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A CHFIIUB,
BY GEOKCSG W. DOANE.
“Ar<* they not all ministering spirits,
sent Forth to minister to them that shall be
hens of sai\ ation.”
B aut'.ful thing, with thine eye oflight,
Ami t hy brow of cloudless beauty bright,
Gazing for aye on the sapphire throne
Of him who dwelieth in light, alone,
Ait thou hasting now, on that golden
wing,
With the burning seraph choir to sing.
Or stooping to earth, in thy gentleness,
Our darkling path lo cheer and bl'ssr 1
Beautiful thing! thou art come in love,
W.th gentle gales from that world above;
Breathing of pureness, breathing of bliss,
Bearing our spirits away from this,
To the better thoughts, to the brighter
skies.
Where heaven’s unclouded sunshine lies.
Winning our hearts, by a blessed guile,
With thatJnlant look, and angel smile.
Beautiful thing! thou art come in joy,
With the look, with the voice, of our dar
ling bov,
Him that was torn from the bleeding
hearts
H ha l twine ! about with his infant arts,
To dwell, from sin and from sorrow far,
In the golden orb ot’his little star—
There he rejoiceth, while we, Oil! we
Long to be happy and safe as he.
B 'autiful thing! thou art come in peace,
Bidding our doubts and our fears to cease,
Wiping the tears that, unbidden, start
From their fountain deep in the broken
heart,
Cheering us still on our weary way,
Lest our hearts should faint, or our feet
should stray,
Till, crowned for the conquest, at last, we
shall be.
Beautiful thing, with our hoy, and thee 1
STANZAS—BY MRS. MUZZY.
Doubt, wiien radiant smiles are shining—
Doubt, when clasping hands are twining
Doubt, when honied words are flowing—
Doubt, when blushes warm are glowing—
Bit never doubt the proof sincere
That glistens in the starting tear.
Doubt, when mirthful tones invite thee—
Doubt, when gayest hopes delight thee—
Doubt, whate’er is fondest, fairest—
Doubt, whate’er is Brightest, rarest—
But never doubt that truth can live
In hearts that sutler and forgive.
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SKELETON OF THE WRECK.
While Sir Michael Moore was in
the command of the Amethyst frigate,
and was cruizing in the Bay of Biscay,
the wreck of a merchant ship drove
past. Her deck was just above wa
ter; her lower masts alone standing.
Not a soul could he seen on board, hut
there was a camhouse on deck; which
had the appearance of having been re
cently patched with old canvass and
tarpaulin#, ae if to ntford shelter to
some of the crew. It blew at this
time a strong gale: but Sir Michael,
listening only to tbe v dictates of hu
manity, ordered the ship to be put a-
bout and sent oif s boat with instruc
tions to board the wreck, and ascer
tain whether thert was any being still
surviving, whom tie help of bis fellow
men might save from the grasp of
death. The boat rowed towards the
drifting mass,and idiile struggling with
the d tticulty of getting through a high
inning sea dose alongside, the crew
shouting ali the tine as loud as they
could an object, iile in appearance to
a bundle of clothe^ was observed to
roll out of the canbouse, aparentb
against the lee shrouds of the mas
With the end of tie boat hook they
managed to get holt of it, and hauled
it into the boat, wlun it proved to be
ihe trunk of a man b?nt head and knees
together, and so wasted us scarce to
be felt within the ample clothes
which had once fitter it in a stale of
life and strength. I’ll?, boat’s crew
hastened back to the Amethyst with
this miserable remnant of morality;
a id so small was it in bulk, thnta lad
of fourteen years of age was abty with
his own hands to lift it into tht ship.
When placed on deck, it showed for
the first time to the astonishment of
all, signs of returning life; it tied to
move; the next moment mutte
a hollow' sepulchral tone “t/iere
other man."
The instant these words were
heard, Sir Michael ordered the: boat
to shove off again for the wreul; and
looking into the cub-house, l hey found
two other human bodies, wastttl like
the one they saved, to the very bones,
but without the least spark of life re
maining. They were sitting in a
shrunk up posture, a hand of on; rest
ing on a tin pot, in which therfc was
a g.il of water, and a hand of the other
reaching to the deck, as if to regain
a bit of salt beef, of the size of a
walnut, which had dropped lium its
nerveless grasp. Unfortunate men!
they had lived on their scanty store,
till they had not strength remaining
to lift the last morsel to their mnilhs!
The boat’s crew having completed
their last melancholy survey, return
ed on board, where they found the at
tention of the ship’s company ergross-
ed by their efforts to preserve the
generous skeleton, who seemed to have
just life enough to breathe tie re
membrance, that there was stiil ( an
other man.” his companion in suffer
ing, to be saved.
Captain S. committed him to the
special charge of the surgeon, who
spared no means which humaiily or
skill could suggest to achieve tie no
ble object of creating anew as it were,
a fellow creature, whom the uniaral-
lelled famine had striped of almost
every living energy. For three weeks
he scarcely ever left his patient, giv
ing him nourishment with his own
hand every five or ten minuites; and
at the end of three w«cks more, the
“Skeleton of the wreck” was seen
walking on the deck’of the Ame
thyst,—and tojjthc surprise of all who
recollected that lie hail been lifted in
to the ship by a cabin!boy, presented
the stately figure or a man nearly
six feet high. Bat Emerald.
in
%s an-
From the Philadelphia Recorder.
THE SIMOON IN PALESTINE.
Tornadoes or whirlwinds, followed
hy thunder, lightning, and rains, were
by no means uncommon in Palestine,
during the winter and cold seasons
The Prophet alludes to them as oc
curring in the deseris which border
on the south of Jud$a; (Isa. xxi. I.)
Ezekiel speaks of one coming from
the north; (Ezekiel i. 4.)—but it
most frequently blows from the south,
in which case it is generally attended
with fatal consequences to the trav
eller. Mr. Bruce describes one of
these tornadoes, in a plain near the
Nile, as lifting up a camel, and throw
ing it to a considerable distance with
such violence. v as to break several of
its ribs; whirling themselves and two
servants off their feet, and throwing
theta with violence on the ground. Abut
was also demolished hy it the materials
one half of which were dispersed all
over the plain, leaving the other half
standing. How striking is the image
ry oi the prophet, (often from tiiis
phenomenon: ‘-The whirlwind shall
lake them away as stubble ’’ (Isa. jfi.
24.) ‘"Chased as the chaff of the
mountains before the wind, and like
a rolling tiling before the whirlwind.”
(Isa. xvii. 13.) But the most dan-
genous wind lo which the country is
subjected, is the famous Samoun, Sa-
miol, or Simoon. The principal
stream oi this pestilential blast always
moves in a line, about twenty yards in
breadth, and twelve feet above the
surface of the earth; but its parching
influence pervades all places for a
considerable distance. The only
means of preservation from its nox
ious infiiience, is, to lie flat, with the
face upon the ground, until the blast
is over. The beasts from instinct
take Ihe same precaution, by pushing
their mouths into the sand. The ap
proach of this destructive wind is in
dicated by redne.63 in the air, and
when sufficiently near to admit of be-
■ig observed, it appears like a haze,
:n color resembling the rainbow, but
iot so compressed or thick.—A per
son exposed to this terrible blast, is
attacked by a violent giddiness, ae-
ompanied with burning thirst; head
ache, and frequent fits of shivering
ensue; and these end in a violent fe
ver. The effects of the Simoon on
die bodies of those whom it destroys,
are peculiar. At first view, its vic
tims appear to be asleep; but if an
arm ora leg be smartly shaken or lift
ed up. it separates from body, which
shortly becomes black. Thevenot
mentions one of these whirlwinds,
vlm.h, in lb,58, suffocated twenty
thousand men in one night; and ano
ther in 1G55, which suffocated four
thousand persons. It was no doubt
the same “blast,” that destroyed the
army of Sennacherib in one night, (2
Kings xix, 7, 35.
A singular phenomenon is recorded
hy Dr. Shaw, while travelling in the
valleys of Mount Ephraim. They
were attended for more than an hour
by an ignisfatuus, which assumed a
variety of surprising appearances.
Sometimes it was globular, sometimes
it resembled the flame of a candle;
instantly it would spread itself, and
involve in its pale and inoffensive light;
then, contracting itself, it would seem
to vanish from the sight, but in a few
moments would resume its lustre, or,
moving from place to place, would 1
expand at intervals over two or three
acres of land, ft should be. observed
that in the preceding evening the at
mosphere had been uncommonly thick
and hazy, and the dew remarkably
unctuous.
It would seem from a passage in
the Psalms, that what is now termed
coup de soliel, or stroke of the sun,
and which, in the East Indies, fre
quently causes sudden death, was not
unknown in Palestine. “.The sun
shall not smite thee by day, nor the
moon by night.” •. (Tsai. exxi. 6.)
The son of the woman of Slninem ap
pears to have died in consequence
of a stroke of the sun (2 Kings iv.
18—20.)
FEMALES IN SOCIETY.
Did females but know how' deeply
the heart of man is enchanted by that
of vvnmen whose conversation presents
the picture of simplicity and grace,
of ease and politeness in a gfoupe; the
spirit of whose conversation is a com
pound of sprightliness, sense, and mod
esty; who seldom dispute; and never
wrangle; who listen with attention 'o
the opinions of others, and deliver
their own with diffidence; would they
not be more ambitious to please than'
to conquer? But they would be
sure of conquering in the noblest
sense.
Paint to yourselves,"by Way of con
trast, a woman who talks loud, con
tradicts bluntly, looks sullen, contests
perniciously, and. instead of yielding,
challenges submission. How different
a figure! How forbiding an object!
Feminality is gone; nature is trans
formed; whatever makes the male
character most rough and turbulent,
is taken up hy a being who was de
signed to tranquillize and smooth it.
But may there not he occasions
-where wisdom and worth in women,
as in men, are called upon to sssert
themselves with a dignity that shall
repress the forward, and over-awe
the insolent! Certainly—and to give
such proceeding the name of pride
were ynjust.i
Is a sensible and manly youtli de
sirous of passing his leisure hours in a
species of pleasure equally sociable
and innocent, of acquiring the most
proper demeanor, with the most gen
teel, and at the same time, the most
easy turn of thought, as well as hab
its of the best kind—let hina seek the
society of lemales who join good breed
ing and liberal sentiments lo purity of
mind and manners. * * * * *
The truth is, that in the society I
recommend, a young man, who does
not wish to go astray, will feel him
self under no fetjer; but will learn
genuine courtesy without labor or
study. Amiable women of genteel
education aie, indeed, beyond com
parison, the best mistresses of this
science—for two reasons: In the first
place, (bey best undeistand it, having
frym nature a peculiar aptitude to
please, with a wonderful faciliiy in
adapting themselves to the tempers of
others, and fiom culture a ready ac
quaintance, which they soon acquire,
with such fori, s of politeness as, with
out the aid of insincerity, give an ele
gance and a heightening lo the native
emanations of a good mind. In the
next place, they teach it without ap
pearing to teach it, by a secret pow-
er over the conceptions of their scho
lars; who, naturally ambitious of ap
proving themselves to such agreeable
tutoresses, learn it from them insensi
bly, snd yet effectually, as people, in
general, -catch the sentiments and
manners of those they esteem.
Let monks and misanthropes pre
tend what they will—the soul of man
will scidom be long satisfied without
the entertainment of female conver
sation. It was so formed by the un
erring Creator; nor, perhaps, will any
thing, next to “the wisjloni that is
from above,” guard it more power
fully agsinst the sorcery of vice, than
the near and frequent view of female'
excellence. Er. Fordyce,
LIFE OF AN EDITOR.
# * # * Then there is another
species x>f correspondents, who, under
the pretence of giving advice, are the
most abominable, saucy, and impudent
fellows in the world, and who modestly
give their crude suggestions as infalli
ble axioms, which if you do not obey,
you must lose their invaluable friend-
shi)) and support. Thus, one will tell
you, “your paper is insupportably dull,
ahd he can’t read it unless it contains
an account of all the prize fights and
other occurrences in the sporting
world;” another declares that” if you
pollute your columns with such trash,
lie will cense to take in your journal.’
0 ie correspondent thinks your paper
of too literary a east, and wishes you
to give a little mo/e variety, and
now and then to pop in a few remark
able and horrid accidehts—or a bloody
murder; “those are the things. ’ says
he, “to make it sell.,’ A second Says,
that you “fill your paper with a col
lection of stories only fit for old wo
men—and begs to have a luminous cri
tique on the various works of taste and
imagination as they appear.” Mr. Dis
mal says, the paper is “too dull;
whilst Miss Prude thinks, “it has not a
sufficiently serious turn.” Miss Lan
guish begs for “ a little more poetry,”
and hopes.“ you will let it be all about
love;” whilst Farmer Giles writes to
pou“ to leave oui all that stuff of poet
ics, and put in more about the price of
corn, and such like.” A sentimental
young lady, who signs herself Flirtilln,
begs that“you!vvili put in all the pretty
love stories you can pick up;” whilst
the maiden aunt says “you ought not
to suffer the W'ord love to appear in
print.” Horace Gadabout wishes you
“to be particular in giving spirited and
copious notices of the drama;” whilst
Mr. Cantwell desires that “ his paper
may be discontinued, unless you omit
all mention of such heinous and abom
inable proceedings.” Thus every
man wishes his own particular taste
to he gratified, without any regard to
his neighbor’s; and the only way in
which an editor can act is to disregard
all such partial solicitation, and to
keep on the even tenor of his way,
without paying any respect to the con
fined views of h'j correspondent,
London Literary Gazette.
The five Consciences.—There are
fiye kinds of consciences on foot in the
world: first, Jin Ignorant Conscience,
which neither sees nor says any thing,
neither beholds the sms in the soul, nor
reproves them: secondly, The Flatter
ing Conscience, whose speech is worse
than silence itself; which, though see
ing sin, poothes men in the committing
thereof: thirdly, The Scared Cotu-
cience, which hath neither sight,
speech, n<?r sense, in ‘men that are
past feeling:’ fourthly, The Wounded
Conscience, frightened with sin:—tho
fifth is a Xiuict and CIfar Conscience
purified in Christ Jesus. A woundei
consoience is rather painfnl than sin.
ful; an affliction, no offence; and is i tt
the ready way, at the next remove
to be turned into a quiet conscience.”
REALITY OF VIRTUE & VICE]
I have already, in a former Lee*
ture, alluded to the strength of the c-
videncc, which is borne by the guilty
to tlie truth of those distinctions which
they have dared"' to disregard. If
there be any one who lias an interest ia
gathering every argument which eteit
.sophistry can suggest, to prove that
virtue is nothing, and vice therefor#
nothing, and who '.;•&? strive to yield
himsfelf readily to l! ; ia Cfroolatory per
suasion, it is surely ihe crimnal who
trembles beneath a weight of memory
which he cannot abake off. Yet even
he who feels t he power of virtue only
in the torture which it iullio's, doe#
still feel this power, afd feeh; it with
at least as strong conviction of its re*
ality, as those to whom it in evaty mo
ment diffusing pleasure, nud wh#
might be considered perhaps as not
very rigid questioners of ae iiluoica
which they felt to be delightful. The
spectral forms of superstition have,
indeed, vanished; but there is one
spectre w'hich will continue to haunt
the inind, as long as the mind itrelf is
capable of guilt, and has exerted this
dreadful capacity,—the spectre of a
guilty life, which docs not haunt only
the darkness of a few' hour3 of night,
but comes in fearful visitations, when
ever the mind has no other object be
fore it that can engage every thought,
in the most splendid scenes, and in
the brighest hours of day. What en
chanter is there who can come to the
relief of a sufferer of tlm class, and
put the terrifying spectre to flight?
M e may say to the murderer, that iu
poisoning his friend, to succeed a little
sooner to the estate, which he knew
that his friendship had bequathed to
him. he had done a deed- as merito
rious in itself, as if he had saved the
life of his friend at the risk of his own;
and that all for which there was any
reason to upbraid himself was, that
he had suffered his benefactor to re
main so many years in the possesion
of means of enjoyment, which a few
grains of opium or arsenic might have
transferred sooner to him. We may
strive to make him laugh at the ab
surdity of the scene, when on the ve
ry bed of death, that haftd which had
often pressed his with kindness before t
seemed to press again with delight
the very hand which had mixed and
presented the potion. But, though
we may smile—if vve can jraile—at
such a scene as this, and point out the
incongruity with as much ingenious
pleasantry as if we were describing
some ludicrous mistake, there will be
no. laughter on that face from which
we strive to force a smile. He whe
felt the grasp of that hand will feel
it still, and will shudder at our def
soription; and shudder still more at
the tone of jocular merriment w ? ith
which we describe what is to him-##
dreadful.—Broun'e Philosophy.
THE LAW OF CONSCIENCE
There is one true and original law,
conformable to reason and to nature,
diffused over all, invariable, e^ernal^
which calls to the fulfilment of duty
and to abstinence from injustice, and"
which calls with that irresistible
voice, which is felt in all its authority
wherever it is heard. This law can* '
not he abolished or curtailed, nor af
fected in its sanctions by any law of
man. A whole senate, a whole peo
ple, cannot dispense from its para*
mount obligation. It requires no com
mentator to render it distinctly inteL
ligible, nor is it different at Rome, at
Athens, now, and in the ages before
and after, but in all ages,—one a#'
that God, its great author and pro
mulgator, who is the common Sover
eign of all mankind, i$ himself one K .
Man is truly man, as he yields to this
Divine influence. He, cannot resist
it, but by flying »s it were from bii
own bosom, and laying aside the gen
eral feelings of humanity—hy which
very act, ho must already have imr
flictod on himself the severest of pun
ishments, even though he were to n»-
void whatever is usually accounted
punishment.-*—-Cie«tro^, translated k£ :
Brown.