EARLY on the morning of the 29th of September, 1847, a vessel was telegraphed from one of the fortress-crowned hills of Genoa. She was reported as a vessel of war, bearing the American flag. The ships of that distant nation have never appeared in the Mediterranean, without exciting a peculiar enthusiasm among the people of these beautiful but unfortunate countries. Thousands crowded the shores, in eager expectation of the arrival of the mysterious stranger: for the telegraph had not ventured to tell what kind of craft she was; and the public curiosity was the more excited by the appearance of a battle ship, nearing the port, without the aid of sails, or, apparently, of steam; for her slim masts shot gracefully up from the dark hull, without sails, and the sea was all calm around her, except far in her wake, where the early sunlight played on the waters. And yet nearer and nearer she came, dashing up into the beautiful harbor of Genoa.

The crowd increased; the vessel entered the port, and, casting her anchor, swung gracefully round to the breeze, which came freshly down from the Appenines, loaded with the fragrance of the vintage.

"Who is this mysterious stranger?" went rapidly from one to another, in the dense mass that already darkened the shores. But no one could answer. The vessel had no sails, no wheels, no pipe for fire, made no smoke-and yet she seemed to be entirely under the control of those who guided her. There she lay in the quiet blue waters of the port; thousands gazing on her dark form and delicate yards, shooting sharp and slim into the sky!-who; what could she be?

In a few minutes a light boat was lowered from her side, and went sweeping gracefully over the water, with the measured stroke of a man-of-war's oarsmen.

"Dev' essere un Americano." all exclaimed, "perchè si vede la bandiera degli Stati Uniti -Non vì è punto di dubbio: ma che razza di vascello può essere quella, che non mostra, nè fumo, nè ruote, nè vele ?"

The American Steamer Princeton had been in port some days, and a succession of dinners, soirees, and hospitable entertainments given to the commander and his officers, which the generous gallantry of" the service" required should be returned. The consul was therefore requested to invite as large a party as he pleased for a trip of pleasure along the coast, in the new and beautiful steamer, on the 2d of October, if the day should be fair. The Admiral, the Prince, the Count of Syracuse, (brother of the king of Naples,) the old Marquis di Negro, (well known to the Americans, through Headley's letters from Italy,) foreign ambassadors and consuls, with a large number of distinguished strangers from every quarter of the world, were to make up the party.

There was but one opinion about the place we should visit-it was to be the birth-place of Columbus, down the Western Riviera of Genoa. No American vessel had ever honored that little village by a visit-it was only eighteen miles from the city-it was one of the most beautiful shores in the world--there were in fact a score of reasons why we should make the trip to Cogoleto.

A thousand hopes, too, were excited, and a thousand fears agitated the hearts of those whom fortune had numbered among the invited guests for on the day the invitations were issued, it rained till eight o'clock in the evening, and there seemed little prospect of enjoying the expected pleasure. But as the sun went down, he burst forth for a single moment from a dark bank of clouds that hung heavily over the Alps, and flung a golden stream of light over the mountains, the shores, the city, and the sea. The fair Italians prayed to all their fair-weather saints for a beautiful day, and the Americans shook their heads and did as they

do in Rome-let it rain!

But that single glance of the sun's fair disk, as he went down, seemed but a treacherous gleam; for the clouds went hurrying away in dark masses over the west, and the path of the thunder was cut by forked lightning as it leaped among the bald Alpine peaks. Late that

night, a black canopy, without a star, shut down over Genoa, and heavy peals shook the marble city. It seemed that fate had decreed disappointment; but the light of the next morning had hardly begun to break, when a heavy signal gun from the Princeton sent its echoes up the sides of the Apennines to greet the sun in his coming, and disturbed the slumbers of the city by announcing to the guests that a fair day was breaking, and that the steamer had lighted her fires.

At ten o'clock the guests were all on board, -except a few who could not believe the ship would sail exactly at the hour appointed, the Princeton weighed anchor and turned her prow to the sea.

The Mediterranean, which had so lately been lashed into fury, was now sleeping as calm as though its bosom had never been ruffled, and as blue as the heavens above it.

The noble ship dashed the waters from her bow as she swept round the light-house, and went gliding down the coast. In an hour the birth-place of Columbus came in sight, and many a brave tar, who had heard so much of the first sailor that ever let go anchor on the coast of the New World, saw for the first time the scene of the navigator's childhood. With the guests, and all the officers who were not on duty, they crowded to the side, to catch the sight. And it was a sight to stir the blood of any man born on the western side of the Atlantic.

There lay the village of Cogoleto, white and quiet, in the bosom of the mountains-far up whose sides hanging gardens and vineyards spread their deep rich green mantle-while far above shone the heaven-kissing peaks, glistening like icicles in the sun.

The commander ordered the decks cleared, and a salute of nine guns, in quick succession, announced to the wonder-stricken inhabitants of the simple village, that a powerful but unknown stranger was rapidly approaching their coast. They flocked to the shore, and before the Princeton's boats were lowered, a little fleet of light feluccas and lattines were launched to greet us.

The commander, the officers and guests, landed amidst a silent and excited crowd of rustic peasantry and villagers, and were met by the Sindaco of the king, who on being told that the ship in the offing had come from the distant country Columbus had discovered, to visit his birth-place, opened his eyes still wider, and showed the party at once, with a thousand

inclinations, bows, compliments and thanks, to the house, whose inscriptions declare that within its walls the immortal navigator first saw the light.

It is a strong, substantially built stone mansion, of three stories, most of whose rooms are small; forming a large but irregular pile, without any pretensions to architecture, and quite covered with the dust and shadows of five centuries, and standing on the beach, it forms an exquisitely picturesque appearance.

The view given in the engraving, which illustrates this piece, is perfectly truthful; and every person that ever saw the house will recognize the place at once. It was drawn on the spot, with the utmost care and fidelity.

The house is inhabited by a revenue officer; the first floor being devoted to the sociable purposes of a caffè, where the villagers who have a few soldi to spare, assemble in the evening to talk over the heroic achievements of their great citizen.

While the party were standing in the room (in the second story) in which Columbus is said to have been born, it was proposed to erect some bust or tribute of respect to him in the church where he was baptized, and whose bells were at that moment ringing out a merry chime in honor of the strange visitors. And. here I may say, that it would have been done. had not the Archbishop of the diocese refused his consent to the inauguration of the bust, when it was nearly finished, alledging, as a reason, that it could not be allowed, since it was the offering of heretics! I am also glad to be able to state, that this Jesuitical prelate was, by such illiberal conduct, brought into universal odium throughout the entire neighborhood. Unfortunately, by the time the new Pope had overruled the decision of the Jesuit, (which he did, the very moment he heard of it,) it was too late; for the consul, who was charged with the work, had left for America. When the resolution of the Americans present was known to the Sindaco, he announced it to the people, who received the joyful news with shouts of enthusiasm and gratitude. They had long desired to see some monument erected to Columbus, in his native village; but the poor fishermen, who compose chiefly the population, had never felt able to do it, and no foreigners had ever proposed to aid them.

In the midst of the universal excitement which now filled the village, the party proceeded to the Town Hall, (Heaven save the mark,) where the portly and pompous Sindaco

exhibited an ancient portrait of Columbus, whose authenticity nobody felt inclined (under the circumstances) to question, if we except a grave-looking middy, who suggested (aside) that the world—that part of it, at least -must have been in a sad state, when it was painted, if such a work of art had not made the artist acquainted with the halter.

Then to the church, where they showed us the altar before which the boy Columbus was baptized. Here we felt that we were standing indeed on holy ground. The whole party stood silent and uncovered before it. Around the altar were suspended many votive offerings, such as poor fishermen might bring. Among many others were two tiny ships, full rigged! Several officers present took the sacristan aside privately, and asked him "how much he would take" to get those little ships on board the Princeton! The poor old man looked at the strangers with mute and bland astonishment, not even shaking his head, he was so thunderstruck by the sacrilegious proposal. Alas! poor Italy! The stranger who visits thee thinks his gold can buy all thy treasures and sacred things! It's a comfort to think how often they find themselves disappointed!

Of course all brought away some souvenir from the dwelling of Colombo. Some a nail, some a stone from the wall, others a piece of plaster from the old frescos, and many were satisfied with a pebble from the beach where the wondrous boy played in his infancy. One of the officers coolly asked a young mother in the house, if she was rocking her child in Colombo's cradle ?

"Si, Signore," she said, blandly and kindly, as all Italian women ask or answer questions. The propounder of the question looked hard, at this very useful instrument of household economy. It was quite a modern affair, that is to say, an unmistakable willow cradle, for all the world, just like those they keep rocking at least a million of babies in America, from Maine to California. He shook his head, saying:

"It would be hardly fair to wake up the baby, Signora-I guess I won't take it!"

There is something, sometimes inconceivably droll, and sometimes inconceivably painful, in witnessing this broad humor in our countrymen in Europe, this quizzing of strangers,—a custom, by the by, of which no other nation is ever guilty.

One officer seriously cast his eye up to an

iron ring, firmly fastened into the arched ceiling. A bargain was soon struck-a smith was soon on hand, and a few solid wrenches tore away the unmistakable relic.

It is somewhat doubtful if the proprietor would have yielded on any other occasion; hardly now, perhaps, if the petitioner had not said he wished to take it to the President of the United States! This was too much-he could refuse no longer; and, thinking too, probably, that he would be well paid for his relic, he yielded with a half-reluctant grace.

But the day was wearing away, and the party embarked for the ship. As the boats pushed off, an humble, but hearty salute, of nine guns was fired from the little village cannon, (a large sized pop-gun-dignified with a military term,) which had been duly ordered out by the Sindaco, in honor of so grand an occasion. The shore was crowded by thousands of peasants, dressed in the party-colored costume of the Italian nation-the red slouched cap― the gaudy waistcoat--the variegated shirt--the sash, red or blue, about the waist, which dispenses with suspenders, for the tight velvet breeches the red leggins buttoned up on the sides the velvet jacket, (always swung over the left shoulder, a sort of relic of feudal days, of the court mantle :) add to this the goodnatured dolce far niente of that sweet land, and you have the Italian peasant. The variegated calico gown--the muslin pezzotto, (a light scarf thrown over the head, and falling to the knees,) the hair always beautifully braided, a charm sure to be found in the Italian woman, whatever her rank may be-large gold filigree earrings, often dangling on the shoulders--fine gold chains around the neck and arms, a profusion of rings, etc., etc.,-all of which constitute the dowery of the Italian girl.

I think that there cannot be many places in the world, where there are so many urchins and specimens of all kinds, as in Cogo

leto. They constitute the majority of the population. Strangers cannot account for this. Cogoleto has been, since long before Columbus, prolific in seamen. Some hundreds of its men-nearly all the fathers-live on the sea.

But I have almost forgotten my noble party. Every discharge of the village cannon was accompanied by a thousand shouts, which went ringing away merrily among the hills.

The moment our boats were hoisted up tho sides, and all were standing on the quarterdeck, gazing on the glorious sea-shore and mountains, the Princeton rolled out her Paix.

hans, and returned the peasants' salute, with nine guns, and turned her prow towards Genoa. The shouts of the villagers came back faintly over the waters. Eighteen States of the Union had already spoken.

of the myriad of Genoese bells, sent their ves per melody down over the bay, more sweetly than I ever heard them in any other land. The scene at twilight was beautiful. The sun had seemed to go and leave all his golden splen

The pieces were again run out, and there followed another salute of nine cannon, which made twenty-seven. The echoes were yet playing among the hills, when the great gun on the bow poured forth its thunder, and sent its heavy reverberations away among the distant mountains. The villagers returned it; but we could only judge of their good intentions by the smoke of their little gun-its tiny voice could not get so far away from home.

The feeling on board, among the crew and officers, and, indeed, the guests themselves, was a wild enthusiasm!

Every State had spoken. Not a heart in all that broad land from which the steamer had come, but found utterance that day for all the enthusiasm which the achievements of Columbus have stirred in the hearts of Irving's countrymen.

We swept round a vine-covered hill, and the village of Cogoleto, with its fine church tower and its white clusters of dwellings, was hid from our sight.

While the last ten guns were firing, an hundred flags were run up the rigging of the three masts of the Princeton. In their furlings and many-colored emblems, they dressed out the steamer like some fair peasant bride for a galaday.

As the sun was declining to his Alpine home, the beautiful steamer once more entered the harbor, amidst the cheers of ten thousand spectators gathered along the wharfs, and swung gracefully round to her moorings. The chimes

peaks, the blue sea, the marble city, and the purple heavens. The chimings of the city towers went warbling up the hills, and from their tops the convent bells came down, half sad and soothingly, upon the water from their guardian cypresses. There is never a roar going up from an Italian city-it is but a hum; and now it seemed softer than a murThe party all stood a few moments without speaking.

mur.

My noble guests," said the hospitable Captain Engle, "you must all be hungry-let us look into the cabin."

The tables of the

We left the quarter-deck Princeton's cabin were spread with an elegant and sumptuous repast, and the board was surrounded by gay and grateful guests. Everybody was happy.

We drank to Columbus, who discovered the New World! To Pio IX., who was redeeming Italy! To the Queen of England, (we had some of her fairest subjects present,) and to our own dear land. and the hero of Palo Alto -already known familiarly in Europe by the classic soubriquet of Old Zack. We drank scores and scores of toasts to the brave, the great, and the beautiful. But of all, the three heroes were, Columbus, Pius IX., and Old Zack. Strange combination! In the first and last, the Americans were, of course, concerned

and who could cherish a warmer or tenderer feeling for this beautiful land, where, on whose altars of liberty, the ancient fires had once more begun to burn, than the children of Washington ?

THE WIFE'S DUTY.-Though a wife is required to obey her husband, it does not follow that she should leap into a caldron of hot pitch at his bidding. All general rules must be governed by the standard of reason.

SMILES and kind words are to the heart what sunshine and dew are to the flowers, developing in either its most refined attributes.

UNREQUITED LOVE.-I have bestowed a treasure upon thee which has met with no recompense,—it is alike unprofitable to thee and to

me.

MORAL EQUITY.-I owe you nothing, sir, nor money, nor favor, nor good-will; nay, nor contempt, for even that I pay you as it becomes due.

How to win a heart all know, or fancy they do, but how to keep a heart, is by no means so well understood. Oh! if it were, how many a soul, rich in the best attributes of our nature, might be saved from misery and despair-aye, and oftimes from degradation and ruin-by those gentle and holy influences which should ever guard the home of love!

Men and women are strange paradoxes, sometimes; and, especially, are they so in affairs of the heart. The best endowment of our nature, is that exquisite organization of sympathies, affections, and impulses, called the heart, capable of yielding us on earth the greatest happiness-the nearest approach to the ineffable bliss of a purer state, if cherished; but if perverted, or neglected, dragging us down to the despair and wretchedness of fallen spirits! I never see one who slights the affections he has stooped to win, crushing the sweet sentiments he has evoked, as carelessly as the unheeded flower beneath his feet, but that I almost incline to doubt the divinity of his soul! It is not in the evanescent sentiments of excited fancy, or the short-lived breathings of passion, that true happiness is to be found; there is a richer and more generous vein in our nature, better worth attention, which, with care, may be wrought to yield that priceless treasure of existence-true and constant Love!

How little do they appreciate love, who look upon it only as the "wanton dalliance of an hour." It is the mystery of life! which contains the source of all pure and good emotions! which exalts and beatifies the soul, and affords us the key to all higher enjoyment than mere animal gratification. Yet is love-true love-a very human thing, though a type of the Holiest harmonizing with our natures and wants 80 perfectly, as to become a part thereof; while, if it be not abused, it is still forever lifting us above them. It is an emanation of that Divine purpose, which sent one among us, like unto ourselves, to redeem us from the captivity and bondage of sin. How, in the dark and

troubled hours of existence "in the nighttime of sorrow and care"-does it brighten the pathway before us, and soothe the grief that sits heaviest at the heart! Oh! who would be unloved? Who, having once tasted the exquisite bliss of that pure joy, would part with the hope of making it their heart's guest forever? Alas! there be, who, prone to base passions and low desires, banish the dove from its hallowed rest, to find at last a gnawing vulture in its place!

Reader! if it has ever been yours to win one human sympathy, cherish it as the treasure of your soul, and richly will it repay you at your need. Learn to keep a heart; it is the most important lesson. Our first regards are lightly attracted; a glance, a smile, or a gentle tone, may strike the spark that lights a flame destined to burn on the altar of our affections for life! But reader, dear reader, the lamp must be trimmed, and the oil poured in, or the shrine will be left in darkness!

I have said that love is a very human thing; it is also a household thing, and must not be viewed only through the kaleidoscope of poetry and sentiment, but should be made our familiar in more homely guise. In plain phrase, there may be as much of that delicate devotion which is as the life of love, in threading your wife's needle, as in writing a sonnet for your mistress' album. And ignorance of this is the error which wrecks many a heart, which, with its rich freight of hopes and happiness, seemed destined to sail prosperously over the sea of life! And yet it is an error which a little philosophy would teach us easily to avoid. Can we expect a flower which expanded in a warm and genial climate, beneath the hand of gentlest culture, to bloom as brightly in a freezing atmosphere, neglected and uncared for? Husband! can you expect the wife who has been won to your side by all those endearing qualities of gentleness and devotion, which you displayed as a lover, to bear with equanimity, harshness and neglect from the being who