If your antagonist on being checkmated, or receiving unawares any decisive blow, takes the liberty of giving the chess-table a somerset, and inflicts a general dispersion on the men; discuss not with such a man politics, religion, or the fair sex, lest you die by the hand of a duellist. Genus irritabile.

An artful chess-player, ever and anon tempting you by exposure of pieces to gain his end, perpetually endeavouring to blockade your pieces, and aiming at double checks and checks by discovery, will not be unmindful of the stratagems of chess in the game of life. Bon avocat, mauwais voisin.

If your adversary plays well, in the attack, the king's gambit; is nothing disconcerted, though skilfully opposed; deep in his plans, decisive in execution, and keeping you from first to last in unbroken turmoil by the dexterity of his manœuvres, he will usually make his way in the world, or he will be a rich man without a shilling in his pocket. He will be a good military tactician and an acute advocate. He will expose fallacies, detect hypocrisy and fraud, and make himself master of any subject he applies himself to investigate. He will sift deeply and ponder with patience. He might form an ingenious mechanic, and succeed in scientific inventions.

An indecisive character may be detected in a few moves. Indecision and caution must not be confounded: the latter is essential to a fine chess-player as to success in all the undertakings in life, and is an act of the judgment;the former is an evidence of deficiency in the reasoning powers, and adverse to their free exercise. It arises from want of concentration of our ideas; from a weakness, or (if we may apply to intellectual the same term as to physical faculties), from a relaxed condition of the mental energies. To have any dealings with such men, especially to co-operate with them, is a positive nuisance; and to place our interests in their hands, may be emphatically called, placing them at their disposal! Deliberat Roma, perit Saguntum.

Those players who are exceedingly fidgety and fretful under defeat, though often tolerable players, are invariably impatient of contradiction, and positive on all subjects on which they conceive themselves well informed. This class will usually be found amongst elderly persons; and they will sometimes soon

er refuse to encounter a youthful antagonist whose superiority they have experienced, than subject themselves to the annoyance of yielding to the greater merits of one they are conscious of surpassing in general acquirements. Such men lie sleepless all night after a beating, and rise feverish with a head ache.

A good player husbands well all his resources, never gives up an advantage he can possibly maintain, or thinks the smallest advantage too mean an acquisition. Such men die rich. A player careless in his good fortune, and prodigal of his advantages, will experience reverses in his passage through life, and complain of the decrees of Providence. No chess-player who attempts to succeed through unfair means, or by snappish play, can be a man of integrity. An honourable-minded man will rather lose a trifling advantage than leave an impression on his antagonist that he has been deficient in courtesy and liberality. The object in playing at chess is to win the game, but the end only satisfies the means under the ordinary honourable limitations. He who would violate this generally received rule,-founded on the best feelings of virtue and justice, will sell not his birthright only, but his conscience for a mess of pottage: if a monarch, he will rule by torture and terror and venality; if a subject, he will compromise his principles with a bribe, hesitate at nothing in securing a favourite object, and set consistency and moral honesty at defiance. Such a character must Mrs. Trollope's reviewer in the Quarterly have been, who could hymn the praises of a book in which every principle of decency, morality, and religion is thrown to the winds, to get a fling at republican institutions; and we cannot but suspect the communication must have emanated from that gentleman by whom the appearance of our review, before alluded to, was interdicted, unless we illustrated the evils of power being lodged in the middle classes, by an exemplification of the weakness of pawns sustained by the superior combatants. Let the reader mark well the foregoing illustrations, and, adding to them the results of his own experience, we shall leave him in possession of a chess-table answering some of the most valuable purposes of Fortunatus's wishing-cap. "Has vaticinationes eventus comprobavit."

New Monthly Magazine.

BY HORACE GUILFORD.

(For the Parterre).

1.

No legend decked its gray, gray wall; Nor guilt nor glory's startling dye Gave it prerogative to call

The wanderer's foot, the seeker's eye: But still with ramparts all a-row, The lone bleak Tower stood in the snow.

2.

No grace, no grandeur had its form;
'Twas not majestically tall;
Nor broad as to defy the storm,

Nor circled with protecting wall;-
But, whether Seasons laugh or lower,
Impressive still is that gray Tower!
3.

No smoke-wreath o'er its rampart hangs,
No voice is in its ancient hall;
Yet 't is not like a ruined house,-

Or one that's likely soon to fall!
But still, with ramparts all a-row,
That strange bleak Tower stands in the

snow.

4.

There's not a stone from its peaked roof, Though lichen's coloured gems are there;

And that one midmost weathercock,

Rustling, sleeping, mocks the air. And whether Seasons laugh or lower, Reverend still is that gray Tower. 5.

The lattice, shaped in diamonds,

Blazons the transomed windows wide, (Like golden braids on solemn robe), Framed up the sad Tower's gloomy side.

For still, with ramparts all a-row
The strange old Tower o'ershades the

snow.

6.

A sun-dial once gilt the wall,

With flourished legend pictured fair; But gilding, now, nor colouring,

Nor Roman-figured brass is there.
For, whether Seasons laugh or lower,
Dismal still is that strange Tower.
7.

Centring the roof, the Lovery stands
Aloft; the dovecote's dome was there:
But now, no silvery purple wings

Flash with wild flutter through the air. But still with ramparts all a-row, The strange gray Tower o'erlooks the

snow.

8.

The little corner belfry tower

Still holds its solitary bell,

But so moss-mantled,-to the wind Most times 't will neither swing nor swell.

The hasty farewell is scarcely spoken, before the "new arrival" engrosses all the attention; and your mineral-water companion of yesterday vanishes from your memory, to make room for some new acquaintance of to-day, who, in his turn, is also doomed to mingle with the misty recollections of the past, and, in a brief period, to be forgotten for ever. Friendships formed here, are fleeting and evanescent. Excitement is the grand object of pursuit; and how can people be so unreasonable as to expect those to feel who never have leisure to think?

Nearly every house in the village is overflowing, and visitors are still coming. I shall not attempt to give you a particular description of all the individuals I have encountered here; and for ten thousand reasons, three of which, however, will suffice at the present time. In the first place, I have no idea of manufacturing a book of travels during this hot weather. In the second, (mark what an eye I have for business), most of the people here will be subscribers to the Parterre, and I cannot take any liberties with them, of course. And lastly, and to conclude," those who will not become subscribers cannot be supposed worthy of either the time or the trouble. Yet, dear if you will take a chair with me in this spacious drawing-room, (you shall have a glimpse of the piazza in my next), I will point out a few characters from among the com. pany there assembled, and tell you all I know about them. This may amuse you till the bell rings for tea. Oh, come along; we will say nothing to wound the feelings of anybody; for scandal, I am aware, is your utter abhorrence, yet it is a very fashionable accomplishment at most watering-places, although, I am happy to say, I have heard little of it here.

You observe that mild, matronlylooking lady, near the window yonder? Is she not a pattern of neatness and propriety? Her story must be an interesting one, and not destitute of a moral. I wish I knew it. I remember her from my boyhood, and shall never forget her looks one fine Sunday morning, as she entered Trinity church, leaning on the arm of poor I never saw any

thing more beautiful than she, at that moment, appeared to my inexperienced eyes; all my after dreams of female loveliness were associated with her. I could not imagine a being more perfect; but I was very young then, and she was engaged to be married. I saw her again, after I had arrived at man's estate; but oh, how altered! She was still single. J. and she had some misunderstanding, and he had gone to England, and died there, I think they told me. I never heard any further particulars. Still she was much admired for her beauty, and beloved for her goodness of heart: and, as she was immensely rich, must have had opportunities enough of forming what is generally understood, a "convenient alliance," for men, or I am much mistaken, were as worldly-wise formerly as now. I never saw her afterward, until we met the other day at these Springs. There are more old maids in the world than remain so from necessity.

That "no American should wish to trace his ancestry further back than the revolutionary war," is a good sentiment. I admire and will stand by it. Yet, while I disapprove, most heartily, of the conceited airs and flimsy pretensions which certain little people arrogate to themselves on account of their birthright, I cannot subscribe to one particle of the cant I am in the habit of hearing expressed on these subjects. It is not "the same thing," to me at least, whether my father was a count or a coal-heaver, a prince or a pickpocket. I would have all my relations, past, present and to come, good and respectable people, and should prefer the blood of the Howards to that of the convicts of Botany-Baynor do I believe I am at all singular in these particulars. It is nothing more than a natural feeling. Still I would not think ill of a man on account of any misfortune that may have attended his birth, nor well of a man simply because he happened to be cradled in the lap of affluence and power. The first may be one of nature's noblemen, and the other a poor dog notwithstanding all his splen

dour; and that this frequently happens, every day's experience affords us abundant testimony. That the claims of all to distinction should rest upon one's own individual talents, deportment and character, is also sound doctrine, and cannot be disputed; yet this is no reason why we should not feel an honest and becoming pride in the genius, integrity or gallant bearing of those from whom we sprung. Now, yonder stands a gentleman, who, in my humble judgment, cannot but indulge a secret glow of satisfaction, while contemplating the roots of his family tree. He came from a good stock-the old Dutch settlers of New-Amsterdam-than which no blood that flows in the human veins is either purer, better or braver. His forefathers were eminently conspicuous as christians, soldiers and sages; they occupied the high-places of honour and authoritywere the ornaments of their day and generation, and, notwithstanding the shade of ridicule which a popular writer has cast around and interwoven with their history, their memories will ever be cherished until virtue ceases to be an attribute of the human mind. The public spirit of this gentleman and his liberal views have long been the theme of universal praise; and, although I do not enjoy the privilege of his personal acquaintance, I know he must be a gentleman; the mild and benignant expression of his face-his unassuming habits

-his bland and courteous demeanour, all bespeak it; and, to use the language of Queen Elizabeth, are unto him "letters of recommendation throughout the world."

That gentleman is one of the few Americans who combine a fine literary taste with indefatigable business-habits. Had he devoted his life to letters instead of merchandise, he would have been conspicuous among the most gifted of his countrymen. I heard him deliver an address once, that surprised me for its elegance of style, and literary discrimination. But this is a money-making land; and Mr. --, (like Halleck, Wetmore, Sprague, and others), has found the counting-house more profitable than the Muses' temple-his account-book more certain than all the books besides -and bank notes the very best notes in the universe.

Young is famous for his flute, his dog, and the number of his servants. He never travels without half a dozen.

One he dresses in livery, and has him always within calling distance. He plays the German flute with great unction, and with a most determined air, and keeps an enormous dog, of a very peculiar breed, constantly at his heels. He lodges at

hotel, near the top of the house-that apartment having been assigned him on account of his musical propensities-he not wishing to be interrupted in his studies, and the landlord desiring to have the neighbourhood disturbed as little as possible by his eternal noise. He is the horror of the surrounding country, and complaints have frequently been lodged against him for annoying quiet, well-disposed citizens throughout the day, and keeping them awake during most of the night. Wherever he goes he pays double board, as all fluting gentlemen undoubtedly ought to do, and he therefore enjoys a kind of privilege to blow away as long and as often as he thinks proper. His man in livery answers his bell, which is everlastingly going. At the first stroke of the hammer away runs John, and away runs the dog close behind him. It is curious to see these two worthies hurrying up-stairs, and the exhibition never fails to create a laugh throughout the building, which, however amusing to the spectators, is a source of the deepest mortification and chagrin to poor John, who is the butt of all his associates in the kitchen on this account. John has long looked upon himself as an injured and most unfortunate man, and once summoned sufficient resolution to remonstrate with his master upon his grievances-telling him, with tears in his eyes, and in a heart-rending manner, that if the dog was not discharged he should be compelled, however reluctantly, and notwithstanding the high wages, to look out for another situation, as it was quite impossible to say, when the bell rung, which was wanted, the dog or himself. It is entirely out of the question to describe the indignation of Monsieur Flute, on hearing this complaint. At first he turned all the colours of the rainbow-then arose from his seat, eyed his rebellious subject from head to foot, and tried to give vent to his passion in a stream of words; but, finding the effort vain, he promptly kicked him out of the room, and commanded him from his presence for ever! John, however, is a prudent fellow, and knows the value of a good place and high wages, or, to use his own phrase, which side his bread and butter is buttered"-so he

concluded to retain his place, in defiance of the laugh and the kicking, and still remains in his former service, and is still followed by that everlasting dog. Now, young is a nuisance, and so is his dog, and so are his servants, and so are all private servants at public hotels. During meals, they are always in the way. You are liable to mistake them for the regular waiters of the house, and issue your orders accordingly. These they refuse to obey, of course. This is provoking. Then they seize upon all the choice dishes on the table, to convey them to their masters, who sit gormandizing while your plate is empty, and the dinner is getting cold. This is monstrous. Then the man with a servant sometimes gives himself airs towards the men without servants. This is intolerable. I have heard of two duels on account of private servants, and therefore I repeat, they are a nuisance in a moral point of view, and ought to be abated.

There is a knot of politicians the "great hereafter" and his distinguished colleagues, whom I must not mention, for fear of entering the dreaded arena of party politics-near them are the descendants of Carroll, Clinton, and other renowned men,

"Whose names are with their country's woven ;"

and the room is filling with beauties, belles and beaux of all descriptions. The gentleman in a drab coat, is quite a famous fellow here—a member of the temperance societies-temperate in every thing but water, of which he drinks twenty tumblers every morning before breakfast at Congress Spring, and has done so for the last six summers. He is a firm believer in its efficacy—delivers long orations on the subject to any person who will listen to him-pulls every new comer by the button, as soon as he enters the premises, and is known and avoided by the name of the "Water King." That little girl in black, who snaps her fingers at the slender buck in whiskers, has refused six offers of marriage within the last twelve days. She is certainly a bewitching creature, and often puts me in mind of Clara Fisher in the Country Girl.

Ah, ha! my little Frenchman! that fellow is a character. I will tell you a story about him. I stopped at West Point, not long since, and found the hotel crowded with visitors. It was late in the evening when I arrived, and being almost worn out with the fatigue

of my journey, for I had been the inmate of stage-coaches, railroad-cars and canalboats, without closing my eyes for the last two days, I repaired, with all convenient haste, to the solitary couch that had been assigned me in the basement story, in the fond hope of passing a few comfortable hours in the “arms of Morpheus;" but one glance at the "blue chamber below," convinced me of the utter folly of any such expectation. I found it nearly crammed with my fellowlodgers, who, if I might judge from the melancholy display of hats, boots, socks, and other articles of wearing apparel, scattered over the floor, in most "admired disorder," had evidently retired with unbecoming eagerness to secure their places to themselves, and thereby guard them against the possibility of intrusion from others, doubtless believing, that in this, as well as similar cases, possession is nine points of the law. As the apartment was very confined, and all the inhabitants wide awake, I thought I might as well spend an hour or two in the open air before going to-bed, and was about to retire for that purpose, when a voice called out-"If you do not wish to lose your berth, you had better turn in." Observing that nearly all the cots, sofas, settees, chairs, etc., were occupied, and hearing that several of my fellow-passengers were sleeping on the house-top and in the halls, I deemed it prudent to follow the advice just given to me, so at once commenced disrobing, and was soon stowed away in a snug corner, and it was not long before I found myself gradually and imperceptibly sinking under the influence of the gentle god. I began to congratulate myself to commiserate the unhappy condition of my less fortunate companions, and to bid good-night to all my cares, when that short, thin, merry little Frenchman came dancing into the room, and, after cutting a pigeon-wing or two, humming a passage from a favourite opera, and skipping once or twice around the vacant beds, sat himself upon the foot of the most commodious, with the exclamation—“ Ah, ha! I find him-this is him-number ten, magnifique! Now I shall get some little sleeps at last." Again humming part of a tune, he proceeded to prepare himself for bed. After divesting himself of his apparel, and carefully depositing his trinkets and watch under his pillow, he fastened a red Bandana handkerchief around his head, and slid beneath the counterpane, as gay and lively as a