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<; R AINA N I) CH AF V.
From tlie Louisville Journal
THE HOMEWARD BOUND.
B Y 11. W . ELLSWORTH.
I,And hoi ’lis a jovial band.
Anil their shouts ring wild and free;
1’ or bursts on then sight the native land
Os the homeward hound from sea!
I.ike a holt on the pathway bulled,
The proud ship iusilt's by
Wi h ihe sweep of us snowy sails unfurled,
And each streamer wavug high!
Land ho! o’er each wave they rise
On the distant shore to gain;
Huzza 1 for the light of their native skies,
And ttieir cuililiiotid’s home again!
Huzza! ’ns a cheering sight,
O’er its foamy track to see
A jiroti.l ship beui. in the strong wind’s might,
i’he homeward hound from sea.
“ Furl all!” for the headland’s past,
Is the joyous mandate heard ;
Aud the sails lie curled to he tapering mast
Like the whig of a weary bird.
“ Kurt all ! ” in its haven found,
.See the gallant Vessel rule,
With helm untouched, at moorings hound,
And its breast to the tippling it e !
Oil! -ay. shall the wanderers meet
Each thing they loved of yore ]
CSoall tiie forms they dreamed of greet
Their eyes on the welcome shore 1
Shall the doatiiig father press
The child of many a prayer 1
Shall the lips of iho trembling maiden bless
Her st onu-tossed ina. inei !
Home ! no sad change is there,
No tauer form hath gone :
I’ uni fieiuls of old, their memories bear,
Cuirte tiirdnging one by one :
11 nue! to the wanderer home!
I is pure liglu round Inin plays,
Hti re svv.ft Ins joyous footsteps rotim,
’Mid things of childhood's da.s !
U it oh ! what fleetness hath
Each home- spent moment given,
1 o the w ut (ere s o’.-r an oc an piiifl,
Beneath life’s charming heaves!
Ho V oft sweet strains of old,
Neiiiin lied hv memory’s lute,
R it breathe of hearts that luted us, cold,
Aud ups that bhssed u.-. mute!
* l'is past ’. each greeting's o’er,
Each fare > ell prayer is said ;
And la to seek a stranger slimci
You gallant hark hadi sped !
’ l'is pas! —brignt sties above,
i *o i’s ti.essiugs o’er them tie ;
T ir f weal, (lire’ w.l, • ill next ill jy rote,
I'.ie ho.neward bound from sea!
01) sjKKN IN ALL 111$ YVOUKS.
v rat: mil r ik grrUax;
In that beautiful part of Germany winch
border- oil Iho Home, there is a noble cas le,
wnicii, as you travel on the Western banks j
Os the river you may see lifting its ancient
towers on the opposite side, abov • the grove
of trees about as old as itself bout forty
years ago, ihere lived in the castle a noble
gentleman, whom we call Baron . Tbe I
baron had only one son, who was not on v a!
comfort to h.s father, bu a blessing to all who
lived on It's lather’s land.
It Happened on a certain occasion, that this i
young man nemg from home, there came a!
french gentleman to see the baron. As soon
as this gentleman came into the castle, he j
began to taik of his Heavenly Father in terms
that chilled the old mi l’s blood; on which!
the baron reprove him, saying, “are you notj
afraid ot oifending God who reigns above, by
speaking in such a manner ! ” Tne g utle
inan said he knew nothing about God, for he
had never seen him. The baron did not notice
at this time what the gentleman said, but the
next morning took him about bis castle and
grounds, and took occasion lirst to show him
a very beautiful picture that huog on the wall.
The gentleman admired the picture very
much, and said, “ whoever drew this picture,
knows very well how to use his pencil.”
“ My son drew that picture,” said the b*ron.
“ Then your son is a very clever man,”
replied the gentleman.
I’he baron went • ith his visitor into the
garden, and showed him many beautiful flow
ers and plantations of forest trees.
“Who has the ordering of this garden!”
asked the gentleman.
“ My son,” replied the baron , “ he knows
every plant, [ may say, from the cedar of Le
banor to the hyssop on the wall.”
-Indeed,” said the gentleman, “I shall
think very highly of him soon.”
The baron then took him into the village,
and showed him a small, neat cottage, where
his son had established a school, and where
he caused all young children who had lost
their parents to be received and nourished at
his own expense. The children in the house
looked so innocent and so happy, that the gen
tleman was very much pleased, and when he
retu ned to the castle, he said to the baron,
“ what a happy man you are to have so good
a son.”
“ How do you know I have so good a son!”
“ Because I have seen his works, and 1
know that he must be good and clever if he
has done all that you have showed me.”
“ But you have never seen him.”
“ No, but I know him very well, because 1
judge of him by his works.”
“ True,” replied the baron, and this is the
wav I judge of the character of our Heavenly
Father. I know from His works that He is
a being of infinite wisdom, and power, and
goodness.”
The Frenchman felt the force of the re
proof. and was careful not to offend the good
baron any more by his remarks.
A captain of a ship said to a sailor who fell
overboard that morning, “You have had but
an indifferent breakfast. “ Not so bad,” re
plied the tar, “ for I have had a good duclt.”
THE COLUMBUS TIMES.
VOLUME I.]
From the Family Companion, for November.
ELEMENT Alt Y INS T R UCTI ON.
BY PROF. DARBY.
“ How DOES WATER EXTINGUISH FIRE?”
Weie we culled on tor . ii answer, by one
I acquainted with tlie laws ol heat, we should
simply reply that the conversion ol a portion
ol the water into steam, reduced tlie temper
ature of the burning btidy below that neces
sary for its corobusiion, and of necessity, the
fire wa - extinguished. But this answer would
be perfectly unintelligible to a child, since it
is supposed to know nothing of the circum
slances on which the phenomenon depends;
and tlieie is scar e!y a phenomenon of so fre
quent occurrence, more < ifficull to explain to
the tvro, than the one under consid ration,
since it involves principles not easily compre
hended and of the most difficult illustration
But lei us bring up our little inquirer, and
engage in a tele a tete with Iter on lhe sub
ject, directing her attention to the several
conditions ofihe phenomenon separately, be
ing prepared with some simple articles for
illustration. Lucy, why does wood burn]”
“I do not know, sir, unless it is because it
is hoi.”
You are perfectly right in your supposition,
it bums because it is ho 1 . 1 need not ask
you if a cold body will burn, although the e
ate such,4)ul they have not fallen under your
observation, for I know you would reply at
once lhat they will not. But some bodies
bum at a much lower temperature than oth
ers. For example, iron will burn in a black
smith’s fire, but not in a common fire, and (or
no other reason than lhat the smith's forge
is the hottest, whereas, sulphur and phospho
rus bum much sooner than wood. To con
vince you more certainly of the truth of this
position, here is an iron rod heated very hot
at one end, and it is cold at tlie other; now
pass this slick of oak wood front the cold to
wards ihe hot end, and you see it does not
burn until it Comes to the hottest part ; now
pass the sulphur in the same way, and it burns
before it gets to tlie red part; the phospho
rus bums sooner still. We see fiorn these il
lustrations, that bodies; according to their na
ture, bum at very different temperatures.
Now suppose we have the lour difierent bo
dies we have named; iron, wood, sulphur and
phosphorus all burning. The iron conies
fro n the intensely hot fire of the smith's forge,
burning splendidly, giving off brilliant sparks;
llte wood bums with a quiet flame, the sul
phur burns slowly, tlie phosphorous more
btilltanily. Now lay them all on the same
cold plate of iron} the burning of the iron
instantly ceases; the wood soon goes out;
the sulphur bums longer, and Ihe phosphorus
longer still. Now why do they become ex
tinguished in this order ?
*• I suppose it is because ihe iron must be
so hut to burn, that the cold iron instantly
cools it below its burning temperature; but
the wood continues to burn longer, because
ii burns wbeti it is not as hot as the iron, amt
it Pikes longer to cool it to a lower tempera
ture, and so ol the sulphur and phosphorus.”
You see rom these illustrations, that bo
dies burn bv being heated to a certain tem
perature, and cease to bum when reduced
below lltai temperature.
You know dial a piece of wet oak Wood is
made to burn with much more difficulty, than
a piece of lightwood, and also that it goes
out much sooner if removed from other burn
ing bodies; for the reason that its burning
temperature is the highest, and of course,
sooner cools below it.
But there is another condition of combus
tion, which I presume you have never had
occasion m notice, and winch I will illustrate
by a lew simple experiments Here ts a
ividenioutfied hotfie, and a .small piece of can
dle attached to a bent wire, winch passes i
through Hie cork, so lhat I can hold die can
die ut an upiiglii position within the bottle,
;lnd insert the coik. I now light die taper
and place it in tlie bottle, and insert the cork.
You see it burns as in the open air; now it
burns dimly, and the flame grows smaller and
smaller; now it is extinguished. I will care
fully remove the cork, ami relight the a per}
von see it is instandy extinguished, as I return
oto tht- bottle. Can you imagine a solution
of these phenomena?
*• Tne e musi be something in ltie atmo
sphere which supports eonioustion, ami as
lli.ai is duiiiiusned, me taper ceases (o hum.”
You uie ugiit: one til in pan of lue alinn
splieie consists ol llle substance which sup
p h is combustion, which is called oxygen, and
no sutisiaucc vvdl burn Without its agency.
It is on tins piiiictple that we extinguish flame
hv smothering II; thus we wrap a woollen
hiaiincl around a burning hotly, ami the flame
is eximguistied by excluding the oxygen. A
man m England has proposed to extinguish
he burning ol a house, by having iron shut
ters ior me windows and doors, winch should
li> air tigm, so that when the bouse was found
m t*e on the, tty applying these shutters, they
would p tveui tne mgiess of the oxygen, ami
Wnen tne combustion had consumed all me
oxygen vvitniu, the tiie would go out, for i .e
same reason mat iiic taper dal m the close
lintde. fins anaugeiiiciii as you will readily
imagine, could only be applied to tmuses very
ughtiv built, .is those from brick or strum.
w e have now il ustraied to Vila Ihe condi
tions ot coiubusiiou, namely, a certa n temper
aluie according to the natuie of the body and
the presence of oxygen Our next step will
be to explain the principles oil which (tie ex
tinction ol fire by water depends. I have
| here, as you see, a couple of watch crystals,
and m mis vial some ether. Lay on“ of the
I crystals to the palm of your band, until it
becomes of the same temperatuie, so that it
I leels neither hot or cold. 1 mnv pour into it
some ether. How tloes it lee! ?
“It is quilt cold.”
Does it grow any warmer?
“11 does not.”
You see the ether constantly diminishes,
, and now after ten or fliteen minutes it has
i all disappeared. How does the glass now
I lee I?
“ Since the ether is all gone i> grows vvarm-
Le us vary the experiment. Take the
glass as btlbre, and i will pour in nioieether,
and Wnen it becomes as cold as it will, I will
place this other crystal inverted over it.
You see they |>erfectlv fit eacli other, and the
small quantity of indta rubber varnish round
the edge makes it air tight. Does the glass
remain cold since I put the other over it?
4 No, sir, it is now as warm as the glass
was before you poured iu the ether, although
it is half full.”
I will now remove the upper glass, and you
perceive it becomes cold again, and the ether
disappears rapidly. You cannot fail to ob
serve that the production of cod is connected
in these exjieriuients, with the disappearance
of tie ether, and the ether disappeared bv
becoming an invisihle vapor, or in other words
by evaporati. n. We have shown you, then,
most conclusively, that the evaporation of
ether produces cold. We might show you,
although not perhaps so distinctly, that the
evaporation of water produces the sameef
ftc‘. You have yourself, no doubt, often fell
the effects of cold produced by evaporation.
When you nave been playing violently, and
perspired freely and then sat down,you have
felt colder than you would had you not exer
cised at all, and this v.as caused by the eva-
COLUMBUS, GEORGIA, THURSDAY MORNING, DECEMBER 2, 1841.
poration of the perspiration produced bv the
exe cise. People have long known this effect
of evaporation, and have made practical ap
plication ot the iaw, although perhaps ignor
aitily. We are told that the ancient Egvp
bans required their servants to keep their
wine bottles in vessels surrounded bv wet
cloths, so that the evaporation from the cloths
should keep the wine cool; and also lhat in
equatorial regions, Ihe people hang wet cloths
in their sleeping rooms to keep them cool;
the cold being produced by the evaporation
of die water.
I think vve are now prepared to give an
answer that you will understand, to our ques
tion, “Why does water extinguish site?”
The continuance o’ flame, as we have seen,
depends on two circumstances: n certain tem
perature and the presence o| oxygen gas.
Now, when water is thrown on fire it destroys
both these conditions. By its rapid evapora
tion it reduces tlie temperature below the
burning point, and by iis presence on the
burning body excludes oxygen: so that from
these two conspiring causes, it extinguishes
it—tlie evaporation no doubt in most cases
produces most of the effect.”
“But Mr. , why will not ether, alcohol
and tlie oils you call volatile, which evaporate
so rapidly, extinguish burning bodies?’*
They would do it most promptly, were thev
not combustible themselves, and therefore take
fire instead of extinguishing it. The destruc
tion ol flame, by reducing the temperature,
was applied by Sir Humphrey Davy in the
construction ot his safely lamp, which pto
tects the lives of thousands in their daily toil
in the coal mines of England.
From the above example, one may learn
what our ideas are in reference to vvliat shou.d
demand a part of the attention of children.
We have by no means lbllowed out the im
portant ami interesting applications of the
principles illustrated. The principle of eva
poration, for ex ample, brought into our ex
planation, would of itsell afford material for
a week’s instruction: its necessary operation
in the production of rain and dew; the dry
ing ot our clothes; its influence in modera
ting and governing animal temperature, would
ahold topics ol intense interest to any child
over six years old, and to many even younger.
Children are quick to each indications of de
sign, and how strikingly is design manifested
in respiration and perspiration, for controlling
animal heat! V\ lien we are healed either by
exercise or bv a hot atmosphere, we breathe?
faster, thus increasing the evaporation or cool
ing process in the lungs, and perspiration
starts I rom tlie surface, thus producing the
same effect over the body. How beautiful
the arrangement for making every thing har
monize, and every circumstance administer to
our safety and happiness! Let such contem
plations form a part of the everyday duties
of our children, (and not a circumstance con
nected iviiti our existence or happiness that
will not afford them,) and we shall realize in
our children the full accomplishment ol the
poetic strain of being
“ Led nature up tt> Nature’s God.
LABOR.
‘I he world dishonors its workmen, stones
its prophets, crucifies iis Savior, but bows
down iis neck before wealth however won,
and shouts till the welkin rings again ‘‘long
live violence and fraud.”
The world tins always been partial to its
oppressors. Many men fancy themselves an
ornament to the world whose presence in it is
a disgrace aiid burden to the ground ttiey
stand on. The man who does nothing for
die race,but siisai bis ease and Ihre.s dainii.y,
because wealth has fallen him his bands, is a
burthen to the world. He may be a polished
gentleman, a scholar, the master of elegant
accomplishments, but so long as he takes no
pains lo work for man, with his head or
(muds, what claims has he to respect or sub
sistence ? The rough-handed woman, who,
with a salt fish and a basket of vegetables,
provides substantial food for a dogen wink
iugmen, and washes their apparel, and makes
them comtoitable and happy, is a blessing to
die land, though she has no education; while
this lop, with his culture and wealth, is a curse.
She does her duly a ; far as she knmvs it, and
so deserves die thanks of man. But every
ovsier or berry that a fop has eaten lias per
formed its duly better than he. ‘li was made
to support human nature, and u lias done so,’
wtnie tie is hut a consumer of food and cloth
ing That public opinion tolerates such men,
is no small mai Vel.
The productive classes of the World are
those who bless it by their work or their
thought. He who invents a machine does
no less service than tie who toils all day with
ins bauds. Thus the inventors of the plough,
lire loom, the ship, Were deservedly placed
among those whom society has to honor.—
But they also who leach men moral truth,
who give them dominion over the world, in
siruci them to think, live together in peace,
to love one another, and pass good lives en-
Iguiened by wisdom, and charmed by good
ness; they who build up a loftier population,-
making mm more manly, are the greaiest
benefactors ot the world. They speak to the
deepest wants ol’lhe soul, and give men the
water of life. They are loaded with con
tumely m their life, and come to a violent
end. But their influence passes like morning
from land lo land, and village and city grow
glad In their light. Trial is a poor econemy,
common as it is, Which overlooks those men.
Nmv the remedy for tiie hard service that
is laid upon the human race, consists in les
sening the number of unproductive classes,
and increasing the workeis and thinkers, as
well as giving up the work of ostentation,
and tolly and -in. It has been asserted on
high authority, that if all men and women ca
pable ol work would toil diligently but two;
hums out ol the twenty four, the work of the
world would be done, and all would be as |
comfortably fed and clothed, as well educated
and housed and provided for in general, as ;
they noware, even admitting they ail went to !
sleep the other twenty two hours of the day !
and night. If this were done we should hear
nothing of the sickness of sedentary and rich
men. Exercise for the sake of health would j
be heard no more. One class would not he
crushed by hard woik, nor another oppressed
bv indolence, and condemned, in order to re-!
sist the just vengeance nature takes on them,
to consume nauseous drugs, and resort to ar
tificial and hateful methods to preserve a life
that is not worth the keeping, because it is
worthless and ignominious. Now men may
work at least three or four limes this neces
sary amount each day, and vet find the r la
bor a pastime, a dignity a. and blessing, and find
likewise abundant time for study; for social
intercourse, and recreation. Then if a man’s
calling were to think and write, he would not
injure the world by even excessive devotion
to his favorite pursuit, for the general burthen
would still be light.—Dbal.
Mysterious Profession. —“ Now, Tom,”
said the printer of a newspaper, in giving di
rections to his apprentice, “put the Foreign
Leaders into galleys, and lock ’em up, let Na
poleon’s Remains have a larger head, distrib
ute the Army in the East, take up a line and
finish the British Minister, make the Young
Princess to run on with the Dutchess of Kent,
move the Korry Hunt out of the chase, get
your stick and conclude the Horrid Jlurdcr
“the union of tiie states, and the sovereignty of the states.”
lhat Joe began last night—wash your hands
and come in to dinner, and theu see that all
the pi is cleared up.”
From the Family Companion, for November.
AUSTRIA.— By John Neal.
Austria is a riddle and Prince Metternich a
genius—that is to say, an Austrian genius.
Dungeons and bayonets, darkness and letters
are Ins instruments of persuasion with the
Italians and Galicaus, or Austrian Poles: rib
bons arid stars and countslnps, pov.er and
place are added, when tie lias lo do witli tire
Hungarians: theaters, music and shows, when
he palters with the Bohemians and the Aus
trians—tlie whole being somewhat aided, per
haps, iu their persuasiveness, by twelve thou
sand pieces of mounted cannon, with matches
lighted—four hundred thousand armed mer
cenarie3, and a great multitude, such as no
man may number, ot’ princes and princesses,
counts and countesses, barons and baronesses,
of knights and captains, of high-well burns
and low bo.ns; of opera girls, ballet dancers,
pimps and paupers; of waiters, postillions, am
bassadors and chambermaids; cardinals and
corporals; merchants, lawyers and thieves;
idlers and loungers; and gypsies and nurses,
ali employed and all paid, accoiding lo their
several positions in society, as the secret
agents—not spies —of Prince Metternich
wheieby the guardianship of his most Apos
tolic Imperial and Royal Majesty, tlie Empe
ror, is made easy, the Empire itself secured
against surprise, and the reputation of Prince
Metiernich, as the cleverest of managers and
the wiliest of statesmen, is extended over the
whole earth.
Now and then, to he sure, as if to show
that where one half the people are employed
to watch the other, combinations are possible
and the discontented more to be feared than
elsewhere, a Cofolonieri or a Poro steps forth
for a moment —and blows a trump lor the
gathering —and shakes the whole southern
part ofihe empire lo its detpest loutida lions;
while the YVesselinges and the Jokos, or the
Bulierwelters create a prodigious uproar in
Hie eastern provinces. Put vvliat of that?
Who cares ? The career duro of the Spil
berg and the moats and wills of Mohacz and
Szigrv are always at hand, to crush tire bod
ies, if they may not quench the spirits of such
boid visionaries; or better still, ihere is Amer
ica—there are the United States, to which
they may be shipped by ihe cargo, with a
certainty that they will be starved, or swin
dled. or shamed out of I lieu democratic pre
possessions belore a twelvemonth is over.
This great genius, Metiernich, is always
in communication with a great many little
geniuses, who are scattered over the whole
face of the globe. Not in lie United States!
poh, poll! dont flatter y curse if, my friend.
Your country is full of them. And why ?
Because in your country they have nothing
to fear, and may be had cheap. Take my
word for it, sir, they are at home in (he Uni
ted States, being neither watched nor sus
pected among a people who have nothing to
tear. Well Pilathv, Prince Metternicli’s
private and confidential secretary, burdened
though he is vvidi the private affairs of the
prince, finds time, nevertheless, for regulating
public opinion, both at home and abroad ; be
ing editor of ihe Imperial and Royal Austrian
Observer, and consequently supreme dictator
in the world of letters, of science, and ol pol
itics, for all his majesty’s loving subjects, and
autocrat of the press for all the tinders!.rapers
of ihe press throughout Germany and Italy.
His chief*auxiliaries are the Gazette lie France
and the Qnotidienne, while the London
Times, the Morning Post, ihe Quarterly Re
view, ami scores of the smaller fry, headed
by the Trollopes, and Fiddlers, the Martine
aus. and the Marryatls ol noth sexes, who
go about the world seeking whom they may
misunderstand or misrepresent bv the job—it
matters little which—constitute the main bo
dy of his Anglo Saxon allies, With them,
Austria is the very beau ideal of security and
comfort and permanence—ol established em
p re—the government being paternal Ihe mo
narchy, Irom its very nature, imperishable—
and ihe millions that acknowledge his power,
altogether too happy to be trusted with arms
in their bands. To be sure they never think
of explaining how it happened, but the other
dav, as it were, that this prodigious pile—the
consolidated labor of centuries--this anchor
sure and steadfast for troubled Europe—this
great city of refuge—this hope ofihe nations
—ibis imperishable monarchy—was well nigh
tumbled into ‘.he dust by a little bit of a Cor
sican usurper; how it. happens, that up to
ibis hour it has periodical returns of quaking
and quaiiing, that are enough lo frighten ihe
whole neighborhood of “ Princedoms, Domi
nation?, Thrones.” And why?
“ Je rains tout Abner, et n’ai pas d’autre crainte.”
The simple truth is, and all who know the
truth and are bold enough to acknowledge it,
will bear me out —the simple truth is, that
Austria, with all her strength, is weak enough
to be frightened at her own shadow. And
why not, since her shadow most resembles
herself? When a whole people are under
ecliose, they are apt enough to grow weary
of the privilege. To pray for light first, and
then to demand it, and then, in the hurry and
bustle lhat are sure to follow, to mistake the
substance for the shadow, as the French did,
and then what becomes of these imperishable
monarchies?—these everlasting empires?—
D own go they! down to the very dust! ia
thunder and in earthquake, like the walls of
Jericho at the blowing of the ram’s horns.
Woman. —We find in Judge Kent’s sen
tence of Peter Kane, for the stabbing and
killing a woman, the following remarks:
“Prisoner, your life is safe, but in sending
you to the State Prison, the court will mark
their sense of your dreadful conduct; and if
not punished to the full extent the law allows,
it is by reason of the good character you had
previously sustained. To your wife, also, you
are indebted for a mitigation of your punish
ment. Her conduct ou that occasion, has ex
cited the admiration of the court —she seems
to have been to you as a guardian angel pur
suing you, whose conduct was more like that
of a beast of prey than a human being, and
striving by every means in her power, to save
you from sin and guilt.
“There are very few evils to which a man
is subjected, that he might not avoid, if he
should confer more with his wife and follow
her advice. Few gratifications are meted out
to him, which he does no‘ owe in part to wo
man ; no pleasure, perhaps, which she does
not htghten by her participation.”
The Morning Air. —There is something
in the morning air that, while it defies the
penetration of our shallow philosophv, adds
brightness to the blood, freshness to life, and
vigor to the whole irame—the freshness of
the bps is one of the su est marks erf health.
It we would he well therefore—if we would
have our health dancing gladly, like the Aprii
breeze, and our blood flowing like an April
brook—we must up with the lark, “the merry
lark.” as Shakspeare calls it, which is, “tiie
ploughman’s clock,” to warn him of the
dawn—up and breakfast on the morning air,
and with the sun “walk o’er the dew on yon
eastern hills.”
I’ll be blessed if I do—as the girl said when
her lovqr cslajd hqr to be married.
From the Philadelphia Enquirer.
BRITISH POWER IN INDIA.
Mr. Laster, in his recently published work,
entitled “The Glory and Shame of England”
—devotes a chapter lo the origin, growtli ar.d
abuse of British power, in the possessions o!
the East India Company. He stales that 240
years ago, Elizabeth granted to a company
of English merchants, an exclusive right to
the commerce of India for 15 years. That
the privileges of this company have been suc
cessively renewed, until liny now form an
empire of 1,500,000 square miles, embracing
150,000,000 of subjects. The native army
of the company comprises about 230,000 in
fantry, and 26,000 cavalry; while about 8000
troops are levied in Europe, aided by 20,000
of the Queen’s regular army. Mr. Laster
affirms that the entire population of this vast
empire are subjected to the most degrading
servitude. Millions of them, it is estimated,
are held in the most crual bondage, while a
vastly greater number are, iu different forms,
reduced to the condition of abject vassalage
—bringing with it in innumerable instances,
a deeper degradation than any produced by
West Indian or American Slavery. He af
firths tha t in consequence ofihe system prac
ticed millions of the people of India have been
starved to death. Dr. Bowring is quoted as
having said at a public meeting in London,
that while India possessed boundless tracts of
land with every shade of climate fit for the
best productions of the earth—that men were
perishing bv thousands and hundreds of thou
sands from famine, while the storehouses of
the East India Company were filled with
bread wrung from their soil by a standing
army. He savs that in 1837, famine in India
swept 0ff500,000 people; and that it was
brought on chiefly by robbing the population
of the produce ot their soil, to till the coffers
of the East India Company. Lis added, that
multitudes starve to death every year in In
dia, because of the terribly oppressive land
tax—and that during the famines, uncounted
multitudes sell themselves and tl eir children
into slavery, for bread to prevent their dying
by starvation. The Duke of Wellington is
quoted as having said, that he knew that in
tlie hutofevery Mussulman soldier in the In
dian army, is a female slave who accompanies
him in all his marches. Tnis is a strong pic!
ture, and although doubtless highly colored, it
may well be placed among the list of evils
which go to make up the “Shame of Eng
land.”
Froirt the Family Companion, for November.
MANIA.—A Fragment.
“I was once much start led by the assertion,
that madness is far more common than we
imagine, and that to this source, might be
traced many of those actions which often as
tonish us. 1 believe the remark is a very just
on. j .
“ I think I have heard you advance the idea
that it is to insanity the most villainous actions
are to be attributed, as well as the most
strange. Is not that your gentle code of eth
ics?” asked a young gentleman.
“I think so,” she replied, “at least, of all
actions which have nothing to excuse them;
perfect wickedness is no more, I imagine,’ to
he found upon this middle earth, than perleci
goodness. But all this is foreign to my sub
ject. Whatever has been thought of him
since, my uncle was certainly never accused
of madness in his devotion. And so he lived,
idolizing this child, scarcely suffering the
“ winds to visit her roughly,” until stie was
five years old. Had she been destined for a
long life, all this 1 suppose would have spoiled
her: but she was one of those lovely ones
“ who die young.” blre seems to have Met,
with a clinging tenderness, all the love which
was lavished upon tier, and tier mind expand
ed with a fatally prophetic precocity. But
when tlie child was five years old, she died
suddenly. Those who were acquainted with
the lather’s tenderness for his little Lily,
thought the shock would have killed or crazed
him. To the surprise of every one, he l>e
canre perfectly calm from that fatal hour. No
passionate burst of grid!—no abandonment
lo sorrow, were produced by his afff cdon—
he even undertook the task of comforting his
wife. ‘ Elizabeth,’ said he, a few weeks afier
the banal, ‘you are saaly in wanto! a change
of scene and air, go and spend a tew days
wiili your sister, who has lately lost her hus
band, you will find her a sympathizing friend.’
“My hum went, but very reluctantly, for
that unnatural calmness seemed terrible to
her.
“lii consequence of her sister’s absence,
she returned immediately, and reached home
about dusk, on the evening of the third day
alter her departure. Site lias often described
to me the agonizing sensation of dread and
terror, which look possession of her mind as
site approached the house. No light step
bounded to meet her, no kind voice greeted
her, as she stepped wearily up the old stone
steps, and into the great hall.
*• * Where is your master ?’she asked, when
at length old Randolph, then a boy, made his
appearance.
“He inconsiderately directed her to the
parlor. She entered this very room. Extend
ed on the sofa, which used to stand in yonder
recess, supported in a half sitting posture by
his right arm, she saw her husband, with a
face of ghastly paleness, gazing on an object
which seemed to unstring her every nerve.
A little coffin, half opened, was supported on
lour chairs by his side. L ght while drapery
was thrown over the grave clothes, and the
beautiful ringlets of her child fell unbound
over the marble brow and neck. The face
was very little altered since the mother had
last gazed upon it, yet the sudden and horri
ble nature of the unexpected apparition was
too much for her, and she fell fainting upon the
floor.
‘ New horrors awaited her return to con
sciousness. Mr. E-lmley positively refused to
leave his place on the sofa, or to allow the
coffin to be removed. His child, he said, had
appea-ed to him, lelling him she had been
buried too soon, as be would perceive by ta
king up tle coffin, and she added ‘then yon
will come to your little daughter, dear father.’
He had consequently caused Iter to be disin
terred, hut no change of position was percept
ible. This, however, did not shake his belief
in the latter part of his dream or vision which
ever it might be. He was firmly persuaded
that be was destined to accompany his belov
ed child on her return to the grave,and made
Dreparaiions accordingly. While these mel
ancholy arrangements were going on fie sent
tor a painter, in order to bequeath to the world
a picture of his fair child.
•‘This is the picture which has always ex
cited your curiirsity, Peyton. My aunt cov
ered it in that way, for neither she nor any
one else, could ever bear to look at it. The
color which the painter has thrown into the
cheeks, and the beautilul hair copied with ex
quisite accuracy, contrast horribly with the
ghastly expression of the eyes, and the death
like hue of the skin. He caused a large and
wide coffin to be constructed l it was placed
in the center of this room. lie laid h;m s elf
in it, with his child’s head resting on ids shoul
der, and one lithe arm laid over him. The
medical man could do nothing with him; bis
pulse grew fainter and fainter; he seemed to
fall ioto a quiet sleep, and in a lew hours he
was dean. “The blood runs cold when we
1 rc " :< r£
[NUMBER 43.
COLONEL TRUMBULL.
The following extract from the forthcom
ing Autobiography of the distinguished gen
tie man who has hone so much to illustrate by
his pencil our national history, and especially
the pride of our Revolutionary struggle, will
be read with deep interest :
About the year 17? G a circumstance occur
red, which deserves to be written on an ada
mant. In the wars of Nww England with
the aborigines, tbe Mohegan tube of Indians
early became friends of the English. Their
favorite ground was on the banks of the river
(now tlte Thame?,) between New London and
Norwich* A srhall remnant of liie Mohegftns
still exist, and they are sacredly protected in
the possession and enjoyment of their favor
ite domain on the banks of the Thames. The
government of ibis tribe bad become heredit
ary in the family of the celebrated Chiel'Uncas.
During the time of my father’s mercantile
prosperity he had employed several Indians
of this tribe in bunting animals, whose skins
were valuable fir their fur. Among these
was one named Zaoharv, of the royal race,
an excellent hunter as ever lived. When lie
had somewhat passed the age of fifty, several
members of the royal family,- who stood be
tween Zacbarv and the throne of bis tribe
died, and he found himselt with only one left
between him and the empire. In this mo
ment his belter genius resumed its sway and
lie reflected seriously. “How can such a
drunken wretch as I am aspire lo be the chief
of this honorable rare? Can 1 succeed to
the great Unoas ? I will drink no more.”
He solemnly resolved never again to taste
any drink but water, and he kept his resolu
tion.
I had heard this storv, and did not entirely
believe it; young as I was, 1 had already par
taken in the prevailing contempt lor the In
dians. In the beginning of May the annual
election of principal officers of the (then)
colony was held ai H.irilbrd, tbe capital.
My father aitended officially* and it was
customary for the chief of the Mohegans also
to attend. Zachary hud succeeded to the
rule of his tribe. My lather’s bouse was sit
uated midway on the road between Mohegan
and Hartford, and the old chief was in the
habit of coming a lew days before the elee
lion, and dining with his brother Go/emor.
One day tbe mischievous thought s'.ruck me,
to try the sincerity of the old man’s temper*
ance. The family were seated at dinner,and
there was excellent home-brewed beer on the
table. I addressed ilieold chief—“ Zachary,
this beer is excellent ’ will you lasle ii
The old man dropped Ins knife and link,
leaned forward with stern intensity of expres
sion; his biack eye sparking with indigna
tion was fixed on me. “John,” said he, “you
do not know vvliat you are doing. You are
serving the devil, boy! I tell you that lam
an Indian! I tell you I am, and that, if I
should but taste your beer, I could not slop
until I got to rum, and become again the
and. unken, contemptible wretch, your lather re
members me to have been. John, while you
live, never tempt any man to break a good
resolution.” Socrates never uttered a more
valuable precept. Demosthenes could not
have given it in more solemn tones of elo
quence. I was thunderstruck. My parents
were deeply affected ; they looked at each
other, at me, and at the venerable old Indian,
with deep feelings of awe and respect. They
afterwards frequently reminded me of the
scene, and charged me never to forget it.—
Zachary lived to pass the age of eighty, and
sacredly kept his resolution. He lies buried
in the royal burial p'ace of hi- tribe, near the
beautiful falls of the Yantic, the western
branch of the Thames, in Norwich, on land
now owned by my friend, Calvin Goddard,
Esq. I visited tbe grave of tbe old chief
lately, and repeated to myself Iris inestimable
lesson.
EXPEDITION OK DOUGLAS TO THE
HOLY LAND WITH THE HEART
OF BRUCE.
As soon as the season of the year permit
ted, Douglas, having the heart of Ins beloved
master under !>is charge, stl sail from Scot
land, accompanied by a splendid retinue, anch
ored off - Sluys to Flanders, at this time the
great seaport of the Netherlands. His object
was to find out companions with whom he
might travel to Jerusalem; but lie declined
landing; and for twelve days received all
visitors on board his ship with a state almost
kingly. He bad with him seven noble Scot
tish knights, and was served at tahle by
twenty-eight squires of the first families in
the country. “He kept court,” says Frois
sart, “ in a royal maimer, with the sound
of trumpets and cymbals; all the vessels for!
his table were gold and silver; and whatever
persons of good estate went to pay their re
spects to him were entertained with the rich
est kind of spice bread. At Sluys he heard that
Alonzo, the King of Leon and Castile, wa
carrying on war with Oiyn, the Moorish Gov
ernor ot Grenada. The religious mission
which he had embraced, and the Vows he
had taken before leaving Scotland, induced
Douglas to consider Alonzo’s cause as a holy
warfare; and before proceeding to Jerusalem,
he first determined to visit Spain, affd to sig
nalize his prowess against the Saracens. Rut
his first field against the infidels proved fatal
to him, who, in the long English war had seen
Seventy battles.
The circumstances of his death were stri'-
king and characteristic. In an action near;
Theba, on the borders of Andalusia, the:
Moorisli cavalry were defeated, and after I
their camp had been taken, Douglas with his
companions engaged too eagerly in their pur
suit, and being separated from tlie main body
of the Spanish army, a strong division’ of ibe 1
Moors tallied and surrounded them. The
Scottish knight endeavored to cut his wav
through the infidels; and in ak probability
would have succeeded had he not turned to
rescue V\ in. St. Clair of Roslin, whom he
saw in jeopardy. In attempting this, he was
inextricably involved with the enemy. Ta
king from his neck the casket which contained
the heart of Bruce, he cast it before him, and
exclaimed with a loud voice, “ Now pass on
ward as thou wert wont, and Douglas will
full iw thee or die.” ‘I be action and the sen
timent were heroic ; for Douglas fed over
powered by his enemies; and three of his
knights, and many of his companions were
slain along with their master. On the suc
ceeding day the body and the casket were
both found on the fiel I, and by his surviving
friends conveyed to Scotland. The bear* of
Bruce was deposited at Melrose, arid the body
of tlie “* Good Sir James,” the name by wh eh
he is affectionately remembered by bis coun
trymen, was consigned to the cemetery of
Ins fathers in the parish church of Douglas.
Modesty. —The extreme modesty attribu
ted to females of the present day, appears to
have been productive of some benefit to mar
ried men. We heard yesterday of a husband j
who has thereby become ‘master of his house’
again -a matter he has been unable to ac
complish for several years past. On a slight
squabble in the morning, as to who should
“wear the pant.*,” the wife sot the best <.f it,
and had put them on, when the “gude mon”
suggested that the buttons had eyes, hie wife’s
modesty was so shocked that sue burst into
tears, and pulled the pants “right ofiT’— Cres
cent Citv.
r
KOSCIUSKO AND H7S I.ADY LOVE.
The maiden to whom this Polish hero gat •
his heart, was daughter to one of the grand
and gnitaries of the kingdom, and tl erelore rais
ed by birth, above Kosciusko. But true love
is a leveler—its alchemy detects merit in the
meanest station, and its power of affinity can
overcome material obstacles. The Lady Luu
sa Sosnowski returned the love of the poor
officer as the truth and fervency of his attach
ment deserved—but a life of happiness was
not for him. How different would have been
his history had the grand wish of his heart
been achieved! But the disappointment of
his hopes in love, consecrated his whole soul
to freedom and the happiness of man.
The young Jady first confided her attach
ment to her mother; then Kosciusko, with
tears, and kneeling at the father’s feet, con
fessed his pure but unconquerable passion.
The parents, blinded by hereditary pride of
ancestry, and exasperated at the idea that the
splendor of their ancient bouse should be
dimmed by their daughter’s union with an of
ficer of rank so inferior, prohibited all inter
course between the impassioned lovers, and,
to insure the’ observance of their prohibition,
placed spies upon all their steps. But love
found means to deceive the Argus eyes plat ed
over them, and knit two young hearts closer
and closer to each other.
Kosciusko, now driven to despair, proposes
an elopement. The lady agrees—all is ar
ranged, and the result promises t<> crown their
hopes. Under the shade of a dark night they’
efiect their meditated escape from the castle,
attain, seemingly unpursued, to some distance,
and a warm embrace speaks their mutual con
gratulations upon the bright hopes of union
that are dawning upon their hearts. A sud
den noise starts the lovers from their dreams
of bliss; the marshal’s people surround and
attempt to seize them ; Kosciusko draws his
sword and desperately strives to defend his
beloved. A sanguinary conflict ensues, but
the issue could not be doubtful. Kosciusko,
wounded, senseless, sank to the ground, and
the Lady Louisa was dragged back to iier pa
ternal home.
When, after three hours swoon, Kosciusko
’ regained his consciousness, he crawled, feebly
and despairingly, to the nearest vilage, where
one of his friends was quartered, carrying
with him no relic of his vision of happiness,
but its recollection# and a white handkerchief,
which his idol had dropped in her agony.
This treasure never afterwards quitted Ins
bosom, not even in the iiottest battle, and
deatii only could part lnm from it.
******
Kosciusko formed no second attachment;
and although, in alter years, several advanta
geous matches were proposed him, both in
Poland and in France, he never could be pre
vailed upon to marry. Even to an advanced
age he remained faithful to the love of his
youth, and spoke of the object of his only pas
sion with all the fire of early life.
MANAGING A HUSBAND.
This is a branch of female education too
much neglected : it ought to be taught with
“ French, Italian, and the use of the Globes.”
To be sure, as Airs. Glass most sensibly ob
serves, “first catch your hare, ’ and you must
also first catch your husband. But we will
suppose him caught—and therefore to be
roasted, boiled, stewed, or jugged. All these
methods of cooking have their matrimonial
prototypes. The roasted husband is done to
death by the firery temper, the boiled husband
dissolved in the warm water of conjugal tears,
the stewed husband becomes ductile by the
application of worry, and the jugged husband
is fairly subdued by sauce and spice.
When Sir William L was se ting
off on his wedding excursion while the bride
was subsiding from the pellucid lightness of
white satin and blonde, into the delicate dark
ness of the biack silk traveling dress, the
lady’s maid rushed into Ins presence with a
torrent not ol tears, but of words. His favorite
French valet had put out all the band boxes
that bad been previously stoied with all femi
nine ingenuity, in the carriage. Os course,
onthe happiest day of his life,- Sir William
could not “hint a fault or hesitate dislike,”
and lie therefore ordered the interesting exiles
to be replaced. “ Per veil, Sare William,” said
the prophetic gentleman’s gentleman, “ you
let yourself be band-boxed now, you be band
boxed all your life.”
The prediction of the masculine Cassandra
of the ctirliu- irons was amply fulfilled. Poor
Sir William ! One of his guests, a gentle
man whose wits might have belonged to a
Leeds clother, for they were always wool
gathering, confounded the bridal with one of
these annual festivals u'hen people cruelly
give you joy of having made one step more to
your grave—-this said guest, at his wedding,
literally wished him many happy returns of
the day! The polite admitter of the band
boxes, found, however, one annivcisary quite
sufficient without any returns.
Now, we do consider it somewhat hard “to
drag at each remove” such a very percepible
chain ; it might as well have been wreathed,
or gilded, or even pinchpecked. A friend of
mine, Mrs. Francis Caldwell, does the thing
much better. We shall give a domestic dia
logue in Cuizon street, by way of example to
the rising generation.
“I have been at. Baldoc’s this morning, my
love,” said Mrs. Caldwell while helping the
soup, “he has two such lovely Se\re tables,
portraits of Louis XlVth's beauties ; you must
let me have them for the drawing-room, they
are such loves.”
“ 1 really do wonder,” exclaimed Mr. Cald
well, in his most decided tone, “ what you can
want with any thing more in the drawingroom.
I am sure that it is as much as any one can do
to get across them as it is. I will have no
more money spent on such trash.”
“ This fish is capital, the sauce is a chef
d'ceucre,” exclaimed the lady, hastening to
change the discourse; “do let me recommend
it.”
Dinner proceeds, enlivened by a little series
of delicate attentions on the part of the wife.
One thing is advised; another, which she is
well aware is her husband's aversion, playfully
forbidden, with a “my dear Francis, you are
so careless of yourself-—consider les horreurs
de la digestion.”
Dinner declines into dessert, and Mr. Cald
well cats his walnuts, peeled
‘ By no hand, as you may guess,
Bui that of Fairly Fair.”
alias, Mrs. Caldwell’s very pretty fingers.
lov ards the middle of his second glass of
port, he perceives that there are tears in his
wife’s sott blue eyes—which become ac’ual
sobs as he progressed in the third glass.
“ I see how it is, Laura; well, you shall
have the tables.”
“ l be tables ! ” cried the lady, with an air,
as the school-boy said of ancient Gaul, quar
tered into three halves, of disdain, wounded
■ec-lings, and tenderness; “I have really lost
all wish lor them. It was of you, Francis, I
was thinking; Good God! can you weigh a
few paltry pounds against the pleasure of
pleasing your wife 1 1 see I have lost my
hold on your affections. What have I done >
[ whose whole life has but one happiness, that
of pleasing you !”
We will not pursue the subject to its last
conjugal close of tears and kisses ; suffice it
to .• ay, that the next day the tables are sent
home ; not given, but only accepted as a favor J
Now this is a beautiful way of doing busi
ness. \\ e serious y recommend its consider
ation as a study to our lady readers. Scolding
does much, for as the old riddie says, “any
thing ” is what
“ Many a man who has a wife,
Submits to foi a quiet life.’’
But, fair half of the world, out of whos
very remains the rise, as the eastern- proverb
has and, was termeu at the creation—flatten,
that honey of the heart, i s the true art of sway
Instead of ffiv.de, our,new state seciet i a
to reijrn
— *