Newspaper Page Text
other at his own equally precious cranium.
The first shot was quite harmless, while the
second, though not fatal, seemed, for the mo
ment, to be so. When the startled and
alarmed waiters rushed into the apartment,
the lady was standing over the body of her
unhappy lord, thus affectionately soliloqui
zing: ‘‘Well, lie's dead, and I'm alive, and
Pin glad of it !*’ Thqs felicitating herself,
rdie again took flight, unobserved, in the hur
ried care of the wounded man; who, when
at length restored to his wandering wits, and
informed of his good lady’s reflections upon
his supposed fate, grinned horribly, and
thought it “good—very!”
Yesterday, our municipal elections came
off, resulting in the complete triumph of the
Whig candidate. The amended charter was
adopted by a large majority. Mr. Wood
hull, (Whig,) was returned for Mayor, with
a Whig Common Council, Whig Judges, and
all sorts of Whig ct cetera*. Our neighbor
ing city of Brooklyn has also elected the
whole Whig ticket, with the exception of
the city Judge, in which item the Democrats
gained by a majority of some 200.
Our State Legislature has just adjourned,
after accomplishing much important work.
Among the bills passed, are those for the re
moval of the Quarantine station, now at Sta
ten Island, to Sandy Hook, about thirty miles
from the city; for the incorporation of a
Public Work-house; a Public Bathing Estab
lishment; the “New York and Liverpool
Steam Navigation Company,” etc. To this !
catalogue of contemplated city improvements, j
let me add a mention of one other, already in j
progress —nothing less than the rebuilding of!
Niblo’s favorite retreat. The new edifices, j
which are to be erected on the old and long
vacant site, will be devoted to the same uses!
as the old ones, and, as heretofore, will be j
called “Niblo’s Garden,” and he under the
conduct of that popular manager.
Burton, I understand, is now amusing
crowded audiences with a droll affiiir, sug
gested by the French Vaudeville, called “ La j
■propriety cest le vol ,” in which the notorious
socialist, M. Prudhon, is shockingly bur
lesqued. At Burton’s Theatre, the scene is
laid in 1853, when Mr. Fourier Grisley, the
hero, having just been elected Chief Magis
trate of the Union, sets about intioducing his
agrarian notions, declares the light of labor,
abolishes capital, property and marriages, and
of course, gives rise to various very curious
and awkward adventures and scenes. The
character of Grisley, (the original of which
no one fails to recognise,) is admirably sup
ported by Brougham, while his coadjutor,
Burton, personates Mr. Menny, a quiet Goth
amite, victimized in the development of the
grand social principle. The thing is exceed
ingly popular, and a very pleasant hit at the
grosses! huiabug of the-daw FLU .
u o *
m mmwm ill—i i>_ imi mmtnm —an— iHiwaiirr —niwrnraiOTMMTwrrT—~r
Ct sl)ril!ing Skctcli.
DEATH UPON THE OCEAN.
BY D. W. BARTLETT.
Upon a recent voyage from Liverpool to
New York, I became intimately acquainted
with a young man, a fellow-passenger, who
“’as going on a visit to America. W hen I
first saw him, I was struck with his appear
ance. He was of slender make, with a glo
rious forehead, and eyes of delicate blue. —
His hair was light auburn in its color, and
his countenance expressed a nobility and
Irankness that is rarely found. We were in
troduced, and, from some cause, became quite
intimate. I soon found that we possessed
mutual friends in England. He had come
from one of the best families in the upper
stratum of what is called the middle class of
English society. It is not strange that we
became intimate, for I loved his native land,
nnd he loved mine.
Upon the pleasant moonlight nights, we sat
npon the quarter deck, conversing about the •
land, the homes, and the friends we *.\ ere j
leaving— of England’s poets and statesmen ;
*rr, shifting the scenes, of our own New Eng
MHO* TM? II ♦
land, or the broad, expansive West, with its
everlasting prairies. Olten the unwelcome
i sound of the midnight bell Broke upon us,
I ere we had finished our conversation, so
j pleasantly had passed the evening away.
lie was not long in gaining the friendship of
all his fellow cal in passengers.
After we had been out a few days, 1 miss
ed him one morning from his accustomed
place at the breakfast table. 1 did not see
him on the deck during the morning, nor at
the dinner table. When I visited his state
room, to my great surprise 1 found him lying
on his berth quite ill, with the surgeon in at
tendance. He had experienced, in the night,
a severe attack from a dangerous disease,
and was already very much prostrated. He
was glad to see me, and seemed to be in good
spirits. Tears came into his eyes when 1
took his hand, and he wished a fellow pas
senger, who was a clergyman, to read a por
tion of the Scriptures to him. It was the j
first time I had seen him low-spirited, and it
was tne last. The clergyman came and read
a psalm to him—even he was joyful hearted.
The next morning, I was shocked to hear
the surgeon say that he could not live forty
eight hours, i went to him—alas! the sur
geon was right. The change that had come
over him in a single night, was miraculous.
His fair brow was covered with a damp as
chill as death, and his auburn hair was clot
ted with moisture. But his pure blue eves
had not altered; they had the same affection
ate, half sad, half joyous expression that they
had always worn. The flesh had disappear
ed from his cheeks, for h’s anguish had been
great during the night. 1 took his hand in
mine, but dared no* speak, for fear of betray
ing the emotion of my heart. He said, with
a singularly calm and dear voice—
“l am going to die. my friend—but 1 am
not afraid.” A pressure was gone from my
spirits at once. He went on : “ 1 have a few
things that I wish to give my friends—a few
trifles—and, if you will call the captain, l
will tell you to whom I wish them to he giv
en.” I called him, and he continue 1 calmly:
“My gold watch 1 wish my sister Emma to
have, and my silver one—give that to Georgy,
my little brother Georgy; and my rifle, let it
be kept for him until he is old enough to use
it. Give to Meggy the ring on my little
finger. To my mother”*—his voice faltered
when he came to her. and tears crept down
his pallid cheek. “Ah, she was a good mo- ,
ther! Give back the Bible that she gave me,
and tell her that her boy did not fear to 1
die!” All else he bequeathed to his father,
to dispose of as lie pleased. The captain left
the room, and he said, looking earnestly up
into my face, “Write to my mother when I
am dead, and tell her that everybody was
kind to me, and that 1 had every attention, - ’
(how tender and thoughtful was this wish of
his to save his mother's heart from pain!)—
“ that l did not fear death. Tell Meggy that
I love her in death; y ou should see her—she
has such soft, meek eyes, and her hair curls
so beautifully about her fail forehead. Poor
Meggy! And—and—there is ono of whom
I have not spoken—Mary ; J was en
gaged to her—give my best ring to her, and
tell her that I hope to meet iier in Heaven.”
Becoming exhausted, I left him for a short
time. When I came back, he said, “I wish
once more to see the ocean, in whose depths
my grave will soon be made ; let me gaze at
it once more!” Alas! he was too weak to
be raised upon deck —poor fellow! And
then he wished a bucket of sea water brought
to him. His eyes were suffused with a smile i
when he saw it. lie put ins hand in it, and
bathed his forehead, saying, 1 could hardly
tell whether sadly, or joyously, “Soon, shall
my body be in the dark blue sea.” There
was something magnificent in that self-bap
tism of his—his fearlessness was so triumph
ant ovc death.
All the day the wind hal been increasing
in strength, and at night it blew a hurricane.
Towards midnight the sea became frightful
the waves dancing over us amidships, or .‘tri
king our side, sounding like heavy thunder.
Many of our passengers were frightened, near- ;
ly all. They were up, and, when the captain
came down into the cabin, they gathered
about him with anxious eyes and earnest
questions. 1 was up all night with the dy- j
ing one--some of the time holding him in his
berth; a part of the time he lay in my arms. ■
He was perfectly lucid, and his fearlessness
was a rebuke to those who were pale with 1
fright from the storm. As the morning came
on, tha gale increased. At daybreak it had
reached its height —at daylight the poor ;
young man said, “I thank you all for \our ;
kindness to mo —farewell forever! and |
died. .
The storm went suddenly down, and t+ie
next morning there was a perfect calm, and
the canvass idly flapping in the air. Ihe
sun shone calmly upon the beautiful sea— ,
1 L
the air was balmy like that of the South;
but we were all sad, for we were to see what
few of us had ever seen before—a sea burial.
1 will not describe the ceremony, for abler
pens than mine have done so. I will say
nothing of the little band that sadly stood at
j the lee gangway, and saw the corpse stretch
ed upon the death plank ; of the horrid plunge
of the body into the mysterious ocean—noth
ing. All that gentle day, little parties were
clustered together, talking about the poor
young man. All of us were sad.
When the evening came on, and the full
moon shone above us, with a lustrous purity,
I went out upon the quarter deck, and mused
long upon the young man, his English home,
and those who dwell there. His mother,
perhaps, was praying, at that moment, a safe
voyage for him—a happy sojourn in the New
World, and a happy, oh! how happy! re
turn, but the sea was his mother now, poor
woman ! His dear Meggy, “with her hair
curling beautifully about her brow,” lay, at
that moment, perhaps, kissing him in her
dreams. Dream on, Meggy—too soon will
you wake to the stern agonies of life! Then
1 thought of the time when every post would
be eagerly watched by this home, for they
expected a letter from him. And a letter
does come with a foreign post-mark, but in a
strange hand. The father grows pale as he
looks at it; the mother, watching his count
enance, anxiously asks why he is pale. He
hands the letter to her and she covers up her
face, and shudders. They dare not open it.
The brother does, and reads the letter
that I wrote to them. Shivered, in a moment,
are all their beautiful hopes, and they weep
in anguish—and Meggy! she is out among
the flowers, playing, they have not toll her!
—the brother goes to her, and says, “ Come
to me, Meggy the girl runs to him, and he
bursts into tears —he cannot tell her what he
wishes. He grows stronger, and tells her
that her brother is dead, and is buried in the
blue ocean, and will never come back. She
asks, sadly, “Will he never, never come
back “ Never, Meggy,”—and the beauti
ful child cries as if its heart would break ;
but the dark ocean will not heed its cries, nor
its mother's, but hugs him as a trophy in its
embrace.— Norrpariel.
Sdcctcb jJoetqi.
From the People's Journal.
DEVOTION,
BY W . J . 1.1 TO * .
Not for it elf
The llower is fragrant;
Never for pelf
L k eau ty is vagrant:
J .anh one for ail.
Ever God herdolh
The jnolitlC'S How. r<; ;
God’s mafrnlight gi and tii
The sJenlOFt hours:
Love loveilt ail.
Love is not hired ;
Love seeks no guerdon ;
Love ii untired;
Love hath God’s Burden :
Love cannot full.
Sdcct Articles.
FRANKLIN’S DOOR RICHARD.
We have already alluded to the wonder
ful popularity of these thoughts of poor
Ilichard, a popularity which will be readily
comprehended bv those who are familiar with
the wonderful wisdom, sagacity and wit,
which the author has compressed, in his brief
and simple sentences, bo many years have
elapsed since any collection of them has been
laid before the American people, that we feel
we shall oblige many of our readers by se
lecting from among them some which have
been least hackneyed by quotation. The se
lections we offer have been made from the
i entire series, embracing a period of twenty
live years, and one or more from the almanac
of each year:
Take this remark from Ricli rd, j oor and lame,
Wha'c’er’s begun ia unger ends in shame.
Pome men gr''W mud by i tadyiug much to know,
But who grows mud by studying good to grow i
An egg to-day is belter than a hen to-mor
row.
Law, like cobwebs, catcher small flies,
GiC.it ones break through before your iyr
If pride lea Is the van, beggary brings up
the rear.
Keep thy shop, and thy shop will keep
thee.
God heals, and the doctor takes the fees.
Mary's mouth costs her nothing, for she
never opens it but at others’ expense.
I Jo that would live in peace and at case,
Must not speak all he knows, nor judge all he secs.
He that can travel well afoot keeps a good
horse.
The worst wheel of the cart makes the
most noise.
He that falls in love with himself will have
no rivals.
Against diseases here, the strongest fer.ce,
Is tho defemive virtue, Abstinence.
Tart words make no friends; a spoonful of
honey will catch more flies than a gallon of
vinegar.
Drive thy business, or it will drive thee.
Beware of little expenses : a small leak
will sink a great ship.
An ounco of wit that is bought,
Is worth a pound that is taught.
A ploughman on his legs is higher {fan a
gentleman on his knees.
Mad kings and mad bulls are not to be
held by treaties and pack-thread.
What maintains one vice would bring up
two children.
A mob's a monster; head enough, but no
brains.
Nothing humbler than ambition when it is
about to climb.
The discontented man finds no easy chair.
When prosperity was well mounted, she
let go the bridle, and soon came tumbling out
of the saddle.
The master's eye will do more work than
both his hands.
A change of fortune hurts a wise man no
more than a change in the moon.
lie that has a trade has an office of profit
and honor.
A false friend and a shadow attend only
while the sun shines.
1 dough deep while sluggards sleep,
And yon ,hnll have corn to sell unite keep.
If you would not be forgotten as soon as
you are dead and rotten, cither write things
worth reading or do something worth writ
ing.
Nothing dries sooner than a tear.
Scarlet, silk and velvet, have put out the
kitchen fire.
The first mistake in public business is the
goi’.ig into it.
The idle man is the devil’s hireling; whose
livery is rags, whose diet and wages are fam
ine and disease.
Kings and hears often worry their keepers.
He’s a fool that makes his doctor his heir.
Ne’er take a wife till thou hast a house
(and a fire) to put her in.
Hunger never saw bad brea k
Great talkers, little doers.
A rich vogue id like a fat hog.
Who Lever do s good til! us dead as u log.
Fools make feasts, and wise men eat them.
! The poor have little—beggars none—the
; rich 100 much—enough not one.
Mankind are very odd creatures. One
half censure what they practice, the other
half practice what they censure. The rest
always say and do as they ought.
Old hoys have their playthings as well as
young ones —the difference is only in the
price.
If man could have half his wishes, lie
would double his troubles.
Christianity commands us to pass by inju
ries; policy to let them pass by us.
If you would keep your secret from an
enemy, tell it not to a friend
We learn with pleasure that Mr. Doggett
designs to republish the almanacs from year
;to year, with the appropriate modern calen
dar, in the preparations of which he propo
ses to engage some accomplished scientific
man, probably Professor Bierce, of Cam
bridge. The first number, being the almanac
for the year 1850, will appear some time
next spring, and will contain the editorial
matter of Franklin for about the three first
j years, that is for 1733, 1734 and 1735. The
last ten pages, or thereabouts, will be appro
priated to the autobiography of the doctor,
which, with the editorials and advice of poor
| Richard, will he continued from year to year
till both arc completed. It is also his pur
; pose to have the work illustrated in a supe
! rior etvle, bv the first artists in the country.
Pray Doctor, what is a horroscope ?
Why, madam von perceive, that when the
; nocturnal hour has so far procrastinated, by a
! superabundant application of the obganeous,
j acidulous, pepperine, mustardific components,
, of a cruslaceo, piscatory, saltd, and its vene
; ous and alchoholic accidents, that an undue
| expansion of the stomach integuments en- •
I sues, which in the course of its constipating
influence stigmatises the ceiebral functions,
confuses the nervo-optic system, and gives a
. scope to the horrors^.
389