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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.