sufficient to set in motion the negro who hears them; and if the tune be continued, you soon see him in the strongest agitations of transport. Their airs are very expressive; denoting gaiety with great truth, and softness and sentiment with still greater: but they are always short. || A few notes, intermingled with frequent sighs, are sufficient, and they scarcely ever run through the whole gamut. Their favourite instrument is the bamboula, a kind of kettle-drum, the lower part of which, instead of being circular, is length ened into a cone. To heighten the effect of this instrument, the negresses, who surround the dancers, beat time with their hands, and repeat in chorus the air beaten upon the bamboula. The Creole negroes sometimes imitate the European dances with great success; their airs and songs likewise display more ingenuity than those of the negroes of the African coast. They are the poets and the musicians of the plantations, and the most trivial circumstances calls forth the exercise of their abilities. The negroes have a different air and words for every kind of labour; sometimes they sing, and all their motions, even while cultivating the ground, keep time to the music. ACCOUNT OF A REMARKABLE DISTRICT OF POITOU, IN FRANCE, IN A LETTER TO A FRIEND. BY J. G. SCHWEIGHAUSEN. induced me to enter them. Would any one be try where the art of living has been brought to the highest degree of perfection, is inhabited, at the present day, in the manner of the ancient Troglodytes?—that the people there live in dark dens and excavations of the rocks, resembling those which, according to the ingenious system of M. Quatremere de Quincy, served only as models for the subterraneous labyrinths and massive architecture of the ancient Egyptians? Great numbers of these habitations are seen upon the hills that border the road from Blois to Tours; a door in the rock, a window, and the smoke of the chimney which issues from the midst of vineyards and envelopes the vines, are all that you perceive of them. Nay, the houses of rich tariners have halls, passages, and cellars in the rock. I am assured that habitations of this kind, common in Touraine, are to be found towards Saumur and Bretagne, and are met with on the contrary side as far as the volcanic mountains of the Vivarais. You ask me for particulars concerning the country in which I live; an account of my walkslieve that a great portion of France, of that counon the banks of the Brignon and the Creuse, would furnish, say you, a counterpart to my description of the Ban de la Roche, with which your friends were highly delighted. There 1 trod on ground sacred to me, a soil which my first sentiments had rendered in some measure the native country of my heart. When I entered a "Your father hut, the father would say to me: contributed to the foundation of our schools." The mother had taught my mother to make bread; and the daughter would add : "She taught me in return geography and history." Thus every step revived fond recollections, and every thing appeared clothed in more brilliant colours. Here, when I ramble from the amiable hosts with whom I reside, I should be obliged, in order to animate the scenes through which I stray, to make new acquaintances, to form connexions which nothing has prepared. I must confess I prefer confining myself to the enjoyments which nature affords. Is there to be found among men, even among the simplest rustics, any thing more truly beautiful than a serene sky? Is it possible to repose more agreeably than on the border of a meadow enamelled with flowers, amid the hum-ter? he never thinks of piling up, at a distance 'Tis from it, heaps of stones or loads of wood in order ming of bees and the singing of birds? there I love to linger; or sometimes strolling to construct for himself a crazy habi ation; the farther from the habitations of men, I take refuge chisel soon enlarges a natural grotto and conve.ts in the solitary valley, or the recesses of the fores:. it into a solid dwelling. Amid this wild sanctuary, 1 find with rapture! ever new, that sacred horror which our ancestors adored; the oak, at whose foot I recline, seems to communicate to me a portion of his strength, and I imagine that, in the mysterious language of the wind rustling among the foliage, I distinguish some sounds that are addressed to me, and that speak to me of the wonders of nature I found, however, near the ancient Castle of Paulmy, where I passed a few days, dwellings so singularly rude, that surprize and curiosity at first Man never struggles against nature, but when Does a rock, she provokes him to the combat. which may be easily excavated, afford him shel It was not till my last visit to Paulmy that I had an opportunity of more closely examining these habitations. By the side of a deep cavern, from which I should not have been surprised to see a Cyclop issue forth with a couple of young bears for his fair mistress, I beheld a door, half opened, and before it was seated a woman with two children. I expressed a desire to enter; under a black and smoaky rock 1 perceived a bed, a table, and a bench; these things, rude as they were, still formed a striking contrast with the |