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HULKS OF THE HEART AM) THE UN
DERSTANDING.
[By the Russian Poet, Derthavtn.]
O son of nature ! let self culture be
Th.’ object ol thy earliest toil- as yet
Ihy lump burns bright—thy day shines glori
ously—
Thou caiist not labour when thy sun is set!
Wouldst thou tlie unseen spirit see :
T'ii'st learn to know thysclt ; ami ho
Will then be shadowed forth in thee !
God is a spirit through creation's whole,
As ill this mortal tenement —the soul.
The sun that gives ‘4be ’world Its fairrst light
Is not you orb welcomed by the morning
hour,
by the < veexpelled ; —it is Ihe power
Ol an enlightened conscience pure and blight.
Mark where thou standest first; and whence
thou'rt come.
Arid whither goest. an.l straight speed thee
hence.
The w oe to cone, tlie woe that's gone
Vbilosophy thinks calmly on ;
But shew me the phitosopher
Who calmly bears the woes that art.
How Wise is he who marks the day
By acts of virtue us .t rolls aw ay
•Be all tlly views right forward, clear and
even . [ven.
The straiglrtest line Ihe soonest feads to hea-
Thou wouldst count all tilings, proud philoso
phy,
Now measure space —and weigh eternity !
First purity thy heart: then light thy mind
With w isdom’s lamp, ami thou pure bliss shad
find.
Virtue, though loveliest ot alt lovely things,
From modesty apart, n<> more is fair;
And when her graceful Veil aside she flings,
(Like ether opened to the intrusive air)
Leaves her sweetest charms and stands, a cy
pher there
tUXtJSCCfIiTITJJ*
THE FLYING TORCH.
Hertley cottage was beautifully sit*
uated on a gentle bluff, commanding
one of the loftiest prospects on the
Susqueliannah ; itoverlooked the broad
majestic river for several miles above
and below, and the cool willow grove
which extended from the back piazza
down to the waterside, afforded not
only a delightful walk, but a silent,
shady, and romantic retreat, in which
the young people ot the neighbourhood
often assembled in holiday times, and
was the scene of many a courtship, re
membered with delight long after so
ber matrimony had elsewhere consum
mated what love there began. The
Villicrs I often thought, must be the
happiest family in the world, possess
ed as they w ere of so fair, so attrac
tive, so enchanting a home. Hut the
storm clouds shade at times the fair
v-tas well as the most rude abodes of
men, and tlie re is no nook in all this
world, so beautiful or so retired as to
insure perpetual happiness, as long as
happiness makes her home only in the
heart.
At the close of a calm anti serene
flay in June, Maria \illiers walked on
the green among the willows with
Charles H—, the youth whom her fa
tlier had selected as her future hus
band, she was an only child, and shar
ed, perhaps, too largely in her parents’
affections; it was afterwards often
said so. The choice of a husband had
‘been deemed too great a matter to
trust to so young a heat! and so inex
perienced a heart, and Charles was
accordingly selected from many ad
mirers, because, while he was tai the
most wealthy among them, he was at
the same time virtuous and talented.
He really loved her, but until now,
she had treated him with the studied
coolness of neglect, and looked up to
him, not as the destined husband of
her heart, but rather,as the pretending
lord of her future liberty, whose right
10 this possession she had, indeed of
ten been taught was perfect, while her
heart, she found, was ever prone to
read her a different lesson. Now,
however, a smile of joy was on her
cheek, and, mingled with a restless
anxiety so much like love, her spirits
flowed on unbroken, and, even while
kite paused at intervals, and turned
her eyes'tow ards the silent river, as
the night shades gathered on itssur*
face, she seemed to regard her lover
with kindness and affection.
The enraptured youth, pressed then
his wuit anew ; it was not rejected,and
Charles carried the glad news to her
father, that Maria’s own consent to the
union was obtained. “ Tell her,” said
lie, “that she shall have a splendid
wedding on the morrow, for,” he con
tinued in an under tone, “ delays ure
dangerous when all depends upon a
woman’s mind.” The message was
delivered—'“ to-morrow—well, tomor
row,’’ she replied,and bidding Charles
good-night, retired to her chamber,
while he, wrapt up in the near pros
pect of his ow n felicity, mounted his
fine hunter, and hie horses hoofs were
heard bearing him far up the beaten
road towards bis father’s bouse.
Mr. \ illiers sat long at his chamber
window* which looked over to the
west. The sky variegated by u thou
sand scattered clouds, and ever and
anon immense and stormy masses
seemed rapidly gathering darkness as
they rolled -slowly up the arching
dome above. At last the clock struck
twelve, and niter blackness hud suc
ceeded to the early star light; the
whole atmosphere seemed surcharged
w ith pr esages of the approaching tem
pest; at intervals the forked lightning
played at a distance along the moun
tain tops, and the thunder began to
roll suddenly far off in that direction.
It was a magnificient sight, and ne
still sat with his windows up, watch
ing the workings ot the threatening
elements.
Suddenly a heavy peal of thunder
shook the ground —following rapidly
a flash that seemed to sear the earth
in its sudden glare, and at the moment
a faint torch light glided among the
willows, and seemed trembling, as if
held by an unsteady hand a moment.
He watched it—all was once more si
lent as the grave. At last it seemed
to move; its undulating motion, and
its bright and constant flame, alarmed
him ; it grew gradually more dim,
and lie deemed it, finally, one of those
mysterious meteors which sometimes
dunce over the w aves of agitated wa
ters, and saw it speed away towards
the distant shore, far down the river,
until it seemed suddenly to vanish at
the bead of the great cataracts—it
rose again for a- moment, then sunk
and disappeared forever. Meantime
the storm which had raged higher and
higher began to let loose its thunder
bolts and piur forth its tornados with
ten fold violence, the rain descended,
and he retired to rest. Hut the strange
vision of tlie Flying Torch haunted
him all night in dreams, and several
times lie roused up iri horror —ex-
claiming, “ Save my daughter —my
daughter/’ He thought he heard her
voice, shrieking forth supplications
amid the eternal thunders ot the stor
my cataracts, and the incessant bel
lowing of the tempest.
Hut the morning came, and the fa
mily assembled at the breakfast table.
Every head was full of the approach
ing marriage. Hut Maria had not yet
appeared. A servant was sent to call
her. She returned in a moment,
trembling with agitation, and declared
that her voung mistress w r as notin the
room, a.id that there were no signs of
her having been there the past night.
A universal panic seized upon alt who
heard this news ; the table wax desert
ed, and the family soon scattered over
tlie neighborhood the dismal news;
where the lamentation became almost
as great as at the cottage. Every
search was made. The doors of the
dwelling had all been found locked as
usual. Maria had goue to her room
early in the evening; no noise was
heard in the night; no trace was seen
or heard of, which would lead conjec
ture to a probable conclusion, the Fly
ing Torch light alone afforded matter
of comment, and was the only clue by
which an idea could be formed that
she was eloped, and the inference
from the circumstances connected
with that appearance seemed to be,
that, if she had any connection with it
she must have perished in the cata
ract. Little search could be made
there for her remains, and the circum
stance that no boat was missing from
the shore threw a mystery over tlie
matter that inclined all but Mr. Vil
liers to strong incredulity.
lie ascertained, however, that a
broken boat had been found on shore
that morning, bottom upwards, several
miles below the cataract, and he came
to the fixed conclusion that his daugh
ter must have been in that boat, and
that she was lost in attempting to cross
the river in the night. Instead of the
marriage scene, therefore, that was to
have lit up the glow of delightful ani
mation on every face, nothing was
left at the cottage but the bitterness
of disappointed hope and the anguish
of sudtlt'ii and cruel bereavement. —
7 tie night came quietly over this scene
of sor row, most joyless—most unlike
the coloring anticipation had given it
a few hours before. Hut it was des
tined to be a night not less eventful
titan the past.
Some events in real life savour so
much of fiction, that we are apt to turn
incredulous, from their narration. But
the wild and various spirits with
which humanity is endued, prompt,
often to actions which beggar the most
powerful delineations ot the novelist.
He presents fictions, senses and per
sonages, and actions to the mind ; ac
tions, the creations of his fancy, but
that might have taken place, for on
this ground alone, he claims audience
—while often in real life events are
witnessed which in the order of nature
would have been deemed impossibili
ties. But enough of this.
The day once more dawned upon
Ilertley Cottage, and its inmates, who
hail passed a sleepless night, were stir
ring earlier than usual. The morning
repast was spread out a little before
sunrise, and Charles came to the cot
tage by nppointmmit to breakfast, im
mediately after which, a journey down
the river was in contemplation, in
search of the lost pride of the Villicrs
family. They all sat down silently,
sorrow depicted upon every counte-j
nance, and proceeded hastily to des
patch the unceremonious meal, when
the door opened, and who entered but
Maria herself, dressed in her loose
morning gown, and apparently justn
sen. “ La!” said she, with the utmost
vivacity, and just as if nothing had
happened, “you breakfast earn j
had not been called.” The old man j
sprang from his seat and caught her in (
his arms, bursting into a thousand io” j
exclamations; while Maria, affecting
tlie utmost ignorance of the occasion ot
so much warmth insisted that her hi
ther was crazy, and laughed and chid
by turns. Charles sat motionless;
eveing her with fixed astonishment,
as if scarce believing the evidence of
his senses. He knew her to be a ro
mantic, courageous, enterprizing gu >
whose head was tilled with the love
tales of the novelist and the poet, and
who delighted in every thing wild and
wayward and eccentric —but yet, the
apparent circumstances of this unrav
elled adventure, left doubts upon his
mind as to whether lie saw a human
being, or an aerial spirit in human
form,before him. It seemed so like a
resurrection from the dead.
liy this time all the family had gath
ered around Maria, and, amid the ac
clamations of a welcome home, every
tongue asked the question at once,
“ where—where have you been.”
“ Oh ! would you know that,” said
she, “ I have been chasing a delightful
dream ; dreaming, dreaming! you are
dull, heavy sleepers ;l went and came
without even disturbing Old Sentinal;
he lay as quiet as a lamb on the step.
Hut 0I1 ! it was worth a million, to
skim in a light canoe along the cata
racts under the dark thunder storm ; it
was enchanting —so sublime ! so ro
mantic! so delightful!”
“ Did you say a dream,” responded
Charles,
“ Ay, ay, a dream ; this life is all a
dream ; waking or sleeping it is all a
dream ; dontyou read so, Charles? —
But ru are so dull and stupid,! could
not live if I had such a spirit;” and
she sat down at the table in her accus
tomed seat, baffling the anxious curi
osity of the surroundinggroup by mys
tical and ambiguous answers.
The confusion this incident occa
sioned at last subsided,and when Ma
ria had left the company, a little favo
rite gir! of her’s, who hail always been
her confidant, was bribed with a shil
ling to procure from her mistress the
disclosures all were so anxious to
hear. She succeeded. The romantic
girl had taken it into her head to con
sult the old fortuneteller, whose smo
ky cabin was hid away among the bri
ars, near the mouth of the creek that
emptied into the river at the head of
the cataracts, on the subject of her fu
ture destiny, before she tied the knot
of matrimony. The old hag had been
begging at the cottage the same even
ing that Charles’ proposal and her fa
ther's decision, had made it necessary
for Maria to act with promptitude. —
She had directed the old woman to
bring a boat for lier, accordingly, and
convey her to her cabin at dead of
night, where, alone, old Margery pre
tended she had the power of presci
ence. Thus was the Flying Torch ac
counted for.
“ And what did the witcli predict,”
i asked Charles earnestly.
Why, answered the little girl, she
told my mistress that on the next
moonlight eve, between ten o'clock,
and the hour of midnight, she would
walk in the grove, and an elegant offi
cer would come to her on horseback,
salute her and say, “ Fate wdls it, and
who shall deny me my tally’s love ?”
The accepting his proffered hand all
her future happiness depended ; and if
she did he would carry her down to
the village where a magistrate would
be waiting at the inu to tie the final
knot.
A plan was immediately formed to
humour the eccentric superstitions of
the young lady, and accomplish the
wished-for end at the same time ; eve
ry thing during the intervening space
was put in readiness ; the appointed
evening came; and the old clock
struck ten, when Maria stole fearless
ly from her chamber to the romantic
grove, and walked, and listened for
the tread of the accepted knight errant.
But a few moments elapsed, and the
clatter of an approaching horse echoed
down the road. He was at her side
the figure the old witch had spoken of
—his bright sword clashing at his side
and his broad white plumes dancing in
the silent moon beam. The predicted
salute was given; the words foretold
were spoken. She yielded her hand,her
lover placed her behind him in a mo
ment, and galloped rapidly to the vil
lage inn, where he dismounted and
handed her into a room lighted dimly
by the flame of a half extinguished fire,
over which three old men sat moping,
apparently half asleep; one of them
rose. The stranger bridegroom, in a
half smothered voice, told him the ob
ject of their errand. He nodded his
head, arid, without saying a prelimina
ry word, proceeded to the ceremony,
which was very brief, soott finished,
ami the parties were declared one for
life.
Maria’S faith supported her as'ton
ishingly through the whole scene,* she
scciiicil never to doubt *i moment,
though she constantly lixed her eyes
with intense anxiety, on “her lover’s
face, which he as cautiously kept part
ly shaded by his cap and plumes.—
j Now chairs were handed, and in a
1 moment the landlord brought in wine,
j cakes, and a cou| le of lighted can
dles. Maria started in astonishment!
Charles 11. sat at her side, having laid j
away now his cap and sword —the on
ly military insignia about him ; and
knelt to ask her pardon for the decep
tion, while before her, who should she
see but Mr. H. and her father ! They
both burst into a fit of laughter, and
kissed the adventurous girl again and
again—while Maria,who loved Charles
dearly, now that he had wooed her in
her own way, was not less delighted
than the rest. The adventure was her
glory, ami she read happiness in its
termination.
Meantime, Maria’s post in the grove
was taken possession of by two lusty
fanner's friends of the V illiers family
who waited for the appearance ot a
second cavalier, suspecting as they
did that the deceitful old witch had
some design in the prophecy herself.
So it proved—a little before eleven a
man rode up on horseback, dressed in
regimentals, and reined in his steed
while he cautiously surveyed the
scene. Suddenly one of the men
sprung fron>behind a tree and seized
his horse bv the bridle —dismounted
him and conveyed him to the cottage,
he proved to be the wiley fortune-tel
ler’s son !—an awkward, low, vulgar,
fellow, who had returned a few days
before from prison where he had just
spent two years in atonement lor a
theft.
When the w edding party returned
from the village they brought the in
formation that the witch was at the
tavern, having come there enquiring
for the ’squire, about eleven o’clock.
The plot was all confessed afterwards
and M argery said she had projected
the match between Miss Villicrs and
her son ‘l'em, in hopes that such a un
ion would encourage the poor boy to
mend his manners.
Thus Maria Villicrs escaped; but
thus do not all escape who disregard
the judgement of their parents, even
in matrimonial matters, or who run
away with heads full of romance and
fictitious foolery in chase of the thou
sand fancies of the brain.
Touch of the Sublime.— The fol
lowing is a literal copv of a speech
delivered at a debating society in
one of the Western towns of Penn
sylvania. Corporal Trim’s elo
quence was no touch to this master
piece :
“ Well—the subject to be excuss
ed is wether ardent spirits does
any good or not. I confirm it don’t.
Jist think of our ancestors in fu
ture days—they lived to a most
numerous age—so that I think that
whiskey or ardent spirits don’t do
any good. [Long pause.] Well—
the question to he excussed is
whether ardent spirits does any
good or not—so that I conclude
that it don’t. [Another pause.] I
can’t git hold on the and and thing.”
Lancaster Free Press.
\ pious minister, of respectable
talents, now in the Methodist connex
ion, was formerly a preacher among
the Universalists. The incident
which led him seriously to examine
the grounds of that doctrine, is stri
king and singular. He was amusing
his little 9on by telliug him the story
of the “ Children in the Wood.” The
boy asked what became of the little
innocent children ? “ they went to
heaven,” replied the father. “ What
became of the wicked old uncle?”—
He went to heaven too.” “ Won’t he
kill them again father.” said the
boy. ,
Prom tht AV w York National Advocate.
Confession.—lt will he recollected, that at
the last sitting of the Circuit Court of the Uni
ted States, Thomas Jones was found guilty of
piracy ami murder, in aiding and assisting to
kill the cimluin, mate and a paisenger on hoard
the lrig Ifolkar, on her passage from Curncoa
to this port, in ItUti. 1 lie only witness against
him was a coloured man on hoard. The pris
oner was convicted and sentenced to he exe
cuted on the 11th of next month It will he
seen from the following, that liehas confessed,
freely nml voluntarily that lie is guilty, and
that the sentence of the law is just :
City of New-Tori, ss.— -Thomas
Jones, otherwise called John Ko
binson, being examined at his own
request , this 24th day of May, vol
untarily says, that he did sail from
New-Yorkin the brig Holkar,Cnpt.
Brown, the mate’s name was Durey
or some name that sounded like it;
the crew was all coloured men, ex
cept the captain mate and one hand,
that man’s name was John Wil
liams, a Dutchman, the cook’s
name was Ilarrv Cook the names
of the others were Charley, Alex
ander, Chcverence, cr some sue h
name, he was a Frenchman, the
Jim, Oliver King, and h lai
the brig went to Curracoa.and >
a cargo sailed again from Curiaf,’
for New-York,and when he th n' 1
two or three days out, the dtev
ful murder happened, and it
about 8 o’clock, he thinks, the can
tain and Mr. Humphreys, the J.’
senger, turned in, the' hands
not, it was the mate’s watch i.
j deck ; examinant was at the hel^
| the mate sitting on a chicken COo -J
when Alexander called the r.ia,
forward and told him the ga Wtno ,,
of the bowsprit was gone ;
only an excuse to get him there,
mate looked over the bow to7 C >
what was the matter, when one 0 f
the men whether Charles, Ji m qj,
jver, or Alexander, he cannot s- n
but one of them struck him and he
fell dead ; Alexander had a hatche
and Charles a crow, but
first he can’t tell.
Examinant remained still* & t the
helm ; but before the mate was throw’
over, examinant went forward ari( i
Oliver took the helm. Examinan
then, with the rest, helped to thro;/
him over. After that, all went alt,
and Alexander told examinant to
into the cabin after the captain; but
before lie got down the steps, he { ,|.
led examinant back. He came bach
and was told to go back to tlie helm
by Alexander. He did go and lonj;
the helm again. Tlie reason Alexan.
der gave for calling examinant back
to tlie helm was, that the captain might
suspeet something wrong if he was
seen in the cabin, as the captain
knew it was examinant s trick at the
helm—he knew it was not Olivers,as
it was not his watch on deck. Alex
ander then went down and called the*
captain and said the mate wanted him
forward, lie came up and went for
ward as far as the gallery,and not see
in? 1 the mate, he turned back again and
said, ‘ Ah ! is that your play.’ Charles
then ran and patched him to keep ,;ira
forward. Oliver then ran to the helm
and said, give me the helm ; examin
ant then went forward, the captain
then had got as far aft as the min
mast and before examinant got to him
Charles struck him in the head with
the hatchet, and he fell, and newer
spoke. Examinant said he is not
dead yet, mid struck him on thijtt
with the fnt side of the harpoon, and
then they threw him overboard, then
Charles said cotr.e now, let us go down
and fetch out that privateersman]
Charles went down first examinants
lowed him, and Alexander foilowl
examinant. Jim did not come into
the cabin until after Alexander sirJc
Mr. Humphreys on the head. .fr.
Humphreys was going to fire the no
tols, when Charles struck the fwa
out of his hand and broke it, ar.it
was after that that Alexander ‘ttw
him down with the hatchet. Fm
inant struck at Mr. Humphrey g
the harpoon, missed him,
Charles, hut Charles knew exan*
did not go to do it. Hump hreys>
then taken on deck, and threw -■
overbord. The'cook did not i
- ; he was in his birth, in tlie fJ
bin a ! the time. All this affair t*
place in sight of St. Thomas, r lll
inant took the helm again after a
over, and Oliver went below m l,e
cabin and got the book,
Moore, and said what course to ■■.
to get to St. Domingo, and while s£
ting on the hencoop, told exaiw J
to steer W. by S. Examinant
steer that course until they m ai e .'‘
Domingo, first making Porto Xll j
which was on the following ro° rriir ’ E ’
and next morning made St. Do®”? ‘
which was about 8 o’clock, and 1
1 or 2 o’clock that day AlePj
said we had better scuttle the u
Examinant then went in the R> rf£
tie and bored two holes in her •’
and theu went in the run and ‘ ‘
borrd two holes ; then broke *
in the jolly boat, put her oyer, p ,J
kedge anchor in her, and tried to
her, but could not, she went <> 11 ’
and hoisted out the long boat, Ho
lier fast along side, the rope 1 ‘
and she want adrift; Charles stui'FJ
and went overboard after her.
could not get her back ; then c*® 1 .
ant stripped and went to her, a( .
two got her along side the brig
then they took the captain and nl^ fV
tilings, some provisions,
all got into tlie boat am* n, J
for the land, they rowed and
and about 11 o'clock next d ;l )
landed at a place between
Benny ; there was only °n e „ §
and that on a hill : put all the
ou the beach, and pulled up ,lie
stayed there all that day wi, eri
next day went to the house, an(
the black man who lives in it, a, J
went to the town called /fenny* (|l
them know there were strand * j
the Island—two soldiers. ca ."", %t>r #
carried all of them to town; tm.
all put* under guard and detain 11
til jiext day, and then they a anJ [
to make a protest, and as t h**• 1
Alexander spoke French, they
[Concluded on second page J