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SI iFatuilg to mterature, tnr arts, Science, agriculture, J&cclawCcs*, Emu cation, jforetuu airtr Homestic lutrUifirucr, Rumour, tct.
VOLUME i.
IF>©!EYKIf O
MEMORY.
t.
When backward, through departed years
On memory's wing we stray,
How oft we find but founts of tears
Along the wasted way !
The heart will vainly seek the light
That rested there before,
And sadly turn to mourn the blight
Os all it loved of yore !
it.
We watch for footsteps that have come
To breathe the twilight vow,
We listen—for the silver tone
Os voices—silent now !
We gate on old familiar things,
And marvel that they bear
No gladness to our spirit’s wings
Like what of old was there !
Even thus, when through departed years,
On memory's wing we stray.
We find, alasl but founts of tears
Along the wasted way,
it—— esmmewM rarn—na—a——i
mmELL&m*
From the Orion.
TALLULAH.
BY MISS M. E. MORAGNE.
“Come on, Sir, here’s the place ; stand still:
How fearful and dizzy ’tis to cast one’s eves so low !”
As tlie pilgrim of nature is journeying on
to the great temple of Niagara, the hoarse
thunderings of its \vaters are around his
path, training his mind to the high and un-„
earthly spirit of its devotion, and nerving
his soul to meet the Shekinah of its pre
sence ; but the visitor at Tallulah receives
no premonition of his approach to grandeur.
Whilst he is walking along on common
ground, expecting, momently, either to. be
stunned by the loud roaring of a cataract, or
to hear the soft chiming of harmonious rills
—he finds himself suddenly on the verge
•of a tremendous precipice, and starts back
•aghast at this mysterious and terrific open
ing in the bosom of nature. There he be
holds
■“ From the drend chasm woods climbing above woods
In pomp that fades not —
buthis eye is impelled with a dreadful fas-;
cination to the little stream far, far below,
which gambols through those solemn depths
in the strange and noiseless motion of a
dream.
Lost in the oblivious space of ten thou
sand feet, no sound comes up to warn the
observer from the precipice ; but he rushes
on in curious impulse, till turning the point
of a rock, he stands on a little span of earth,
and looks down upon a scene of seductive
beauty which scarcely, unless he has been a
poet and drank deeply of the well of Heli
con, has arisen to bless his dreams. There,
Terrora, in its silvery meanderings, half en
circles a little point of land, which lies in
its embrace like a fairy-isle, presenting a
panoramic view of a Lilliputian forest in
its richest array of “ arching bough and
•dark green leaf.” In the back ground the !
-opposite wall of the chasm rises in abrupt
cliffs of granite, which peep out beautifully
from the pensile branches of the spruce firs
that climb up the crags, and seem to emu
late their ambition to meet the skies. On
the right, as the opening forms an angle and
turns away—losipg itself in immensity, a
huge gray rock raises its solid fabric with a
gentle inclination of more than a thousand
feet, wearing on its bosom mosses of the
most brilliant and varied hues. Distance
has clad the scene in the softness of enchant
ment, and its wild irregularities rest in a
dreamy voluptuousness, which not even a !
bird is known to disturb. Could we yield i
to the delusions of the “ olden times,” what i
pretty theories might wo bet e suggest of
wizard-spells, or the fairy influences of elf
and sprite, those spirits that live in the earth
•and air, or “ play i’ the plighted clouds.”
There are rings on the moss-green stones—
pearl-drops on the boughs, and high on the
rocks, where mortal could not reach, hang
feathery wreu’ihs, all of which we might ex
plain as ‘ t ’ne phenomena of nature; but how
easily could a Spenser, or any other ‘ Mid
summer Night’ dreamer, prove them to be
the work of ‘ moonlight revelsor with
what grace declare that the little stream of
Terrora, which moves and makes no noise
in its rocky palace, had been caught in its
inflexions, and laid asleep by magic ! Na
ture reposes, but like the repose of the
’Glen-Almain, where Ossian sleeps :
“ It is not quiet, is not ease,
But something deeper far than these”—
that reaches up into the vast solitude, and
•enters the heart of the beholder, making
•him—though breathing the air of the * spic
ed mountain top,’ gasp for breath as if un
•der the effect of suffocation.
What mystery there is in. silence ! The
babbling brook tells its own history. The
ease ad e musically chimes its own praises,
and the thunders of the cataract are not to
he misunderstood ; but thou, dreamlike and
voiceless Tallulah 1 no sound is heard to sa
tisfy the perplexed soul of thy actual exis
tence. Silent and shadowy as the forms
that flit over the conjuror’s mirror—like
them thou art momently expected to fade
away ! How and whence earnest thou !
% Didst thou burst at once into finished beau
ty by supreme volition, or hast thou gather
ed up th e added glories of six thousand
years, thou * green old age’ of nature 7
What art thou 7 the being of convulsion 7
a °m in storms and fostered by commotion,
eould nature from the cboas of her elements
bring out a thing so fair 7 Or, rather, wert
SJF|| ma© oesgp
w U & JUi <ES& J3V JUL Ji Hi 1# jH> JU AJH nr a
thou left as a witness of His skill who tried
his hand in beauty and pronounced it
‘ good 7’ But, wherefore, vision of loveli
ness ! wherefore art thou there 7 To teach
men lowliness 7 Pride cannot soar over so
dread a gulph. Ambition, though Cariute
like, is lost in thee : and tnan, whate’er he
may be in ‘court, camp, grove,’ here be
comes the pigmy of creation. Yet thou
hast other things to teach than these : high
thoughts to rouse in the immortal spirit—
hopes, fancies, wishes, all that glorious tribe
of spiritual imaginings,
“ which take the prisoned soul,
And lap it in Elysium.”
Who sports with a forked lightning, or
laughs at the darkened grandeur of the
storm 7 He only car. jest with the purity of
Tallulah ! The intellectual soul here ap
proaches nigh to its God, and in that sensi
ble communion the sensual being loses it
self in aspirations for an immortal existence.
Eternity, eternity alone can satisfy its thirst.
As he looks down upon the dreamy picture,
the mind extends its grasp, only to return,
like the eagle that is chained to the rock,
and fret itself in the limits of its mortal
coil ; but thought is whispering of that time
;?hen it shall take its immaterial flight, and
dip its wing in the Arcana of unrevealed
knowledge.
Nothing could be contrived more exqui
sitely tormenting than the beauties of Tal
lulah. It is not the grand and magnificent
picture, taken at a coup-d’ajil, and satisfying
the soul after a long and earnest survey ; but I
it is a book of prints, every leaf unfolding a
page more charming than the formei f : or it
may be expressed—
“ by many a winding ’bout
Os linked sweetness long drawn out 1”
The first, which, though possessing the in
tangible foims of fairy land, has been faint
ly shadowed forth in this description, is the
‘ Island,’ which may be designated the vig
nette of the work, as there are gathered
types or representations of what the others
shall present ; and seemed designed, by its
exquisite finish and superior beauty, to strike
the beholder with an exalted sense of the
splendor which is to follow. It is here that
the veil of silence is spread so voluptuous
ly over river, rock and wood, and still throws
its soft drapery over the gorgeous tints of
the cloven mountain, till it fades away into
the blue ether of the sky, shrouding beau
ties yet unseen save by the eye of Heaven !
The effect of this excess of beauty is ab
solutely painful till the imagination is suffi-,
ciently dilated for its reception ; and I have
seen some turn away with almost childish ,
pleasure, to a little side-scene of gentler and'l
more familiar aspect, wlferea tiny stream
straggling through a cleft of the mountain,
creeps softly along the side of the stupeti
dous rock before mentioned, and lets itself
down into the chasm with a suppressed
tinkling.
Poets have talked very prettily of the
charms of solitude,
“To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell,”
and ‘ all alone ;’ but it must be where sound
has supplied the place of thought. I could
steep my senses in the roar of a cataract, or
I could listen forgetfully to the swelling
murmurs of the sea ; but surely if
“To know that the friend of our bosom is near,”
is sweet at any time, it is doubly so at Tallu
lah, when the awful stillness of the place
presses on the spirit with such an accumu
lated weight of sublimity. Give me then a
band of friends. Not the thoughtless gay
nor the stupidly phlegmatic ; but the min
ute philosopher—him who can detect the
slightest shade of coloring in a leaf, the
pensively contemplative, the mild enthusiast,
the Christian moralist. With such I could
feel—
“ How sweet it is when Mother Fancy rocks
The wayward brain, lo saunter through a wood,
An old place full of many a lovely brood,
Tall trees, green arbors, and ground-flowers in flocks,
And wild-rose tiptoe upon hawthorn stocks !”
With such I would wish to wander up the
cliff-side of Terrora, and descend to the
rocky front of the ‘ Pulpit,’ for then I should
think that human sympathy relieved, by
sharing my emotion. Here, however, the
grotesque mingles with the beautiful, and
the overcharged heart, though appalled by
additional grandeur, feels sensibly the re
lief from too much splendor. The rocky!
ramparts lift their craggy sides higher, more j
abrupt, and clothed in thinner vesture ; but
the vale below displays all the beauty of en
chantment. From behind a cluster of fairy |
trees, the lowest of the falls comes rushing ‘
down in a sparkling cascade of uncertain
height, fritting itself against the base of the i
perpendicular tower of rock, which is here!
amber-colored and decked with creeping
plants, forming, especially when the arc of
the prism floats upon its Surface, what I have
imagined to be an embodiment of the geni
us of Tivoli or Terni, dr any other such
‘spirit of the waters.’
From this picture we turn away with Hint
sorrowful feeling of inability to carry about
us the definite impressions of what lias so
much pleased us. It is like the soul of man
which no pencil is adequate to portray, and
we feel that these things
“ are of the sky ;
And from our earthly memory fade away.”
But there are the Falls, glistening away a
mong the trees of the dell,
“ Like Hope presenting some far distant good”— 1
the bower of our wishes. Yet as we wind
along the narrow path-way, which following
the precipice here makes a circular bend,
we cannot choose but stop to admire the
stern beauty of the ‘ Eagle’s nest,’ raising
its front so majestically bold and bare. A
PUBLISHED WEEKLY, BY C. R. HANLEITER, AT TWO DOLLARS AND FIFTY CENTS PER ANNUM, IN ADVANCE.
MADISON, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, MAY 14, 1842.
i few feet from the top of this pinnacle is a
I square window or entrance, where the eagle
might have fed her young in days of yore,
but the only human access to it is by means
of shelving steps from above, slippery with
the gray tassels of the pine. Savjng these,
the descent is petpendicular a thousand
feet, and would seem to mock at adventure,
yet the feat was once attempted by a gentle
man, whose daring spirit, afterwards led
him to offer up his life with the heroes of
San Jacinto.
Above the gray parapet of this elevated
tower, the blue sky may be caught at inter
vals through some skeleton pines, giving but
shadowy notions of the world which ap
pears thus cut off from us. It is the very
spot to sit down and imagine deeds of ‘high
emprise,’ indeed the very Alma-mater of
the marvellous.
“A little farther lend thy guiding hand
To these rough steps—a little farther on.”
Such will he the ejaculation of all who, ris
ing over the mountain ledge, prepare to
descend some hundred feet to the top of the
Falls. ‘ The roar of waters !’ Now how
sweetly and gratefully cornea up the sound,
muffled as it is below there, into the softest
bass of an organ-choir. The spell of the
Syren is on us, and in a few minutes we find
ourselves within a few feet of the spot
where the collected waters of the basin
Strike on the rim of the rock and are dash
ed into fragments ; then bounding upward
it- glittering, delicious exultation, fall(over—
a graceful shower of diamond drops. Farth
er we know not, for there is enough of climb
ing toil, and ‘ slippery peril,’ to forbear the
winding descent, even at the certain loss of
seeing the boiling ‘ Phlethegon’ below. But
it is delightful to sit here wim eyes bound
to the leap of the wave-worn precipice !
Forgetting all its adjuncts of terror and
magnificence, with the compound emotions
which they have produced, we may 4 think
down hours to moments,’ in the contempla
tion of this unique beauty, so simple, pure
and splendid !
Guarded here froni the eye of the world,
in a fastness almost impregnable, how hal
lowed it seems ! Yet fate has woven into
the golden chain of its association, one dark
thread of earthly remembrance ! As we
look down into the basin of green water,
collected in its rocky chalice, we think of
thee, poor Hawthorne ! and wonder what
were the emotions of thy soul, as thou sank
est to rise no more beneath that deceitful
calm. That was a strange destiny, child of
the North ! which brought thee here, an
offering to the genius of this wotld. Yet it
is not unblest, for thy memory is laid up in
archives of ever-during fame, and whilst
there are worshippers at that shrine of beau
ty, there will be tears to weep for thee ! It
may be too
Some wandering bard who knew and loved thee well,
Pome minstrel Irom thy Scandinavian halls,
Shall come to make a brother’s wail for thee
Then as the echoes of his Harp are raised,
Rolling it3 numbers down the stream of Time—
Its sad lament shall fill the deathless song
To thee, and 10 Taixulah 1
SATURDAY NIGHT.
How many association sweet and hallow
ed crowd around that short sentence “ Sa
turday night.” It is indeed but the prelude
to more holy, more heavenly associations,
which the tired fratrie and thankful soul
hails with new and renewed joy at each suc
ceeding return.
’Tis then the din of busy life ceases—that
cares and anxieties are forgotten—that the
worn out frame seeks its needed repose, and
the mind its relaxations from earth and its
concerns—with joy looking to the coming
day of rest, so wisely and beneficially set
apart for man’s peace and happiness by the
great Creator. *
The tired laborer seeks now his own neat
cottage, to which he has been a stranger j
perhaps, the past week, where a loving wife !
and smiling children meet him with smiles
and caresses. Here he realizes the bliss of
hard earned comforts ; and at this time, per
haps, more than any other, the happiness of
domestic life and attendant blessings.
Released from the distracting cares of the
week, the professional man gladly beholds
the return of “ Saturday night,” and as glad
ly seeks in the clustering vines nourished by
his parental care, the reality of those joys
! which are only his to know at these peculiar
! seasons and under these congenial circum
stances —so faithfully evinced by this peri
odical achme of enjoyment and repose.
The lone widow, too, who has toiled on
day after day to support her little charge—
how gratefully does she resign her cares at
i the return of “Saturday night,” and thank
her God for these kind resting places in the
way of life by which she is encouraged from
week to week to hold on her way.
But on whose ear does the sound of “ Sa
turday night” strike more pleasantly than
i the devoted Christian 7 He looks up amid
the blessings showered upon him and thanks
: God with humble reverence for their con
; tinuance; His waiting soul looks forward
’ to that morn when sweetly smiling, the
great Redeemer burst death’s portals and
completed man’s redemption. His willing
soul expands a.t the thought of waiting on
God in the Sanctuary on the coming day ;
and gladly forgets the narrow bounds of
time and its concerns, save spiritual—that
he may feast on joys ever new, ever heauti
i ful, ever glorious, ever sufficient to satiate
the joy-fraught soul that rightly seeks its
aid.
David Hume declared he would rather
, possess a cheerful disposition, inclined al
i ways to look on the bright side, than, with a
; i gloomy mind, be master of an estate of ten
. thousand a-year.
THE GOLD WATCH.
‘ Father, ? said Cornelia Woodley, one
night at tea, ‘Rachael Ashley has goto gold
watch.’
‘ Well; what inference do you draw from
that fact V
* Why, the very natural one, that I ought
to be equally well provided for!’
‘ Exactly so. But what shall we do with
your cousin Emily 7 Surely she ought to
have a watch also. It would not look well
for you to sport one and she destitute.’
Cornelia looked disconcerted, hut her
cousin Emily Layton, a retired and amiable
girl, interposed and begged that Cornelia
might be gratified without regard to herself.
‘Well,’ continued Mr. “Woodley, ‘how
shall we manage this affair 7 I am ill able
to purchase one watch, without doing injus
tice to my creditors.’
Tears were the only response of Corne
lia. The night passed gloomy away, but ere
the family retired to repose, Emily and her
uncle had an interesting conference. The
following evening there was to be a grand
patty to which Cornelia and Emily were in
vited. The gay and fashionable were there,
but Cornelia, neither saw or thought of hut
one. Thaddeus Lacy was her ‘bright and
particular star’ and well worthy was he of
his preference. It was to attract his atten
tion that the gold watch was wanted. It
was for his eye that Cornelia displayed all
her charms. The next day found Thaddeus
a visitor of Mr. Woodley’s. Cornelia exulted
in the conquest. Every day found him
whom she was proud to have conquered, a
guest at her father’s. Attention, so particu
lar, demanded an explanation of its object.
It was made, most unexpectedly to some
concerned, if not all, by a declaration of
love to the unpretending Emily Layton in
stead of the expecting Cornelia Woodley !
A scene followed, readily imagined by the
reader. The worst. being known, a few
weeks served to blunt the edge of disap
pointment sufficiently to make the annuncia
tion of the wedding day less hazardous than
might have been expected from the first
outpourings of Miss Woodley’s grief. The
day came that was to convert Miss Layton
to Mrs. Lacey% when lo and # behold she wore
the identical watch that her cousin had ex
hibited at the party. Was it a present?
Far from it. It was the gift of a departed
mother to Emily, but her straightened cir
cumstances had prevented her fromever ex
hibiting it in public. She had pressed it on
her kind uncle knowing his inability to grati
fy her cousin without seriously incommod
ing himself. This act of generosity had
been communicate! to Cornelia, who, though
deeply chagrined it first, finally insisted on
restoring the watch to the owner. This she
did with much grace, declaring to her cou
sin that she had learned that however de
sirable a gold watih might be, it required
something else to lead captive an intelligent
and worthy man. That in future she should
endeavor to deserve respect, rather by an
amiable and correct deportment, than by the
glitter of a gold time keeper, and even that
borrowed !
The pledge wa3 redeemed. The vanity
of Cornelia departed, and long before she
approached a certain age, she was worthily
and happily married. She often reverts to
her young days, but never without marvel
ling at the folly that induced the hope of
catching an admired and sensible man by
the pompous display of a gold watch.
If there are any who read this, troubled
with the watch fever, it is hoped they will
so profit by the relation, as not to imagine
that external decorations can complete suc
cessfully with the gems that encircle a well
cultivated mind. These will ever bear a
way the palm with discreet and sensible
men, and it should be a source of high*con
sideration to the comparatively poor, to re
flect that these embellishments of the mind
are within their reach although the tinsel or
naments of the body may greatly transcend
their limited means. Let all such remem
ber the ‘ gold watch,’ and strive to deserve
the good fortune of Emily Layton.
LIFE.
The object of life is not life merely. Were
this the case, the baker and the butcher
would he always the most important per
sons in the community. It is net the future,
for every state has its own conditions. It is
not the present, for that would leave us im
provident and like the brute, having no care
for the morrow. Nor is it the past, for no
man looks behind him as he walks forward.
Life is it condition of equal preparation end
performance. That it is a condition of pre
paration proves the immortality of the soul
—that it is a condition of performance
proves that the business of immortality is
begun. Our exultation in success is legiti
mate, because our present performances are
in obedience to present laws—our hope is
the prescience of that yearning which looks
naturally with doubt, desire and apprehen
sion to those future laws which are yet to
operate upon us. Lifeis an ordeal, in which
our powers of endurance, end our capaci
ties of achievement are to be tested, in or
der that our future rank may be determined.
True religion which regards it in this light,
does not task us, so to regard our possible
future, as to make us heedless and indiffer
ent to the positive present. The desire of
martyrdom is mere insanity. It is the heed
ful, and first performance of present duties,
and humble adherence to present laws which
can alone fit us certainly and beneficially for
the condition which is to come. What does
the present file—the absolute day on which
we entered—require at <>ur hands 7 Ascer
tain that, and do it, and all the rest is easy..
The future is the unborn child of the pre
sent, whose mother was the post 1
THE AFFECTIONS.
The very first lesson which you should
teach your child, should be the just value of
your affections, since it is through their me
dium, chiefly, that you can hope properly to
influence his obedience ; and, without se
curing his obedience, it is idle to expect that
you can train him properly in his way of life.
You are to teach hint this lesson, by a care
ful discrimination between right and wrong,
in your consideration of his conduct. You
are to permit no misconduct, however tri
fling in itself, to pass without due notice : it
must be promptly checked to be effectually
conquered. Error is like that Genius in
the Arabian Tale, who, though his bulk,
when unconfined, reached from Earth to
Heaven, could yet squeeze himself into the
compass of a quart pot. It is surprising
from what small beginnings most monsters)
grow. The first lesson which the boy learns
from this observant discrimination is the
value which you yourself set upon your af
fections. He soon sees that they are and
for a certain consideration. You have noth
ing valuable—only to be acquired upon cer
tain terms, to do but-to prescribe the terms;
to declare the conditions. You may make
yoar affections cheap or dear, at your own
pleasure. If too cheap, he will not value
them—if too dear, he will despair of pro
curing them. The true principle by which*
to determine the conditions for securing
them, is the simple one of always doing jus
tice. If he deserves praise, praise him ;if
he merits blame, do not withhold it. In
neither case be immoderate, for a boy sel
dom deserves any great degree either of
praise or blame. The terms of your favor
you are to unfold to him, not by set lessons,
hut by your habitual conduct; and he will
find it easy to comply with reasonable con
ditions in order to secure those affections,
which, moved as they are by inflexible jus
tice, he will soon discern are beyond all
price. This principle is one of the most
obvious of every-day experience. We see
it in “the public thoroughfare, at all hours at
every turning. Affections are moral rewards
—they are to be given, like money, very
sparingly, and not ’till you have carefully in
quired whether they he due or not. They
are to he given to justice not to partiality.
The ill-advised and lavish affection of the
parent, like indiscriminate charity in the
high-ways, soon makes the receiver waste
ful.
GENTILITY.
True gentility has been said to consist in
good sense, under the direction of good feel
ing, and perhaps a better definition could
not have been found, although it may ap
pear to some too general in its character. It
is much more easy to tell what gentility is
nnt, than what it is. In the opinion of some,
it consists in being fashionably dressed, but
if such were the case, every idle coxcomb
would be termed a gentleman, an applica
tion of the name clearly at variance with all
experience and correct observation. Others
would have us to believe that gentility is
made of holiday phrases, newly cut and
dried and softly lisped forth by bipeds wear
ing white kid gloves, queerly cut coats, stain
ed mustachios and soap locks, studiously ar
ranged to hide the ears of the wearers. To
admit the correctness of such a notion,
would be to place all sensible people under
the bati, and exclude from good society any
approach to propriety and good sense. An
other portion of mankind would tell us,
that to be genteel, we must think ourselves
better than any body else, because our an
cestors happened to ride in carriages when
their neighbors walked, and were never cap
able of any exertion, physical, moral, or in
tellectual, whereby the happiness or com
fort of their kind was in the slightest de
gree promoted. How far this view of the
matter is correct, we will leave to be decid
ed by the histories of those who have found
ed empires, and left behind them everlasting
renown for works of benevolence. There
are some who say-that gentility shows itself
in eating oranges with a silver knife and
fork, sipping water ices, diluting on the bit
ter part of a pheasant, and supping on a
cucumber. If this be correct, the quality
can alone attach to young misses, petits ma
tree, cooks and cattle. As we cannot agree
to any of these definitions, we will venture
one of our own, and say that gentility con
sists in doing unto others, as we would they
should do unto us.— Madisonian.
A Wife's Influence. —C01.V., of the Uni
ted States Army, was stationed for some
years at Little Rock, while his family resid
ed still in their home in New England.
Mrs. V. was a religious professor; the Colo
nel was not. Asa means of beguiling the
tedium of his often lonely hours, he once
sent to his wife in 8., for a quantity of no
vels. Mrs. V. was pained that the works
specified should have been those of her hus
band’s exclusive choice. She hesitated as
to her duty in this case ; but, after prayer
ful deliberation, concluded to send the books
desired, with an accompaniment of religious
tracts, and the following message in a post
script to her letter : “ As an obedient wife, I
send the books for, which you wrote, and as
an affectionate friend, I send also the accom
panying tracts, begging your perusal of
them.”
The delicate and judicious expedient
touched the Colonel’s heart. The tracts
were perused. The result was the reader’s
conversation to God. He has since become
an ornament to the Church, as he still is to
his military profession.
Happiness and virtue are the twin sisters
of religion.
The Star visible 5 y Day lAght. —Venus
—the star of lore and beauty—the emblem
of ancient worship, and the symbol, of all
things bright and lovely—remains undimr.ed
by the cloud of years which has swept across
her brow; and even with increasing radi
ance, her celestial light not only beautifies
the starry night with its unwonted brillian
cy, but throws her beauty over the day
beams of the morning. She is to be seen
| in the early blush of dawn, stealing, like a
conscious and happy bride, to her couch in
the sweet south, and casting shadows of the
joyful light which thrills her, over the wak
ing world. What lover of nature in her
most divine aspect will forego the exquisite
pleasure of witnessing this rare phenome
non 1 Up with the early lark, and the bree
zy zephyr, ye whose souls thrill with the
higher aspirations of our grovelling nature;
and, as ye contemplate the spectacle, min
gle with your admiration of the golden har
monies of heaven, a prayer for the preva
lence of love and beauty upon the earth.
Aristocracy. —What a glorious satire
could be mide from the materials furnished
in every city and village in the country, to
be entitled “the Rise and Progress of Mush
room Aristocracy.”
We have had several instances lately un
der our own observation. A certain Cele
brated Commodore’s family were pointed
out to us as being so wealthy and aristocrat
ic, that we began to think that he must have
had a long ancestry of nobles, when we
were informed by a venerable retired skip
per that the Commodore formerly sailed as
a cabin boy, in a New Haven schooher, and
rose to be master before he entered the Na
vy. And yet his family are so very aristo
cratic. We know a wealthy merchant,
whose sons and daughters will not assbciate
with “ base plebians,” whose father’s only
occupation consisted of pegging shoes and
mending boots. We know of another, who
,is on the topmost round of aristocracy,
whose mother sold “ cakes and small beer,”
whilst his father dressed hides. True, it
was fifty years ago, and it is generally un
known. We might multiply cases ad infi
nitum but cui lono /
In a country like ours, thanks be to God,
and the noble spirits of the Revolution, a
boy who peddles apples to-day, may in a
few years be possessor of wealth, and hold
sotne important station. It is not the meant
by which people rise that we complain of,
but it is that when once up they forget from
whence they sprung, and kick down the
ladder by which thdy came up—-education,
industry, sobriety, and strict integrity.
The bigger Fool the better Lvck:^- 1 have
seen men, merely by noise and fluency, lead
the conversation in companies, where there
was taste, talent, and learning; though they
possessed neither of the three.
I have known lawyers to gain their cases,
by impudence and vociferation, when neith
er themselves nor the jury knew their drift.
I have frequently seen men take their
seats in the lagislature, who begged suf
frages, and gave away whiskey, while those
who disdained to stoop to such measures
were left at home.
1 have seen a brainless fop mafty & fine
girl, and break her heait before the end of
the first year, though her hand had been
solicited in vain by the wealthy, the wise,
and the honorable.
I have seen stupid creatures, who scarce
ly knew the top of a tobacco hill from the
bottom, plod on and get rich, while men of
real intellect and industry, baVe pined in
poverty.
Did you never see a part, or all of those
things 1 If you did not, I congratnlate you
on your prospects of good luck— for you
possess the qualities to which it is promised
by the adage.
Who is able to standagainst Envy ?—The
rabbins have a curious story on the subject,
and it has been formed by the moderns into
a fable. There were two persons, one cove
tous and the other envious, to whom a cer
tain person promised to graiit whatever they
should ask : but double to him who should
ask last. The covetous man would not<eak
first, because lie wished to get the double
portion, and the envious man would not
make the first request because he could not
bear the thought of thus benefiting his neigh
bor. However at last he requested that one
of his eyes should be taken out in order that
his neighbor might lose both.
I Won’t. —“l won’t,” said a child to hie
kind parent, when he had been requested
to do a little favor. That child is now des
pised by his associates, and shunned by the
virtuous and the good.
“ I won’t,” was the exclamation of a scho
lar, whose teacher had labored faithfully
with him, when he was csked to be punctu
al at school, and to commit his lessons more
perfectly. That scholar is now employed
as otife of the lowest servants in an extensive
establishment.
“ I won’t,” said a youth to his father, when
requested to learn some honest trade. That
youth has now scarcely a coat to his back.
Enthusiasm is a beneficent enchantress
who never exerts her magic but to our ad
vantage, and deals out her friendly spells ‘
in order to raise imaginary, beauties or to
improve real ones. The worst that can be
said of her is, that she is a kind deceiver
and an obliging flatterer.
The most important principle, perhaps,
in life is to have a pursuit—an useful one if
! possible—but at all events an innocent one,
—Sir Humphrey Davy.
NUMBER 7.