When she first left her native village, she was a his engagement-that he had spoken disrespectfully of stranger to the vices so prevalent among the young in her, and that she need not expect any farther tidings modern times. But easy is the task to imbibe wrong from him. But Matilda believed it not. She wrote. In sentiments-to learn that revenge is noble-that the end a short time her letter was returned unopened. Still justifies the means, and that she who can best disscm- she could not believe him false. A month rolled by—a ble, most secretly effect her purposes, is most praise-month of anguish, of suspense-but nothing farther was worthy and admired.

heard from him.

Her feelings naturally ardent, needed but an exciting During this time Williams had received letters from cause to call into active exercise some of the most un- his friends advising him to return no more-that Ma controllable, and unamiable passions. Clara might have tilda had deceived him—that her conduct was improper made, with proper government when young, an excel- in the extreme-that the story of her mother's widowlent woman. But no early discipline had prepared her hood was an artful tale, invented to conceal the ignofor usefulness and happiness. An only daughter, the minious birth of her daughter, and that they were proved heiress of a large estate and honorable name, and pos- to be exiles from home, forced off by the resentment of sessed of many personal graces-she had known no their family. He, too, received a letter from Matilda, restraints-met with no crosses to her inclinations, and requesting to be exonerated from her vows, alleging had been taught, by precept and example, that admi-a former attachment as the cause, which she declared ration, conquest, dress and fashion, were the objects at herself unable to overcome. Nor did it end here. Dudwhich she should tend-the summit of her ambition. ley and Clara had so managed that the minds of the Mrs. Clayton had endeavored to instil good principles public should be prepared for the event of Williams' in all her pupils' minds; but what can the lessons of the desertion; and the unhappy girl soon found that not only school-room effect, when the family circle extinguishes had her lover fled, but with him her character, and of all the good feelings produced during a few hours in-course her peace. At Williams' request their school had struction? Self-love was Clara's idol-self-love, alas! is been dismissed, and thus were they left, with sullied too often the destroyer of its worshipper. fame, and without the means of future support. In vain did they endeavor to investigate the matter. No one stepped forward to assist them, save some who lacked the ability to succor those whom they believed in nocent. Two years passed by, and found their situation deplorable indeed. A deep melancholy had seized the widow's mind; their efforts to re-assume their for mer office failed, and they were poor, friendless and af

Williams soon became an open admirer of Miss Clayton. Gifted with talents, fortune, and a person of uncommon elegance, his mind well stored with literature, and his heart, though uninfluenced by solid piety, yet feelingly alive to many noble and brilliant virtues, he was formed to love with all the deep fervor of a virtuous soul, and formed to be beloved by one who could appreciate his character. No sooner did Williams de-flicted. Matilda bore it with becoming dignity-all tha: clare himself the friend and equal of Miss Clayton, than the line of demarkation which had been drawn by the proud and rich gave way, and it soon became quite as fashionable to admire the gentle Matilda, as it had been to pay homage to her wealthier cotemporaries.

Nor did Williams alone desert Miss Wilton's ranks. Among her former suitors was a young man of dissipated character, but polished manners, who would, no doubt, have been a successful competitor for her hand, had not Williams appeared upon the stage. Between these two, no good feelings existed; and no sooner did Dudley discover his attachment to Matilda, than he determined to oppose him. For some months no event occurred worth recital. Rumor declared Williams the future husband of Matilda; while Dudley, tired of his new flame, again returned to flatter the beautiful ⚫ Clara.

It was evident that she was not happy, and also that the desertion of Williams was a source of real mortification; yet still her fondness for her rival continued, and she even seemed more devoted than ever to the society of her friend. Matilda loved her, and fondly imagined that she was likewise beloved. But the time for her marriage drew near. Clara possessed her confidence, and apparently enjoyed the approaching good fortune of her friend. At this juncture, business called Williams unexpectedly from the state. With a beating heart he bid adieu to his betrothed, promising to write every post, and extorting from her a like favor. One letter only was received from him, and that was cold and brief. Added to this, she was told that his departure was a finesse to avoid the fulfilment of

industry and prudence could effect was done-but the rose was fled from her check, and the smile of peace was gone. Only by the bed side of the poor and dying, or afflicted, and within the walls of the house of God, did she venture to stray. But the influence of virtue will sooner or later be felt. Public sentiment cannot long remain stationary, and a reaction seemed gradually taking place in the Claytons' favor. Again they requested to be patronised, and a few persons resolved again to try them. The fever of excitement was passed, and the minds of the community, as they grew more calm, began to look more closely into the nature of the case; and many now wondered that they had been so credulous as to believe what was so slightly proven. But it is needless to descend to particulars-suffice it to say, that they were again placed in a situation of comparative comfort; and many who had secretly shown some kind. ness to the sufferers, now boldly espoused their cause, and openly declared their belief in their innocence. Clara was still unmarried, and her deep hatred to Matilda now began to assume a more tangible form. No opportunity escaped her and Dudley, to asperse her character; and so marked was their enmity, that it attracted general attention.

Twelve months passed by, and their school increased, and with it their favor with the greater portion of their acquaintances. Dudley and Clara were to be married, and a great excitement existed in expectation of the gaietics of the scene. Never had such preparations been known, and consequently the approaching marriage was the theme of every tongue. The evening before the wedding, a larg eparty of the young men of the village

dance.

One month had scarcely elapsed since the marriage of Dudley, when the village was again excited by the appearance of Williams. No sooner had he arrived than a thousand vague reports and ideas were afloat, and the general sentence was, that his business was to see Matilda. He refreshed himself at the hotel, and taking Maxwell's arm, strolled towards the cottage. The sun had set, and the moon was shining with an unusual brightness, and gave to the flowers and shrubberies around the cottage a more than natural beauty. They approached softly, for they recognized Matilda's voice, and listening, heard these words:

and its vicinity, had assembled to celebrate some anni- | blush overspread her cheek, and with deep feeling she versary in which they were interested. After the busi-replied, that Matilda Clayton might grieve for him, for ness of the meeting was over, they agreed to drink to they suited better than any two she had ever known. the happiness of Dudley and his Clara. One sally He asked her why? Because, said she, her heart is of mirth gave way to another, until Dudley and several false as a traitor's, and his, like hers, inconstant and others felt much exhilarated by their large potations. base. "You astonish me," said Maxwell. "I know Dudley at length mentioned Williams-tauntingly allud-them both," she replied, "and Mr. Dudley knows them ed to his former attachment to Clara-attributed his re- too." Maxwell said no more, and Clara rejoined the jection by her to his own influence-and wound up by asserting that it was not the only favor for which his friend had to thank him. Encouraged by the mirth his witticisms excited, he proceeded to state, in a strain of deep ridicule, that had not his superior discernment discovered the true character of Miss Clayton, and given the alarm, she would have now been the wife of Williams; and that for the favor he had done him in getting him out of that dilemma, he should seek out the exile, and claim, by way of reward, a handsome legacy for his first. Among the number present was one who long had loved the innocent girl whose name was thus unceremoniously handled; a suspicion that Dudley was the cause of her ruin, darted through his mind, and he resolved to take him by guile. He accordingly asked if friendship for Williams had prompted him to the task of breaking off his chains. "No, indeed: I had a double motive. She, a proud wretch, had rejected me; and he, a villain, once had rivalled me; for a reason, good or bad, they loved each other, and I made them feel what they will not forget." "And you can prove all that was said?" continued the other. Dudley was now alarmed, for there was something in young Maxwell's look that showed he had said more than he intended to be understood. "Prove it!" said he, "assuredly I did it; and if necessary, can prove a great deal more than you have ever heard."

Yes, false to me has been this world;
Its malice tore thy heart from me:
The shaft which at my peace was hurled,
Was deeply felt, I know, by thee.
Still conscious virtue is my stay,
Though yet a dart does rankle here-
He thinks me base and false as they
Who tore my bosom with despair.

I'll blame him not; the poisonous breath
Of malice forced him thus to stray;
And fain I'd clasp the tyrant Death,

To wash that guiltless stain away.

Williams' agitation became so great that his friend with difficulty prevented his betraying his nearness to the house; but caution was necessary, as it had been planned that Maxwell should go in alone, and by degrees apprise Matilda of W.'s arrival, and his object. He accordingly knocked at the door. Mrs. Clayton asked who was there. His name was given, and he immediately entered.

The party dispersed at a late hour, but Maxwell arose next morning unrefreshed. He fancied he had found the clew to the labyrinth, and resolved, unsuspected and secretly, to discover, if possible, the mystery which he now saw had been so long thrown over that transaction. Maxwell, too, was Williams' friend. He Seating himself near Matilda, he asked what event alone knew his present residence, and he resolved, if on earth could give her most pleasure? She blushed possible, to investigate the matter, and restore, if inno-deeply, and replied, "to see all the world convinced that cent, happiness and fame to her whom he now believed unjustly deprived of both.

*

I am not deserving of the scorn which has been heaped upon me; true, a reaction has already taken place, but where there is mystery there is doubt, and doubt is the The halls of Wilton Lodge were glittering with a fruitful source of distrust. But why did I answer thus; thousand lights-the merry peals of the violin resounded excuse me, for as you entered I was brooding over the through the mansion-the gay dancers were seen in past-the bitter past." "And did you ever suspect the every direction-while feasting and profusion marked enemies who at that dark period caused your sorrow?" the splendid scene. Maxwell leant beside a lofty co-"No," she replied, "I would not be so unjust as to cenlumn, decorated with flowers and variegated lamps, and looked on the festive scene with a saddened heart.

Clara was arrayed. in almost regal splendor. The jewels glistened in her hair-the pearls gave their pure forms to decorate her snowy neck and arms; every thing combined to make her happy and gay, and yet he thought that she was sad.

sure merely from suspicion; but let us drop so painful a theme-1 was wrong to allude to it." But Maxwell was resolved that it should not thus be dropped. "Miss Clayton," said he, "did you never think that Dudley and his wife were deeply concerned in that nefarious business? Answer me, for I do believe that they were the entire cause." He then proceeded to relate what Wearied with the dance, she seated herself near the he had heard from the lips of both, and concluded by spot where Maxwell stood. He approached, and laugh-saying, "I have written to Williams, stating my suspi ingly inquired why she looked so serious, where all was so gay and bright. She denied that such was the case, when he jestingly remarked, that he should think she was sighing for her old flame, young Williams, unless she looked more like a happy bride. A deep

cions, and when he comes, I doubt not a full explanation and investigation will be the result." "Williams!" repeated Matilda; "and do you know where he is? But I must thank you for the interest you have ever taken in my fate. Words are weak to paint the feel

ings of a grateful heart. Oh! that you may be reward- little she deserved its inscription. But Matilda, my ed, even should your noble endeavors fail." "But you heart bleeds to think on her. She was the mother of have not told me," he continued, "whether or not you one lovely child; but her health was gone. Her husthink my charges against those persons just." "I have band spared no pains to arrest the progress of disease; feared it," said she, "but I resolved to condemn no one but it was in vain that he took her from north to south, until I knew that they deserved it. Those who have from place to place: after two years absence from this writhed under the tortures of unmerited charges, will village, she returned but to die. But how different was be the last to give like pangs." "Farewell, Miss Clay- her end from that of her once beloved friend. The symton," said he, "when next we meet, may it be to tell pathy of all, the love of all, the blessings of the poor, you that the sun of happiness has dawned again in accompanied her to her last home. Never shall I your horizon, and that your wrongs are revenged." forget the joyful peace that illumined her dying face"Talk not of revenge," she replied; "I would not have nor the anguish of her mother, the agony of her husit taken. Judgment is mine; I will repay, saith the band, when, for the last time, she clasped her infant in Lord,' and to him will I leave it." She could say no her arms, poured out her heart in prayer, forgave her more-tears streamed down her cheek. The widow enemies, blessed her friends, and clasping her husband's pressed his hand, and exclaimed, "The Lord will bless, hand to her heart, breathed her last. You saw her will reward thee!" Maxwell left the room, and rejoined tomb, and do you wonder that it says no external record the impatient Williams. is necessary for her praise. Two months ago, and I saw her laid in her last bed.

The excitement which reigned during the time that Williams and Maxwell were investigating the mystery of Matilda's injuries cannot be described. Suffice it to say, that a complete exposure of a deep and villainous plot was the result. Dudley, exasperated at his conduct and that of his wife being detected, challenged Williams to a duel; but he refused, and wrote him a letter declaring his contempt of him and his wife, and his determined purpose neither to meet him or any other man for a purpose so ungentlemanly, and at direct variance with the laws of God and man. A suit against them was expected, but Matilda positively refused her consent to such a measure, declaring that money was no atonement for sorrow, and that, her innocence attested, she neither sought nor wished to punish her enemies, as she well knew they would suffer far more than they had forced her to endure. Need I add, that she soon became the wife of the only man she ever loved. A short time before their marriage the brother of Mrs. Clayton sought her out. Her father had died. On his death-bed he forgave her for marrying against his will, and left her a large estate. But happiness is brief at best. It was soon too evident that Matilda was not long for earth. Excitement and sorrow had undermined her health, and her husband saw but too plainly that the seeds of death were already sown.

But to return to Dudley. Disgraced and despised by the virtuous and good, he plunged into excesses of every kind. He and his wife were miserable; for, mutually sunk in each other's estimation, their conduct manifested to all who knew them, the object for which they sacrificed their honor: truth and peace defeated, all was too much for even them to bear. Mr. Wilton did not long survive the shock his feelings had received. He died in less than twelve months after Williams' return.

Clara's health failed; penitence perhaps was little felt-but shame and wounded pride, and a cold neglectful husband, added to the pangs of a reproving conscience, carried her to the grave. She left one child, but that too has lately been laid by her side. Dudley is a bankrupt and a wanderer. Where he is I am unable to inform you. Rumor says that he has fallen a victim to the fury of a mob. And who reared that splendid monument to Clara's memory? Her husband, neglectful, cruel to her while living, had it erected, as if in mockery—for it serves but to remind all who see it how

And what became of Maxwell? Williams had an only sister; she is an inestimable woman, and she is his wife. He has met a rich reward for his generous conduct towards Matilda and her husband. He lives in that beautiful spot where the Wiltons once resided. Williams has taken his child and its grandmother, and gone to reside among her friends. His heart is deeply wounded, but the piety of his wife has induced him to look above for comfort. Long might I dwell on the moral of this narrative, but it needs no comment with you.

The two tombs are called the "Contrast," and justly do they deserve the appellation. Strangely blended in their destinies while living, it seems fit that they should thus repose near each other, if but to remind those who pass by, that virtue and vice alike meet their reward.

Editorial.

CRITICAL NOTICES.

MEDICAL REVIEW.

The British and Foreign Medical Review, or Quarterly Journal of Practical Medicine and Surgery, Edited by John Forbes, M. D., F. R. S., and John Conolly, M. D. (American Edition.) Nos. I, II and III: For January, April, July, 1836.

If any augury of success is to be drawn from desert, this work may fairly be regarded as likely soon to assume a vanward place amongst its competitors for favor with the medical world. Whether we view the quantity or the quality of its matter-the number, variety, richness, or power of its articles—the comprehensiveness of its plan or the judiciousness of its arrangement—it equally strikes us as possessing the very first degree of merit.

Each number consists of four grand divisions: L Analytical and Critical Reviews; II. Bibliographical Notices; III. Selections from Foreign Journals; IV. Medical Intelligence. So wide is the scope of each one of these divisions, and so copious its filling up, that a steady reader of the Review can hardly fail to know

| territories and in the immense cities of the United States, although recorded in our own language, and cultivated in the same spirit as by ourselves, is scarcely known to us at all. A striking

proof of this is, that in some recent histories of medicine publishments, scarcely any notice is taken of America, or of the improvements or discoveries for which we are indebted to American physicians and surgeons. An equally striking evidence is the books, and the non-circulation of American Journals among us. extremely limited importation into this country of American

On the contrary, the extreme eagerness with which English books are received in America, is no less strikingly illustrated by the well known fact that all good works on British medicine are not only imported into, but are immediately republished in America, work on Hygiene, has not only been reprinted in America, but circulated to the amount of 10,000.”

every material step that medical science takes-every important discovery-every valuable publication, and almost every instructive case. Not the least commend able trait in the work, is the notice it takes of foreigned in this country, by men of the very first talents and acquiremedicine; the attention it bestows upon the state of the profession and upon medical men, medical works, and medical institutions--not only in England--not only in Great Britain--not only in Europe--but in America, and even in Asia. It practically recognizes a great commonwealth of knowledge, pervading the whole earth; each province alike concerned, and alike entitled to be lighted and cheered by the sun of science; a widespread fraternity of intellect and benevolence, of which membership is limited to no climate or hemisphere. Thus we see notices of the state of medicine in Spain, Russia and Denmark; and of the medical jour-equally manifested by the number and variety of the medical nals now published in Great Britain, France, Italy, Denmark, Germany, the Colonies, and America. En passant, we state the number of these: in Germany 11; in Italy 5; in Denmark 4; in the United States 8; in Rio Janeiro 1; in Kingston (Jamaica) 1; in Calcutta 1; in France (including hebdomadal and tri-weekly papers,) 17. In Great Britain it seems there are but six.

and circulated in vast numbers." "Dr. Combe's admirable

"The zeal with which medicine is cultivated in America, is

that the original communications and criticisms contained in such of them as we have met with, sufficiently prove that it is not a zeal without knowledge." Id. p. 223.

journals published there; and we are bound in fairness to add,

The foregoing extracts are worth making and worth reading, for two especial reasons: first, because in speaking so kindly of us, they tend to awaken a mutual throb of kindness in our own bosoms, and so to strengthen and multiply the ties of international affection; and second, because by showing us how insig

We cannot too much admire the sound sense and enlarged philanthropy breathed in the following pas-nificant we are in the civilized world, they severely and sage of the British Medical Review, occurring just after it has bespoken a regular exchange with its foreign contemporaries.

"It is our anxious desire and earnest hope to make it a freer medium of communication and a closer bond of union, between the members of the medical profession in all civilized countries, than has hitherto existed. It is delightful to all who cultivate the arts of peace, to live in times when the nations of the earth may freely communicate with each other, without restraint or difficulty and it is doubly delightful to those who, like the members of our profession, are striving only for what is good, to find themselves associated in their labors with the virtuous and the wise characters of anguage, customs, and civil polity, but identified in the common desire to improve the physical, moral, and intellectual condition of man, and consequently, to augment the happiness, and exalt the dignity of the human race." No. I, p. 230. It pleases our pride as Americans, to observe the large space which our country evidently occupies in the opinion of the enlightened men who edit this Review. The physicians of the United States and their works, in its pages, fill twice the room, we believe, of those in any other foreign country, not excepting France or Germany; and there are repeated and unequivocal proofs, that the inconsiderable figure which this, like other departments of American science and literature, has hitherto made in British eyes, is now to be entirely changed. Mark the conciliatory and fraternal tone of what follows:

of every land, differing indeed in the external and unessential

"The energetic character of the American people, whom we feel proud to regard as derived from a common ancestry with ourselves, and their astonishing progress during the last half century in the arts and sciences, are no less conspicuous in the actual state of medicine there, than in the other branches of human knowledge and social amelioration. Were we, however, North American brethren better known and more justly appreciated in England, we should almost be ashamed to confess how little we ourselves know of it, and how little is really known of it by the great majority of our best informed physicians and surgeons. While the medicine of France is familiar to most men of any education among us, and that of Germany and Italy is known to many, the condition of our science throughout the vast

not resolved to make the state of medical science among our

justly rebuke our national vanity, pampered so long by our Fourth of July orators and newspaper paragraphists, into the belief that we are "the greatest and most enlightened people on earth.”

Among the American physicians whose names are brought with praise before the British public in the Review before us, are Drs. Dunglison, Geddings, and Smith, of Baltimore, and Jackson (senior and junior,) of Boston. Though Dr. Dunglison is an Englishman born, we claim his professional merits chiefly for America, who has fostered, developed and matured, by appreciating and rewarding them. We sympathize in the gratification he must feel, at the emphatic and preeminent tribute rendered him in the preface, where he is classed with, yet above, the distinguished physicians of Berlin, Hamburg, Geneva, Madrid, and St. Petersburg, to whom obligations are acknowledged for valuable assistance.

In No. 2, is a very favorable review of Dr. Dunglison's late work on the Elements of Hygiene. Like his prior and large work on Human Physiology, (of which, as well as of his Medical Dictionary, America is the birth place,) this valuable treatise is rather technical than popular; being designed more for medical than for general readers.

In the same article, is a detailed notice of the before mentioned essay of Dr. Combe, on Hygiene-or, to give its proper title, "The Principles of Physiology applied to the Preservation of Health, and to the Improvement of Physical and Mental Education." This is the work of which the Reviewer says 10,000 copies have been circulated in the United States; but as it has been stereotyped by the Harpers, and made a number of their "Family Library," besides publication in other forms, we question if 20,000 copies be not nearer the truth. The whole range of physical authorship, we have long believed, does not present an equal to this modest little book of Dr. Combe's, for curious, interesting, and valuable truth: not to physicians alone, or to

scholars, or to gentlemen, or to school-mistresses, but to it upon perusal. Few similar things indeed have afevery class of mankind, from the President of a College forded us any similar pleasure. We have no intention, to the laborer in "his clouted shoon." The topics however, of speaking more fully, at this late day, of an it particularly treats of, are the structure and functions Address whose effect must have depended so largely of the skin-of the muscular system-the lungs-the upon anniversary recollections. We allude to it now bones--and the nervous system, with the mental faculties, with the sole purpose of recording, in brief, our opinsupposed to be connected with it. Annexed to each of ion of its merits, and of quoting one of its passages these subjects are rules, "by the observance of which, without comment. each of them may be kept in health, and may conduce to the general health of the body." "And thus the reader is led to wholesome customs, by being taught the reason of their being wholesome."

Address delivered before the Baltimore Lyceum, Athe-agement of literature and science are the only safeguard for a nown Society, William Wirt Society, Washington Lyceum, Philo-nomian Society and Franklin Association, Literary and Scientific Societies of Baltimore, on the 4th of July, 1836. By Z. Collins Lee, Esq.

government and social system like ours, exposed as they are to the double hostility of popular menace and the arrogant inroads of exclusive and aristocratic orders; but the most efficacious of all these elements of stability is that of intellectual power, whether it is exhibited in the statesman's forethought and sagacity-in the philosopher's powers of combination and judgment-or in the lighter and more elegant accomplishments of the scholar and the poet-the shaft of the stately column is not weakened by the acanthus that curls at its summit, nor is reason less enlightened when embellished by the imagination.

The foundation, therefore, of a literature peculiarly free and national, and the encouragement of all the arts of life, should be our first aim; and here, gentlemen of the societies, which * This is the title usually affixed to the back of Dr. C.'s book. have so honorably been dedicated to these noble objects, permit