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From the Saturdav Evening Post.
THOUGHTS ON DEATH.
H <w frail this life; scaree e’er the cher-
i-h* 1 hir.l
O ’ ;' >nth hath Wossom’1 into manhooii’s
fi.es,
Wn.'D 'Lath, relentless, with unsparing
haul
Nips the fon 1 hope, it withers and expires.
O ir* moment born, and ere another’s past
From th s precarious, transient life we go,
B n hut to lie, vet dying but to live
Iu endless pleasures or in endless woe.
O d'a h! destroyer of our fondest hopes--
Thou -au'-e of jov and vet of m sery,
Who can avert thv ever threat’ning stroke,
O who thy presence, ever dreaded, flee?
In vam the rich man boasts his pleneteous
store;
In vain ho trusts him in his wealth to
save,—
Can sordid treasures bribe thee from his
door,
Or gold preserve him from the yawning
grave?
In vain, presummg on exalted rank,
The mighty hope that death they ne’er
shall see—
The man of noble and ignoble birth,
All, ail arc equal, in the sight of thee.
The starving beggar and the feasting king,
Al’ m°et at last w ; thin the silent tomb,
The good, the bad, the wealthy and the
poor,
Await alike the self-obtained doom.
SENEX.
RELIANCE ON GOD.
If thou hast ever felt that all on earth
Is “ansient and unstable, that the hopes
Which man reposes on h ; »brother man,
Ar- oft but bro .en reo<Js; ifthou bast seen,
That lif» itself “ is but a vapou ” spring
F.om time’s up-heaving ocean—decked,
p uhaps,
With here and there a rainbow, but full
soon
To be dissolved and mingled with the vast
And fathomless expanse that roll its waves
On every side around h :—f thv heart
Has deeply felt all this, and thus has learn
ed
That earth has no secuiytv; then go
And place thy trust in God. The bliss of
earth
Is transient as the coloured light, that
beams
In morning dew-drops. Yet a little while,
And all that earth can'shown f majesty,
Of trength or loveliness hall fade away,
Like vernal blossoms. From the conquci-
’ors hand
The sceptre and the sword shall pass awav,
The mighty ones of earth shall lay th"m
down
In their low beds, and death shall set his
seal
On beauty’s marble brow, and cold and
pale,'
Bloomless and voiceless shall the lovelv one?
Go to the “ congregation of the dead.”
Yea, more than this; the mighty rocks
that lift
Their solemn forms upon the mountain
heights,
Like time’s proud citadels, to bear the
storms
And wreck of ages;—these too shall decay,
And Desolation’s ivy hand shall w.eve
O’er all that thou canst see,—blot out the
sins
That shed their glory o’er uncounted
worlds,
Call in the distant comets from their wild
And devious course, and bid them cease to
move,
And clothe the heavens in darkness, But
the power
Of God, his goodness and his grace shall he
Unchanged, when all the words that he has
ma le
Have ceased their revolutions. When the
suns
That bum in yonder sky have poured their
last,
Their dying glory o’er the realms of sp/aee,
Still God shall be the same,—the same in
love,
In majesty, in mercy:—then rely
In faith on him, and thou shalt never find
Hope disappointed or reliance vain
ARCOLA.
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MISCELLANY.
CHARACTER OF COLUMBUS.
From lus life by Washington Irving, just
published.
A peculiar trail in his rich and va
ried character, remains to be noticed;
that ardent and enthusiastic imagina
tion, which threw a magnificence over
Ins whole style of thinking. Herrera
intimates, that he had a talent lpr po
etry, and some slight traces of it are
on record, in the book of prophecies
which he presented to the Catholic
sovereigns. But his po. tical tem
perament is discernible throughout all
his w'ritings, and in all his actions. It
spread a golden and glorious world a-
round him, aud tinged every thing with
its own gorgeous,less. It betrayed
him into visionary speculations, whi< h
subjected him to the sneers and cav
illings of men of cooler and safer, but
more grovelling minds. Such were
the conjectures formed on the coast
of Paria, about the form of the earth,
and the situation of the terrestrial
paradise; about the mines of Ophir.
in Hispa iola, and of the Aurea Cher-
sonesus, in Veragua; and such were
the heroic s heme of a crusade, for
the recovery of the holy sepulchre
It mingled with his religion, and filled
bis mind with solemn and visionary
meditations on mystic passages oi
scripture, and the shadowy portents
of the prophecies. It exalted his of
fice in his eyes, and made him con
ceive himself an agent sent forth upon
a sublime and awful mission subject
ed to impulses and supernatural vis
ions from the Deity ; such as the voice
he imagined spoke to him in comforl
amidst the troubles of Hispaniola, and
in the silence of the night, ou the dis
astrous coast of Veragua.
He was decidedly a visionary, but
a visionary of an uncommon and suc
cessful kind. The manner in which
his ardent imagination and mercurial
nature were controlled by a power
ful judgement and directed by an
acute sagacity, is the most extraor
dinary feature in his character.
Thus governed his imagination, instead
of wasting itself in idle soarings, lent
wings to his judgement, and bore it a-
vvay to conclusions at which common
minds could never have arrived; nny
which they could not perceive when
pointed out.
To his intellectual vision it was
given, to read in the signs of the times
and the reveries of past ages, the in
dications of an unknown world, as
soothsayers were said to read predic
tions in the stars, and to foretel events
from the visions of the night. ‘Ilis
soul’ observes a Spanish writer, ‘was
superior to the age in which lie lived.
For him was reserved the great en
terprise to plough a sea which had
given rise to so many fables, and to
decypher the mystery of his time.
With all the visionary fervor of his
imagination, its fondest dreams fell
short of the reality. He died in ig
norance of the real grandeur of his
discovery. Until his last breath, he
entertained the idea, that he had
merely opened a new way to the old
resorts of opulent commerce, and had
discovered some of the wild regions
of the east. He supposed Hispaniola
to be the ancient Ophir which had
been visited by the ships of Solomon,
and that Cuba and Terra Firma,
u r ere but remote parts of Asia.
What visions of glory would have
broke upon his mind, could he have
known that he had discovered a new
continent, equal to the whole of the
old world in magnitude, and separa
ted by two vast oceans from all of
the earth hitherto known by civilized
man, and hrnv would his magnanim
ous spirit have been consoled, amidst
the chills of age and cares of penury,
the neglect of a fickle nubli;, and the
injustice of an ungrateful king, could
he have anticipated the solend d em
pires which were spread over the
beautiful world he had discovered,
and the nations and tongues and lan
guages which were to fill its lands
with renown, and to revere and bless
his name to the latest posterity!
THE SILVER SIXPENCE.
‘ Do you see here,” said a ragged
little boy to a group of gaily dressed
urchins, as he came up from Market-
street wharf, in Philadelphia, “doyou
see here?—I’ve got a silver sixpence.”
They all set up a hearty laugh. “Why,
said Jer. Budd,” whose father was
a wealthy shipper, “I have six dollars
to spend on Christmas, and that fel
low is proud of a sixpence.”—Theo
dore heard it. and looked thoughtfully
at the ground for a moment—then re
collecting himself, “six dollars to
spend?' mutter d he; “but six pence
to keep is better than that.”
Theodore kept his sixpence in his
pocket, carefully wrapped up for sev
eral weeks, when one day his uncle,
who kept, a fruit shop at the corner of
the alley where he lived, said to him,
Theodore, your sixpence don’t grow
in your pocket—you should plant it.”
The little boy understood him better
when he told him, that if he pleased,
he might buy some fruit in the market I
with it, and stand in his shop and sell
it out again. He embraced the offer, |
and doubled the money the first day, j
and went on until he had ns much fruit
as he had room for in his little corner. |
His uncle observing the thrifty, and 1
withal, honest, turn of the boy, final-,
ly took him into his store as an assis- J
lant, and alkivved him to trade in sun
dry specified articles on his own ac
count. The closest attention to busi
ness. the most careful management of
uis small funds, and that run of good
Iuck, as it is called, which generally
runs with those who are saving, indus
trious and prudent, enabled him in
three or lour years to go into full part
nership with iiis uncle, and to extend
me business to double its former a-
mount.
Having trimmed his sails right at
first, it had become a kind of second
nature with Theodore, to keep what
sailors would call close to the wind;
and he made headway astonishingly
now. Soon alter he was twenty one,
ne was able to buy out the whole
stock of a dry goods merchant, and to
qO into tfiat business on his ow r n ac-
ooum entirely. Still he prospered:
uecume an importer; changed, finally,
ins business lor a wholesale concern;
embarked in the India trade; and at
tasi. married a fine girl whose fortune
was but little inferior to his own, and
it was saidafte that concurrence that
lie was worth not less than half a mil
lion.
Theodore now lived in an elegant
mansion m Arch street; kept his car
riage and every thing in pretty style;
yet attended as usual to his business.
That be might never lose sight of the
oragin of bis good fortune, the silver
sixpence was blended with arms upon
his carriage.—It formed the seal with
which he stamped his letters, and he
had one of the coins, he used to say
the very identical one he first owned,
fastened, upon his desk in the counting
room.
A thin, squalid figure, one day pre
sented itself at his counter, and asked
lor employment. He wore a thread
bare suit of old black, an old hat, and
his shoes were ready to drop from his
feet.—In what capacity, asked The
odore,do you wish employment? In
any capacity, was the reply—but, sir,
continued the stranger, wiping a tear
from his eyes with his coat sleeve, my
father was a merchant; and he bro’t
me up to his profession; I should there
fore be giad of employment as a clerk.
Theodore looked at the man close
ly. He thought he saw some linea
ment he remembered. What is your
name? he asked. The stranger hes
itated a moment, hung down his head
and replied in a low whisper, Jeremi
ah Budd. Ah? said Theodore, recol
lecting him instantly, and you have got
clear of your six dollars long ago, I
fancy, Jeremiah. Yes, said Jeremi
ah with a sigh, but I have not forgot
the little ragged boy with the silver
sixpence. Had I been half as careful
of ray thousands as he was of his six
pence. I should not have been here
friendless and pennyless to-day.
There was a half triumphant smile
in Theodore's face, as he took the
hand of his visitor, which seemed to
spring from much self-complacent
feeling, but was excusable, because
it arose partlv from the consciousness
of his own ability to aid one whose
imprudence had caused his misfortune
but who appeared now to see and con
fess his error. He took the applicant
into his employ, and in process of time
restored him to the business doing
world, an active, prudent and valua
ble man.
The lesson taught in the story is too
plain to need a word iu addition. I
will simply ask, where is the needy
m m who has not spent more money
fooiisbly in his life, than would be no-
cessary to make him comfortable now?
NATURAL HISTORY.
The fitness of different animals, by
their bodily structure, to the circum
stances in which they are found, pre
sents an endless subject of curious in
quiry and pleasing contemplation.—
Thus, the Camel, which lives in san
dy deserts, has broad spreading hoot's
to support him on the loose soil; and
an apparatus in the body by which
water is kept for many days, to be
used when no moisture can be had.—
As this would he useless in the neigh
borhood of wells, and as it would be
equally so in the desert, where no
water is to be found, there can be no
doubt that it is intended to assist in
journeying across the sands from one
watered spot to another. There is a
singular and beautiful provision made
in this animal’s foot, for enabling it to
sustain the fatigues of journeys under
the pressure of great weight. Be
sides the yielding of the bones and
ligaments, or bindings, which gives e-
lasticity to the foot of the deer and
other animals, there is in the camel s
foot, between the horny sole and the
bones, a cushion, like a ball, of soft
matter, almost fluid, hut in which
there is a mass of threads extremely
elastic, interwoven with the pulpy
substance. The cushion thus easily
changes its shape when pressed, yet it
has such an elastic spring, that the
bones of the foot press on it uninjured
by the heavy body which they support,
and this huge animal steps as softly as
a cat.
Nor need we flee to the desert in
order to witness an example of skil
ful structure in the foot: the Horses
limbs display it strikingly. The bones
of the foot are not placed directly un
der the weight; if they were in the
upright position, they would make a
firm pillar, and every motiofi would
cause a shock. They are placed
slanting or oblique, and tied together
by an elastic binding on their lower
surfaces, so as to form springs as ex
act as those which we make of leath
er or steel for carriages. Then the
flatness of the hoof which stretches
out on each side, and the frog coming
down in the middle bet ween the quar
ters, adds greatly to the elasticity
of the machine. Ignorant of this, ill-
informed farriers nail the shoe too far
back, fixing the quarters, and causing
permanent contraction—so that the
contracted hoof loses its elasticity;
every step is a shock; inflammation &
lameness ensue.
The Rein-deer inhabits a country
covered with snow the greater part of
the year. Observe how admirably
its hoof is formed for going over that
cold and light substance, without sink
ing in it, or being frozen. The un
der side is covered entirely with hair,
of a warm and close texture; and the
hoof, altogether, is very broad, acting
exactly like the snow-shoes which
men have constructed for giving them
a larger space to stand on than their
feet, and thus to avoid sinking. More
over, the deer spreads the hoof as
wide as possible when it touches the
ground; but, as this breadth would be
inconvenient in the air, by occasion
ing a greater resistance while he is
moving along, no sooner does he lilt
the hoof than the two parts into which
it is cloven fall together, and so les
sen the surface exposed to the air,
just as we may recollect the birds do
ing with their bodies and wings. The
shape and structure of the hoof is al
so well adapted to scrape away the
snow, and enable the animal to get at
the particular kind of moss (or lichen)
on which he feeds. This plant, un
like others, is in full growth during
the winter season: and the rein-deer,
accordingly, thrives from its abun
dance, notwithstanding the unfavora
ble effects of extreme cold upon the
animal system.
The Theatre Presented as a Nuis
ance!!.—The Grand Jury of Erie
County, in their late Presentment,
dated the 6th inst. represent “that
the conduct of the last Theatrical
Company, who played in Buffalo vil
lage, was, in the opinion of this Grand
Jury, immoral and disgraceful. It is
in evidence that a quarrel and fight
was had on the stage behind the
scenes: and f-rom the disorderly con
duct of those who attended the per
formances, the necessity of a strong
oolice was apparent. We condemn
in the most pointed manner, such dis
orderly proceedings, and present
them as public nuisance.”
A MISER.
On Saturday week died at Canning*!
ton, near Bridge water s the Rev. Ro-|
bert Eyton, B. A. aged 84. Altjio*
he died possessed of nearly 10,000/, I
his life was marked by nothing more
than his frugality, or rather stinginess.
He resided in a house of his own at
Cannington, and kept no servant, but
performed all the menial duties him
self! His horse was turned oyt at!
night to graze on the hedges by the
road side, and every market day car
ried him to town; on that day, his gen
eral practice was (if not invited any
where to dinner) to buy a penny loaf,
and then go to the butter market and
taste the contents of several baskets,
and this constituted his riical for the
day; sometimes, however, he made
his visits to the cheese market for the
same purpose. He used to repair fill
1iis wardrpbe, and would receive the
most trifling cast-off garment from a-
ny person who would bestow it on him.
His death was the consequence of a
broken thigh, and during his illness he
employed no less than ten surgeons,
discharging them immediately after
their first visit. He has been fre
quently known, after medicines have
been sent to him by his medical men,
to return them with a requsst. that he
might have credit given him for them
in his account.
When taken to his room after break
ing his thigh, it presented a scene
which baffles description; his bedding
consisted of a bed and sheet, the co
lour of which was scarcely distin
guishable from that of the ground, and
in a corner of the room was a collec
tion of filth, the proceeds of the swee
pings ofhis room, which took place
once a week. He has never been
known to buy any other joint of meat
than a breast of mutton, which was
hung up in his chimney corner to dry,
and a slice cut off each day as it was
wanted. He bequeathed the bulk
of his property among his. relations,
some of whom visited him during his
illness.
Death From Fright.—On the 4th
ult. Mrs. Susan Chapin, wife of Mr.
Ezra Chapin, of Winhall, Vermont,
went about three quarters of a mile
to visit a sick neighbor, and not re
turning that evening nor the next mor
ning, Mr. C. went to the house where
she had visited, and learnt that she
had left there in time to reach hdme
before dark the evening previous.—
An alarm was made, and after a care
ful search, she was fouiid a corpse by
the side of the road about half way
home. The night was blustering, but
not extremely cold. When found, she
was not so cold as to be in any consid
erable degree stiffened, and probably
had been dead only three or four hours,
there are circumstances, (says a cor
respondent of the Brattleborough
Messenger) which- led most persons
acquainted with them, to a conclusion
that by a fit or a fright, she either
became so entirely lost, or deranged,
as not to be able to extricate herself
from her distressing situation. In go
ing home she would have to pass thro’
a neck of woods which connected two
large forests, which is supposed to be
a kind of run way for some wolves
which frequent this part of the coun
try; this neck is about 100 rods, from
her home. Here it. is supposed she
was frightened, either from what she
imagined, or heard, or saw—in this
place one of her shoes, and near it
her apron was found—then further
backward her handkerchief, and still
further her cloak hanging on the fence
—then still back beyond her body, her
other shoe. There were no marks of
violence, either of man or beast, upon
her. It was evident from the state
of her clothes, as well as her knees
and the outside of her fingers, that she
had crept much during the night; as it
•appeared she crept with her hands
clenched, her knuckles being severe
ly bruised. In this distressing, unex
pected, and almost mysterious manner,
Mrs. Chapin came to her death. Mr.
C. is deprived of the wife of his youth,
with eight children, the oldest about
18, and seven of them daughters, who
more particularly require a mother’s
care.—Hampshire Gat.
Stupidity.—“I believe the jury
have been inoculated for stupidity,”
said a Lawyer, “That may be,”
said bis opponent, “but the bar are
of opinion that you have had it the
natural w’ay.”
P
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