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“The termini of a free, i® preferable to the torpor of a despotic, Government.”
VOIi. II.
ATHENS, GEORGIA, NOVEMBER 9, 1833.
-
NO. 34.
tJoetrg.
MY WIFE.
You were asking me, Fred, not a fortnight ago,
When we met in the natty Bob Dickdale’s depot,
f f o give you a little rough sketch at off hand,
C f Bio kind of a spouse I should like to command,
Provided the fates were to use me so ill,
A 8 compel mo to swallow th* hymcniul pill;
So having just nov ; a short unemployed minute,
I think riTcomply with your wish and begin it.
In the first place, then, Fred—for barring r.ll jokes,
I’m persuaded that’/is the first place with most folks;
I don’t want 1 girl in whom love is so cold,
That it needs must bo warmM with a purse full of
gold:
And, instead of a free and duo fund of affection,
Ever prating of wealth and “ his lordship’s connex
ion
And dinning one's cars with a tedious tirade,
How such and such settlements ought to be made ;
Beginning and ending the days with such rant—
Psl.w’tis not a creature like this that I want:
Let her only possess with her beauty some sense,
And the tact to exhibit it void of pretence ;
And she’ll please mo fur bcttei, than if both of her
pockets
Were as close lined with gold, as with hair are her
lockets.
“ Apropos” of her hair, I’d have that rather decent,
According, of course, to the fashion most recent;
And not as somo have it, stuck up on her head
lake the formal festoons of an old fashioned bed—
But falling laburnum-like over her brow,
Like the raven’s rich plume amid Hakes of the snow.
Then ns to her height—though I caro not a jot;
She may-cither be five feet four inches or not:
I’m entirely careless respecting all that—
But preserve me, O Hymen, from one that’s too fat;
I would not accept her, though queen of tho mint—
No, rather than that, I would say, “ let her squint!”
Again—and now don’t hol<C dear Fred, that I’m rude;
I can’t think of marrying one who’s a prude;
She must have u good name, as I take her for life,
Ana bury all thoughts of tho “ belle” in the “ wife.”
She must know how to cook—be familiar with
stitches,
And never aspire to “ wearing the breeches
And last, though not least, in this foolish prospectus,
As ire arc her lord, she must learn to respect us.'
Folks may say what they will, about wives having
rule,
But let mo have one out of nature’s own school;
tiive mo none of your dolls that are made for saloons,
And who look when thcy’ro dress’d, like inflated bal.
loons;
Whoso virtues—at least all the stock they possess,
Are kept in the wardrobe along with their dress ;
Exhibited but in the height of tho season
When 'oiks arc too gay to think aught about reason
Ami when riches and ankles arc more in the mart,
Than Ircauty and wisdom, and goodness of heart.
No, no, my dear Fred, I’ll have none of tho host,
I should think I’d got hold of a milliner’s --host!
But listen—this now is what I call a treasure,,
One whose mind is above all low fasliion and pleas
ure ;
Whoso feelings are tender as woman’s can be,
Wl ose passions from all unkind envy are free;
Whose joys arc as pleasing as hope hath o’er given
Whose thoughts are as pure as tho angels in heaven ;
’And who feels os much pride in the peasant’s low
shed,
As tho’ a queen’s coroqpt ’circled her head;
i Such, Fred, is tho wife I should like to call mine—
‘ So now,my dear friend, for a picture of thine. M.
MY MOTHER’S GOLD RING.
This is one of the most charming little
books that .we ever read. It is the simple
narrative of her sufferings by an afflicted wo-
[ mail, who had a sottish husband, but who, by
iher admonition and the kindness of a friend
ind neighbour, was reclaimed from his disso.
lute course. It presents in a lively manner,
|hc influence of the “ Temperance Pledge”
|n the case of one individual, and the conse
quence of neglect in another. “George,”
the reformed husband, accompanied by his
wife and children, was on his way to jail for
. deb* contracted at the tippler’s rum shop
1 Farmer Johnson,” who had been saved from
I intemperance by “ the pledge,” meets them
on the way, becomes responsible for the debt,
I and restores the whole family to their little
(cottage. -George,” melted into penitence
; by the kindness of his neighbor Johnson, re-
i solved to become a Temperance man. The
[commencement of this reformation is thus
stated by the wife of “ George,” who explains
[the reason for the title given to the tract,
1 The Gold Ring.” And the riader is desir.
ed to notice, that “ the deaeon’s store” nam-
was tho dram shop to which her husband
Ibeeu decoyed. We here present the ad-
ress of the wife to her husband, and his an.
ver, in the language of the narrative, that
readers may have a specimen of its
eauty:— 4 •
“ Dear George,” said I, turning to my hus-
ld, « you used to pray ; let. us thank God
jr this great delivorance from evil.” “ Dear
Ienny,”said he, “I fear God will scarcely lis
ten to my poor prayers, after all my offences ;
l but I will try.” We closed the cottage door,
| and he prayed with so much humility of heart
| and so much earnestness of feeling, that I felt
Imost sure, that God’s grace would be ligh-
! ted up in the bosom of this unhappy man, if
sighs, and tears, apd prayers, could win their
way to heaven. He was very grave, and said
little or nothing that night.
The next morning when I woke up I was
surprised, as the sun had not yet risen, to
find that he bad already gone down. At first,
51 felt alarmed, as such a thing had become
|unusua] with him, of late years, btit my anx
ious feelings were agreeably relieved, when
[ the children told me that their father had been
} hoeing for an hour, in the potatoe field, and
was mending the garden fence. With our
scanty materials I got ready the best break*
fast that I could, and he sat down to it with
a good appetite, but said little, and now and
then, I'saw the tears started in his eyes. I
had many fears that he would fall back into
his former habits, whenever he should meet
his old companions, or step in again at the
Deacon’s store. I was about urging him to
move into another village. •
After breakfast, he took me aside, and as
ked me if I had not a gold ring. “ George,”
said I, “ that ring was my mother’s : she took
it from her finger and gave it to me, the day
she died. I would not part with that ring, un
ices it were to save life. Besides, if we are
industrious and honest, we shall not be forsa
ken.” “Dear Jenny,” eaid he,' “I know
h\»w you prize that gold ring : I never loved
you more than when you wept over it, while
you first told me the story of your mother’s
death ; it was just a month before we were
married,the last sabbath evening in May, Jen
ny, and we were walking by the river. I
wish you would bring me that ring.” Mem
ory hurried me back, in an instant, to the
scene, the bank upon the river’s side, where
we sat together, and agreed upon our wed
ding day. I brought down the ring, and he
asked me with such earnestness of manner,
to put it on his little finger, that I did so ; not
however, without a trembling hand and a mis
giving heart. “And now Jenu)’,” said he,
as he rose to go out, “ pray that God will sup.
port me.” My mind was not in a happy
state, for I felt some doubt of his intentions.
From a little hill at the back of our cottage,
we had a fair view of the deacon’s store,
went up to the top of it; and, while I watched
my husband’s steps no one con tell how fer
vently I prayed God to guide them aright.—
I saw two of his old companions standing at
the store door with glasses in their hands ;
and as my husband come in front of the shop,
I saw them beckon him in. It was a sad mo-
ment for me. “ Oh George,” said I, though
I knew he could not hear me, “ go on ; re
member your poor wife and your starting
children.” My heart sunk within me, when
I saw him stop and turn towards the door.—
He shook hands with his old associates ; they
appeared to offer him their glasses; I saw him
shake his head and pass on. “ Thank God,”
said I,and ran down the hill with a light step,
and seized my baby at the cottage door, I la
terally covered it with kisses, and bathed it
with tears of joy. About ten o’clock, Rich
ard Lane, the Squire’s office boy, brought in
a piece of meat and some meal, saying my
husband sent word, that he could not be home
till night, as he was at work in the Squirm’s
bam ; Richard added, that the Squire had en-
gaged him for two months. He came borne
early, and the children ran down the hill to
meet him. He was grave but cheerful^ “ I
have prayed for you, dear husband,” said I.
“ And a merciful God has supported me, Jen
ny,” said he. It is not easy to measure the
degrees of happiness ; hut take it altogether,
this I Jhink was the happiest evening of my
life. If there is great joy in heaven over a
sinner that repenteth, there is no less joy in
the heart of a faithful wife, ovef a husband
that was lost, and is found.
In this manner the two months went away.
Iu addition to his common labor, he found
time to cultivate tho garden, and make and
mend a variety of useful articles about the
h:ase. It was soon understood that my hus-
band had reformed, and it was more general
ly believed, because he was a subject for the
gibes and sneers of a large number of the Dea
con’s customers. He was an excellent work-
man, and business came in from all quarters.
He was soon able to repay neighbor Johnson,
and our families lived in the closest friendship
with each other. One evening farmer John,
son said to my husband, that he thought it
would be well for him to sign the temperance
pledge ; that he did not advise it, when he
first began to leavo off spirits, for fear his
strength might fail him. ( But now,’ said he,
* you have continued five months without
touching a drop, and it would be well for the
cause, that you should sign the pledge.*—
* Friend Johnson, said my husband, when a
year has gone safely by, I will sign the pledge.
For five months, instead of the pledge, I have
in every trial and temptation—and a drink-
ing man knows well the force and meaning
of those words, I have relied upon this gold
ring, to renew my strength, and remind me
of my duty to God, to my wife, to my children,
and to society. Whenever the struggle of
appetite has commenced, I have looked upon
this -ring ; I have remembered that it was
given with the last words and dying counsels
of an excellent mother, to my wife, who pla
ced it there; and under the blessing of the
Almighty God, it has proved thus far, the life
boat of a drowning man. The year soon pas.
way; and on the very day twelve-month,
on which I had put the ring upon my bus.
band’s finger, farmer Johnson brought over
the temperance book. We all sat down to
the tea-table together. Af|er supper was
done, little Robert climbed up and kissed his
fotherand turning tofarmer Johnson, * Father,’
said he, * has not smelt like old Isaac the drun
ken fiddler, once since be rode home in your
yellow wagon.’ The fanner opened the book;
my husband signed the pledge of the society,
and with tears in his eyes, gave me back-—
ten thousand times more precious than ever
—my Mother's gold ring.—Christian Watch.
man. ■
in his eye and the light of joy on his brow,
that told of success. His task was finished,
and the melody, even to his exquisite sensi
bility, was perfect. It had occupied him for
weeks, and, though his form was wasting by
disease, yet his spirit seemed to acquire new
vigor, and already claim kindred with immor
tality ; for oft as the sound of his own compo
sition stole on his ear, it bore an unearthly
sweetness, that-was, to him, too truly a warn
ing of.his future and fast-coming doom. Now
it was finished; and, for the first time for
many weeks, he sank into a quiet and refresh
ing slumber. The apartment in which he
lay was large, and lighted by a window, in a
small recess, that opened to tho east; near
it his couch was placed, a table for writing
stood at his feet, and just before him his fa-
vorite,' inseparable piano. The window was
shaded by a curtain of crimson damask,' and,
as the sun (which had scarcely attained its
meridian,) stole through it, there was a rich
glow cast upon every object. One'beam
fell upon the head of the composer, and then
passed, appearing to say, “ Like this shall
your day of life be, bright and glorious; but
even so shall it vanish and pass away, though
shining in noontide splendor.” -
A slight noise in the apartment awoke him,
make them more accomplished and more
agreeable companions than those commonly
are, who have been most elaborately finish
ed, in the modem acceptation of the term.
The systems by which young ladies are taught
to move their limbs according to .tha rules
of art, to come into a room with studied dif.
fidence, and to step into a carriage with
measured action and premeditated grace, are.
only calculated to keep the degrading idea
perpetually present, that they are preparing
for the great market of the world. Real ele
gance of demeanor springs from tho miud;
fashionable schools do but teach its imitation,
whilst their rules forbid to be ingenuous.—
'Philosophers never conceived the idea of so
perfect vacuum as is found to exist in the
minds of young women supposed to have
finished their education in such establishments.
If they marry husbands as uninformed as them
selves, they (all into habits of insignificance
without much pain, if they marry persons
more accomplished, they can retain no hqld
on their affections. Hence many matrimoni
al miseries, in the midst of which the wife
finds it a consolation to be always complain
ing of her health and ruined nerves. In the
education of young women wc would say—
let them be secured from all trappings and
When made, nothing should be said by the I tional resources and energies remain, in near-
giver to draw attention to 1 them, or tender !ly their sum total, unawakened and useless,
them of any consequence. The satisfaction j Roads are the veins and arteries by means of
of compliiriency with which they may have I which the circulation of the social body is
been received, is' full requital. We should carried on. Where they do not exist, there
not refuse arbitrarily or prudishly what is of. can hardly he said to be a community. The
fered from good will and without ostenta- people have nothing in common. They are
tion. Simple and gracious acknowledg. not one people in any thing but the name-
meat is enough. To ladies the most suitable No commerce, nor intercourse of auy kind,
presents are elegant volumes; bouquets of mixes them up together into one mass. The
plants ; music, engravings, fancy articles for inhabitants of a country entirely without roads
the toilet, &c. Address objects as much as would, of necessity, he savages,
you can, like your discourse, to their tinder- . No country on the face of the earth is so
standing and taste. Make what you offer or well provided with roads as our own ; and
what you say, as frequently as you can, a ] that is one of the chief of the causes which
means of their improvement, without seeming places this country, beyond alt . rational dis-
to have that aim directly. Conversation oc- pute, at the head of the civilization of tfio
cupies a large share of the time of the fash- world. Hie greater part of England is how
ionable world in particular; those are not intersected iu all directions, not only by paths
faithful to their own interests and duty who ] by which persons may pass on foot from ono
do not endeavor to convert it into a beneficial place to another, but by broad highways for
exercise for their minds and hearts. Perpet- the movement of wheel carriages, and tho
ual light gossip fritters away the intellect and I transference of the heaviest loads that can bn
dissipates sensibility. Excite others from dragged by the power of horse orof machinery,
time to time to serious and instructive ret. Formerly,vehicles drawn along the public roads
marks : by degrees you will come to relish were not allowed to carry above a very small
them; they will, fructify iu your thoughts weight. In 1629, Charles I. issued a procla-
when, turning toward a fair young girl who manacles of such a system; let them partake
entered, “ Emilie my daughter,” said he, of every exercise not absolutely unfeminine,
come near me—my task is over—the re- and trust to their being able to get into or
quiem is finished. My requiem,” he added out of a carriage with a light and graceful
and a sigh escaped him, as present fame and step, which no drilling can accomplish. Let
future glory passed in vivid succession thro’ | them rise early and retire early to rest, and
his mind, and the idea, how soon he must
leave it all, seemed, for a moment, too hard ]
to endure. “ Oh, say not so, my father,’
said the girl, interrupting him, as tears rush- !
ed to her eyes, “ you must be better, you
trust that their beauty will not need to be coin
ed into artificial smiles in order to secure
welcome, wbalevor room they enter. •’ Let
them ride, walk, run, dance, in the open air.
Encourage the merry and innocent diversions
look better, for even now your cheek has a ] in which the young delight; let them, under
glow upon it; do let me bring you something proper guidance, explore every hill and val-
refreshing, for you have had uothing this ley; let them plant and cultivate the garden,
morning, and I am sure we will nurse you and make hay when the summer sun shines
well again.” and surmount all dread of a shower of rain or
“ Do not deceive yourself, my love,” said the boisterous wind; and, above all, let them
lie^ “ this wasted form never can be restored take no medicine except when the doctor or-
by human aid; from heaven’s mercy alone demit. The demons of hysteria might ho
can I hope for succor; and it will be granted, | ver over a group of young ladies so brought
my Emilie, in the time of my utmost need;
yes, in the hour of death will I claim His help,
4vho is always ready to aid those who trust in
him ; and soon, very soon, must this mortal
frame be laid in its quiet sleeping place, and
this restless soul return to Him who gave it.
The tender girl stood in pallid though mute
distress; not a sigh, not a tear, escaped her.
The idea of death broke so suddenly on her
mind, that it checked every mode of utter
ance, and she gazed upon his countenance as
if in a dream. Death, at any period of life,
wears an awful aspect, but never more so
up; but they would not find one of them upon
whom they could exercise any power.—For
Quarterly.
From the National Gazette,
Code of Politeness.—In addition to those
which we have cited, a number of the maxims
of Madame Celuart are so just, that we
must take leave to adduce more, in order
to refresh the memory or confirm the practice
of all actual or would-be-members of ‘good
society.’ And by good society we do not
mean any coterie, or exclusive of fashion; but
than to the youthful heart, whose every step I every circle wherein claim is preferred to mo
has been that of health and joy, and whose «*1 worth, intellectualculture and refined man
bounding pulse yet swayed by hope, has nev- nei ®
er been chilled by the sorrow or distracted by I being rendered common to ajl respectable cir-
the doubts and fears that hang over our earth-1 c ^ es » there will be less pretensions or right
ly existence. Thus was it with Emilie; uni
ted by the tenderest sympathy to her father,
and living, as it were, in a world of music,no
wonder that she beheld death with terror, as
the destroyer of her all—of happiness.
superiority in any: dll who compose the haul ton
that distinction which is so often thought equiv
alent to any advantage of mere opulence and
worthy of the most persevering pursuit.
In Paris, according to IVJadame, a lady
The dying father raised himself on his d °cs not say my husband, except among ve
when you retire.
mation commanding that no common carrier,
hr other person whatsoever, should travel with
any wain, cart or carriage, with more than
two wheels nor with a load of above twenty
hundred weight for fear of injuring the roads;
couch and said, “You spoke of refreshments,
my daughter, it can still be afforded to my
fainting soul; take these notes, the last that
1 shall ever pen, and sit down to the instru
meat. Sing with them the hymn so beloved
ry intimate acquaintances. She speakes of
him and adresses him by his proper name,
Mr. dfc. No gentleman says to a • lady
your husband, but Mr. dfC. It is an ‘axiom,’
Munchausen.—Many doubts have been
expressed whether such a person ever existed:
the following brief sketch, by Mr. Lieber, a
learned German, sets the matter at rest : Je- and penalties continued to be exacted under
rome Charles Frederic Von Munchausen, the this regulation for' many years after. Our
original of the well known narrator of won- j present roads, as compared 1 with those which
ders, was a German officer who served seve- then existed, are not more multiplied than
raj campaigns against the Turks, in the Rus- they are improved in quality. Of tfieir mini-
sian service. He was a passionate lover of ber and • extent, the' latest complete account
horses and hounds ; of which, and of his ad- which has appeared is that given in the ap-
ventures among the Turks, he told the mpst pe adix to the report of a Select Committee of
extravagant stories ; and his fancy, finally, so the House of Commons, whioh sat on the sub-
completely got the better of his memory, j ec t of turnpike roads and highways in 1820.
that he really believed his most improbable p rom this document it appears that the length
and impossible fictions, and was very much 0 f all the paved streets and turnpikes in Eng-
offended if any doubt was expressed on the fond and Wales was then 17,725 miles, and
subject. In relating these monstrous lies, that of other public highways 95,104 miles,
his eyes wopld shine and stare out of his head, making the- total length of , travelling road
his face become flushed, the sweat rolled 114,829 miles. Assuming all the turnpike
down from his forehead, and he used the most roa ds to be of the statutable breadth of 60 feet,
violent gestures, as if he were really cutting and the others on an average 30 feet broad,
off the heads of the Turks, or fighting the I the space covered by the whole, would be not
bears and wolves that figure in his stories, foss than 482,000 acres, or about 752 square
Having become acquainted with tho poet I miles. In the years 1812, 1813, and 1814,
Burger, at Pyrmont, and being pleased with .'the latest for which there are any returns,)
his society, Munchausen used to relate those 1 this extent of rpad was kept in repair at an
waking dreams to him ; and the poet after-1 annual expense of £1,404,842, being at the
wards published them, with liis own improve- ra t e of £12 6s. 8d. per mile. But notwith-
ments, under the title of Wunderbare Aben- standing all that has already been done in this
thener Reteen des Herm Von Munchausen, W ay, the business of opening additional lines
translated from the English, 1787. A part G f road is constantly going forward. Some
of them had already appeared in the third vol- idea of the rate at which this species of im-
ume of the Delicioe Academical, under the provement proceeds, may be gathered from
title of “ Mendacia ridicula.” The wit and the fact; that in the six years from 1827 to
humor of the work gave it great success, and 1832 inclusive, the number of acts of pqr-
it w^s translated into several foreign langua- (foment which were passed for the forma-
ges. When it appeared in England, the tion of new, and the repair or alteration, of
British reviewers labored hard to show that old roads, amounted to 388, or nearly 65
it was a satire upon the Ministry. Munchau-1 on an average per annum,
sen was very angry with the liberty thus ta- If the whole surface streaked and cut into
ken with his name, and Burger became in- by these roads, and our other channels of
volved in some difficulties in consequence. I communication, could he taken in by the eye
An enlarged edition was published in four J at once, what an extraordinary display of ria.
volumes. Munchausen when quite advanced tional enterprize and national wealth it would
in years, married a very young wife, who, to present. So large an accumulation of the
the astonishment of every one, presented conquest of energy and the constituent cle-
him with a son, the consequence of which was 1 ments of riches, it may be safely said, was
that, in that conversation, we speak as little
by your mother, and let me once more hear 1,8 possible of ourselves, and as much oi the
those toues which have been mv delight,my pas- j party and all that interests that party directly.
sion, since my earliest remembrance.” Emilie Whatever you relate you must never use phra-
did as she was desired, and it seemed as if sos which imply that you suppose your vera-
she sought a relief from her own thoughts, city may he doubted. Dispute rarely or
for, after running over a few chords of the pi-1 never, yield with a good grace when you
auo, she commenced in the sweetest voice, fi nd yourself , wrong; yield also, though you
the following lines: be right, when the point is of no great mo
ment, and always when your antagonist is a
lady. Abstain from all discussion with peo
ple possessed of a spirit of contradiction.
Beware of indulging keen sarcasm or severe
raillery ; malevolence is the opposite of po
liteness, stinging pleasantry or pungent wit,
prevents social intercourse and makes enemies.
Sportive humor, that is kind and occasional,
may be indulged. Wc are apt to banter
those whom we particularly regard. Hoaxing
is vulgar and foolish: persiflage is a bad bab.
it, but sometimes serves as a salutary correc
tive of the impertiuence of coxcombs, and
the presumption of dunces. As for indecent
witticisms, no true gentleman or lady will ha-
zard them any where. There are delicate
41 Spirit! thy labor is o’er,
Thy term of probation is run,
Thy steps are now bound for the untrodden shore,
And the race of immortal begun.
Spirit! look not on the strife
Or the pleasures of earth with regret,
Pause not on the threshold of limitless life,
To mourn for thy day that is set.
Spirit! no fetters can bind,
No wicked have power to molest.
There the weary, like thee, and the wretched shall
find
A heaven, a mansion of rest.'
Spirit! how bright is the road
For which thoa art now on the wing; '
Thy home it will be, with thy Saviour and God,
There loud hallelujahs to sing. 1
Last Moments of Mozart.—The com
poser threw himself back on his couch, faint
and exhausted. ■ His countenance , was pale
and emaciated, yet there was a strange fire
As she concluded the last stanza, she dwelt shades °[. cbaracte f wbicb ^tmguish both ’
for a few moments, on the low, melancholy and which attention .s due m every situa-
notes of the .piece, and then waited, in silence ® hould ’“perceptibly be lost,
for the mild voice of her father’s praises.— I To 8hme b y eloquence, repartee, or smart
He spoke not-and, with something like sur- ^ societ y>. “ °f ‘f 3 consequence than
prise, she turned toward him; he was laid I t0 maintain invariably refined and amiable
back upon the sola, his face shaded in part tone4 Diversify your topics with ladies ;
with his hand, and his form reposed as if in i ^ have 100 act,ve 80 >magumtion 4 and
slumber. Starting with fear, Emilie sprang to ° versatile a spirit to support conversation
toward him, and seized hm hand, but the touch for a bn S time 0Q the . same sub i ect ’ , ■ ,
paralyzed her, for she sank senseless by his | It is sometimes an incivility, a want of del
side. He was gone? With the sounds of the icaCy,t0 pay p08tage wh2a we wnte to *
sweetest melody ever composed by human | frieud > acquaintance, or .to persons o
thought, his soul had winged its flight to re- smaU fortune,whose feelingsmay be wounded
gions of eternal bliss. Caboune. We should pay whea we write to strangers
■ — * J upon our own business, or to ask a favor. In
Female Education.—Let your first care | Europe, an envelope and sealing wax * arc
be to give your little -girls a good physical ed- deemed indispensable for letters of form ad
ucation. Let their early years be passed, dressed to persons to whom we should show
if possible, in the country, gathering fiowens particular respect- If a person brings you a
in the fields, and partaking of all the free ex- letter you should not be in a hurry to open its
ercises ip which they delight. When they | but see whether it concerns the bearer or
grow older, do not condemn them to sit eight | yourself. In tho first case, you should open
listless,hours of the day over their books, their | and read it while he is present; in.thb other
work, their maps, and their music. Be as-1 case, you should lay it aside,
sured that half the number of hours past in Presents should bo made with a little mys-
xeal attention to wejl ordered studies, will J teiy, so as to excite pleasure and surprise,
suit prosecuted by his relations after his De ver before collected within the same corn-
death, in 1797, in support of their claims to pass. These roads are often the noblest ex-
his estate. ' { amplifications of art subjugating and triumph
ing over the opposition of natural difficulties.
From the Monthly Supplement of the Penny Magaz. I M ° ny Qf them are carried . through the air
TnE Great North Road in England.— over considerable rivers by bridges of more
Our Island it is true still “ stands where it did” or j ess cos t and magnificeuce.- Others are
century ago ; but in almost all other res- supported across depths and hollows on stu-
pects it is as much changed since then as an peudous embankments. Some are driven
oid house that had been almost wholly rebuilt. | uuder ground through mountauis. Some ier-
AU our accommodations within' “ this little mutate iu piers that extend far into the sea.
world”are metamorphosed since the days of our There is no hostile force that their daring en.
fathers and grandfathers. Turn to which side wa I gfoeers have not faced and vanquished,
may, where shall we find things in any thing t i ien t P our common highways are to J>e
like the same state in which they were even adc [ e( i Q ur railroads, and canals, and rivers
sixty years since ? All commodities consu- raade navigable, or otherwise improved by
med,it may almost be said without exception, art> ^ a q entering into the aggregate of those
by all classes of the people, are of improved channels of communication which our ances-
manufacture and better quality. Look to the I tor3 and ourselves have created, and which
clothing that is now worn by men and women, contribute in so eminent a degree to make
even of the poorest order of our population ; England what it is
nearly every article of it is of a quality such
os formerly was not generally used even by, „ .. .
tho most opuloot. Tho some thing is tmo.rf Haver, Pallodrum to tho followtog romarko
thoir food. Throughout Euglind, at least,iu. I»» «" s '™ rk - whlch “ l“ 8t P ubll3 “ :
ferior substitutes for bread made of wheaten
flour is now nearly every where discarded;. ......
the people will live upon nothing, or at least ® n » ,aa ongue
will take nothing for the main basis of their.| translated it mto their own language, and Mr.
Mr. Webster’s New Bible.—The New
He has done no more towards altering the
Bible than those who translated .it- from the
Different nations have
subsistence, except the best ahd costliest of Webster has done no more than to smt the
all the generally cultivated productions ofthc ^ge of the present age to ’ts meamag.
earth. Other articles of consumption, again, Many words have m the courseoftme^
tea, for example, and sugar, have, come chafed in their sensq.^ For
such as tea, lor example, o«»« i ° .r . nn
from being the luxuries of the few, become al- -the word prevent, pace sigmfied .» W
most universal necessaries. The houses in- fore, or to anticipate ; it n°'v mcons hind c ^, to
habited by persons of ever/degree are equally stop J the woni thlLo
changed and improved. So is every article j Webster h?s very prop *£££ ™ ^
of furniture, every thing 'intended either for
use or ornament, which they contain. It
would be an endless task to attempt to enu-
mcratc the many things which but a genera
tion ago were rare, and are'now possessed,
in greater or small measure, almost by every
body ; the many other things that were then I c° n1 ^y clistef>
hardly ever seen, and are now common and»
plentiful every where ; and the many others
still that absolutely did not exist then, and arc
now enjoyed either by the whole community
or by a large portion of it.
But that which lies at the toot and begin-
ninw of all these tilings, and is indeed the
foundation of a country’s civiJization> is 'a
system of good roads. Without this the na-
faults of our language, they are not the faults
of the bible. The following are other speci
mens of his improvements. He substituted
sixty for three score ; boiled for sodden ; staffs
for states ; shun for eschew.
The Palladium asserts that no essential
noversial alterations have-been made by
AUTUMN.
Tho Autumn leaf is fading fast.
Before the chill and cheerless blast;
So friends and fortune fade away.
In sorrow’s soar and sunless day.
The Autumn leaf’s an emblem true,
Of summer friends and fortune too;
When storms arise they fly from grief,
An.fi 'leave us like tho Autumn leaf.
