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■■■■ MM .rw / ;jF i POETST. FROM THE MEMORIAL. THE LIGHT OF HOME. M)tboy, thou wilt dream the world is fair, j • •'And thy spirit will sigh to roam, . > ,f And thou must go;—but never when there, Forget the light of hon.e pleasure may smilrwith a ray more bright, It dazzles to lead ' Jdecpen the night, lely way. 1 lost, V Like the meter’s >Has3 at When thou treatiest i. •A jfi tut the hearth of home has a constant flame, irei ) And pate as vestal fire: ij Jr will hum, ’twill burn forever the same, **^^gfay<Rture feeds the pyre. TAJ sea of ambition is tempest-test, And thy hopes may vanish like foam; But when saifa are shiver’d and rudder Ic Then look to the light of home, And there like a star through the midnight cloud, Thou shalt see the beacon bright, For never, till shining on thy shroud, Can be quench’d its holy light. The sun of fame, aye ’twill gild the name. But the heart ne’er felt its ray; And fashion’s smilee that rich ones claim, Are but beams of a wint'ry day. And how cold and how dim those beams would be l- Should life’B wretched wanderer come! /But my boy, when the world is dark to then, Then turn to the light of home. -/ T t. FROM THE CONNECTICUT MIRROR. -It Tains! What lady loves a rainy day? Not she who puts prunella on her foot, Zephyrs around her heck, and silken socks Upon a graceful ankle—nor yet she W T ho sports her tassell’c! parasol along The walks beau-crowded on a sunny noon, Or trips in muslin in a winter night On a coid sleigh ride to a distant ball.— She loves a rainy s day who sweeps the hearth, And threads the busy needle, or applies The sci c sors to the tom or thread-bare sleeve, Who blesses God that she has friends and home; Who, in the pelting of the storm, will think . some poor neighbour that she can befriend; ;v/enfy"ro^'! j0 ^j^*.th(vlamp at night and reads aloud plied gradtist.'enng brother, tales he loves to hear. minute*/. 1 ,™ 3 cheerfully abroad to Match • rr-i 1*^0 of some sick and suffering friend, ‘ . ‘ *yr that best of medicine, . re ;UiredVA tender care, and cheering hope— n*- Mika-forceIpad, e’en in a rainy day. Scotch firWOfld. ~ -- ^ ’ W* l THE LAST COFFIN. 4 had y.otj '‘the 4001 .otCW 1 ’ He opened the' door ;• a r L\ From the German. The Avafohman upon the turret had cried [the midnight hour : the heavens shone in il* their starry}, splendour ; and the ground ^glittered with myriads of brilliant specks. ! Every sound of living breath seemed be- Tiumbed by the frost, and every murmur >.hat arose from the sleeping city was borne iway upon the blast. Fearfully now re rided the footsteps of the sentinels, as, M up in their long white cloaks and ^black caps, they wandered to and fro, measured paces, like the spirits of the toted. an aged prince passes through the i gate of the castle into the neighbor ing^ Ilis faithhUattendants, who have w , atcV.S^| Ss stepyj^jt^ period exceeding ' the usual^fe^f^JPp^,ty, would fain im plore theirTolu jjJ^-een his hoary head, now thai the last branch of his royal house is withered : but the earnestness of death darkens the king’s Countenance—silently they bow their heads before him, for their lips refusk their, office, and thgy. follow him sorrowfully with their eyes. With impetuous, haste the aged prince totters through hi? skittering evergreens. He feels not the cold/ nor the frosty breath of the wind that t.oss§sJhc few scanty, gray locks upon his barJf head. It is as though he would anticipated!e destiny that seizes, with icy hand, upon his trembling heart. He has arrivefj#!t the verge of his park, near the humble dwellings of the work^ people in the eitiploymenS’ef the court.—He stands still—“Oh Fate' thou shouldst have spared me my o-fc^,last, solitary child,” sighed he. “ Oh, lappier than thy coun try’s prince art thovi, base artisan, even though thou wakest amid thy sleeping little ones with care, because thou hast not where withal to satisfy their hunger on the morrow. Thou.livcst anew in them ;—but iwith me my whole race is descended into the grave. He advanced a few steps forward ; a noise met his ear ; it was the grating sound of a saw. “ W T ho works so much beyond the mid night hour ? Doubtless,” continued he, Re plying to himself, “ it is the coffin maker, preparing his coffin. Man, thou might’st become rich, if now thou madest him & cradle.” He had approached nearer to the house whence the sounds proceeded; when the sawing ceased, and he distinguished the tones of a deep male voice. It was an old strange melody, harsh and monotonous as ^ the words which grated, on his ear The fiend of death has seized his bow, His shaft unerring flies— No tower of strength can ward the blow, The might wr-oinal dies! Ye powers of craft and malice, lo f Your treacherousjdeeds proclaim— Malice has wrought its owner’s woe j / . His craft has turned to shame. \ ' 'Behold the pit—toy man of sin,, A anarc for ot laid— h*T But fate has callxL aq£ $ee,;*■' - J His own death-bed'is mad Then, hail! Oh hail/Eternal _ In-whom is placed my trust % know thjnttnmMb in perils hope, Omnipotent and just. £?he king listened ; anon the song teased, d a noi>c resounded from within as of tools more composed, hot vapour rushed forth, and a large apart ment presente i itself to him, illuminated by many lights* At a long working bench stood a tall, haggard form, busied upon an almost finished coffin. No life, no emotion, no spark of sensibility beamed from the workman’s glassey eyes, as he continued his employment, regardless ofthe monarch’s entrance. So late at your duty, master?” stud the pnnee. “ Every man,” returned the joiner, “ performs the work to which the Eternal Master calls him ; and he has sent me to you to prepare your race a resting place. “Man ! how can God have called thee to that work ?” exclaimed the raging prince, “ madman wouldst thou add to my anguish ?” “ Sire,” returned the coffin-maker, undis mayed, “ if you would fain hear my history and your own, sit you down upon that cof fin-lid ; it is the coffin of your own heir, but there is no other seat in the place. See, it is a masterly work; this sculpture upon it is the design of a church crumbling to pieces, with its tombstones and crosses, the tokens of death, destroyed by death’s hand. Why dost thou stand staring so wildly at my work? Make no ceremony, but be seated, that I may proceed ; the job is al most don«v and will occupy mo just- -a -Long as my story.” As if pressed down by some invisible power, the prince seated himself upon the coffin lid, as it lay upon the floor ; the coffin itself stood upon the bench. The joiner tucked up his wide sleeves about his ner vous arms, and began to plane it, while, with his eyes fixed upon his work, as if he heeded nothing else, neither the high per sonage who listened to him, nor the import of his ow n words, or rather as if the latter were spoken by another mouth or at least another spirit, he began :— “ Sir, did you know the deoeased Prince Sigismund ?” “ My ancestor,” answered the king, gloomily, “ the least of his family, as I of mine.” “ My grandftither, said the, work man.” “ Thy grandfather ?” replied the prince, with surprise. *“ Heavens, what form suddenly presents itself to my memo ry?” “ My history will explain all, rejoin ed the coffin-maker. “ Whrfn I first came into the world there was litw.prospect that the golden circle would ewer deck your brow; and just So much t&ie more wildly was the storm to rage amia the clustering branches of our family, till none were left but my grandmother and her only daughter. Then your father mounted our house’s throne. The prince’s widow was little heeded: God’s judgment upon her, because she herself was wanting in maternal l«ve, and at length thrust her daughter-out of her own house—after disturbing her men tal peace by her tyrannical aiifi? immoral con duct.? Then the latter gay^up all earthly, glory, and desired, after so deep a deception nothing more than a heart full of love, and the quiet peace of obscurity. She found both in my father; for though he was not of princely descent, he possessed a lofl^ mind and a towering spirit. She ^brought him six sons ; when l|jp last was’bom her of duty was performed. My fa ther cofid not survive her, and yet durst not die: the\leparted drew him after her ; his children held him. He lived here with her the life of a saint in an,inseparable union of souls; 1 never saw him either joyful or sad like another mortal. Hi3 thoughts were constantly turned inward, and one could see in his eyes that his soul already belonged to another world. One care only had he for this ; to instil into his sons their mother’s lofty spirit, and to prepare such a fate for them that the workings of that spirit in them might not be oppressed by an overpowering ucight, of worldly misery! He ordered their education accordingly, and dedicated his undivided attention to it; and as he pos iscssed, himself, but little of this Morld’s goods, he doubted not but your father would at least bestow some portion of them upon the descendants of a man from whom he -had obtained all, and whose throne he oc cupied. His entreaties found no way to the prince’s heart. Then you, hiq. only son, ascended the throne. You, at lenst^ he hoped, having received such signal bounty from heaven,' and expecting to become the founder of & race far extending into futurity, would be willing to deserve such grace, by showing some commiseration for the last withering branches of your own stock. But he received no answer to his repeated sup plications; and when at last he attempted to approach your person, your sentinels thrust him back with their halberds. There- fore~bas God sent Jhe destroying angel into your house, whose entrance no sentries can prevent. But I am anticipating my story. Attend!” , -f ! ,.iThe monarch, trembling with fear and agitation, sub^prted himself against the pillar which ^sustained the wide roof. The coffin-maker Avont on with his narration without interrupting, his work. “ Just as my\father received this rude repulse, the had arrived ^rhen my three eldest bro- ) were to entetf tm the -career that he eptkselecM'd. for- them. He called us all jqg’isnrrssagepd,’ said- he, ‘ has determined j^eKe wished.’ Proceeding wws with his circumstances, hri* vonjffl^PWj givelup all ideas of gran deur, and iontflv the humble vocations which he had already made choice of for us. We were silent, because wc,M'ould not distress our father, but the spipt of the departed prince burned in the he: At night we all asc exprcssibjtmward anxiety betrayed to our father what w&s passing. On a sud den he appeared ib the midst of us—as his six sons stood there in a circle, with their daggers raised iii their hands to swear, and their eyes, especially those of the youngest, though he had not completed his fourteenth year, flashing with indignation. Our arms dropped mechanically as he regarded us with a placid look, and our anger died away when ho addressed us ; ‘ Children, have I dedicated ye to the dark deeds of hell! Is every ray of heavenly light from yonder, where your mother beckons ye, extinguish ed in your breasts V Every wrathful feel ing was eradicated as life spoke, and all power of Volition destroyed But in pro portion spirits gre* composed, an in ward feeds’ darned mtoe anl more to ani- matetotor fatli* : his ^cs beamed so bright ly that we durst; scarce look at him ; a spirit of pfophesy came over him, and with a ter rible voice he suddenly exclaim'd—‘ Stain not your hearts and hands! Veageance is His, He will repay !’ It was dear to us, then, that we must leave it to God to judge; and the hands which we had raised to im precate vengeance, were now uplifted to confirm the vow that we would never seek for revenge on the foe who had wronged us in our parents.’’ ^ Without leaving off his work, the coffin- maker stopped a second, as if to give the king time to recover himself-, f 0 r° ho had swooned away. ’ ^ ; Sir,” continued he, “ thc.r^ w?s the youngest. It was latef at night*., separated; I walked ofit into the garden The weather was sultry, and the atmos phere exceedingly oppressive; while the thick darkness was only occasionally re lieved by the< faint glimmer of a distant flash broken lily’s stem, the butterfly with torn wings, and the leafless rose ; and as I en tered the city, the wailings of the people bursted upon my ear, and I learned that the carriage which bore your daughters, three lovely brides, betrothed to three royal bride grooms, had been overturned and dashed 4 down a precipice; and just as I reached the boundary of your parjt, they brought the la cerated corpses of your beloved children up on litters* covered with costly canopies, through the postern entrance. After this, a long period elapsed. Mightily appeared your race to wrestle with the destruction that impeded over it. Powerfully grew your youngest son, a bold hero in the field of slaughter. We celebrated the prince’s nuptial fete. He brought conquests to your country.; his bed was unblessed. Then winter laid both meadow and stream in chains ; all nature reposed ; hut restlessly raged on the fury of mankind in reckless bloodshed. I went out into the dark and deertgreen forest. There was an aspiring fir,To Avhoge^lofty summit I often locked up in admiration of the mighty artizan who had formed so proud a work; its long straight stem * lay extended at the feet of lowly shr^B. Then the voice spake, while I gazo’fl on it full of sorrow—“ Now is the ax<? Aid to the trunk.” Without delay I l«d upon to contj 1 A _ 1 1 ^ V f- "akw benf my steps homeward, and scarcely had I looked on the sculpture of the fallen tem ple-when the joyous cry of victory resound ed through the city; but suddenly every tongue was stilled, and quickly followed the /hen we. direful news, that the crown prince had fal len on the field! Not for his own sake has he aggrandized his kingdom—others will new possess it. Now, Sir, my story is fin ished, and I have no more emblems.” The v . . |*ng cried as if struck with madness. “ And of lightning.-1/at myself dowi^exhausted Jhastthou nocoffinleft for me f» “ Thou wilt in spirit and in bedy^ and Cell asleep. Singu- words which one apparition- had ^ispered to'ine, echoed articulately and intelligibly in my soul. ‘ Gird thyself to prepare the coffins, in which, the unmerciful gticration shalkhc carriefd to the grave !’ lnd as I now (Coserved that I had fallen astep be- neatm^ny favourite rose tree, oj which wereriqx roses, its first bearing, wich had all opened in the day and withereqduring the nightf* I looked upon this as a tjjcen of the certain fulfilment of my vision. ~ “Like my brothers, I relinquish!! my ambitious hopes, and entered the m?.c$mor- ning into: the service cf!a joinedwhoje bu siness I speedily began,to learn.4 acquaint ed nobody wiMtln* vyist circ : #mstanc.e of my dream. I wonfeea»;n4friktigably,**and when my tipte of servitudet^xpired, wander ed about in foreign parts s>eking employ ment as a journeyman. J never gave iny relations any tidings of me for I knew that in obscurity alone could I follow my obscure calling. I obtained reputation as a me chanist ; then . you * appointed me to your city. I knew it must so happen ; but a long time elapsed before I found ’employ ment, so that I had opportunities of inven ting curious ornamental devices for coffins, n« need a coffin,” answered the workman, “ but permit me try the lid ; let, us see if all the parts correspond.” He placed the lid upon the coffin, and examined the work with the scrutinizing eye of a proficient in his art. ~**|kThese figures do not harmonize well,” said he, “ I must chaunt my old bur then once again”; tlms% ill the work be best completed. He san.g£- 4 Behold the pit—by mawof sin A snare for others laid ; But Fate has called^ and sec, within His own death-bed is made ! Then hail! Eternal Power! In whom is placed my trust, I know thy strength in peril’s hour Omnipotent and just! - The king was senseless. Supported a- gainst the bench, he might, have remained a long while in that state. When he came to’tumsclfthe song had ceased, and he was alone in the workshop. ^ The curious coffin stood before him, completely finished. The coffin-maker had disappeared, and from that hour nobody ever saw him again. Brit the prince tfjemainedja Jong while standing be fore thSpbJ&n.; mnd thee looking back up on hisj^past life,* the gloomy recollection rase up in his whirling brain, that one day a memorial was presented to him, and he felt deep Qommisscration for the indigent father al\d his six young sons ; but his cour tiers dissuaded him from affording them re- busincss; but as I said befor tunatc phrase ruined him. How much money was ityou Wflls. . Why, a thousand dollars, if o Mr. Witt True—my memory is getting br Well, l had another neighbour at? A com dealer, Mr. Toms. He hae favorite phrase, which built hima fine 1- several ware-houses, and filled illegal bargain. You excite my curiosity, Mr. AM let me hear it. When I asked him—have y<l thing by your last purchase^/ Yes, indeed, Mr* Witt, a grfcn'l ney, at least a hundred doll time seeing him dejected, what is the matter, Mr. Toms^ seem in good spirits to day ? answer, I have met with a hca\ fifty dollars—a great deal of ill This man began in A small wayj theless, built a fine house, excc houses, and filled them bestc Now which phrase do you lildj The last, to be sure. % However; this Mr. Toms, dftn me altogether, either^ for when he^Q Or for some^ubimB^rtSV&racnt, ways a great deal of^money jvith hj Mr. Gull’s phrase would have - pos ; for Toms was rich, and conic ford it. Since then I have at ‘ time one phrase, at times the othei the occasion. Ah ! Mr. Wittjigive me the lincH and the well filled warehouses. Let us proceed to business—-Mr/ how much money did you want ? A5jl deal of money, Mr. Witt—full a thoi dollars—if you can spare them, r That will do, Mr. Wills. Wl want to borrow from a frit speak like Mr. Toms, whe upon to assist a friend or contnbut^ useful purpose, you shoui|f” Gull. -When v A * rasl and in many an hour olf the night *£ (Kbf» and since then no complaint of their’s worked up my materials tit cmblamaticf l [ nad reached his ear. Now his last son Dissimilation.- love, they put outi man who is desirpus of. pleasin %vorld of care to cojScpal his dtsj woman knows still better how to c\1 Two personq ofteu£st udv for .six i f gether how t6 bubble onje anot last they marry remainder lation. . Promotion• Ithc "nnu- E'very body It suddenly^ coo ]J ed to his pla ^ k At a la, i were enga/, : s. I was offered great prices for] was at rest, enclosed in the narrow coffin, j and aflei rO :—“They are bespoke,” said I,'and buried deep below the earth. The } together,, el ’ ’ ~ 1 ’ king, tired of life, mounted his judgment i fraternal*hug.* its sen own asid^ <c B\it no guilt rests upon room of the bouse.- r. v said the p.^ee, “ I have seen j ther to relinquish life than degrade ourselves of his grandsons, to the topmost ere we resolved ra sculptures, my work “ and must be got ready beforehand, for such work is not to be performed in the hour of need.” Nobody understood me; I a- lone knew what I meant. I was afterwards appointed coffin-maker to your household. Now, thought I, business will begin. But your house’s splendour glowed on with in creasing lustre; your children grew up in strength and beauty; and you were esteem ed the happiest of princes. But the spirit in me spake—“ They must he exalted high that their downfall may be the greater” and I waited patiently for the accomplishment of that, w hich I knew must come to pass. “ It happened that one clear spring day I w'ent out of my w orkshop, ard wandered through the green meadow^ £*ldenly the sky darkened above me^and tuj/hail fell and destroyed the fresh s<jed hat’was just beginning to shoot. Whil\j I /effected on the passing scene, a voice within me said, “ The first things shaif be first sacrinc?^” \ understood this not, but went home ;— then the cry of despair assailed my ears. The twin sons thy wife had first bom thee were gone ; a malignant disorder had quick ly swept them away, both in an hour. Then I thought of the sculpture of the pair of doves offered up in the temple—and I look ed them out and fitted them to the coffin in which your twin sons repose under the cold sod. — “ Years rolled on ; it was summer. I as cended a hill where I was accustomed to quench my thirst with a fresh draught from a lucid spring thai; collected in a stone basin, under the shadow of a lofty beech tree which stood on the skirts of a mountain meadoiv. Far extends the glance from that elevated spot over a flat fertile land, dotted with innumerable cities and villages, the fairest portion of your kingdony But when I had reached the spot, the channel was dry in which the streamlet used to purl, and the bason empty. Then spake the voice—* Now the spring fails.’ I hurried home, and got ready the sculpture of th»> parting mother, for I ivell. knew that soon would your royal spouse decline ; and so it happened. “ The circling years again ro] I stood one day in autumn bert' vorite tree that you planted hand ; and while I ga?sd Av/b a at.its ripening foutt, thd . stc/m j arms and branches j and all the fruit fell off. Thcj^uc^gl the fruit falls.” 1 returqtt^bon mediately to preparedsculpture] ife and shoulders* of the combatants that m a* occasion, on the v parade, a y oun »fa t i|ccr stepped out of the ranks in extreme gitaUon, to complain that he had bbeni^l^d. slighted, passed over, and that he liaaven five years a lie\itenant without being ale to obtain promotion. \ “ Calm yourself,’haid. the Emperor, “ I was seven years lieutnant, and yet you see a man push hiAself forward for all that.” and the youhg officer, these few words, retum- Inecdotes of Napoleon. r « in tJtbs*, two men who nding water quarrelled, t (kistle fell to the ground M each other Avith a most l,lw U1 . ,l,c ’ n.- juugmom! eternal nugq Asr^oon as they were down, seat once again, and commanded those un-1 every man witlim convenient distance rushed teehng counsellors before him, and punish- , to the spot, audn^d the full water buckets ed them. He caused the grand children of with such zeal ai$*&xterity upon the heads his ancestor to be sought for, but none of 1 ’ * ■ - J * them were to be found in his kingdom. They dwelt in foreign countries, in the peaceful enjoyment of domestic happiness, and despised the gifts Avhich he now proffered too late. The name of his race Avas not extinct, but had descended from the princely dignity to the middle station of life. Insanity at length seized on the hapless prince, and when the ocean was raging with its wildest fury around th^ rocks upon which his castle raised its lofty turrets, be threw himself headlong dow n from the battlements into the foaming flood. His corpse was ne ver found ; the coffin maker had said, 1 thou Avilt not need a coffin.’ A boundless ocean swalloAvs up, at last all generations of men —some rise above, some sink low. Ye, who rise, compassionate the sinking, for ye are supported only by the divine mercy. N FROM THE GEORGIA COURIER. A PLEASANT STORY. One day, Mr. Wills, a young beginner, requested of Mr. Witt a loan for a specula* lation which he had in view. Much, he con tinued, Iydo not calculate to make, by the speculation, for in these times one has to be satisfied with small profits, but I must do something, so I may as well content myself Avith a little as nothing at all. This prelude did not please Mr. Witt in the least. What amount may you stand in need of Mr. Wills! A trifle, Mr. Witt, not more than a thousand ^dollars or so. Well sir, replied Mr., Witt, as it is not more 1 will assist 'you Avith pleasure, and to shoAv you that I wish you well I will add something which shall be Avorth at least a thousand dollars more to you.— What could that be Mr. Witt ? Nothing but a little story my friend. I had formerly a neighbour, Mr. Gull, a wine merchant; and a good kind of man ho was. He had the habit of using a certain phrase: that unfortunate phrase ruined him. Sometimes, I Avould ask him, how is it neighbour Gull; have you made any thing by the bargain you Avere completing the o- day ? A trifle Mr. Witt, a merctfrific, y fifty dollars or so. Another ’time I y to him quite a failure to day ; I u are not a loser: no rfof Avorth nien- a trifle—^five hundred dpi Jars or so. I first knew, ibis man he was in s good i ra /‘ less tliag two < minutes they were both upon the r fett, “ as cool a| cucumbers,” and en tirely ffeed from their pugnacious propensi ties.— .Thus should desert in arins be croAvncr.” 1 JL Jlnccdote.—In the Gourt of Oyer andTer- roincr/on Friday last, a bdoker.being under examnation, was asked by one of the coun-- se!*w|ipther he belonged . to the honourab, c°rp*l Ans. I dojjQwJeterminc Avheth it isJfpnourable—-b9pP?ave been a lawyer, and am and don’t think I have >st ka^Brexchange—JY. V F- Paper. Genius.—“ I know of no such thing as -• | Hogarth toMr. Gilbert Cooper: ‘ hing but labor and diligence.” Avion scud himself, “ That if ever hebeen able to do any thing, he had effected it by patient thinking only.” Pride.—If a proud man makes me ke my distance, the comforts he keeps hi the same time—Swift. What Avould be the effect of a poem, line serious, one burlesque, on one and same subject, in tragic and comic altera tion? Would not the reader cry'Avffh dfi/ eye, and laugh Avith the other ? FeAv Avomen would have chosen to marry Newton, or Milton, or. Pops ; no comfort nor rest; always crawling out of bed to note down their night thoughts : {as for Young, he never went to bed until morning. If an unhappy person would not be Avilling to exchange situations with one whom he Idew to be happier, it is not, that he Avould not be glad of many changes in his situar tion; but because he is not willing to lose his consciousness, his individuality; it would be like dying, and living again, without knowing himself. There is something exquisitely delicate-in advertising the elopement of a Wife in rhyme; though it. is not exactly a novel idea to be poetical on such occasions. We read the following in the Flemington (N.) J.) Gazette:— My wife in the fall, uhe packed her goods all, She left me, ahe went in a bluster; Now plainly I say, her debts. Fttnot pay. And you ran your oato risk ifyou-iruat her. SAMUEL Hi SNIPER. J