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ffoettp.
[Our old friend Yonica, who formerly contrib
uted his poetical effusions for the gratification
of the readers of the Museum, no sooner per
ceived the Tim**, than he forwarded us the
following, which plainly indicates that he has
wooed the Muses with much success ]
FOE TBfe Truss.
THORNS AMONG THE ROSES*
Her darling son a mother ey’d,
His childish gambols playing ;
When suddenly with joy he cri’d
(As near a rose-tree straying)
I’ll seize the blushing fiow'rs so fair,
Which yonder bush discloses :
Nay, touch them not my son—for there
Are thorns among the roses.
He clasp’d the flow’rs with eager force ;
(Os good advice unheeding)
His stubbornness soon brought remorse—
His hand was tom and bleeding.—
Hush! naughty child—the mother says,
And cease your idle grieving;
And learn from this—appearances
Are oftentimes deceiving.
As on in Youth’s bright path you go
Where many a flower’s revealed—
Remember, those that fairest blow
Have sharpest thorns concealed.
Be this charge written in your breast,
And let not time annul it:
tyhatcvc Jtow’r thou likeit beat,
Examine, e'er you cull it,
YORICK.
Bryan County, July 3d, 1823.
ON A SCVLL.
(The following lines by Lord Byroh are hard
ly inferior to Hamlet’s meditations in the grave
yard.]
Look on its broken arch, its ruined waD,
Its chambers desolate and portals foul;
Yes, this was once ambition’s airy hall,
The seat of thought, the palace of the soul.
Behold through each lack-lustre eyeless hole
The gay recess of wisdom, and of wit;
Can all that saint, sage, s iphist ever writ
People this lonely tower—its tenement refit ?
SPANISH ROMANCES.
In the London Magazine (says the Chronicle)
there is a delightful article on Spanish Roman
ces, from the pen of Mr. Bowring, whose quick
ness and happy versatility of talent have ena
bled him to seize the spirit of the poetry of na
tions the most widely removed from each other
in clime and character, and to give to his ver
sions a close resemblance of his model, and at
the same time all the ease and spirit of original
productions. The following specimen cannot
fail to be acceptable to our readers:
• • • •
“Then some young swain doffed his Montero
bonnet, and his voice blending with the tunes of
his guitar—the ever faithful companion of Span
ish verse—in low and melancholy tones he sang
as follows:
“Say, Juan, say, of what he died ?
So young, so pensive, and so fair!
Os unrequited love he died—
“ What said he, shepherd ?—thou wert there
When death stood threatening at his side ?
—That of his pains the saddest pain
Was—he could not that gain declare—
He would not speak of that again.
Poor vouth! he had been scorned by pride—
Os unrequited love he died
“And when he felt the failing breath
Crow weak —what said he of his doom ?
—That there are pains far worse than death,
And he had known them—thoughts of gloom
Shadow’d the portals of the tomb—
Some things lie said—and none replied—
Os unrequited love he died!
“And when the last, last throb drew nigh,
Before the fluttering spirit fled ;
—Soon, soon the pilgrim will be dead;
But there are thoughts which cannot die.
No more he felt, no move he said ;
He sleeps upon the valley’s side—
Os unrequited.love he died!”
The characters of tome of our Modern Piets.
BY AN INSANE GIRL.
Byron is the poet of might and desola
tion. He loves to view nature in her
haughtiest aspect, her darkly blazing vol
canoes, impetuous cataracts, and sky cano
pied mountains. He walks unhurt “amid
the war of elements,” fearlessly looking
down upon their maddening combats, he
wields the thunderbolt and commands the
storm.
Scott, loves the echo of the bugle-horn,
and the joyous exhilirating hurry of the
chase. To him the sweet breeze of mor
ning stream, and heath-covered hill are
dearest.
Moore, revels in the warmth and splen
dour of noon-day. His irank and glowing
spirit delights to bask in genial sun-beams;
to inhale the voluptuous sigh of Summer
zephyrs, and the balmy breath of blooming
Toses.
Most dear to Campbell, is the gentle ma
jesty of auwmnal evenings, when the tears
of Heaven embalm the expiring flowrets,
when the last sigh of departing summer,
yet lingers on the air, and the pale stars
look site ntly on the quiet rtielancholy of
the scene below.
But thou, Boutheyt bard of.sparkling fic
tion and mysterious beauty, what cords can
describe thee. Tliou, who enjdyest life in
every element, wield unrivalled thy wand
of all-subduipg ,#J4gie. Pursue thy flight
throufh the cerulean regions, couch thy
self on the passing clouds.^ and.robe thyself
iu the many coloured rainbow—dwell in
the ptlaces of living slams, or wander in
the coral hell thou mist raised in ocean’s
bosom, all are familiar to thee for thou
commandest all.
USEFVLRECIPES.
Bed Bugs —Ten drops of essential oil of la
vender, distributed about a bed will drive away
bugs or fleas.
Preservation of Flowers.—A few grains of salt
dropped into the water in which flowers are
kept, tends greatly to preserve them frotn fad
ing, and will keep them fresh and in bloom dou
ble the period that pure water will.
To destroy Tillcs on Sheep. —Part the
wool along the back and down each side of
the neck, and sprinkle snuff therein) it will
kill the ticks in the course of two or three
days. ‘This operation ought to he repeat
ed io ten Or twelve days, to kill off the next
crop that will hatch oat. This operation
performed on the lambs sfter the old sheep
are shorn of their fleeces, will ekpel the
vermin from the flock.
Apple Bread. —M. Duduitde Mazeier,
a-French officer of the king’s household,
has discovered and practised with great
success, a method of making bread of com
mon apples, very superior to potato bread.
After having boiled one third of the peeled
apples he bruised them, while quite warm,
into two thirds of flour, including the pro
per quantity of yeast, and kneaded the
whole without water, the juice of the fruit
being quite sufficient. When this mix
ture had acquired the consistency of paste,
he put it into a vessel, in which he allowed
it to rise 12 hours. By this process he ob
tained a very excellent bread, full of eyes,
and extremely palatable and light.
To preserve turnips from insects. —lst.
To a quart of turnip seed, add one ounce
of brimstone finely powdered; put them
into a bottle large enough to afford room
to shake them well together every day for
4or 5 days previous to sowing, keeping it
well corkedk 2d. Take auch a quantity
of clover leaves as, when bruised, will
yield juice sufficient to cover the turnip
seed you intend to sow, in which let it soak
about 12 hours; the next day mix it with
the bruised leaves, and sow altogether.
To destroy the Canker fForm.—Mow
sweet elder as it is called, or common el
der, and place the same on the branches
!• of the trees infested with them, and they
! will immediately leave the trees.
Pickling. —Keeping pickles or preserves
in common earthen or pottere* ware, is said
to be dangerous to health, on accoont of
such vessels being glazed with lead of a
poisonous nature which all acids will cor
rode or dissolve. The smaller the vessel
for pickling the better, because every time
a jar is opened, the air gets in, and mate
rially injures its contents.
To increase the strength of Vinegar.—
Boil two quarts of good vinegar till it eva
porates one. Put it in a vessel and set it
in the sun for a week; then to one part add
six of a weak or indifferent vinegar, and it
will make it strong and agreeable.
Chesnnts stewed with cream make a
much admired dish, and many families pre
fer them to all other stuffing for turkies;
they make an excellent soup, and might be
advantageously used in cooking, so as to
make many agreeable and Wholesome dish
es : when stewed with salt fish, they have
been much admired.
The juice of wild cocumber (eavesdrop
ped with vinegar into the ears, was thought
a good remedy for deafn-ss. A deeoction
of the fruit being sprinkled in any place
will drive away mice.
It is a curious fact, that froth killed ven
ison, or any other animal food, being hung
up in a fig tree for one night, will become
as tender and ready for dossing, as if
kept for maoy days or weeks ia the com
mon manner.
Vaccination has been successfully resor
ted to in England, as a means of prevent
ing the distemper in dogs. The matter is
inserted on the inner surface es the ear, on
a part as free from hair as possible.
To preserve wheat, rice, or other grains,
and flout in barrels, from weevils and
worms, wet the inside of the barrel and
turn it down over a burning match—let
it stand about ten minutes, take it ofl*. and
put in your wheat, rice, flour, &c. immedi
ately.
To preserve corn, fc. io critw and gran
aries from rats, weevils, &c. dig holes suf
ficiently large to contain a match of the sul
phur of brimstone, and let it stay about 30
minutes. j
Philos, Magazine. <
©anetp. I
From gay to grave, from lively to severt-ron.
MODERN FRIENDSHIP.
When fortune smiles and looks serene,
rris— Sir, how do you do? .
Your family are well, I hope,
Can I serve them or you ?”
But turn the scale—let fortune frown,
And ills and woes fly t’ye—
’Tit then—“ I’m sorry for your loss,
But times are bye t’ye.”
Wo in jr, are the only beings who have not
been denuded by slavery In bondage, they are
not sordid; under persecution, they employ
kindness to soften the cruel; ia suffering,
, they lose not benevolence, in the most afflictive
trials, they possess magnanimity; their love ti
glory is founded on sympathy. Excluded from
power, privilege and distinction, they have en
thusiasm for every great design, for every splen
did achievement; their affections are purified
from selfishness; they rejoice in diffusing joy
and are grateful for blessings in which they are
not allowed to participate.
It has been eloquently and truly said, that
n if Christianity were compelled to flee from
the mansions of the great, the academies of phi
losophers, the halls of legislators, or the throng
of busy men, we should find her last retreat
with woman at the fire-side; her last altar
would be the female heart; her last audience
would be the children gathered around the
knees of a mother; her last sacrifice, the secret
prayer, escaping in silence from her lips; and
heard, perhaps, only at the throne of God.
___
There is some tense in the following extract
at least; whether it be common sense or not, we
wiil not pretend to decide:
SENSE.—There are a great many gradations
of wisdom among people—there is good sense,
great sense, and fine and high sense, besides no
sense and little sense; but the best kind of
> sense in my estimation, istbat which is vulgarly
denominated ct-mmon sense Your good sense ia
always running away with itself; your great
sense is sure tu have mischief at die bottom of
| it; your fine sense makes broken hearts; your
high sense broken heads; your no sense goes
1 blundering to the devil often, and your little
1 sense is eat much better—but common sense
’ fills a man’s purse with dollars, his cellar with
; beef and pork, and bis peaceful fire-ride, with—
. a good wife and good children. Common sense
I is best
’ EXCUSES
■ For tut attending public worship, by nwuir
i Christians. ,
Overslept myself, could’nt dress in time.
Too cold—too hot—too windy—too dusty.
, Too wet—too damp—too sunny—too cloudy.
Don’t feel dispos’d
No other time to myself.
1 Look over my drawers.
r Put my papers to rights
Letters to write to my friends.
Taken a dose of physic.
I Been bled this morning.
Mean to walk to the Bridge.
- Going to take a ride.
1 Tied to the store six days in a week,
i No fresh air but on Sundays.
Can’t breath in church, always so full.
| Feel a little feverish.
, Feel a little chilly.
♦■eel very lazy.
Expect company to dinner.
S'ump’d my great toe.
Got a head-ache.
Caught cold last night at a party.
Must watch my servants.
Can’t leave the house for fear of fire.
Servants up to all mischief when I go to
, church
Intend nursing myself to day.
New bonnet not come home.
Tore my muslin dress coming down stairs.
Got anew novel, must be returned on Mon
day morning.
Waa’ntahav’din time.
Don’t like a liturgy—always praying for the
same thing
Don’t like extempore prayer—don’t know
what is coming.
Don’t like an organ—it’s too noisy.
Don’t like ringing without music—makes me
nervous.
Can’t sit in a draught of air—windows or
door open in summer.
Stove so hot in winter, always get a head
ache.
Can’t bear an extempore sermon—too frothy.
Dislike a written sermon—too prosing
Nobody to-day but our own minister.
Can’t alwaya listen to the same pueacher.
Don’t like strangers—too bombastkaL
Can’t keep awake when at church.
Snor’d aloud last time I was there—shan’t
risk it again.
Tir’d to death standing to pray.
Hate to kneel, makes my knees stiff
Mean to inquire of some sensible person a
bout the propriety of going to so public a place
as a church. Wifi publish the result.
Politeness. —A young man in this city was sent
by his master, a merchant, to demand payment
of an account amounting to three or four pounds.
Although his calls were frequent, they were
fruitless ; the.person declined payment of the
demand—while the lad, at each call, desired
him with the greatest politeness, to pay him
some part of the amount, as he should be grate
ful for the smallest sum The debtor at length,
one morning when the usual request bad been
made, nettled at the perseverance of his tor
menter, eav* Mm a penny, aaying that aa he
hod asserted that he would be grateful for the
smallest sum, he presumed he would at present
be satisfied with that. “Thank you sir,” said
the lad, uncovering and bowing profoundly—
“thank you sir; bad you favored me with a
similar sum at each call I have made upon you
for the bill, the whole debt would have been
discharged, long since.” Montreal Pape-.
f Fmmuktmta off Jugnidtitame-
A French writer relates the feflotnag
remarkable instance es the nuohhmmf ir
ingratitude ia children*—Am rmiornt tra
der at Ljtos, wfco hod acquired aa easy
fortune, bdtvtkmdsnae daaghtm, be
tween whom k their marriage;, he divided
U thatherteelj
wieter with If* ether. Before tike es
the first jeer, he bead sofiemt grand to
-■——*- a., i tpt i rnj irrr|iltoil
’■eat to either; es which, fee—cm, he iuk
no notice, bat hired a hudwrne bdgpag,
in which be resided a few weeks. Bethea
applied tea fries# and (fold nira the tiath
of the matter, deriving the gift es twoioa
dred lirres, aad the leaa es fifty thiaiard
ia ready maaey far a few haaeashm fviead
amy readily compil'd with this rawest ;
and the aextday the eld gentleman mads
a ipteadMi whidk ha
a great harry, told him es aa aaexpected
demand epea kirn* aad desire# to bar
whether be caw Id lead him fifty ’trnr 1
lirres. Thcwld maa ttd kina without as v
emotion that twice as mach was at hm ser
vice, if he wasted it; aad going iate the
next room, taaagkt kim the money. After
this be was aatsnflcred to stay any longer
in lodging? ; ha daughters wore jealaos. if
berommaeda day more ia one humse Ibaa
the ether and afterthree or fear years speat
with them, he died ; when span examiaiag
his cabiaet, instead of the Heresy there was
found a note containing these wo ds 3
“He who has suffered by his virtues, has a
right to avail himself of the vices es those
hy whom he has been injved; aad a father
ought never to be so fond es bis children
as to forget vrhat b dae Ce himself.”
The following picture of afield of bsttle, is
takes from as animated aad eloquent address,
delivered to the MonrhnetU Peace Society,
by the How. Jamah Quincy.
“Imagine one of these celestial spirits,
beat oa this great parpose, descending up
on oorglobe; aad led, by chance, to sa
European plain, at the point es some great
battle; on which to hamaa eye, teekieas
and blind to overcolieg heaven, the fate of
states and empires is saspended.
“On a sodden the field of combat opens
oo his astonished vision. It is a fi- ld which
men call “glorious.” A hundred thousand
warriors stand in opposed ranks. Light
gleams on their burnished steels. Their
plumes and banners wave. Hill echoes to
hill the noise of moving rank squadron;
the neigh and stamp of steeds; the trum
pet, dram and bogle call.
“There is a momentary paase—a silence
like that which precedes the fall of the
thunder-bolt; like that awfnl stillness
which is precursor to the desolating rage
of the whirlwind. In an instant, flash suc
ceeding flash pours columns of smoke along
the plain. The iron tempest sweeps—
heaping man, horse and car, in undistin
guished ruin. In shouts of rushing hosts
—in shocks of breasting steeds—in peals
of musquetry—in artillery’s roar—in sa
bre’s clash—in thick and gathering clouds
of smoke aid dust, all human eye, and ear.
and sense are lost. Man sees not, hot the
sign of onset. Man hears not, bat the cry
of—"onward.”
“Not so the celestial stranger. His spi
ritual eye, unobscured by artificial night,
his spiritual ear, unaffected by mechanic
noise, witness the real scene, naked in alt
itscroel horrors. He sees lopped and
bleeding limbs scattered—gashed, dismem
bered trunks, outspread, gore-clothed, life
less ; —brains barsting from crashed sculls;
blood gushing from sabred necks; severed
heads, whose months matter rage, amidst
the palsying of the last agony. He hoars—
the mingled cry of anguish and despair, is
suing from a thousand bosoms, in which a
thousand bayonets torn—the convulsive
scream of anguish from heaps of mangled,
half-expiring victims, over whom the heavy
artillery wheels lumber and crush into
mass, bone, and muscle, and sinew ; while
the fetlocks of the war-horse drip with
blood, starting from the last palpitation of
the burst heart on which his hoof pivots.
“This is not earth”—would not sack a
celestial stranger exclaim; —“This is not
earth*—‘“this is hell! This is not man!—
but demon, tormenting demon.”
Anecdote. —A short time ago, a wealthy cou
ple presented themselves to be joined together
in holy matrimony. After the usual ceremony
was performed, the Bridegroom advanced to
the Rector with *Sur, what mun I pay ?’ The
Rector said ‘seventeen shillings.’ *Sur,*
John, fits a great deal of mooey, will nay ye gi*
me something back for luck ?’ The Rector out
of patience walked off. John turning then to
his bride, bid her prepare to go. The bride,
however, looking her sweet spouse steadily ir.
the face, said ’Dear John, you've highly insult
ed the Parson to-day, I’m ashamed of you.’—
■Jane,’ said he, ‘bawd your noise, I don’t like
to drop old customs, I never bought a pig in
my life but I got something back for luck.’ ‘
All fear is in itself painful; and when it cm.
duces not to safety, is painful without use.