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gg Tol. IV. .MU3C®®!£|g DEIMOORATr, AND MERCANTILE ADVERTISER. By Andrews A Griswold. Corwtr of Randolph and Broad streets , ( up-slairs J COLUMBUS, C>a. TERMS. THREE HOLLARS per mnum-in advance. Twa eopiea for $5, “ Tan aopies for S'JO “ Two dollars, for nix month.. “ CT All I .attars must be free of postage, except where Btaeejr is enclosed. 1 “-Mi—-?”" 1 ... -i - * ‘ 2$ Unrtttf®* Autumn. [Translated from the French of M. Lamartine.] Welcome, ye trees, in dying verdure clad, Weeping your golden tears on all below; Ilail, lovely autumn days, whose aspect sad, Delights my sight and softens all mv wo. With thoughtful step, in lonely woodland path, I love to mark the year’s retreating form ; When, sombre as the mournful shades of death, The sun’s veil'd rays scarce tell the approach of, morn. Yes! in these autumn days, when nature dies— Her glory gone—all beauteous things I see ; The farewell of a friend, the last low sighs That waft Irom dying lips the last sweet smile to , roe. So, ready from the shore of life to spring, Weeping for summer days of hope long past, I still look hack, with envy’s poignant sting, And view departed joys, which yet no joys pos sessed. Earth , sun, vales, nature,beautiful and fair, For you, on death’s dark verge, a tear l’il shed ; So lovely is the light, so pure the air, That shines and breathes around the dying head. Yet to the dregs this cop of life I'll drain, This mingled cop of nectar and of gall; Still, in its depth till hidden, may remain One drop ol life, to compensate for all. Perchance, all .-brooded in futurity, Some bliss, by hope unseen, l may descry ; Perchance, some sister soul my soul may see, To read my spirit with a kindred eye. The flower resign;, its perfrm.eto the gate, Breathing its last sweetness ere it die; My soul exhales in sorrow, like the wail Ol some low strain of mournful melody. She Never Smiles. She never smiles—no happy thought I.ights up iter pensive eye: The merry laugh, from lip to lip, Passes unheeded by. Frozen forever,, in her heart, That sparkling fount of gladness; And o’er it pours in rapid liood, The ebon wave of sadness. She never smile.-—has frowning Grief With his stern magic hound her ? lias Cere, her long, lean linger raised, To cast her fetters round her ? Has one so young, the lesson learned, That, love is olt betrayed ? Ah, no! she never smiles because, Her front teeth are decayed. From ilie Home Journal. THE Li WE STATUE. 1Y MISS MKTTA V. FULLER. CH AFT IS ft I. A stAlt —a dream—a passion-flower—was Beautiful Nina Forrest ! A poet —a thrilling and exalted one—was her father: a wild arid radiant creature —such as those that sometimes make us say, ‘surely angels (brill us with their presence yet,’—was her mother: Italy, pas eionate Italy, was her birth-place—starry skies and whispering winds, and rare, bright flow ers were her companions—a lute was her idol —a marble place- hid away iu the loveliest val ley that the burning skies oflier native land ev er looked upon, was her home. It was midnight. What had Nina to do with sleeping dreams, in that still and beautiful hour? It was now that her cheek grew crimson and her heart throbbed feverishly, and her whole being quivered with the intenseness of unutter able emotions, answering back, silently, the murmur of die waves that flowed brightly by her home, the tremble of rich starlight, the per fume of orange flowers, the dim, deep, awe inspiring shadows of distant mountains, and the wild faint whisper of the caressing wind. She leaned from the balcony of her chamber, and looked up, drcamingly, to the silver sapphire sky, with her large, black, spiritual eyes. Rich, curving lashes laid back till they met the deli cate arch of her white brow : thick Iresses of ebon hair rippled like shining waves around her form : a rare, soft color waved in her young cheek : a trembling eloquence was upon her restless, crimson lip. A wanderer and adventurer, who had stray ed into the valley, was hidden amid die shad ows of Nina’s bower. With breathless eager, ness his fine head was inclined forward, and his dark, gray eyes deepened and burned as he gazed upon the surpassingly beautiful vision that, like the personification of an exquisite dream, leaned gracefully upon the marble bal ustrade. ‘Oh 1 Venice ! Venico !’ he murmured, * how would your enthusiastic throngs grow mad with delight te look upon the image of one so incon ceivably lovely. A world’s applause and a deathless name would he win, whoeonlH mould the pulselees marble iato the likenees es aught so beautiful. Kim Perreet, the peasants t. !I me that ie your aame ; you mint he we:t, must be the brito of Lauren* Delano : not that there is moot in my wild heart to lovo, as those eyn tall Me you would love, my sou! is given up to “AS LITTLE GOVERNMENT AS POSSIULE ; THAT LITTLE EMANATING FROM AND CONTROLLED BY THE PEOPLE, AND UNIFORM IN i’TS APPLICATION TO ALL.” ambition, to a hope of immortal fame : but that I may m >u!d from that exquisite form and radi ant features, a creation of stone that shall win me immortality!’: . With a throbbing pulse and eager gaze, he watched the maiden till her head drooped gent ly upon the snowy arm resting on the balus trade, Hie mirk-fiTtlgcd lids closed slowly over her starry ejes, the breath swelled softly and evenly in her beautiful bosom : she was asleep. Silently and cautiously the young sculptor crept from the orange-bower, and with feat less daring climbed up by- the vines and pillars, till he stood beside the fair slumherer upon the. balcony. Ihe rich moonlight lay like a spiritual day upon the earth and in the air. He bent silent ly over the living vision of beauty, and mused upon her bewildering loveliness; while his spirit thrilled, not with love, nor a sense of bliss, but with the thought of the fame he would win, if he succeeded iu transferring those per fect proportions to marble. The crimson of excitement had gone down from her lily cheek, and left it clear and while; and every lovely feature was perfect in its sweet repose. Laurens Delano knelt down by the sleeper, and taking her small, soft hand in his, he press ed it passionately to his bosom. With a sigh ing breath and parted lips, the young girl un closed her large eyes, with a slow flash of sur. prise, upon the stranger at tier feet. Ambition is almost as strong an incentive as j love ; in a low and eloquent voice, he inutmur- j ed wild, broken expressions of admiration and endearment: angel-dream and star-vision, and sweet, living reality, he called her : as the plan et of Ids destiny, he addressed her: should that destiny be wild and mad as the thunder storm, or sweet ami placid as a night when the eve ning-slar was queen of the jeweled sky ? All this was in glowing Italy, where love springs instantaneously into perfect existence. It Nina Forrest was gifted with the passionate sensibility which makes the eye swim and dark en with tears, the cheek flush, and the lip quiv er with tlie unspoken emotion called up by a passing form of nature’s loveliness, how would her wild young sail it respond to these, lir.t words, of passion that had ever fell upon her ear! The yearning of her spirit and the thrilling of her heart found a bewildering and sweet ut terance in the language of another addressed to 1 herself; and her sou! yielded instantly to its fascination. The dark ringlets of Laurens Delano min gled with the raven curls of Nina; his warm breath was on her forehead : and trembling like a frightened bird, she nestled to his bosom, and in wild warble of broken music breathed out her timid ami delicious joy. Three nights from then, and she threw herself into the arms ol her lover, and went with him to the distant home, leaving the starry bowers and marble halls of her parent’s palace lonely, niounilu! and desolate. CHAPTER 11. The sculptor, Laurens Delano, was pacing with a hasty step to and fro through his studio. The implements of his art were scattered a round, and a statue, nearly finished stood on a pedestal. It was evidently intended as a like ness ofl.is wife, but it did not please him; he was impatient. It lacked the expression of pas sionate spirituality, the elhoral delicacy and yet ieivor of her beauty, the rare and ineffable love liness of her features. It was very beautiful, but it was not the perfect embodiment of the im age in his mind : it was not such a creation of genius as would crown his brow with an im perishable wieath of glory. He was vexed and excited almost to madness, to think that his hand should fail to execute what his mind conceived : he laughed bitterly at his want ol success, and stamped his feet upon the floor in anger. Suddenly a sffange thought entered his troubled breast, and calmed his fretful mood. His brow burned, and his fine lip curled with an exulting smile. No one had been permitted to behold his bride : he had kept her entirely secluded, that none might know but that his master-piece was an ideal creation. Herself should personate the marble form he wished to sculpture : she should be a living statue tha* would win him immortality. He had heard of a subtle and curious potion to be procured in Venice that would suspend all appearance of life for three days. For three days, then, should his exhibition-room be open, and his beautiful bride should mock the gaze of admiring throngs with her rare and ravishing loveliness. It was true, there was a risk in the wild attempt, she might die in her long trance, and his soul be stained with a fearful crime : but he loved her ; only that she promised to bring glory to his brow, and even death, when weighed in the balance with fame, was found wanting. While the sudden thought yet thrilled from his soul to his fingers, he applied himself to his purpose. First, he carved out a pedestal in the fashion of a balcony, whose balustrade, covered with vines and flowers, should conceal all of her form but her exquiste bust. Then he fashion j ed a light and graceful coif with flowing waves i of hair, that should corer her own raven tresses, i Then purchased the subtle draught. | Nina was reclining on a heap of cushions in a 1 dim, cool, pleasant apartment, whose perfumed air was musical with the murmur ofa fountain, and whoso octagonal sides were of trellis, work shadowed v;!lh luxurious foliage. It was morn, ing. By liar sido. upon the floor, was u silver j salver holding fruit and a goblet of wino. fiipfdng from the goblet, sho waited for hor I husband. Ho canto; and asking her if the j wine wits pleasant, he sat by her sido and held her hand. AND MERCANTILE ADVERTISE!!, COIiUIIIBIJS, Gr corgi a, Thursday Evening - , November 23, IS-IS. ‘Laurens! do you love me, Laurens?’ she asked, raising her large eyes to his face with a smile. ‘ I feel so dreamy and pleasant, and all in a thrill of strange sensations. I should like j jto hear your low, deep voice, whispering l its dear eloquence in my fascinated ear. Hold J my head apainsi your bosom, while I sleep and : dream of you.’ The sculptor took the bright being in his arms, and smoothed down her silken hair; ca ressing her and murmuring sweet woids of ten demos. as if all his soul was melting into love and flowing out in his low, impassioned -tones; gazing down, all the while, with deep, intense eyes into her radiant face. A soft languor weighed down the fair eye-lids j of the young wife, but a radiant smile hovered’ around her lips, replying to his caresses. With that beautiful smile still lingering over j her rare countenance, she sank into a deep, deep sleep. One would think her.not living, so motion- j less grew her bosom, and so perfectly colorless and marble-like her face. Laurens Delano gazed upon bar for a long ] time after this strange trance had crept over her j vita! energies : gazed as if he could not take a- j way his eyes from the exquisite loveliness of the still, white form he held. Then he pressed a ! burning kiss upon the pallid forehead of his bride j and bore her from the room. CHAPTER 111. Throng after throng of eager visitors poured 1 into the room of the sculptor, to behold the gem j of art: the rare master-piece, the triumph of his j profession—the Sleeping Maiden of Laurens De- j iano. Some .gazed in breathless admiration, as if a; tone would waken that perfect form to life: some j murmured low exclamations of surprise and dc- j light : some burst into raptures of applause, and cast wreaths and costly gifts at the feet of the j sculptor, who sat, apparently heedless of every thing else, leaning his hand upon the object of; his triumph. There was the Sleeping Maiden, with her rounded and polished arm twined about j a slender column, and her beautiful head droop ing upon the arm. One could almost see the smile creep out and dimple around her small, i sweet mouth, and the white bosom swell with a living heart. Never before was marble, moulded imO niiytfiiltg'so spiritual, so delicately. Strange as it may seem, though Laurens De lano had clasped that fair creature in all the ra-. diance of life to his breast, with scarcely an emo- ! tion of tenderness, yet now that he saw her there, still and white and mute, he. loved her with a wild, deep fervor. It seemed to him that his j hands had moulded that lovely form : that she ; was, in reality, the creation of his mind: the j embodiment of his gonitis. And as this, he loved j her: he began to wish that she had life: had j the power to love, and answer unto the vague, j yearning of his soul. He forgot that she was a j reality ; that she would wake from this deep i J trance after a lapse of many hours. His check j . flushed at the praise of the crowd, and he felt [the laurel wreath upon Ii is brow: but lie was | | not satisfied : fame was not the bewildering an- i j gel he had deemed it: then, even in the moment j ; of his fullest triumph, came the yearning for ai j being like that statue, to share in his glory.— And motionless almost as it, lie sat through the 1 first day, never turning his deep eyes from that form. All that night, with the dim light of a solitary lamp falling over it, he gazed upon it; and when the throng was admitted the next morning, they j found him sitting iu the same position that he occupied on the preceding day. Home smiled, : and remarked about his conduct, but he did not ; heed them. There was another person present, who was as wrapped tip in admiration of the statue as the sculptor. All through the hours for exhibition, on both days, he remained not far from Signor Delano, completely and intensely absorbed in the beauty of the statue. Me was a young American, a poet: with a pale, intellectual coun tenance and mournful, proud, large eyes. He, too, loved what he deemed to be a lifeless form of marble : worshipped it because was the ideal of all the beautiful images in his soul. The third and last day of the exhibition ar rived : the sculptor and the poet were side by side :so close, that each might hear tbo throb bing of the other’s pulse. The room was crowd- i ed with visitors: all eyes were bent upon the, sleeping maiden : a breathless hush filled the j apartment; they fancied they could see the rosy j tint shoot up into her cheek : it seemed so real.! And reality it was, it was no fancy. The strain-: ing eyes ot Laurens Delano marked that color, 1 and as a comprehension of the truth forced it- j self, at last, upon his mind, a wild gasp shivered j up from his bosom. He would have rushed to ; the statue, and dropped the curtain over the niche ; where it stood: lie would have cleared the crowd- j ed room before it was too late, but he had no ; power to rise. More earnest and intense grew every gaze : i more deathly the stillness, that was btoken with ! no sound, save the quick, fluttering breath of the multitude. Softly the bosom of the statue be- j gau to heave : the lips parted :“a , warm glow stole over it3 cheek : the long lashes quivered on their crimson resting-place : the white lids slow ly unclosed: the dark, soft eyes of the vision rest ed on the spectators : l Oh heavens ! where am I ?’ she exclaimed. Theso words aroused the poet. Ho sprang j to her side, took the form from the pedestal, and, before the astonished crowd had moved a finger, ho disappeared through a private entrance. At that moment. Delano fell upon the floor in mighty convulsions ; his strong nature was a wreck. There was no groan, no gasp, no sigh ; 1 the crimson lifo.torront gushed out over his while I | lips. Ho was dead ! rnArrua tv. Mwy thousand miles away from the studio of the sculptor: Nina and ( ’hire Mather worn I silently blessing each other, with the power of their love. Though their home wss in the chilly North, yet Nina blossomed mu re sweetly than anv o’; the rare exotics which surrounded her. A ric h glow of sunset stole blushingly through cu. tains j i of crimson silk, and, creeping over the eostli carpet, rested lovingly over the radiant form of the beautiful Italian. She was sitting on a heap u’lSawliions, with her Into in her” lap, and her bright head resting upon the knee of her poet husband. With a wild and bewildering sweet ness, her dainty fingers swept over the strings ot her lute, and her voice gushed out iu tones whose exquisite melody were eloquent of love; and over as she sang she raised her large, soft, passionate eyes to meet (he fond, deep gaze of | her husband ; and her bright cheek dimpled with j ja beautiful smile as his loving fingers thridiled j j hor black, flowing hair. Nina had learned to! * speak our language, hut she chose to sing in her i j own beautiful tongue : and, doubtless, the words 1 j f her song were very sweet, for the heart of the : poet throbbed quicker at her music, and his face j | was eloquent of happiness, as she laid aside her j | lute, and he drew her, tenderly, close to his side | j on the sinking velvet of the sofa, j And as the crimson gleams of sunset stole out jas silently as stars, and the dim, dreamy j shadows of night came in, the poet and his bride j : sat together, while the faint murmur of words of | tenderness crept softly through the pleasant a- j ! partmont. Days without Nights mid Nights withoat Days. Dr. Rail’d in his lecture at Hartford, Conn., j , gave some interesting facts. There is nothing j strikes the stranger more forcibly if he visits ] ; Sweden at the season of the year when the j j days are the longest than the absence of the ! | night. Dr. lb had no conception of it before j his arrival. He arrived at Stockholm from ! | Gottenburg, 400 miles distant in the morning, I \ —had not taken notes of time—and returned at | j midnight; it was light as it is here half an hour i before sundown. You could see distinctly!— j j But all as quiet in the streets. It seemed as if! j the inhabitants had gone away or were dead, j iNo signs of life—stores closed. The sun in ! June goes down in Seockholm a little before \ j ten o’clock. There is a great illumination all ! night, as the sun passes a round the earth to- j wards the-north pole, and tiie refraction of iays , .err. ik.. , u can ~ elo •,, an ui lYiiUingnu— ‘ 1 Dr. lb read a letter in the forest at Stockholm, ! at midnight, without artificial light- There is a ! mountain at the head of the Gulf ot Bothnia, where, on the 21st of June, the sun does not go i down at all. Travellers go up there to see it. A | j steamboat goes up fiom Stockholm for the pur- I ; pose of carrying those who are curious to wit. J ■ ness the phenomenon. It only occurs one j : night. The sun goes down to the horizon, you can see the whole face of it, and in five minutes j j it begins to rise. At the North Cape, “5 deg., the sun docs j not go down for several weeks. The way the j people know that it is midnight, they see the | sun rise. The changes in those high latiitudes j j from summer to winter, are so great that we l can have no conception of them at alb In the i winter time, the sun disappears, and is not seen for five or six weeks. Then it comes and j i shows its face. Afterwards it remains for ten fifteen, or twenty minutes, and finally it docs ! i not sot at all, hut makes almost a circle around ! the heavens. Dr. Rail’d was asked how they managed in regard to hired persons and what they considered a day ? He could not say. hut supposed they worked by the hour, and ; and twelve hour- would be considered a day’s : work. Birds and animals take their accustomed rest at the usual hours. The doctor did not know how they learn the time, but they had, and goto rest whether the sun goes down or not. The hens take to the trees about seven o’ cluck, p. in., and stay there until the sun is well up in the morning, and the. people get into the j habit of late rising too. The first morning i)r. Baird awoke in Stockholm, ho was surprised to seethe sun shining into his room. He looked ; at his watch, and found it only ft o’clock ; and the nexl time he awoke, it was 5 o'clock, but there were no persons ill the streets. Tiie peo ple are nut in trie habit of rising so soon. The ! people are not iu the streets. The Swedes in j the cities are not industrious, owing, probably, i to the climate. A Singular Story.—The last Glasg 0 "’ I News tells a strange tale of one of the early s et ” ; ; tiers ol Saline county, (Mo.) lie was a Krone* 1 * | man, who about twenty years ago, became di s * j ! satisfied with the prospects before him and kd l j | his w ile and daughter, lo seek other means of j j mending his fortune. For several years, the wife and daughter a- I waited his return, till even e.ffecvbut compol- ■ | led them to believe him dead. They struggled i ! long in poverty, until the daughter grew to w.o ----i manhood, and married as also d;.l ihr mother— brjth of them remaining in .straightened rireimi stances. Last week, however, an cl ! gray 1 headed man went to the humble dwelling of the daughter, and after surveying her with deep emotion for a few moments, said, ‘Do you know the name of your father 1’ To which she replied by giving it. ‘Then,’ said he, I am your father.’ After their mutual greetings he brought in two hags of gold, containing 940,- 1 00b and gave them to his daughter, and nfftred her husband the best farm ho could find in the neighborhood. He knew his dtnghter by s ! sear on her forehead, from a wound received when a child. Never find fault tvlth jltls, very young girl* In particular, ll’lhey aie docid. and romps ; but be iLnuklul that they have the health mid spirit! < for romping, (letter be a romp, than havo a ! iimrow rliesl ami a flushed cheek. THE IGIAD-LF ITER OFF H. ’ j The 21 >nr Jjurn u says„tbe story „( Ad'ie ; Barron, which turns upon some missim: letters. I has brought to mb and an incident t inted by Frank .Granger as baling occurred while he was at the head of the- first-OTidfirdeffiftw** incut. A letter was one day received from the postmaster of a town in New Jersey, en closing a letter very old and covered w iiii tiy i specs in every part, except where tape haJ pas. ; sed over it, indicating that it had been for a long time placed in the paper or card-rack of some | bar-room or shop. The superscription, if there j I hail ever been anv, had entirely’ faded away— I Ihe postmaster wrote that he had found it in 1 I his letter-box, and had tried in vain to discover j i who had deposited it there, in order thai it j j might receive a proper direction, as it uppar- j ently contained money. As it had nut been ad i vertised, it was not, in strictness, a dead-letter, j | but he sent il to the department in order that they might dispose of it. The Fos’master-Gen ! oral took tiie responsibility of opening it, and found that it was dated at Philadelphia iu the j year 1821, (twenty years before) and inclosed a twenty.dollar hill of the United States Rank. !It was addressed by a man to his wife at a | small village not far from the post office, where ! the letter was found, informing her that (the j writer) should start for home in two or three | days ; but that, as iiis brother was about to to leave for home, he took advantage of the j opportunity to send her by him the enclosed j sum of money wherewith to make preparations ! for an approaching wedding. The I’ostniaster-General caused a letter to be written to the address ol the writer, inform j ing him of the circumstances. In the course ofa week, a reply was received from a female ! who stated that the writer of the letter was i her father, and the one to whom it was addres i ed was her mother, both of whom were dead; j that, twenty years before, on the eve of her own wedding, she, remembered that her father > : and uncle had quarrelled, the former having j been led. from some supicious circumstances, ;to discredit the latter’s assertion that he had 1 „ h'st a letter.qgntainjng money entrusting lo liis care, and insinuated that lie had appropriated the amount to his own use. The consequence : was, that all intercourse between the families ! had from that time been suspended, and that ! she should immediately write to her uncle and cousins, who were still living at a distance, to beg that the intercourse and friendship so long 1 interrupted might lie resumed ; the discovery i ol this letter having satisfied her of what she had long suspected, that her father was wrong, 1 and relieved her mind from a weight of painful . anxiety. Whether any further clue to the manner iu. which the letter had arrived at the oft: e at so : lute a period was ever ascertained, is not known [the probability is, that the letter had 1 nph’h. ed up at or near some country tavern < n the road, and was placed, with the variety of busi ness cards anJ miscellaneous papers which u sually ull the tapes over the mautelpie ot udi a place, and there it had remained f; :n year to year, perhaps concealed from notice by oth -ler papers and letters, until, on a c.iange c landlords, or an improvement of the i. u ■, the : landlord had disposed of it by depositing it in the nearest postofficc. Kkkfinc cr With thr Fashion- —Mu, can j 1 go and hear the negro serenade!* to- ; night ?’ ‘No, my dear, I cannot think ofletting you g<> j 1 to any such performances.’ ‘\Vhy,Ma, every body goes to hear them, they i sing such comic songs, and tell all sort- of fun ny stories ; you can’t help laughing it!! the j ; time. Idp wish you would let me go.’ ‘You must not urge me, Charley, for i noci • , throw away money on fellows who go nbuui i | disguised as negroes, singing silly snugs, the!! ; have no tendency, and (citing more siily .•.'or: ■ : that are not calculated to improve the mltnf. j lint rather ‘o do hurt. And more than ibis, ! j ; do not believe thai any of the better class of so. j eiety visit the concerts.’ ‘indeed, Ma. then you are grandly mistaken, ‘ for 1 heard Judge Brown’s boys say that they j : were there with their father and sisters, and F ! saw Mr. Jones, my Sabbath school teacher, go t iin last evening ; and I was in the store to-day i j where they sell tickets ami the minister of the : Brook street Church, came in ar.d purchased : three or four to take his family.’ ; ‘Are you sure about all you tell me Char, j ley.’ i *A r es, Ma ; and Mr Smith remarkrd when he sold ilie tickets, that the concerts were attended ’ by very fashionable audiences.’ j ‘Well, that alters the case some; you nay go and tell your sister Angelica to dress for tfw’ i concert, and i will accompany you ; I believe ; there is nothing but a prayer meeting et our j elmrch to-night. We must keep *up with the fashion 1’ | Thr Difference.—- -When a poor loafer i? j keeled up, with nn empty rum bottle hy his side ] the papers say,—‘Another victim ofintemper- I nnee.’ When a reapecatble citizen eats a din j ner that kill* him in a few hours wirh er w ith lout the help of the doctors, the same papers ‘head his obituary notic>, ‘.Mysterious Ibuvi. drnce.’ The three ninM difficult things are to keep s secret, to forgel an Injury, and lo meke g ’od ‘> sr of one’s leisure. Life is as a soap bubble that arise* nut el iht nhyis of nothing; fltrttor* a moment upon the j nißigin of lit* gulf, perishes below the breath of I di'Nin. • Sweet Votat-ics. ■ Mxle of f —On*? of y.-iur .i^iTCspon-; dents asaa how the, may :! •k; jigfjndor a root* in a collar. Tiic i. tuJpfrvc them s ---illation iwtn the uT v| c idfoxposing. them !■> cxfrpm.y of- the. ! ?.’xi:facc. — • TC'sTlAn a TiVYftfjieusc,’ mg a ory cTTfifr saVScv- I .etr fed square, 0::d ,tv deep *g you wish. If you can put a wall on the sid-e. of a single brick in j thickness, and a hrl, k at the bottom, it will be , the bettm- on several accounts. The material i point is this, inaci t an upright trunk in the con ] tre of this cellar, funned by nailing together four | hoards of a foot in width, rack side being thickly I perforated with auger holes, from Itcltom to top. | Let your potatoes be carefully handled, to avoid bruising, either by foot or baud or any other rough usage. Pile them up around this trunk, using a ladder to ascend a.id descend or stand on. When your ceeiiar i . lull lot them stay un covered till they j use though the saccharine fer mentation <;i sicrui. as it i.i called. On the oc currence of the first cold weather, pour dry sand on the level surface of your potatoes : allowing it to percolate into the mas-: as far as it wiii by mere pouting, until the sand ha.- entirely hidden the potatoes from view. The is; mth of the trunk must ho above the potatoes, and kept open. — Any fixture which will secure dryness and ven i illation from the bottom cl intervals of cot exceed ing three feet through a mass, and j roteclion •from the changes of temperature’ on the surface, will secure the object. My potato* cellar i under my kitchen floor— holds fi.UOd bushels—is ventilated by means of a double partition of narrow hoards or laths, lifro , the length of it; nailed to three inch scantling; leaving a space of half an inch between each board or lath. Tims in the centre -fa mass of point es six f el wide, i ; a column of air of three . i have had the cellar fill ed ibr six ye r : r- sauce -ively. 1 generally find potatoes if the old crop in it perfectly sound, when 1 am chut.bug it out to put in the new, and I have never sent, a rotten potatoein it. It is paved with brick, tie i has a brick wall of nine inch -on the ide an i ends, M. B. University of Alabama, June, 1848; Tin: Emij.is;; J,\\<h:a<; —few of,our read i ers are peihaps aware if the great changes —♦.AienyVa- - ‘v. -..uriargiTXgi str.cf its j first formation. We give below’ specimens of 1 of the Lord ■ Prayer at different periods: 1300. i-cur in heavei , llalcweyed he tlii name, cum.! tin Limlani, Tiii will bo don as iin Uevene and in erihe, Our unche days bred . give us to day, An forgive us cur deltes, as we forgiven ottr deitoures And led? u - not inioteiup j tatiori, Bute d-.-lyv .eusofyve!. Amen. | I*l. if. (1 \ irij ij , s liiot .) Our fader that ■ art in h venes H 1 e 1 1 s t ij- n itu >, Thy kin . dom come to, Be tl.. 1! done in tithe as in ■ heaven* : Give to us tiii> buy cm- bread over oth er sunce - ; Aiul torgil lj us one dettus as wo forgiven to trr: ■ : ;; a::d lead us not iuto t tup But from evel. Amen. 1026. (Tl.'tliT-: T Id-rent.) O cure fath er which art in he vet 1 he thy name, le t thy king.]. ;n com •. ‘Thy vvyli he fulfilled is well in e., . . ys in lieven. Give us 1 this ;laye our du}!;’ b: ,•:•.•.!•>. And forge ve vs cure treaspasscs, even us w r them which , treaspasse.s ; deliuer as from yvel. Amen. 1589. {('userJute's Bible.) Our father which ; art in hoaucu, h.;:!:nv -d be thy name. Thy ; kingdom e ;:ue. ’i'i.v will be done even inearth :asitis in heauen. time us this day our daily I bread. And f.ugiv us dettes as we also forgive ; ourdetters. And lead us not into terntation, but (leliuer us from euil! ; for thine is the kingdom I and the waver and the glorie for cuer. Amen. I An Affbctint. Be ::;k. —The late George | Dunn, jailer, or as modern magniloquence will | have it, governor, of Ivilmainham, was a blunt, kind-hearted Northumberland who had witness ed many affecting scenes in his time. Being j required to mention the incident, connected ! with capital punishment, which had most effec ted him during his long experience, fco selected one so sinple. red so touch':: f • proves him to have !ic i p red, 1 tily of a very ten j der feelings, but of a mas! erect atid deli ! cate judgement. A the last interview between :• condemned criminal uad his wife, their chiid, , a be::’ v wt ■ -tiling just beginning to prattle, was 1 playing a!; -til li:c cell. Her eye was caught | by the holts which confined her father’s logs, and she ci ic i out in blissful ignorance of their use ; j ‘ Oh, daddy, what pretty things ! You never ; wore those at home.’ | ‘ Many a sad thing I have seen,’ said the honest jailer, ‘and many it bitter cry I have ‘ heard within those walls ; but never one that i made me blubber like avo Id till then. The i mother, sir, and the poor fi How himself-—oh, ’ sir, it was Jerri! le, terrible.’ To it's Magazine. i ° I H• •!an T.:t,r I>v ; t'ATn:> by Pulsation.— Sii ingenious nMl!i ->r n j -rts that tlic length of in man’s 1 ito may he estimated by the number of ! p; ,!,a!ion3 he has strength to perform.—Thus ! ?|lowin<’ 7i> years f>r the convtnoii age of mat*, i anti sixty pu'se* in a mi into for the common ! nicß'.ire of (-uloos in tenuiurttln person, the j number of pul.-ai!” in thn whole life would ’ amount to and vu)7,s't.’ ‘.’Kb ini: ii by ittiomptynnco he forces his blo-l into tt m v rapid motion, so ns to give 75 pulses in n minute, ihu number of poises would he completed in [ * year , conse tpirntly his !if would he r • ‘need Id yenrs. Fton.’’.—-Some TO'tnj* lo “*>, fei ! uit airjjr!'Veil by the -M-erity - ’*• el l h tl< ir ftdtrds r|iern. I lated on the|i ;-!irnr, sh mce. m “kluees iits? -!<■., v *r.: t dr pe.st. ito learn hi opin. |on. • !>-■ y t Ihh.k,’ t> I they ’there can ho ny Intp jstdetj In tmr wearltutl • nthinKfi?’ — •Bv no means,’ “a- ih ■ proinnt uply ; *vs lieu the liei.i t is full of I idi.’iilou* notions, it 1 1 perfect, ly p ‘Ope,* t l lit *t'hi 1’ l ‘ !*. 47-