would be brought forth were the poetical themes more natural and more subservient to great objects. In general, the subjects used in unison with the music of the opera, are those relating to the passions of love and jealousy, to war, to murder, and to the spirit of intrigue. Of compositions which adopt love for the prevailing theme, a good representative may be had in "Lucia di Lamermoor." The music, as music, is, in many respects, beautiful; but does it not need all the scenic display which is associated with it, to excite any feeling, however superficial, in its favor? Does the mind feel elevated to ennobling thought with respect to the subject of which it is proposed or supposed to be the delineator? Does it teach us the purposes and aims for which true and virtuous love was implanted in the heart of man? If, as I conceive, the mind does not feel thus, nor is thus taught, then of what avail is such an opera? Of works through which runs the spirit of intrigue, a suitable example may be found in the "Barbier de Seville." Without the assistance of high characters, incognito as drunken soldiers, or as musicians, and the breakage of crockery behind the scenes, neither its meaning would be perceived, nor its supposed legitimate humor displayed. The music has not the power to do this; the poet seems to have been ignorant of that wherewith to describe fully the character of an intriguant; and, therefore, to make the meaning of the opera evident, the aid of the machinists behind the scenes is called into exercise, by means of which the sense of the opera becomes recognizable. How interesting such a work must be to an intelligent mind! What a combination of talent is requisite to represent to us the spirit of intrigue! Musician, poet, and scene machinist are co-laborers in this great composition, whose design is the exposition of one of the most despicable spirits in existence, and one rife enough in the world without being made more so by attempts to raise its deformities up to beauties. In what consists the benefit of the opera of the "Barber of Seville," otherwise than in the fact that the person who listens to it is gratified that the count, who figures so conspicuously in it, accomplishes his end-the attainment of the hand of his inamorata—through the ludicrous stratagems of the barber, notwithstanding the policy of her superannuated guardian? There arises little benefit from this temporary gratification. The heart is not touched; the heads of some may be benefited, and so deeply that the benefit, like the morning dew, will evaporate with the rising sun. Of those works which treat of murder, and all its attendant crimes, an example may be witnessed in the opera of "Lucrezia Borgia." Here all the guilty passions of the depraved human heart ride triumphant. Debauchery laughs demoniacally-vice, in its vilest form, exposes itself upon a broad platform, drinks, dances, sings ballads composed by the chief musician of Hades, stabs a friend, commits fratricide and parricide, and caps the climax of its atrocities by appearing before the tomb of its victims and warbling forth a song whose theme is love! Poison-goblets and coffins hold undoubted sway in this opera, and render what is tame without, effective with its aid. The subject is taken from a leaf of Italia's history, where it may be appropriate as giving shade to the superabundance of light which has always existed there; but it appears to me, the poet and composer who framed it for the stage might have been more profitably employed, for I am not aware that any who have listened to its rehearsal have derived any instruction or particularly pleasurable sensations. In concluding my remarks on the classes of music, the love for which, in my opinion, does not denote the faculty of TASTE, I hope will be perceived the inefficacy of ballads-the first class to which attention has been called in this essay-in producing any sensation or calling forth any emotion other than temporal, and either of which of the most superficial character. Ballads do not improve the mind; no idea of the sublime or beautiful is suggested by them, but they afford merely a light amusement. The second class, it will be noticed, is productive of humor only, and that expressed from the grossest materials. It seems very singular that the intelligence of people will permit them to descend so low for amusement as the negro melodies. There are certainly subjects other than those connected with the customs of the negro, (especially with those of the negro slave,) which could insure more fun and frolic, even though not accompanied with the nimble distortions incident to the performance on the squasitarre and saucepaniana, the selection of which subjects I leave to the good sense of those who do not desire to see music made a companion for nonsense in its vilest form. The opera will be spoken of in our next article. PROVIDENCE AND THE QUAKERS. "HOWITT's Country Year-Book," a work published in England, contains the following curious stories about the Quakers during the American Revolution. As we have never before heard of those singular instances of the dispensations of Providence in behalf of that sect of non-combatants, we have an idea that they may be equally new and interesting to our readers; though, without disparagement to that very respectable class of our fellow-citizens, we may be permitted to say, that the statements of Friend Dilwin look a little Joe Smith-ish. Here they are: About "George Dilwin was an American, a remarkable preacher among the Quakers. fifty years ago he came over to this country, on what is termed a Religious Visit,' and being in Cornwall, when I was there, and at George Fox's, in Falmouth—our aged relative still relates-soon became an object of great attraction, not only from his powerful preaching, but from his extraordinary gift in conversation, which he made singularly interesting from the introduction of curious passages in his own life and experience. the face, and many a one was ready to despair The forests around them were in possession of the soldiers, and the game, which otherwise might have yielded them subsistence, was killed or driven away. "After several days of great distress, they retired at night, still without hope or prospect of succor. How great, then, was their surprise and cause of thankfulness, when, on the following morning, immense herds of wild deer were seen standing around their inclosures, as if driven there for their benefit. From whence they came none could tell, nor the cause of their coming; but they suffered themselves to be taken without resistance; and thus the whole people were saved, and had great store of provisions laid up for many weeks. "Again, a similar circumstance occurred near the sea-shore, when the flying and pursuing armies had stripped the inhabitants, and when, apparently to add to their distress, the wind set in with such unusual violence, and the sea drove the tide so far inland that the people near the shore were obliged to abandon their houses, and those in the town retreated to their upper rooms. This also being during the night, greatly added to their distress; and, like the others, they were ready to despair. Next morning, however, they found that God had not been unmindful of them; for the tide had brought up with it a most extraordinary shoal of mackerel, so that every place was His company was so much sought after, that a general invitation was given by his hospitable and wealthy entertainer, to all the Friends of the town and neighborhood to come and hear and see him; and, evening by evening, their rooms were crowded by visitors, who sat on seats, side by side, as in a lecture-filled with them, where they remained ready room. "Among other things, he related, that during the time of the Revolutionary War, one of the armies passing through a district in which a great number of Friends resided, food was demanded from the inhabitants, which was given to them. The following day the adverse army came up in pursuit, and stripped them of every kind of provision that remained; and so great was the strait to which they were reduced, that absolute famine was before them. Their sufferings were extreme, as day after day went on, and no prospect of relief was afforded them. Death seemed to stare them in taken, without net or skill of men-a bountiful provision for the wants of the people, till other relief could be obtained. "Another incident he related, which occurred in one of the back settlements, when the Indians had been employed to burn the dwellings of the settlers, and cruelly to murder the people. One of these solitary habitations was in the possession of a Friend's family. They lived in such secure simplicity that they had hitherto had no apprehension of danger, and used neither bar nor bolt to their door, having no other means of securing their dwelling from intrusion than by drawing in the leathern thong by which the wooden latch inside was ing from burning habitations all around them; lifted from without. parents were weeping for their children who were carried off, and children lamenting over their parents who had been cruelly slain. "Some years afterwards, when peace was restored, and the colonists had occasion to hold conferences with the Indians, this Friend was appointed as one for that purpose, and, speaking in favor of the Indians, he related the above incident; in reply to which an Indian observed, that by the simple circumstance of putting out the latch-string, which proved "The Indians had committed frightful ravages all around-burning and murdering with out mercy. Every evening brought forth tidings of horror, and every night the unhappy settlers surrounded themselves with such defences as they could muster, even then, for dread, scarcely being able to sleep. The Friend and his family, who had hitherto put no trust in the arm of flesh-but had left all to the keeping of God, believing that man often ran in his own strength to his own injury-confidence rather than fear, their lives and had used so little precaution, that they slept without even withdrawing the string, and were as yet uninjured. Alarmed, however, at length, by the fears of others, and by the dreadful rumors that surrounded them, they yielded to their fears on one particular night, and before retiring to rest, drew in the string, and thus secured themselves as well as they were able. "In the dead of the night, the Friend, who had not been able to sleep, asked his wife if she slept, and she replied that she could not, for her mind was uneasy. Upon this, he confessed that the same was his case, and that he believed it would be safest for him to rise and put out the string of the latch as usual. On her approving of this, it was done, and the two lay down again, commending themselves to the keeping of God. "This had not occurred above ten minutes, when the dismal sound of the war-hoop echoed through the forest, filling every heart with dread; and, almost immediately afterward, they counted the footsteps of seven men pass the window of their chamber, which was on the ground-floor, and the next moment the door-string was pulled, the latch lifted and the door opened. A debate of a few minutes took place, the purport of which, as it was spoken in the Indian language, was unintelligible to the inhabitants; but that it was favorable to them was proved by the door being again closed, and the Indians retiring without having crossed the threshold. 6 their property had been saved; for that he himself was one of the marauding party, and that, on finding the door open, it was said— These people shall live; they will do us no harm, for they put their trust in the Great Spirit.' "During the whole American Revolution, indeed, the Indians, though incited by the whites to kill and scalp the enemy, never molested the Friends, as the people of Father Onas, or William Penn, or as the avowed opponents of all violence. Through the whole war, there were but two instances to the contrary, and they were occasioned by the two Friends themselves. The one was a young man, a tanner, who went to his tan-yard and back daily unmolested, while devastation spread on all sides; but at length, thoughtlessly carrying a gur to shoot some birds, the Indians, in ambush, believed that he had deserted his principles, and shot him. The other was a woman, who, when the dwellings of her neighbors were nightly fired, and the people themselves murdered, was importuned by the officers of a neighboring fort to take refuge there till the danger was over. For some time she refused, and remained unharmed amid general destruction; but, at length, letting in fear, she went for one night to the fort, but was so uneasy, that the next morning she quitted it to return to her home. The Indians, however, believed that she too had abandoned her principles, and joined the fighting part of the community, and before she reached home she was shot by "The next morning they saw the smoke ris- them." WESSEL JANSEN'S TUYVIL; OR, HOW TO GAIN A WIFE. BY BALTIMORE ESSEL JANSEN was a young skipper on the Hudson River, or, in other words, he was the owner and master of a staunch piragua, which had legitimately descended to him from the estate of his late father, Hendrick Jansen, who had lived and reared his young brood, of which Wessel was the elder, in a snug Dutch cottage, under the cliffs at Weehawken. The elder Jansen had been also a skipper, but not partaking of the roving spirit of his namesake predecessor, the extent of his voyages had generally been limited by the "Spuyten Duyvil Creek," on the north; the "Helle Gatte." on the east; and the "Kills," on the south,nevertheless, he had always contrived to pick up trade enough, on the waters of the bay, to keep his hand in, pay his shot, and, eventually, bag a few hard dollars for a rainy day. Wessel had expected, on the old man's death, to become sole heir, in fact, as he had before been heir apparent; hence, he had not become peculiarly celebrated for habits of industry. On the contrary, it was the general impression that Wessel Jansen was an ill-to-do fellow, who had rather sit in the sun, smoke his pipe, and tell frightful stories about the "Katterskill Tuyvils," than to handle either a hoe or an oar in an industrious calling. Therefore, when his respected progenitor had closed his mortal career, and his last will and testament had been read, wherein it was shown that the piragua, and nothing else, was to be the portion of the hopeful heir, the countenance of the latter became ruefully dark, and, in his first fit of disappointment, he consigned the piragua, and everything pertaining thereto, to regions not intended for the sailing of such craft. The idea of labor never had entered the noddle of poor Wessel, and what use would the piragua be to him without labor? Sure, enough! But this, after all, was only the cause of causes which made the young Dutchman unhappy. Wessel had often boasted to his companions, and especially to the young women in his neighborhood, that his father had a "tousan tollars tied up mit a pag." all of which would become his by right of descent, together with the piragua, the cottage, and so forth. Under these auspicious hopes, he had ventured, moreover, to fall in love with Pellise, a buxom and square-built damsel, of the neighborhood, and many an hour had they dreamed away together, feasting themselves on the ambrosial thoughts of home in a cottage, with a thousand dollars to live on, and the piragua for a pleasure-boat. But, alas! everything now became changed, except the desires of the lovers; they, it is true, burned with unlessened ardor, and the lovers themselves would have gone on, and got married, in spite of fate, trusting to good luck for the future, and without pausing to consider how they should get means to make the pot boil, had not the father of the damsel interposed a hard-hearted and rigid objection. The old flint told Wessel to "go apout his pusiness," and swore dunder and blixen, they should never be married until he got that "tousan tollars tied up mit a pag," or another thousand just as good. The case seemed utterly hopeless, and the young couple were almost broken-hearted. Wessel's own natural mother, widow of Hendrick Wessel, held firmly to the bag and its contents, and where could he turn to find the other thousand that the father of Pellise spoke about? That other thousand puzzled the youngster. It opened in his mind an imaginary idea that there was another thousand dollars in the world, and hinted at the possibility of his obtaining it. But how he was to do so without the aid of der tuyvil himself, was beyond his comprehension. He stood upon the shore. There lay the piragua riding quietly at anchor, about twenty yards from him. Her sails were furled up snugly, her hatch fastened, and her sweeps stowed away, just as they had been ever since the old man took sick. The very sight of the little craft made him feel poorer. He looked up the river, and down the river, and over to the city of Nieu Amsterdam,* which was then perched on the very point of the island, but all to no purpose, he could not discover the slightest clew to the object of his meditations-one thousand dollars, and Pellise for a "frow." "Vat shall I do?" inquired Wessel, as he began to reason with himself. "If I sells te olt piragua, she von't prings more as a quarter of te money, ant I can't sell te cottage, ant I ain't got notting else put mine clothes, ant mineself." As the last thought ran through his mind, he felt a cold chill run all over him. He had heard and read of people selling them selves to the old fiend, and enjoying great wealth while they lived, only to be burnt up with brimstone at last. Wessel had no thought of doing such a thing as that, yet the mere association of his ideas made him shudder, and gave an evil and disagreeable turn to his meditations. Fortunately, at this juncture, his reverie was broken by the shrill voice of his mother, whose heart, he verily believed, was as hard as that of old burgher Von Claes, the father of Pellise. Pausing, in her duties among the pots and pans of her household, she called to him. Her words were in high Dutch, more impressive than poetic, and, being translated into English, ran somewhat as follows:Waes, you lazy lout, why ain't you doing something, instead o' standing there, like a sick pig, and eatin' the substance of others. Ain't you ashamed, you drone, to be devour แ The Dutch descendants continued to call the city Nieu Amsterdam long after it had been rechristened by the English ing the victuals of your poor widowed mother, and doing nothing for yourself or her? A pretty fool is Pel Von Claes to look at such as you are, and the burgher sarves you right. Go to work, and be an honest man like your father, you brute! Get aboard your piragua, and go to the city where you'll git something to do, and if you can't be a man, look like one!" Having delivered this maternal apostrophe. the widow set to work again at her kitchen ware, leaving her son to digest her counsel at his leisure. Wessel was not a bad youth: his crime was laziness, for which his parents were perhaps as much to blame as himself; possibly more so. He possessed many good traits that had been smothered by indulgence, and among those traits was that of filial affection. He loved his mother-in fact he could not do otherwise, because she loved him; and it was not often that he heard such a flood of maternal indignation as that which had just fallen on his ear. He awoke from his stupor, and determined to obey. Without saying a word, therefore, in reply to his mother, he called on his brother Jan, a lad of about sixteen, and taking him aboard the little vessel, they together shook out and hoisted the sails, trimmed the craft, and with a fair breeze set out for the city. The boys had been with their father enough to make good sailors of them, and in an hour the pirauga was moored snug against one of the very few piers that were then built in the North River, from the ancient city of Nieu Amsterdam. It was a fine morning in April when the two brothers were alone upon the pier, having been about twenty hours in the city, with no prospect of anything to do. The younger was amusing himself by flinging stones at the gulls as they went sweeping by the end of the pier, and the elder sat with his feet swinging over the water, his arms folded, his eyes cast down, and his thoughts turned upon his dear but absent Pellise, and the terms upon which he must win her. Somehow the idea of selling himself came constantly uppermost in his mind, in spite of every effort to the contrary; possibly because no other method presented itself by which he could expect to realize the enormous sum of one thousand dollars. It is not surprising, therefore, that when at this juncture a hand was laid somewhat heavily upon his shoulder, he started, and came near tumbling into the river. Shrinking from the touch with a peculiar thrill, he looked up, and |