Newspaper Page Text
®1 [E lisr/V.sJiSS.
For Richard*’ Weekly Gazelle.
THE FLIT CORRESPONDENCE,
NUMBER 56.
New York, May 23, 1849.
3fy Dear Sir: —Some of our Journalists
have recently become drawing-room re
formers, insisting, /or many cogent reasons,
lhat married women shall be permitted and
required to play a more prominent rdlc in
fashionable society, than present usage as
signs or permits to them. It is unjust, say
these innovators, to make the bridal veil
an emblem of renunciation of the pleasures
-of social life, for the seclusion and impris
onment of the kitchen, the nursery, or the
boudoir; folly to require the neglect of
painfully won graces and accomplishments,
at the very’ moment when they may yield
the greatest happiness equally to the pos
sessor and to the world—when their dis
play may doubly bless both the giver and
the receiver; absurd to exclude ladies from
the drawing-room at the precise period
when the maturity of their intellect and
taste, fit them most to enjoy and contribute
to its pleasures, This demand for “ mar
* ried belles'’ is urged, not only in justice to
themselves, but, secondly, for the interests
and happiness of their families, especially
the daughters, who, in their entrance upon,
and windings through, the dangerous and
seductive walks of society and the world,
should be accompanied by the mother, as
guide, companion, and confidante, teaching
by her experience and blessing by her
sympathy: whereas, by present custom,
banished on their wedding-day from the
busier and gayer scenes of social life, they
become so weaned, at length, by force of
habit, from all love and sympathy for
them, that by the time their daughters are
called upon to play their parts upon the
stage, the mothers have lost both the pow
er and the will to accompany them; thus
they are left to find out. and often suffer
from, the folly of things, for themselves:
experience yields no fruit, and generation
after generation moving on in a circle, so
ciety makes no advance. It is argued, in
the third place, that the real pleasures of
social intercourse, the rational interchange
of thought, uiul tancy, and sentiment, can
never be found in circles or assemblies,
which consist of, or take their tone from,
empty-headed misses, who sigh only for
idle compliments, and think society to be
nothing more than a round of convention
al gallantries; or of taller belles, whose
every word, look and gesture, is shaped to
the one great selfish end of winning a lov
er or a lord. It is, we are told, in the com
panionship of married women alone—those;
whose position in life being fixed, and j
whose hopes being already realized, give 1
free and full play to their natural charac- !
ter and sympathies, that a sensible man!
may find instruction and pleasure—such a
man, at least, who enters a drawing-room
for higher purposes than to kill time or to
win a wife. Our social reformers arc very 1
careful, or should be so, to mark the dif
ference between the “married belle'’ and!
the gay coquette —the high-minded and in- ;
tellectual woman, who discharges her dit
ties towards society with interest and |
grace, without neglecting or undervaluing I
the claims and pleasures of her own home i
circle—and the heartless creature who ;
madly sacrifices everything at the insatia
ble and soulless altar of her own inordi-;
nate vanity. And note, my dear sir, with
this statement of the case before you, will
you advocate the new “ism,” and become
a “banner-man” in the ranks of the great
“American Drawing-room Reform and an
ti-married-ladies-being-cooped- up-in-the-,
house Association!”
A friend has supplied me with a lot of
mosaic poetry, suggested, lie says, by the
clever cento verses published some time
ago in your Gazette. 1 will give you a
stanza from the budget:
Lord of himself that heritage of woe,
Man trips it on the light fantastic toe,
Down all the paths which slope the way to
crime,
To the last syllable of recorded time.
One more:
Sparkling and hright in lirpiid light,
For aught that ever I could read,
She walks in beauty like the night,
Combing her milk-white steed, steed, steed!
Yet another:
Why, man of morals, tell me why
There is a tear for all who die —
A tear so limpid and so meek—
To arms! they come—the Greek! the
Greek !
We are, at present, absolutely surfeited
with news. Scarcely had the excitement
caused by the great Astor Place Riot be
gan to subside, than the report spread that
the Cholera was in our midst ; then every
body had something to say about the threat
ened flood ill New Orleans, the disastrous
conflagration in St. Louis, and fires in
other places; and to cap all, that splendid
North River steamboat, the “Empire,” was
so careless, on her passage towards Albany,
last Thursday night, as to be run into and
sunk by a schooner. Some three hundred
passengers were on board at the time of
the accident, the greater number of whom
were rescued by the “Rip Van Winkle,”
which was following hard upon the ill
fated boat. As the wreck is not yet rais
ed, and of course the cabins remain unex
plored, it is impossible to tell how many
lives have been lost; thus far, between
fifteen and twenty bodies have been recov
ered.
As to the f'Tiolera, some ten or a dozen
] ’(.pie have died recently, in one of the
filthiest quarters of the City; but the phv
■ians disagree about the character of their
disease. The general impression, howev
er, is, that it is the dreaded Asiatic scourge,
.nd much scar is entertained that the City
s doomed to suffer more from it, during
the warm season.
Apropos of summer— during all this
month of May, which, according to every
rule of poetry, should have been merrie
time, we have had good reason to recall
those murmuring lines—
“ As yet the trembling year is unconfirm'd,
And Winter oft at eve resumes the breeze—
Chills the pale morn, and bids his driving
sleets
Deform the day delightless.”
At last, the long-wished-for “ confirmation”
seems to have taken place, and we are ad
mitted into full communion with the laugh
ing Spring.
“ more
The expansive atmosphere is cramp'd with
cold—
But, full of life and vivifying soul,
Lifts the light clouds sublime, and spreads
them thin,
Fleecy and white, o'er all-surrounding Hea
ven.”
So very good, indeed, are the promises
of the weather, at this time, that, despite
all past treacheries, many of our people are
preparing to leave town. My own ar
rangements for departure are already com
pletcd. and this is the last communication
which I shall send you from Gotham for
months to come. I shall, however, write
to you, during the summer, fiom sundry
places, as often as the spirit moves and op
portunity presents. FLIT.
For RiclnirJr’ Weekly Onzette.
WASHINGTON COKRESPONDENCE.
Washington, May 23, 1849.
The weather with us is excessively sul
j try, and what few Georgians are in town,
, are sighing for the highlands of your pic
turesque State. Generally speaking, mat
t ters and things about town are particularly
I dull. The majority of office-seekers have
‘■ expended all their spare money, and are
I among the missing ; only a few of them
I now remain in our midst, and even these
! wander up and down the Avenue, as if
| about to be attacked by that sickness of
j the heart, which followeth hope deferred.
j The unmeasured quantity of abuse which
i has been showered upon the head of the
■ President, on account of his sagacious con
j duct in portioning out the offices, is already
| beginning to recoil upon his enemies; and
j those of the Democuitic party who are re
j tained in office, are cutting away the old
■ party ties. The wisdom and goodness of
I the President are almost universally ac
! knowledged, and I prophesy that his ad
| ministration will redound to the glory of
I the country.
The rumors that you may have heard in
j regard to a dissolution of the present Cabi
-1 net, you may .set down as the foolish in
\ ventions of the hireling letter-writers. The
I utmost harmony exists among all the mem
[ hers of the Cabinet, and 1 am inclined to
j believe that a more capable set of minis-
I ters could not have easily been selected. —
Os all the members of the Cabinet, there is
: not ont tvVm coimiiftDvU greater OT
! who is more popular with those who know
! him, than the member from Georgia. The
few removals which he has made, of clerks
immediately about him, were absolutely
necessary, and his partiality for “home
products” was Tnanifested by his appoint
ment to the chief clerkship of the War De
partment, of a most talented and well-tried
Georgian.
The improvements going on in the me
tropolis are the thorny of many tongues,
and when completed, we shall have abun
dant reason to thank our legislators. The
principal streets of the City are being re
paved, the Patent Office and the City Hall
are both receiving important additions, and
the edifice of the Smithsonian Institution
is progressing with commendable despatch.
Under the auspices of the last-named insti
tution, Professor Hitchcock has been deliv
ering a series of geological lectures, in one
of which, he stated that theie were many
indications of gold within the limits of the
Federal City.
Among the prominent men still sojourn
ing in Washington, is the Hon. George P.
Marsh, of Vermont, lie has been detain
ed here ever since the adjournment of Con
gress, by the illness of his lady. Ranking,
as does this gentleman, among the most
learned men of the age, it is gratifying to
know that lie is spoken of as a suitable
person to fill the vacancy, about to be oc
casioned by the resignation of Mr. Hannc
gan, as Minister to Berlin. Inacceptinga
foreign mission, Mr. Marsh would he much
influenced by the hope of restoring his
wife to her accustomed health ; and since
it is so certain that no man could reflect
greater honor upon the country, I cannot
but hope that any appointment lie may de
sire will be awarded to him.
1 congratulate you upon the handsome
appearance and success of your new pa
per. It is just what you need in the South,
and T hope tliere will be no end to your
usefulness. L.
For Richards’ Weekly Gazette.
AM. COLONIZATION SOCIETY.
Savannah, May 14, 1849.
Sailing or the “ Him a” from Savan
nah ! — The beautiful bark “Huma” left
Savannah yesterday noon, with 181 emi
grants for Liberia. Os these, 77 were from
Savannah, 49 from Charleston, 29 from
Augusta, 15 from Hamburg, and 11 from
the interior of Georgia. The sailing of
this vessel was a most interesting occasion.
At an early hour, the people took their
trunks and bedding on board, and at nine
o’clock religious services commenced at the
wharf, with prayer by the Rev. Jas. P'.
Evans, followed by a very forcible and in
structive address, delivered by the Rev.
Samuel J. Cassels—prayer by the Rev.
Mr. Earn—afier which, the Rev. Isaac
Roberts, who for many years had been
Pastor of the Third African Church in Sa
vannah, but who, with his family, and a
large number of relatives and friends were
among the emigrants, delivered a farewell
Ei qoa a\ a nj s a ©aaiiinMi*
address to the citizens of Savannah and
his late congregation. The vast crowd as
sembled on the wharf, supposed to be not
less than 5000 persons, seemed deeply in
terested in the scene. The vessel having
been thoroughly searched by the City Of
ficers, to sec that no persons were on board
except those authorized, the emigrants were
called, individually and by families, and
went on the vessel as they were called;
and the steamer J. Stone towed the hark to
Tybee, accompanied by a large number of
persons, principally the relatives and friends
of the emigrants. It was a very imposing
scene, and an occasion of deep interest.
This company of emigrants cost the So
ciety $11.350, for the charter of the vessel,
outfit, and provisions for them for six
months after their arrival in Liberia; and
this, added to the indebtedness of the Soci
ty for two late expeditions from New Or
leans. and the last from Baltimore, makes
the Society owe about $25,000, a fcaiful
amount, when the money must he raised
by the voluntary contributionsof the friends
of this noble enterprize.
Os this company I speak with confidence,
when 1 say they were the most intelligent
and thrifty I have ever known sent to Li
beria. Os the 181 sent out, 103 can read,
’ and many of them can write; there were
61 professors of religion, among them 4
ministers of the Gospel, and 2 olheis pre
■ paring to enter the ministry, and these were
impelled by a longing desire for the con
version of Africa. There were 71 slaves,
j whom we were compelled to clear at the
j Custom House. Many of them had pur-,
chased themselves and families at large
’ prices, hut the greater portion ol the 71
1 were manumitted, expressly to be sent
; with their friends to Liberia.
This is, peihaps, the last company the
! Society will ever be able to send out, free
i of expense to themselves, as it is now deep
! ly in debt, and the number of applicants
j are numerous. We have been compelled
I to decline making any promise to send
j others, although we have had at least one
1 hundred applications from free persons of
i color to send them out next year; and un
j less the State Government makes some ar
| rangement to send such free persons of co
lor as desire to go, I see no alternative but
I hat tb! ■* h<- rip volant wuit will ltav C to Stop,
and many who would go, be prevented, for
the want of means.
The Society now appeals to all the be
nevolent for help, to enable thorn to pay
their debts, and to go forward in this noble
work, destined, under a gracious Provi
dence. to be the means of enlightening Af
rica. Any one disposed to contribute to
this excellent cause, can send or hand their
contribution to the undersigned, at Savan
nah, Georgia.
T. C. BENNING,
Agent. Am. Colonization Society.
For Richards’ Weekly Gazette.
MR. COWDREY'S LETTER.
Cave Spring. Floyd Cos., Ga., )
Moj Hth, 10 40. j
Mr. Editor .-—Some two or three months
past, your correspondent P., in one of his
“ Letters from Cherokee,” when speaking
of Female Schools at this place, said, in
reference to myself, “It is understood that
he “ desires a Select School, and would be
pleased to see another established.” Sup
posing that this language expressed more
than I had authorized any person to say
for me—more than L had ever been heard
to say for myself, 1 requested you briefly
to correct the impression it appeared likely
to make. Now, I think you will not find
in my note any charge of intentional inju
ry, and there was none expressed in your
remarks ; yet I objected to the expression
itself, so far as relates to desiring a Select
School, and to the inference deducible from
it—and to both I still object. The lan
guage represents me as rather forward in
the case; more so Ilian either my princi
ples or my interest would justify. It rep
resents me as saying, in effect, to the peo
ple who have hitherto patronized me—
“ You can no longer send indiscriminately
—I must make my selection among you.”
This language would argue ingratitude for
the pad, and indifference as to the future,
of which I cannot believe myself the sub
ject.
But your correspondent, P., in his letter
of March 2d, published in No. 47 of the
Gazette, says, in reference to his former
publication: “That paragraph was writ
ten with the greatest innocence of any’ such
intention, [i. e. of injuring me,] and only,
in terms, expressed what Mr. C. bad re
peatedly declared. The truth never does
injustice; and if Mr. C. will tell his friends
he is willing to see another School estab
lished, and only wants a select one, it is
no injustice, if he means what he says, for
others to repeat it. That he has used these
very words, can he established by half the
village.”
Now, Mr. Editor, as to the motive that
influenced the writer, I have said nothing,
and I have nothing to say; but while 1 do
not wish to injure others, I am unwilling
to be injured myself, even unintentionally.
I agree with him, that “ the truth never does
injustice .” That I have expressed willing
ness —consent —to see another School estab
lished. whenever the people of the village
might think it their interest to have one. 1
never have denied, and 1 never will deny;
because I know I had said as much to some
half dozen persons, (the writer among
them,) previous to the appearance of his
first communication on the subject. And
what else could I have said, as a republi
can, to a republican people? Who wqyld
have had no more prudence than to claim
the right of objecting in such a case?
Rut I cannot admit that I had said, “ I
desire” or “only want a select School;”
and let it be proved by half the village,
that I have 11 used these very words.” Hav
ing always been conscious of regard, to
some extent, at least, for the feelings and
interests of those around me, and of the im
propriety of such a speech a the above. 1
cannot think that I have made it; ar.d, if
half the village should testify against me,
they must substitute for my own declaration
an inference of some mans, even much more
liberal than the measurement that locates my
school-house a mile from the village. Had
1 used such language, it could have been
fairly inferred that I “ desired:’ or “ want
: Z” another School established, that I might
lie freed from the care, of my neighbors’
children. But this I have not done: and
I must insist upon the clear distinction bc
-1 tween trill in guess and “want ” or “desire.”
The former imports consent, merely, while
either of the latter denotes anxiety; as
may be easily illustrated. For example—
’ a servant that is only willing or consentive,
will wait to be ordered, even when he
knows his master’s wishes: but one that
wants to obey, will be very apt to antici
pate those wishes. A legislator who is
only willing to a certain measure, will, per
haps, second, or. at least, not oppose, a mo
tion for its adoption ; while one who wants
or desires its adoption, will be very apt to
make such motion. It is to this advanced
i position assigned me in the expression re
ferred to, as well as the inference deduci
ble from it, that 1 object. I have always
“meant” what I have always “said” in
“terms,” when speaking on the subject—
that whenever the people of the village de
sired a School for their convenience, I was
willing to its establishment; willing, be
cause they are free, because I am not afraid
of “competition,” and because I should be
pleased to see them pleased.
With regard to the apparent insinuation,
respecting qualifications, in the second par
agraph of the last “ Letter,” 1 ought not to
feel very uneasy, while those who “ de
’ sire” a School in the village, have never
pretended—indeed, have always disavow
ed—any other objection to my School than
the distance, (though hardly a “ mile,") and
the unpleasantness of the road in rainy
weather, never naming the “ dangerous
creek” to me. In fact, the effort has been
made to persuade me to teach in the vil
lage.
I should consider the phrase, “ even if,” j
kc., a mere hypothecs, designed to show 1
the certainty of continued patronage, but
for these inconveniences, (“distance,” &c.)
were it not qualified by “motives of friend
ship and veneration for calling;” and I
take leave of it, with the assurance that 1
am obliged to any who may have authori
zed the use ot such language, for their re
spect to myself and my calling; and I
trust 1 may continue to demean myself so
as not to forfeit either; but let me say to
them, that if they ever wish to make me a
present, 1 should he glad to receive it by
the right name, and thank them accord-
ingly.
Allow me, Mr. Editor, to express the
sincere hope that no inferences, hastily
drawn, may be suffered to affect any man’s
character and relations to society. Time
will rectify our errors, and tend to mitigate
feelings, perhaps, unduly exasperated. In
all my remarks, I have not desired to in
flict a wound; nor do I wish to provoke
or continue a controversy. I flatter myself
that this reply, unavoidably late, is hardly
required by “old acquaintance;” but I am
not willing to lie under censure, though
unintentionally thrown upon me, even in
the sight of strangers.
With due respect for yourself, your con
tributors and readers, I remain, &c.,
W. D. COWDREY.
“j* JJ J 5 Jj J : > jl li I a
GRAZIELLA.
Surprised in the midst of her slumbers
by the voice of her brother, Graziella had
neither time, nor did it occur to her, to ar
range her sleeping costume. She had
rushed to the window with naked feet, in
the dishevelled state in which she had been
sleeping. The half of her long, jet-black
hair, fell over one of her cheeks; the oth
er half twisted itself round her neck, then,
tossed to the other side of her shoulder by
the wind, which blew violently, it beat
against the half opened casement, and re
turned to sweep across her features, like
the wing of a raven beaten by the wind.
The young girl rubbed her eyes with the
backs of her hands, stretching her arms
and dilating her chest, like a child just
awakened, and endeavoring to arouse itself
completely. Her chemise, tied loosely
round her neck, allowed nothing to appear
but a tall and slender figure, beneath which
the first undulations of youth were scarce
ly visible. Her eyes, which were large
and oval, were of that undecided color
between jet-black and azure, which tem
pers the brilliancy of the glance by the ad
ditional softness which it lends it, and
which blends in equal proportions, in a
woman's look, tenderness of heart and the
energy of passion—a celestial tint, which
the eyes of the women of Asia and of Ita
ly borrow from the burning fire of their
days of flame, and the serene azure of
their sky, their sea, and their nights. Her
cheeks were rounded, full, and of a firm
contour, but rather pale, and a little im
browned by the climate; not the sickly
paleness of the North, but the healthy
whiteness of the South, which resembles
marble exposed for ages to the wind and
the waves. The mouth, which was more
open, and the lips rather thicker than those
of the women of our climate, had an ex
pression of candor and goodness. The
sma.ll, but pearly teeth shone, in the vacil
lating light of the torch, like the open shell
of a pearl oyster beneath the glancing and |
transparent tide.
While she spoke to her little brother,
her animated words, a little sharp and ac
centuated in their tone, and half borne
away by the breeze, sounded like music in
our ears. Her countenance, as changeful
as the light of the torch which illumined
it, passed in a moment from surprise to af- •
fright, from affright to gaiety, and from
tenderness to laughter ; then, observing us
behind the trunk of the large tig-tree, she :
retired in confusion from the window : her
hand abandoned the casement, which beat
against the wall without resistance ;. and.
only taking sufficient time to awaken her
grandmother, and to half complete her cos
tume, she came down to open the door to
as beneath the area le, and, all agitated, to
embrace her grandfather and her brother. ,
In a short time, the old mother appeared,
holding in her hand a lamp of red earth,
which lighted up her pale and meagre vis-;
age, and her hair as white as the particles j
of wool which were scattered over the ta
ble around her distaff. She kissed the hand j
of her husband, and the forehead of the j
clnld. The whole narrative, which has
just been recounted, was exchanged in a
few words and a few gestures between the
members of this poor family. We did not
hear the whole of it. We held a little
aloof, in order not to throw a restraint, by j
our presence, upon the free outpouring of
our hosts’ hearts. They were poor; we’
were strangers; we owed them respect.
Our attitude, in thus standing aloof and ;
near the door, was a silent testimony of it.
Graziella threw, from time to time, an i
astonished look at us, as if from the depths
of a dream. When the father had finished
his narrative, the old mother fell on her
knees beside the hearth; Graziella, run
ning up on the terrace, brought back with
her a branch of rosemary, and some flow
ers of the orange-tree, with their large
white stars; then, mounting on a chair,
she fastened the bouquet, with long golden
pins taken from her hair, in front of a lit
tle smoked statue of the Virgin, placed be
: hind the door, and before which burned a
’ lamp. We understood that it was an act
I of thanksgiving to her divine protectress.
| for having saved her grandfather and her
i brother, and we took part in her expres
sions of gratitude.
* * * * * *
When, on Sundays or fete-days, Grazi
ella, dressed in this costume, emerged from
her chamber on the terrace, with a few’
flowers of the red pomegrante or the rose
laurel fastened on one side of her head,
amid her jet-black hair; when on hearing
the bells of the neighboring chapel, she
passed and repassed before my window,
like a peacock displaying its plumage upon
the roof in the snn ; when she drew lan
guishing!)’after her, her feet, imprisoned in
their embroidered slippers, glanc in down at
them as she walked along; and then when
flic raised her head again with her habit
ual swan-like movement of the neck, to
throw back on her shoulders her long
tresses, confined in the silken folds of her
handkerchief; when, perceiving me gazing
at her, she blushed a little, as if ashamed
of being so handsome —there weremoments
when the radiance of her beauty struck me
so freshly and forcibly, that I fancied I saw it
for the first time, and my ordinary famil
iarity with her changed into a sort of tim
idity and dazzled awe.
But she sought so little to dazzle, and
her natural instinct for admiration was so
exempt from all pride and all coquetry,
that immediately after the sacred ceremo
nies were over, she hastened to strip her
self of her rich attire, and to resume her
simple jacket of coarse green cloth, her
robe of printed calico, striped with red and
black, and to slip her feet once more into
her shoes of white wood, which resounded
all day long on the terrace, like the sono
rous papouches of the female slaves of
the East.
When her young friends did not come to
seek her, or when her cousin did not,ac
company her to the church, it was often I
who conducted her there, and waited for
her, seated on the steps, of the portico.
When service was over, I heard with a sort
personal pride, as if she had been my sister
or my betrothed, the murmurs of admira
tion which her graceful figure excited nmong
her companions, and among the young
sailors of the quays of Margellina. But
she heard none of them, and with eyes for
me alone amid the crowd, she smiled on me
from the top of the upper step, made her
last sign of the cross with her fingers dip
ped in the holy water, and with downcast
eyes, descended modestly, the steps at the
foot of which I awaited her coming.
It was thus that upon fete-days I accom
panied her, morning and evening, to church
—the sole and pious amusements with
which she was acquainted, and which she
loved. I was careful, on such days, to as
similate my costume as much as possible to
that of the young sailors of the island, in
order that my presence might not astonish
any one, and that I might be taken for a
brotheror a relation of the young girl whom
I accompanied.— Lamartine.
ip ©oyris 7,
For Richards’ Weekly Gazette.
LINES
FROM THE FRENCH OF HUGO.
BY WM. CT’AIMING WILDE.
Enfunte si j’etais roi ete.
Lady! if I were king, my liegemen hold
I’d give, and sword, car, sceptre, kingdoms too—
My baths of porphyry and crown of gold,
And fleets that ne’er the boundless wave could
hold,
For ono fond look from thee ’
Or were I God, the subtle air on high,
And fruitful chaos, with the earth, the sea—
Ay, more, angels and demons, bending nigh,
Eternity and space, and worlds, the
For one dear kiss from thee!
ssSlLaißfl£Hߧ.
Sunß.U’ Be<rtwflstov Suite EE.
THE TIMELY DELIVERANCE.
“For when we were without strength, in due
time Christ died for the ungodly.”—Rom. v. 6.
The two great subjects of the Bible are
man's ruin by sin, and his restoration by
grace; on the one hand we behold the
misery of the curse, and on the other the
mercy of the cross. We have farther in
these words
A timely deliverance achieved. This is ac
complished by the death of Christ, con
cerning which we may remark four things.
The fact of lus death. “Christ died.”
The circumstances of his death were pecu
liarly affecting. Crucifixion was a mode
of punishment inflicted on those who had
been guilty of the most atrocious deeds,
and was attended with the most exquisite
pains.
The cause of his death. Our sins called
for the wrath and vengeance of God, which
he bore as our Surety; but it was love
that prompted him to this act of unexampled
philanthrophy and disinterestedness, “For
scarcely for a righteous man will one die;
yet peradventure for a good man some
would even dare to die. But God com
mendeth his love toward us, in that while
0
we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.”
The period of his death. “In due time
because it was the period arranged in the
covenant between the Father and the Son ;
because it accorded with the ancient pre
dictions that foretold it; because it agreed
wtih the many promises that insured it, and
with regard to the awful condition of the
world. It was now the time that Messiah
should put away sin by the sacrifice of
himself; there was a general expectation
for him as the promised Deliverer; many
were looking for redemption in Jerusalem,
and waiting for ihe consolation of Israel.
The effects of his death. These are glo
rious. both as it respects the perfections of
God, and the interests of man. A way is
opened for man to the holiest of all. The
rolling clouds of incense and pillars of
smoke no longer ascend towards heaven ;
the fire in the temple has gone out, and
costly sacrifices, and blood of bulls and
goals are no longer required; for that dis
pensation has passed away, and the Gos
pel temple has been dedicated, and the al
tar has been sprinkled with blood more pre
cious than ever was shed by ancient priests
in imposing attire, as they waited upon Je
hovah in the holiest of all, within the veil.
g® a a sa? jiff iios
CURIOSITIES OF FOOD.
The black broth of the Spartans was a
famous dish, but, like Dionysius, we are
not such Spartans. Tfie Dutchman can eat
with great zest his sour, fermented cabbage,
and the Scotch Highlander his bra.xy sheep.
The Esquimaux can eat oil, soap, and what
not, and there are various tribes of Indians
that live upon a certain kind of clay. The
modern Angles upon coffee and beef. The
food that is suitable to one people may not
be so to another; and climate makes a
great difference in the different kinds of
food that should be eaten. What inhabi
tant of the torrid zone could live with im
punity upon blubber, as the inhabitants of
the frigid zone can ? Nature allows the
appetite to decide for itself, as the con
science checks or approves good our evil
acts. These promptings of nature may no
doubt, be destroyed by resisting its primi
tive teaching; but still it is a monitor, and
no even rule of a certain kind of diet can
be prescribed that will answer equally for
every person. More physical evils arise
from gorging the stomach than from any
certain kind of food. Moderate eating
and plenty of exercise in the open air, are
a sure remedy for many diseases, and cer
tainly a greater preventative of than reme
dy for disease.
There is a large tribe of Indians in New
Mexico, who live on a sort of grass-hopper,
or wingless locust, which they dry, pul
verize, and knead into a kind of cake,
which they bake, and which is not bad
eating. The wild horses which traverse
the plains of California and New Mexico
in vast troops —the descendants of the war
horse introduced by the Spanish discover
ers and conquorors—are becoming more
highly prized and sought out. By some
they are used as food. The early settlers
of Oregon fed on their flesh, and found it
quite palatable and nourishing ; they cal
led it “ Columbia Beef.”— Scientific Amer
ican.
THE USE OF QUININE AT THE
WEST.
A medical correspondent of the Surgical
Journal, writing from the West, says : The
immense quantities of quinine sold here
would astonish an Eastern dealer in druars
Five hundred ounces by r one druggist, a
small village are often disposed of. ‘m a few
days, and in the larger towns fifteen hun
dred or two thousand ounces are no uncom
monsaleby one house m from twelve to thir
ty weeks. In speaking of the fever, or fe
ver aud agne, as it is called, for which this
medicine is used, the same writer says, that
though generally prevalent, and in some
seasons universal, (as in 1848, when every
person, man, woman and child, were down
with it,) yet the mortality as compared with
fevers at the East, is as one to fifty. When
a man is seized with the chills, the physic
ian prescribes sixty grains of quinine in six
abual doses, and if he is very restless add*
one eighth of a grain of morphine to one of
the powders, peihaps the first, and general*
ly in twenty-four hours,the patient is well.
But without this invaluable medicine, the
path nt is down for weeks an 1 even months.
The man, wht> being challenged to
a duel, is so much afraid of public senti
ment, that he dares not refuse it, is a coward
In general, that man is a coward who
shapes his course of action by liis fears r
i and he alone is a man of realconrage, who
always dares to do right.
a ] SI; is Lh&ii'.l 7.
MALEBRANCHE.
The gieatest mathematician of this day,
dreamt one night that he had a leg of mut
ton grown to his nose. Some philosophers,
who called the following morning to see
him, found him in the greatest possiblcdis
tress of mind, being fully persuaded that
he had that terrible leg of mutton attached
to his proboscis. Every argument of his
friends every remedy of the faculty, failed
to remove the hallucination from the great
philosopher’s mind; and his case was giv
en up as hopeless. However, a young
surgeon was one day introduced to Male
branche, and he told him that his medical
hretheren, not knowing a cure for his dis
ease, had endeavored to persuade him that
he had a nose like his neighbors, but that
lie acknowledged the fact of the presence
of the leg of mutton. If however, Male
branche would consent to an operation, 1 e
would stake his life on his succes. Male
branehe joyfully accepted his proposal, and
the next day appeared the enterprising op
erator, accompanied by assistants, carrying
knives scalpels, and all the paraphernalia
of the healing art. Malebranche was se
cured on ihe operating stool, and after em
ploying every imaginable instrument, the
operator skinned the good fathers nose,
and then squeezed it so hard, that the pain
made him closehiseyes. “Victory” cried
the surgeon. “I've got it off!” and, loand
behold ; there it was indeed, before the de
lighted patient’s eyes. It is true that the
operator had brought the leg of mutton
under his coat—but Malebranche was per
manently cured.
MARRIED AND SINGLE MEN.
A contemporary very sensibly remarks,
that there should be some means of distin
guishing single men. Unmarried females
arc known hv the prefix of Miss to their
names, btt*, men are styled Mr. How much
unnecessary trouble and solicitude might be
spared to the anxious mothers of marriage
able girls, could they make their distinc
tion. How very annoying to a motherand
a bevy of girls, after laying themselves out
to please some “nice young man” to hear
hun incidentally allude to his wife! This
subject really demands attention and we
think that the girls should suggest some
plan by which these disappointments might
be obviated.
We think there already exists a mode in
which single men can easily be distinguish
ed from married ones, by ladies of discern
ment. It is by paying a little attention to
the conversation and manners of a gentle
man. There is an ease and grace in the
manners of married men—a sensibleness
and want of flutter in their conversation,
which enable them to be readily distinguish
ed—in a mixed company.
Unmarried men may be distinguished by
a general “ greenness,” a certain frivolous
ness of conversation, and a peculiar flutter
of deportment, that nothing but matrimony
can entirely cure.
■ JiliSlA
During the warmly contested elec
tion in Mr. Botts’ district, Mr. Daniel made
a speech in opposition to him, during which
he was interrupted by a loud hiss from
someone in the crowd. He immediately
addressed himself to the person who had
offended, and sail. “Rome wasonce saved
by the hissing of a goose, but I doubt
whether it can save Mr. Botts on this oc
casion.”
L-ff” The most agreeable of all compan
ions is a simple, frank man, without any
high pretensions to an oppressive great
ness; one who loves life, and understands
the use of it; obliging alike at all hours;
above all of a golden temper, and steadfast
as an anchor. For such a one we gladly
exchange the greatest genius, the most
brilliant wit, the profoundest thinker.—
Lessing.
A young lawyer having been asked!
by a judge whether in the transmigration
of souls he would prefer being turned into,
a horse or an ass ?
“An ass,” replied the lawyer..
“ Why V’ said the judge.
“Because I have heard of an ass Being
a judge, hut never-a horse!”
£rj/“ Ihoinas buller, who was a very
lively writer, hut rather addicted 1o pun
n:ng, was occasionally repaid his puns
with interest. He was exceedingly corpu
lent, and as he was riding out with a friend
named Sparrowhawk. “ Pray what is the
diffferance,” said he, u between an owl and
a sparrowhawk V’ “An owl,” replied his
friend, “is fuller in the head, fuller in the
body, and fuller all over.”
If the sun is going down, look up
to the stars; if the earth is dark, keep your
eye on heaven ! With God's presence, and
God’s promises, a man or child may be
cheeerful.
A virtuous man, says Seneca, strug
gling with misfortune, is such a spectacle
as gods might look upon with pleasure.
<B®“* A person named Owen Moore once
left his tradesmen somewhat unceremoni
ously, on which occasion a wag wrote >
** Owen Moore has run sway,
Owin’ more than Uc can pay