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POETP.T. SONG OF EMIGRATION. There was heard a song on the chiming sea, A mingled breathing of grief and glee; Man’s voice, unbroken by sighs, wag there, Filling with triumph the sunny air: * Of fresh green lands, and of pastures new, It sang, while the bark through the surges flew. But ever and anon A murmur of farewell Told, by its plaintive tone, That from woman’s lip it fell. “ Away, away, o’er the foaming main!” —This was the free and the joyful strain— ** There are clearer 3kies than ours afar. VVe will shape our course by a brighter star: There are plains whose verdure no foot hath press’d, And whose wealth is ail for the first brave guest.” But alas! that we should go,” Sang the farewell voices then, “ Fiom the homesteads warm and low, By the brook and in the glen.” “ We will rear new homes, under trees that glow As if gems were the fruitage of every bough; O’er our white walls we will train the vine, And sit in the shadow at day’s decline, And watch our herds as they range at will . Through the green savannas, all bright and still.” “ But woe for that sweet shade Of the flowering orchard trees, Where first our children play’d v Midst the birds and honey-bees!” ■“All, all our own shall the forests be, As to the bound of the roe-buck free! None shall say, * Hither, no farther pass!’ e will track each step through the wavy grass! e will chase the Elk m his speed and might, 1 bring proud spoils to the hearth at night.” “But oh! the grey church tower, And the sound of the Sabbath hell, And the shelter’d garden bower— We have bid them all farewell!” gave rise to wish the fit and myself live fifty yi “ Let my wife longer than na ture has designed.” “ It shaft be done” cried fished.—The kingdom of Chu, founded by ill give the names of our fearless race bright river whose course wc trace; leave our memory with mounts and floods, path of our daring in boundless woods, works unto many a lake’s green shore, e Indian graves lay alone before J” hit who will teach the flowers •Vhieh our children loved, to dwell a soil that is not ours 7 —Home, home, and friends, farewell!” DEATH OF MARY. uthor of “ Lines on the Burial of Sir John J»loore. n had thought thou couldst have dj&d, might not weep for thee ; I forgot when bv thy side mortal 5^: • mind had passed, be o’er, id look my last, tie no more. . iace I look, ill smile again; ight I will not brook, J That I IT1U& ,jbk in vain.— . But when I speak thou dost not say l What thou ne’er left’st unsaid; And now I feel—as well I may— Sweet Mary, thou art dead. If thou would’st stay, ev’n as thou art, AU cold, and all serene, I still might press thy silent heart, And where thy smile has been— While ev’n thy chill bleak corse I have, Thou seemest still my own: But there—I lay thee in the grave, And now—I am alone. 1 do not think, where’er thou art, Thou hast forgotten me; And I, perhaps, may sooth thy heart, In thinking still of thee; Yet there was round thee such a dawn Of light, ne’er seen before, As fancy never could have drawn, And never can restore. From the Connecticut Mirror. JAN SCHALKEIS’S THREE WISHES. A DUTCH LEGEND. At a small village in Dutch Flanders,there Is still shown the site of a hut which was an object of much attention whilst it stood, on account of a singular legend that relates to its first inhabitant, a kind hearted fellow who depended on his boat for subsistence, and his own happy disposition for cheerfulness during every hardship and privation. Thus the story goes: One dark and stormy night in winter, as Jan Schalken was sitting with his good natured buxom wife by the fire, he was awakened from a transient dose by a knocking at the door of his hut. He start ed up, drew back the bolt, and a stranger entered.—He was a tall man, but little could be distinguished either of his face or figure as he wore a dark cloak, which he huo con trived to pull over his head, after the fash ion of a cowl. “lama poor traveller,” said the stranger, “and want a night’s lodging. Will you grant it to me.”—“ Aye to be sure, (replied Schalken,) but I am afraid your cheer will be but sorry. Had you come sooner you might have fared better.—Sit down however, and eat what is left.” The traveller took him at 'his word, and after wards retired to his humble sleeping place. In. the morning as he was about to depart, he advanced toward Schalken, and giving him his hand, thus addressed him—“ It is needless for you, my good friend to know who I am ; but of this be assured; that I can.be grateful; for when the rich and pow erful turned me last night from their inhos pitable gatesv you welcomed me as a than ehhuld welcome man, and looked with an eye of pity on the traveller in the storm.— 1 grant you three wishes. Be they what they may those wishes shall be gratified.’ Now 'Schalken did not certainly put much faith in those promises, but still he thought it the safest plan to make trial of them 4 and and accordingly began to consider how he should fix his wishes. He was a man who had few or no ambitious views; and was contented in the way oflife in wMch.he had been brought up. In fact he w as m well sa4 tisfied with his situation, that he hid dot the least inclination to lose a single da* laborious existence; but on the co had a sincere wish of adding a few ye; those which be was defined to live. the stranger.—While Schalken was puzzling his head for a second wish, he bethought himself of a pear*tree which was in his lit tle garden, had been frequently despoiled of its fruit, to the no small detriment of the said tree, and grievous disappointment of its own er.—“ For my second wish, grant that who ever climbs my pear tree shall not have power to leave it without my permission be given.” This was also assented to. Schalken was u sober man, and liked to sit down and chat with his wife of an evening ; but she was a bustling body, and often got up in the midst of a conversation that she had heard ten or twelve times, to scrub the table or set their clay platters in order. Nothing disturbed him so much as this, and he was determin- d if possible, to prevent a repetition of the nuisance. With this object in view he ap proached close to the stranger, and in a low whisper told him his third and last wish ; that whoever sat in a particular chair in his hut should not be able to move out of it un til it should please him so to order. The w di was agreed toby the traveller, who after ».■ >y greetings departed on his tvay.— Years passed on, and his last two wishes had been fully gratified by often detaining thieves on his tree, and the wife in her chair.—The time was approaching when the promise of longevity would be falsified or made mani fest. It happened that the birthdays of the fisherman and his wife were the same. They were sitting together on the evening of the day that made him 79 and Mietje 73 years of age—when the moon that was shining through the window of the hut seemed sud denly to be extinguished, and the stars rush ed down the dark clouds and lay glaring on the surface of the ocean, over which was spread an unnatural calmness, although the skies appeared to be mastered by the winds and were heaving onward with their mighty waves of clouds.—Birds dropped dead from the boughs and the foliage of trees turned to a pale red. All seemed to prognosticate the approach of * 1 death ; and in q tew min utes afterwards sure enough fib came. He was, however, very different from all the worthy^coupfe h 6ar d or fancied of him. He wa s .certainly very thin and had very thin ‘1 air, and very little colour, but he was Well dressed and his deportment that of a gentle man. Bowing very politely to the ancient pair, he told them he merely came to give notice that by right they should have belong ed to him on that day", but a fifty years res pite was granted, and when that period should have expired he would visit them again. He then walked away and the moon and the waters regained their natural ap pearance. For the next fifty years every thing passed on as .quietly as before : hut as the time drew nigh for the appointed ad vent of death, Jan became thoughtful, and he felt no pleasure at the idea of the antici pated visit. The day arrived and death came, preceded by the same horrors as on the for mer occasion.-—“ Well, good folks (said he,) you can now have no objection to ac company me ; for assuredly you both have been hitherto highly privileged, and .have lived long enough.” The old dame wept and clung feebly to her husband, as if she feared they were to be divided after passing away from the earth ort which they had dwelt so long and so happily together. As they passed by Jan’s garden, he turned to take a last look at it, when a sudden thought struck him. He called to death and said, “ Sir allow me to propose something to you. Our journey is a long one, and we have no provisions. I am too infirm or I would climb yonder pear tree, and take a stock of its best fruits with us ; you are active and obliging, and will, 1 am sure, Sir, get it for us.” Death, with" great condescension, complied, and ascending the tree gathered a great number of pears which he threw down to old Schalken and his wife.—At length he determined upon descending, but tohis sur prise and apparent consternation discovered that he was immovable, nor would Jan al low him to leave the tree until he had given them a promise of livmganother half century. They jogged on in the old way for 50 years more, and death came to the day. He was by no means so polite as he formerly had been, for the trick that Schalken had put upon him offended his dignity and hurt his pride not a little.—* Come Jan,* said he, “ you used me scurvily the other day, (Death thinks but little of fifty years,) and I am determined to lose no time—come.” Jan was sitting at the table busily em ployed in writing, when death entered. He raised bis head sorrowfully, and the pen trembled in his hand as he thus addressed him: ;.••• “ I confess that my former conduct to wards you merits blame, but*! have done with such knaveries now, and I have learnt to know that life is of little worth, and that I have seen enough of it. Still, before I quit this world I should like to do all the good I can, and was engaged when you arrived in making a will, that a lad, who has been al ways kind to us, f may receive this hut and my boat. Sutler me to finish what I have begun, and I shall cheerfully follow wher ever you may lead. Pray sit down : in a few minutes my task will be ended.” Death thus appealed to,could refuso no longer, and seated himself in a chair, from which he found it as difficult to rise as he had for merly to descend from the pear tree. His liberation was bought at the expense of an additional fifty years, at the end of which period, and exactly on their birth day, Jan Schalken and his wile died quietly in their bed, and the salt-water flowed freely in the little village in -which they hqd lived long enough fo be considered the father and mo ther of all its'inhabit ants. Thomas Topham—the strong man.—Top- ham was born in London, in the year 1711, and presented the most extraordinary in stance of human strength recordein mo dern times. The first proof he gave of his V/onderful powers, was in pulling against a horse in Aloorfield ; he next lifted a rolling stone of 300 pounds, with his hands only, standing in a frame above it, and taking hold of a chain that was fastened to it. Dr. Hut ton, in his “ History of Derbyshire,” gives this account of him:— When this second Sampson appeared at Derby as a performer in public, at a shilling each, he surprised every one by his feats. This wonderful man in whom were united the strength of twelve, could roll up a pew ter dish of seven pounds, as a man rolls up Chinese Historical Traditions ;—From Tinkowski’s Mission to China, just pub- Leiouchm or Lieou-pie, having been inva ded by the enemy, Koung Ming ordered a stone statue of a man, of the ordinary size, to be set up on the high road by which the hostile army must advance. The statue held in one hand a sword, and in the other a book, the leaves of which were impregna ted with poison. The general of the ene my’s army doming to this spot, and seeing the book open began to read it, and found it interesting. As he frequently put his lin gers to his mouth in order to moisten them, to turn over the leaves more easily, he soon felt the effects of the poison. He attempted to retire, but could not, his coat of mail be ing attracted by the pedestal, which was of loadstone. Enraged at this, he seized the sword which the statue held in the other hand, and struck it. This action proved stiff more fatal to him. The stroke having caused sparks tb fly, they kindled the com bustibles enclosed in the intf rior of the sta tue, the explosion of which killed him. His army terrified at the sudden death of its gen eral was obliged to retreat. On another occasion, the same Koung Ming was encamped opposite to the enemy from which he was separated only by a riv er. Having his camp higher up the stream, he caused straw puppets of the size of life, to be put on board the boats with lighted torches in them. The boats were carried down the stream to the enemy’s camp ; who seeing them full of soldiers, as they imagin ed, discharged many thousand arrows at them ; so that they soon emptied their quiv ers. Koung Ming who had foreseen this, passed the river, and gained a complete vic tory over the enemy, who did not expect to be attacked. a sheet of paper; hold a pewter quart at arms length and squeeze the sides together like an egg shell, lift two hundred weight with his little finger, and move it gently over his head. He broke a rope of about two inches in circumference, which was \Vound round a cylinder of 5 inches in di ameter, having fastened the other end of it to straps thatw<fot over the shoulders. Lif ted an oak table six feet long with his teeth, though half a hundred weight was hung to the extremity, and held it in aliorizonta) po sition for a considerable length of time, st is true the feet of the table rested againlt his knees, but as the length of the table was much greater than its height, that perfor mance required a great strength to be ex erted by the muscles of his loin9, neck, and jaws, besides a good set of teeth. He took Mr. Chambers, vicar of All Saints, who weighed twenty seven stone, and raised him with one hand. His head being laid on a chair, and his feet on another, four people (fourteen stone each) sat upon the body which he heaved at pleasure. He struck a round bar of iron, about a yard long, and three inches in diameter, against his naked arm, and at one stroke bent it like a bow.— He lifted two hogsheads of water; heaved his horse over a turnpikegate ; and carried abeam of a house as soldier would his fire lock. Having once thrust the bowl of a strong tobacco pipe under his garter, his legs being bent, he broke it to pieces by the ten dons of his hams. He broke such another bowl between his first and second finger, by pressing them together sideways. What are. hollows under the arms and hams in others, were filled up with ligaments in him. Topham, once finding a watchman asleep in his box, near Chiswell street, Moorefields, he took both, and carrying the load with the greatest ease, at length dropped the watch man and house oerer the walls of Tindalls burial ground, and while he was at Derby, he was insulted by the ostler at the Virgin’s Inn, and he took one of the kitchen spits from the mantle piece and bent it round the ostlers neck like a handkerchief; but as he did not choose to tuck the ends in the ostler’s bosom, the cumbrous ornament excited the laugh of the company till ho condescended to untie his iron cravat. Topham was in height nearly 5 feet 10 inches, well made, but nothing singular ; he walked with a small limp. He had former ly laid a wager,the usual decider of disputes, that three horses could not draw him from a post which he should clasp with his feet— but the driver giving them a sudden lash, turned them aside, and the unexpected jerk, broke his thigh. 0 At the time of his/(bath which happened on the tenth of Aug^sf, 1749, he kept a pub lic house in Hog Lai>e, Shoreditch. Hav ing had, two days before, a quarrel with his wife, he stabbed her-in the breast and imme diately gave himself several wounds which proved fatal to him'; but his wife recovere rain, to stop at a farm house on the way. The master of the house was a clergyman, who, to a poor curacy, added the care of a few scholars, and gamed in all about 80/. a year, with which he had to maintain a wife and six children. When the duke alighted, the clergyman, not knowing his rank, begged him to come in and dry himself. His excellency accept ed the offer, borrowed a pair of old worsted stockings and slippers, and otherwise war med himself by a good fire.—After some conversation, the duke observed an old chess board hanging up; and as he was passionately fond of that same, lie asked the parson whether he could play ? His host answered, that he could tolerable, but found it difficult in that part of the country to find an antagonist. “ ll’in your man,” says the duke. .** With aft my heart,” rejoins the par son ; “ and if you’ll stay and take pot luck. I’ll try ifl can’t beat you.” The day still continued rainy, the duke accepted his offer when the parson played so much better, that he won every game. The duke far from fretting at this, was highly pleased to meet a man who could give him such entertain ment at his favourite game. He according ly inquired into the state of his family affairs; and just taking a memorandum of his host’s address, without discovering his title, thank ed him, and left him. Some months pa ssed over without the clergyman thinking any thing of his visiter ; when one evening a footman in a laced live ry rode up to the door, and presented him with the following billet: “ The Duke pf Nivernois’ compliments wait on the Rev. Mr.'———, and as a re membrancer for the good drubbing he re ceived from him at chess, and the hospitality he showed him on alateoccasion,hegsthathe will accept of the living of (worth 400/ a year,) and wait on His Grace the Duke of Newcastle, on Friday next, to thank him for the same.” It was some time before the honest par son could imagine the letter any thing more than a joke, and he was not for going to town to wait on the premier ; hut his wife insisting on his making the trial, he came to London, and to his unspeakable satisfaction found the contents o f the note literally true. Duke of JYivt'rnois.—AY hen (he Duke of Nivernois was ambassador to England, lie* *h£s was going down to Lord Townsend’s seaft h in Norfolk, on 9 private visit; quite in disha- c: bille, and with only one servant; when he in/*his . was obliged, from a very heavy shower of all foat'remaiued All for Love—Paris, June 25.—The fol lowing horrible crime, the effect of disap pointed love, and jealousy, has just been committed in the neighbourhood of Toulon. A young man named Augustus Toulousan, residing at Sollies Pont, in the arrondisse- ment of Toulon, had for a long time back carried on an illicit intercourse with a girl named Adelaide S——, to whom it is said he had made a promise of marriage. His family, however, who were averse to his u- nion with Adelaide S. had induced him to pro pose for another girl in the neighbourhood. The circumstances coming to the ears of his mistress, she wished to be assured of the truth of it from his own lips, and on the 12th of this month she sent a person to him, to request that he would call upon her at eight on that evening. At the hour appointed she was at the window, and on seeing her love approach, she ran down to the door. Tou lousan, however, instead of coming to her, stopped at the door of a neighbouring house, and sat down near a young girl, the friend and confident of the young woman to whom he was going to be married. He affected to enter into a very animated conversation with her, and seemed to delight in exciting the jealousy of his mistress, who with fixed eyes and haggard air, stood looking at him du ring the two hours he remained thus tor menting her.—-At ten o’clock he returned home, without having Once approached or addressed a word to his mistress. Toulou san fastened the door of his house ; but in the wall close by was an aperture, sufficient to admit a moderate sized person, which was closed only by a large stone on the out side. It is supposed that about eleven Ade laide S. repaired to his house, armed with a razor, removed the stone that closed the aperture in the wall, ascended to his room and cut his throat. In her flight down stairs after the horrid act she dropped the razor and one of her shoes, and let herself out by the front door of the house, which was se cured only by a wooden bar. The uhfortunate Toulouson started from his sleep and made to the window, to call for succour. His stifled and inarticulate cries resembled the bowlings of a ivild beast, at least such was the description of them given by the neighbours. Finding, it would appear, that he could not produce an articu late sound to call his father, whose room was on the opposite side of a little yard, he threw his woollen night-cap at bis father’s window, but this not awakening him, he descended the staircase, holding his throat with both his hands. In this way he went through the stable, and through a yard to another part of the premises, where his bro ther and his wife slept, the blood flawing abundantly from his wound, and tracing his progress the whole way. His lamentable cries, or rather frightful howling, awoke his brother and wife, but they thinking,it to be some wild beast, h arricadoed, instead *of opening their door, and began to cry for succour themselves. Toulousan continued for sopm time knocking at the doqir, and uttering inaKjdpng late sounds that served only to terrify still more his brother and sister-in law. He at length descended the staircase that led from their room, but his hands no longer sufficing to stop the blood that rushed from his wound his throat, he staggered and fell upon the e staircase. At this moment of the neighbours, who the knocking and cries, was foe mutilated dead body of his son, in a state of perfect nudity, and surrounded with blood!—The father dropped senseless on the body, . At ten o’clock in the morning, the proper authorities were informed of the circumstane. Adelaide S. was arrested. There was found in her room a handkerchief stained with blood, with which she is supposed to have enveloped part of the razor while commit ting the crime, and a stocking, the vamp of whit h was covered with mud. The shoe found on the staircase, near Toulousan’s room fitted exactly one of her feet. Brought into the room, where the body of her lover was exposed, she appeared to be yielding to a fit of hysterics, hut at the first question put to her by the Magistrate, she recovered herself, and looked on with dry eves. m Caledonian method of teaching JV/ustc.—— A Highland piper having a pupil to teach, disdained to rack his brains with the names of semibreves, minimi, crotchets, and qua vers. “ Here, Donald lad, gie’s a blast! so, so—vera weel blawn mun; but what’s - sound, Donald lad, without sense ? Ye may blaw, an blaw for aye, without maken a tune o’t, gin I dinna tell ye how thae queer things on the paper maun help ye. Ye see that big fallow wi’ a round open face,”— pointing to a semibreve between the two lines of a bar—“ He moves slowly frae that line to this, whiles ye boat ane wi’ yere fit, and gie a long loud blast. Gin ye’s pit a fit till him, ye make twa’ o’hirn, and he’ll rauve twice as fast.—Gin ye black his face, he’ll rin four times faster than the fallow wi* the white face ; but gin, after blacking his face, ye’ll bend his knee, or tie his legs, he’ll hop eight times faster than yon chap I showed ye first.—Now, whene’er ye blaw yere pipes, Donald, mind ye this, that the faster ye tie these fallows’ legs, the quicker they maun dance, and the faster they’ll be sure to rin !—Atlas. One evening at Malta, while nnjoyiqg my segar at Mickliffe’s Cafe, in the Sirade Tea* tro, I was much amused by a young exqui site, but lately imported, and who was laced and buckled up in all the paraphernalia of a modern dandy, militaire in de Sance, the thermometer at 82, and siroc wind, hot enough to have thrown even his Satanic majesty into a fever. Indeed the dandy’s countenance exhibited symptoms highly fe brile—though I was rather inclined to im pute them to the apoplectic effect of corsets. “ Waiter,” exclaimed he with an infantile lisp, and throwing himself carelessly on a bench, “ bring me a lobster’s claw/and ice, with fifteen drops of champalgne in it.” The master of his majesty’s ship : » } af. rough a tar as ever spliced.* maiitbrace, came in just at the time foe exquisite dtrtk. vered his precise demand, qnd eveiug the dandy with a, look of the most'profound contempt, roared in a voice as .hoarse rowl of Seber, “ Waiter, brii ass’s hind leg, and a tumbler Let every .Man mind his own Business.— Of all things, deliver us from the man who attends to his neighbour’s business and leaves his own at loose ends. A meddling body is a torment to a neighbourhood, and not much comfort to himself; for, continu ally interfering with that which is none of his business, he subjects himself to the just reproof of those he would thrust his gratui tous services upon.' It matters not whether it be in religion, or politics, or the common concerns of domestic life, let every man at tend to his own business, and then every man’s business will be attended to. Advice comes soon enough when asked, and no man likes to have his neighbour’s nose gra tuitously poked into his family concerns or his out of door business, or his manner of thinking upon any subject; all believe it is their privilege to do what they think fit in their own premises, and to do it in their owu way.—The man who interferes with the business of others, almost always ne glects his own; and while doing that which no man thanks him for, not unfrequently permits his family to come to wanh No man, who strictly attends to what interests him, will have time or inclination to manago the 'concerns of his neighbours/; he will pursue his own course, and suffer others to do the same '; he will hie generous enough to believe other folks know something as well as himself. It is intolerable to be con tinually bored, in this way, in the most tri vial every day business of life. What is it to me if my neighbour permits his cucum ber vines to run on the ground, instead of furnishing them with bushes as I do—or rubs his razor on an old book cover instead of a metallic strap—or prunes his fruit trees with a coarse or a fine saw ? What right have I to find fault with the dress or educa tion of his family ?—with the colour of his hat dr the cut of his coat? And if lie built a house, does it concern me whether it front north *or south—or whether it be large or small, convenient or inconvenient? if it does not—if it be my neighbour’s right to consult his own taste in these matters, let us yield him his right: and when dipping our fingers into other people’s porridge dishes, we chance to get them scalded, let it teach us to mind nobody’s business but our own.—Warren Star. / I cam 1 a Mft. fifteen drops of water in it 1” The jSSSH ire seemed about to rise, but his eve hap- pened to glance on a trusty piece of timber, (about two feet and a half long, and efeht inches in circumference,} which soundings always carried, and facetiously denomina ted his “ tooth pick,” he thought it prudent to bridle his wrath, and contented feftnifeif by elevating his eye-brows, and lisping in an under tone, “ O quel barbuer. 1 ” Hill I m m mM