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In this age of railroads steam-engines,
and electro-magnetic telegraphs he would
not dare to be ignorant of Natural and Me
chanical Philosophy. The very children,
in these days lisp of hydrostatics and hy
draulics.
“ One of the distinctions of our times is,
that science has passed from speculation
into life. It is sought as a mighty power,
bv which nature is not only to be opened
to thought, but to be subjected to our needs.
It is conferring on us that dominion over
earth, sea and air. which was prophesied
in the first command given to man by his
Maker ;* and thus dominion is not em
ployed now to exalt a few, but to multiply
the comforts and ornaments of life for the
multitude of men.
“It would lay open the secrets of the
polar ocean, and of untrodden, barbarous
lands. Above all, it investigates the laws
of social progress, of arts and institutions
of government, and political economy—
proposing as its great end the alleviation
of ail human burdens —the weal of all the
numbers of the human family."’
•Ge e-sis, i 2?
THE LITERATURE OF MIRTH.
Wc have alrealy announced that anew
volume of the “ Boston Book” is to be is
sued this fall by Messrs. Ticknor. Reed.
4c Fields. The work will contain a rich
varietv of articles, in prose and verse, from
our most accomplished writer®, and will
be published about the last of October. —
Meanwhile, by the kindness of the pub
lishers. we have been furnished with the
following brilliant essay, written for its
pare® by Edwin I\ Whipple.— \ankee
Mailt.
The ludicrous side of life, like the seri
ous s. ie, ha® it literature, and it is a litera
ture of untold wealth. Mirth isa Proteus,
changing its shape and manner with the
thon®and diversities of individual character
flora the most superficial gaiety, to the
decpe®t most earnest humor. Thus, the
wit of the airy, feather-brained Farquhar
glances and gleanr.s like heat lightning;
that of Milton, blasts and burns like the
bolt. Let us glance carelessly over this
wide field of comic writers, who have
drawn new forms of mirthful being from
life's ludicrous side, and note, here and
there a wit or humorist. There is the
humor of Goethe, like his own summer
morning, mirthfully clear; and there is the
tough knotty humor of old Ben Jonson, at
times ground down at the edge to a sharp
cutting scorn, and occasionally hissing out
stinging words, which seem, like his own
Mercury's. “ steeped in the very brine of
conceit, and sparkle like salt in fire.”
There is the incessant brilliancy of Sheri
dan, —
“ Whose humor, as gay as the fire-fly's l gbt,
Flayed round every snViject, and shone as it
played;
Whose wit in the combat, ns g'-ntte as bright.
Ne’er carried a heart-stain away on its blade.”
There is the uncouth mirth, that winds,
stutters, wriggles and screams, dark, scorn
ful, and savage, among the dislocated joints
of Carlyle's spavined sentences. There is
the lithe, springy sarcasm, the hilarious
badinage, the brilliant, careless disdain,
which sparkles and scorches along the
glistening page of Holmes. There is the
sleepy smile that sometimes lies so benign
ly on the sweet and serious diction of old
Izaak Walton. There is the mirth of
Dickens, twinkling now in some ironical
insinuation, —and anon winking at ye with
pleasant maliciousness, itsdistented cheeks
fat with suppressed glee,—and then, again,
coming out in broad gushes of humor,
overflowing all banks and bounds of con
ventional decorum. There is Sydney
Smith, —sly, sleek, swift, subtle, —a mo
ment's motion, and the human mouse is in
his paw 1 . Mark, in contrast with him, the
beautiful heedlessness with which the
Ariel-iike spirit of Gay pours itself out in
benevolent mockeries of human folly.—
There, in a corner, look at that petulant
little man, his features working with
thought and pain, his lips wrinkled with a
sardonic smile; and. see! the immortal
personality has received its last point and
polish in that toiling brain, and, in a straight,
luminous line, with a twang like Scorn’s
own arrow, hisses through the air the un
erring shaft of Pope,—to
“ D.ish tbe proud gamc®ter from lii® gildedea-.
Bare the base bear! that lurks beaea'h a star.”
There, a little above Pope, see Dryden,
keenly dissecting the inconsistencies of
Buckingham's volatile mind, or leisurely
crushing out the insect life of Shadwell, —
‘ owno<l with dispute,
Throughout the realms of Nonsense absolute.”
There, moving gracefully through that
carpeted parlor, mark that dapper, diminu
tive Irish gentleman. The moment you
look at hint, your eves are dazzled with
the whizzing rockets ami hissing wheels,
streaking the air with a million sparks,
from the pyrotechnic brain of Anacreon
Moore. Again, cast your eyes from that
blinding glare and glitter to the soft and
beautiful brilliancy, the winning grace, the
bland banter, the gliding wit, ihe diffusive
humor, which make you in love with all
mankind, in the charming pages of Wash
ington Irving. And now, for another
change, gJance at the jerks and jets of
satire, the mirth, audacities, the fretting
and teasing mockeries, of that fat, sharp
imp, half Mephistophi!e, half Falstaff,
that cross between Beelzebub and Rabelais,
known in all lands as the matchless Mr.
Punch- No English statesman, however
gieat his power, no English nobleman,
however high his rank, but knows that
every week he may be pointed at by the
scoffing finger of that omnipotent buffoon,
and consigned to the ridicule of the world.
The pride of intellect, the pride of wealth,
the power to oppress, nothing can save the
dunce or criminal from being pounced upon
by Punch, and held up to a derision or ex
ecration, which shall ring frotn London to
St. Petersbingb from the Ganges to the
Oregon. From the vitriol pleasantries of
this arch-fiend of Momus, let us turn to the
benevolent mirth of Addison and Steele,
whose glory it was to redeem polite lit
erature from moral depravity, by showing
that wit could chime merrily in with the
voice of virtue, and who smoothly laughed
away many a vice of the national charac
ter, by that humor which tenderly touches
the sensitive point with an evanescent
grace and genial glee. And here let us not
forget Goldsmith, whose delicious mirth is
of that rare quality which lies too deep for
laughter; which melts softly into the mind,
suffusing it with inexpressible delight, and
sending the soul dancing joyously into the
eve.®, to utter its merriment in liquid glance®.
’ passing all the expression of tone. And
here, though we cannot do him justice, let
us remember the name of Nathaniel Haw
thorne, deserving a place second to none
in that band of humorists, whose beautiful
depth of cheerful feeling is the very poetry
of mirth. In case, grace, delicate sharp
ness of satire, in a felicity of touch which
often surpasses the felicity of Addison, in
a subtlety of insight which often reaches
farther than the subtlety of Steel, —the
humor of Hawthorne presents traits to fine
as to be almost too excellent for populari
ty. as. to everv one who has attempted
theit criticism, they are too refined for
statement. The brilliant atoms flit, hover,
and glance before our minds, but the subtle
sources of their ethereal light lie beyond
our analysis—
** And no ®pse t of oar® v Is
Tohunt upm their shining trails.”
And now. let us breathe a benison to
these our mirthful benefactors, these fire
revellers among human weaknesses, these
stern, keen satirists of human depravity
Wherever Humor smiles away the fretting
thoughts of care, or supplies that antidote
which e'eanses
“ The stuffed bosom oft! at perilous s uff
Thit weighs upoo the heart, ‘*
wherever Wit riddles folly, abases pride, or
stings iniquity,—there glides the cheerful
spirit, or glitters the flashing thought, of
these bl ight enemies of stupidity and gloom.
Thanks to them, hearty thanks, for teach
ing us that the ludicrous side of life is its
wicked side, no less than its foolish ; that
in a lying world there is still no mercy for
falsehood ; that Guilt, however high it may
lift its brazen front, is never beyond the ,
lightnings of scorn; and that the lesson
they teach, agrees with the lesson taught
by all experience, that life, in harmony
with reason, is the only life safe from con- j
tempt.
jii j s £ & iL
GEN. VILLAMIL.
Bayard Taylor, in one of his letters to the
Tribune, thus speaks of Gen. Villamil.
of the Republic of Ecuador :
Among the passengers who came on ;
board at San Diego, is Gen. Villamil. of the j
Republic of Ecuador, recently appointed
Charge to the United States. He reached
San Diego in 60 days from Guayaquil, and
comes to California to establish a Consul
ship at San Francisco. It was his inten
tion to have gone to Washington by the
overland route, but, owing to the repre
sentationsof the emigrants who have lately
arrived, he will return in the steamer to
Panama. Gen. Villamil, who was aid to
Bolivar during the war of South-American
independence, is well known to the world
through the history of the Columbian Re
public. He is a native of New-Orleans,
and speaks English with perfect fluency.
After the secession of Ecuador from Col
umbia, he obtained from Gen. Flores a
grant of one of the Gallipagos Islands—a
group well known to whalers, lying on the
Equartor, 600 miles west of Guayaquil.—
On this island, which he named Floriana,
he has lived for the past sixteen years.—
The 120 head of cattle, which he original
ly placed there, have now- grown into a
herd of 8,000, from which he has stocked
some of the adjoining islands. His colony
contains 150 souls, who raise on the light,
new soil, abundant crops of grain and
vegetables. The island is 15 miles in
length by 12 in breadth, lying in lat. Id.
30tn. S. and its highest part is about 5.000
feet above the sea. The soil is but from
12 to 18 inches deep, yet such is the pro
fusion of vegetable growth, that, as Gen.
Villamil informs me, its depth has in many
places increased six inches since he first
landed there. The supply of water is ob
tained in a very singular manner. A large
porous rock, on the side of one of the
mountains, seems to serve as an outlet or
filter for some subterranean vein, since on
its base, which is constantly humid, the
drops collect and fall in sufficient abund
ance to supply a large basin in the rock
below. Pipes from this deposit convey
the water to the velley. Its quality is
cool T sweet and limpid, and the rocky
sponge from which i; drips never fails in
its supply.
Gen. Villamil, with a liberal it}* unusual
in these gold-seeking time*, has offered,
through the South American papers, to
supply all American vessels in want of
provisions w ith as many head of cattle a®
they need, requiring only that a receipt be
left with his overseer on the island.—
Those who are afterward in a condition to
pay may do so at the Ecuadorian Consulate
in San Francisco; if others are not able,
he requires no compensation. There are
two anchoring places on the island, Post-
Office Bay, on the north, and Black Beach,
l on the western side. Both of these furnish
10®ill©@8 WiSKßtf ©a3!lii a
safe anchorage at from 8 to 12 fathoms.
, As the Gallipagos group lies in the direct
! route of ships bound to California, this in
formation may be of some use.
A SUNDAY IN_THE SOUTH.
BY A NORTHMAN.
One of the moral beauties of our coun
try now, is the ease with which differences
of opinion and practice are quietly recon
ciled, by all whose education and experi
ence have taught the value of toleration.
We spent a Sunday lately at the house of
an intimate friend in Smithville, X. C.,
who lives in a plain, quiet way, with ev
ery comfort about him, and appears thank
ful for the various blessings he enjoys, by
the pleasure he evinces in yielding to the
different methods by which those around
him enjoy their “ day of rest aud refresh
ment.”
It was harvest time, and a very busy
time that is here, when the preservation of
the smaller grains interpose with the work
ing—or ‘laying by’ of the corn and cotton
crops. Yet, on the evening of Saturday, j
we noticed women coming out of the har
ve®: field, early after dinner, to prepare by
washing, baking and cooking, for the gen
eral day of rest.
The practice at this house is to have ex
tra cooking on Saturday, to provide am
ply for all on the next day without a formal
meal: a® little work as it is possible being
called for from the servants on ‘the day j
of rest from lahor'—which seems to be re
garded very literally. But still there was
shown now and then, a slight exception,
so quietly conducted that it only confirmed j
the rule !
From travel, or peculiarity, the planter
seldom sat at table, for early breakfast, an
hour after sunrise—a cup of coffee was the
only refreshment he took at that hour.
But as his horses were let from their stables
to their Sunday pastures, we saw him car
ry a cup of salt to a long trough, that he
might look at, talk to, and pat liis favorite
young colts, and other cattle, who all
walked out quietly and sedately, as if an
order had been given for very careful be
havior !
Sheep, calves and cows, afterwards pass
ed by to their different pastures, but all
delayed for salt. YVe heard only one di
rection given, ‘ not to hurry them !’
Some of the negroes wish to go to a
meeting a few miles distant—the request
for this was early made and freely granted.
It was amusing to sec the style with which
the laborers were adorned, and the cheer
ful gaiety with which they trotted off.
Women, in gaudy dresses—veils—scarfs
—fans—parasols, and other finery. Boys,
with broad straps tightly drawing down
their ‘Sunday’ trowsers. Grown men,
with the babies in their arms, baskets of
provisions for the ‘interval’ between the
two sermons. The whole wore an air of
cheerful contentment and careful prepara
tion. Although a degree of thoughtful
gravity controlled some faces in setting
ovt, the true negro laugh would he heard
now and then from the woods or the old
fields.
After breakfast, in walking through a
noble grove of forest trees at the back of
the house, a novel scene arrested our at
tention. Upon the prominent roots of a
magnificent oak, and upon rocks which
were strewed in the shade, the lady of the
house was seated with her children ami 1
some of the servants, who remained at
home from preference or indisposition.—
! The lady was reading from a prayer-book,
a white and a negro boy, with straw hats
upon their heads, listened attentively, but
looked about. Oneof the young daughters
carefully nursed a little bright-ey r ed negro
baby, whose mother had gone to the meet
i mg. In the centre of the group, sat a fine
1 young tan-colored pointer, with brass col
| lar and lock, as one of the congregation—
with very devout air, except when he felt
compelled to snap at a fly! A tall white
setter dog, of more mature age, reclined
outside the circle in a path, as if better ac-
I quainted with the decorum of the place—
also knowing that a walk in the meadow
came after prayers! Amidst the singing
of birds, the calling of sheep, and all the
\ noises of a well-stocked plantation, the
. minds of this little audience were led to
j their Creator! And although there was
i no assumption of manner, nor extraordi
nary strictness of demeanor, the whole
scene was adapted ‘to provoke devotional
thoughts.’
I don’t think I ever ate a cold dinner, or
enjoyed a glass of wine-sangaree with
greater relish than 1 did that day.— N. Y.
i Spirit of the Times.
’ FREE PASSES FOR EDITORS ON
RAILROADS, EOT.
1 The following, from the Boston Even
; ing Gazette, puts a doubtful value upon
! its true footing :
j “ The community were somewhat star
; tied a few weeks since, by an annonnee
j ment made that editots were not allowed
i to pass over a certain railroad free—and
j still more so, when some heroic gentleman
j started up at the meeting and with courage
exclaimed—‘Glad of it.’ For our part \vc
see no particular cause for rejoicing, and
, the gentleman who thus spoke out must
look deeper into the subject than we have
as yet. Elizur Wright at the time wrote
a short article upon the system of free pas
ses, and concluded by promising not on
ly to ride over the rails and pay his fare,
but to become a stockholder, if the com
| panies would pay a fair price for thelmn
i dreds of articles which directly or indirect
ly tend to improve railroad stock and
| which editors insert daily and weekly gra
tuitously. Let us look for a moment into
this subject, and see how much newspa
pers have to do with the formation of rail
| roads. A few men meet and talk over a
route for a railroad. The resources of the
. country looked at, the amount of travel is
reckoned, and then the public pulse i.®
touched through the medium of the news
paper. The editor is called upon and be
comes interested in the plan, and his pen
is employed to portray the advantages
which must accrue. Other editors copy
the articles, the community is awakened,
I and then comes the call for a public meet
ing, and the newspaper again lends gratui
tously, its services to induce the people to
be present. The work goes on! the news
paper records its progress. The annual
meeting is holden, a reporter is dispatched,
and the absent stockholders, ere twenty
four hours have elapsed, are posted up:
and finally comes the opening, when two
columns in the newspaper announce to the
world that there is such a road in exist
ence, refers to its prospects, alludes to the
beauties of Nature which can be seen du
ring a ride over the road, and establishes
in the minds of the people a confidence in
the stock. What pecuniary reward is re
ceived for this 1 An advertisement at a
low pnee is obtained, and the money re
ceived for this is paid out in recording the
success of the road. This is what the
newspaper does for railroads. What should
be the reward of those who spend time and
money in improving the stock of railroads ?
What does a free pass amount to 1 It
costs the railroad® no more to convey one
hundred and one passengers than it does
: one hundred. Editors are not generally
migratory in their habits, but when an op
portunity offers they sometimes avail
themselves of it. An invitation is sent,
perhaps, to an editor to pass over the road
at his own convenience. A leisure day
presents itself, and away he flies over the
road, noting everything he sees and giv
ing a sketch of his trip, in his papers,
| which is read by thousandsand thousands.
Perhaps a few only may be induced to fol
low his example. They go and see, and 1
these few speak of it to others, and so the
ball is set in motion. YY’hat does the cor
poration lose 1
“There is a policy in free passes, there 1
is economy in well directed liberality, and 1
roads have studied the system aud have
been gainer®, while others have pursued a
narrow contracted course and the result is
seen. Look at the flourishing villages
which have sprung up on some of the
roads, contrasting strongly with the desert
ed hamlets on other routes, where high
fares have not only driven people away,
but kept others from settling, and where
the meanness of the president and direct
ors has become proverbial along the route.
“For our part we care little or nothing
about fiee passes, we are tied to the oar
and cannot avail ourselves of compliment
ary and unsolicited invitations to ride on a
rail, which have been kindly extended to
us: but we do like to see the Press treated
with some little respect, and if any class
in the community deserves to travel with
out expense, in consideration of services
rendered, it is that class which belongs to
| the Press. We do not include in this list,
a set of half fleeced reporters, to no par
j ticular paper, representing no established
journal who float round the country, living
| by their wits, and their power of eloquence
jin persuading conductois arid landlotds
they are correspondents for some fourteen
different papers—for they are merely leech
es, and are entitled to no courtesy.”
THE SONGS OF YORE.
Alas ! the goo 1 old songs of yore
Have g.mc quite out of date —
Surpassed by “ Old Virginia’s shore,”
And the “ North Carolina State ”
No more are heud the pleasing notes
Os “ Coining through the Bye,”
But turn you whore you may, you'll hear
“ Susanna, don’t you cry.”
To sing the song of “ Home, sweet Home,”
A girl could not be led ;
But ask her for some “ favorite words,”
She’ll strike up “ Uncle Ned.”
Then finish off with “ Buffalo gals,”
Or else, with “ Dearest May,”
Forgetting that she ever heard
Some more heart-breathing lay.
Oh ! give to me the songs of yore,
That come from the warm heart,
Such as “ We’ve been friends together,”
It bids the tears to start.
Sing me the song, of “ flours that were,”
I'll crave not what belongs
T’ the list of “ Nigger ’’—pshaw !—I mean
Os ” Fashionable Songs .”
THE NOBLE HEARTED SAILOR
BOY.
A little boy twelve years of age, poor
and ragged, came into the cars between
Boston and Fall River. There was a
slight shrinking from him manifested by
some of the well dressed passengers, lie
took his seat quietly near me; and a sea
captain who entered at the same time told
me his touching story.
I learned that he was a poor orphan, and
three days before he had been wrecked
near Montauk Point; the schooner upon
which he was, being struck by a white
squall and instantly sunk. While the lad
was floating upon some wood, a vessel
near, w hich had seen the accident, sent forth
its boat to save from a watery grave any |
who might be rescued. They spied the lit
tle boy floating amid the waste of waters,
and approached him ; but he, with a gen
erosity, alas! too rare, cried out, “ Never
mind me ; save the captain, he has a wife
and six children.” Poor fellow ! he knew
that the captain had those who loved him,
and would need his support.
The captain, in telling me the story, was
much affected, and said, with a generosity
characteristic of the mariner, ‘‘The boy has
only the clothes you see, sir, or he would
not be so ragged. I care not much for my- !
self, though 1 too lost all, but the poor lad
will have a hard time of it.”
Several persons, on hearing this story,
gave small sums to the poor orphan, and
advised him to make a statement to other
passengers, who would doubtless give some- j
thing.”
“ I am not a beggar,” was the only an-
j swer; “ I don't wish to beg their money.’’
At this n oment a fine, benevolent indi
i vidual arose in a seat near me, and offered
1 10 plead for him who would not prefer his
j own claim. Most successful was the warm
; hearted appeal which he made to the pas
sengers. and ten dollars were collected.—
Stories for Children.
MENTAL SUPREMACY.
Marius, the man who rose, a caliga , to
be seven times consul, was in a dungeon;
and a slave was sent in with commission
to put him to death. These were the per
sons, the two extremities of exalted and
forlorn humanity, its vanward and its
rearward man, a Roman consul and an ab
ject slave. But their natural relations to
each other were by the caprice of fortune
monstrously inverted : the consul was in
chains : the slave was for a moment the
arbiter of his fate. By what spells, what
magic, did Marius reinstate himself in his j
natural prerogatives? By what marvels
drawn from heaven or from earth, did he. {
in the twinkling of an eye,-again invest;
himself with the purple, and place between
himself and his assassin a host of shadowy
lictors? By the mere blank supremacy of
great minds over weak ones. He fascinat
ed the slave, as a rattlesnake does a bird.
Standing “ like Teneriffe,” he smote him j
with his eye. and said, “Dost thou, fellow’,
presume to kill Cains Marius?” Whereat
the reptile, quaking under the voice, not
daring to affront the consular eye, sank
gently to the ground—turned round upon
his hands and feet—and, crawling out of
the prison like any other varmin, left
Marius standing in solitude as steadfast
and immovable as the capitol.— De Quin
cy-
THE STOLEN KISS.
My dear Ned. did you ever steal a kiss
from a beautiful girl in some unguarded
moment when she was totally unconscious
of the close proximity of your lips to her
own, until the treasure was pilfered, and
past redemption ? *
If so, then listen to me, and I will give
you an account of a bit of fun in that line,
which I perpetrated about ten yeats since,
when I was at the age of fourteen. At the
district school where I attended, there was
was a little blonde, a classmate of mine,
whose roguish eye and dimple cheek play
ed the mischief with my studies, and I be
lieve that 1 was not behind hand in draw
ing her attention from her books, and the
teacher said that we must remove our seats
to prevent our seeing each other, while at
our studies.
Every day, after school was dismissed. I
gallanted Kate B. to her home ; and when
there was snow on the ground, I always
insisted on her taking a seat on my sled,
while I, proud of my load of lovliness,
would draw her up the steep hill to her
home. The other boys, envious of Kate's
selecting me as her champion, seemed de
termined to ridicule us to the extent of
their power; and when Kate and I were on
our way to school our appearance on the
play ground was the signal for a perfect
broadside of railery.
“ There comes Kate and her Beau,” says
one.
“ Hallo Jack ! why don’t you lock arms
with your sweetheart ?”
“ Oh, they ain’t engaged yet,” said ano
ther.
And poor Kate would run blushing into
the school-room, and I would propose some
play to turn the conversation.
The intimacy between us grew stronger
I day by day, until I used to call at her
house for nothing else but to hear her
sweet laugh and talk until it was time for
me to leave.
One fine summer evening, I thought I
would walk up to Kate’s and find our what
she thought of a small ring that I had sent
to Per the day before, by an urchin that I
had hired, as I had not the courage to give
it to her myself. As I neared the house 1
saw Kate half reclining on a small lounge
that had been moved from the sitting room
into the open verandah. Her father was
reading the paper and smoking a large
pipe, with his feet placed on an old chest
that stood in the corner of the kitchen; and
her mother sat in the rocking chair, with
her knitting work ir. hand, while to com
plete the group a monstrous mastiff dog
lay under the table asleep. I crept softly
up to the lounge where Kate was, without
being discovered. She was gazing through
the lattice work of the verandah at the
moon, and humming a favorite of mine.—
Heavens! how beautiful she looked.
“ 111 kiss her if I swing for it /” said I
to myself, while the blood rushed through
my veins like red hot lava, and my breath
grew quick and hurried.
1 pressed near to her, and stood near e
nough to snatch the coveted cup of nectar,
but my courage failed me, and I should
have given it up as a bad job, if the little
w itch had not at that moment held up to
the bright moonlight an exquisite hand,
with the very ring I had sent her, on the
third finger. She looked at the ring but
for a moment, and then with a quick mo
tion pressed it to her lips. Amo, Amas,
Amanas! I could bear it no longer. In
an instant 1 had encircled her waist with
my arm. and glued “my lips to the sweet
creature’s rosy mouth. Ye gods and little
fishes! what a scream she gave !
She slipped from my embrace like an
eel, and sprang for the open door. I caught
her by the waist again.
“Kate! Kate! don’t you know ”
Woof! Yow !—and down I went flat on
my back with oldTowser’s dental arrange
ments fastened in my shoulder.
“ Get out, Towser ! Father, father ! help,
he’ll kill him !” cried Kate, who had re
cognized my voice ; an the poor girl was
in an agony of tears.
Out rushed Squire 8., and loosed me
from the grip of the dog. Kate's mother
made me take off my coat, that she might
see the extent of the wounds. They were
not dangerous, and after applying some
ointment the pain left me, and I took a
chair by the side of Mrs. B.
“ Why,- what in the world made you
scream so, Kate ?” said her father.
Poor Kate blushed to the tip of her fin
gers and said nothing, but cast and implor
ing glance at me.
“ What was it, Jack ?” he inquired.
” Why, ihe truth is, Mr. B . when I
came to the verandah, I saw Kate on the
lounge, looking so bewitching, that 1 could
not help taking a kiss, and as 1 took it
without her leave, it startled her some
what.”
Squire B. foareef with laughter, while
Mis B. looked at Kate with such a comi
cal expression that she slipped out of doors
to hide her confusion.
1 went out a moment after and found her
in a little arbor in the rear of the house.
“ Dear Kate,” said I, “forgive me, and
I will give you back that kiss I stole.”
She looked at me a moment anil turned j
her head away; but she did not struggle
violently when I lepaid her the kiss I had
stolen on the verandah. I have kissed j
beautiful girls since, but never found the
zest of the stolen kiss.—Ah Kate!.
THE SOCIETY OF WOMEN.
No society is more profitable, because
none more refining and provocative of vir
tue, than that of refined and sensible wo
men. God enshrined peculiar goodness in
the form of women, that her beauty might
win, her gentle voice invite, and the desire
of her favor persuade men’s sterner souls
to leave the path ot sinful strife, for the
ways of pleasantness and peace. But when
woman falls from this blest eminence, and
sinks the guardian and the cherisherof pure
and rational enjoyments into the vain co
quette, and flattered idolaterof idol fashion,
she is unworthy of an honorable man's
love, or a sensible man's admiration. Beau
ty is then but at best,
‘ A pretty play thing,
Dear deceit.’
We honorthechivalrousdeference which
is paid in our land to women. It proves
that our men know how to respect virtue
and pure affection, and that our women are
| worthy of such respect. Yet women shorn!
be something more than mere women to win
us to theirsociely. To beour companions,
they should be fitted to be our friends; to
rule our hearts, they should be deserving
ihe approbation of our minds. There are
many such, and that there are no more, is
rather the fault of our own sex than their
own ; and despite all the unmanly scandals
that have been thrown upon them in prose
and verse, they would lather share in the
rational conversation of men of sense, than
listen to the silly compliments of fools ; and
a man dishonors them as well as disgraces
himself, when he seeks their circle for idle
J pastime, and not for the improvement of
I his mind and the elevation of his heart.
FREE SOIL AND FREE SPEECH.
The arrest of Mr. Whitney in Ireland —
ion that soil which boasts it “cannot sus
tain a slave”—for reciting a speech of
Patrick Henry’s, has already been referred
to —but more full particulars will be found
below.
The whole proceeding strikes us as some
what extraordinary to say the least of it.
If Patrick Henry's Speeches are contraband
there, what must be the penalty attached
to the recitation of one of Curran's?
Every community of course has the
right of protecting itself against interlopers
but in this case the proceeding was as ty
rannical as the pretext was frivolous :
Telegraph.
Mr. Charles Whitney of the U. States
has been travelling through Great Britain
delivering lectures on American Oratory in
Dublin, Belfast and other places. In Dub
lin his lectures produced much enthusiasm,
and on introducing the speech of Patrick
Henry much excitement prevailed among
his hearers. When he came to the words
“We must fight! 1 repeat it, Sir, we must
fight! An appeal to arms and to the God
of Hosts is all that is left forus!” the noted
Juror on Duffy’s trial, Mr. Burke, stood up
and exclaimed “I’tn of that man’s opin
ions!” which had the effect of raising the
entire assembly en masse, whose cheering
shook the walls of the Rotunda.
In consequence of this Mr. Whitney
was arrested as he was leaving Belfast for
the Giant’s Causeway. We find his story
told as follows, in the Boston Tilot :
“ I was accompanied by Mrs. Whitney
and just as we were entering a stage-coach
a well dressed traveller rode up and said to
me, ‘ Sir, I want to speak a word in private
to you.’ I answered, ‘Certainly, sir.'—
We passed into an upper room of the Inn,
where he drew out of his coat pocket a
warrant,and said, ‘You must return with
me to Dublin.’ I rejoined, ‘Why, Sir, 1
do not owe any one anything in Dublin.’
He said it was something worse than that
— 1 it was for sedition P ‘Sedition.’ I an
swered. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘and you must
go to Dublin.’ Not to make this case of
singular outrage and oppression too long,
I will inform you, that 1 was compelled to
go to Dublin Castle, (Mrs. Whitney at the
time was trembling, fainting, and anon in
tears, and this, too, when she is enciente.)
All my private letters and papers were
minutely examined. The Secretary con
sulted with Lord Clarendon in another
room and in about an hour returned. I
then hail my choice either to be remanded
to Newgate Prison (a vile, loathsome goal,
where two Americans were confined last
summer) or give bonds to leave Ireland at
once. I gave the required bonds and am
now here in Manchester.”
A Quandary. —A baker with both arms
in the dough up to his elbows, and a flea
in the leg of his trowsers.
THE FIRST MARRIAGE.
Marriage is of a date prior to sin itself
the only relic of a paradise that is left for
us-_one smile that God let fall on the
world's innocence lingering and playing
| still upon its sacred visage. The first mar
j fiage was celebrated before God himself,
who filled in His own person, the officesof
Guest, Witness and Priest. There stood
the two god-like forms of innocence; fresh
in the beauty of their unstained nature
The hallowed shades of the garden, and
the green carpeted earth smiled to look on
so divine a pair. The crystal waters flow
ed by, pure and transparent as they. The
unblemished flowers breathed incense on
the sacred air, answering to their upright
love. An artless sound of joy from all the
vocal natures, was the hymn, a spordanr
ous nuptial harmony, such as a world in
tune might yield ere discord was invented.
Religion blessed her two children thus and
led them forth into life to begin her won
drous history. The first religious scene
they knew, was their marriage before the
Lord God. They learned to love him as
the interpreter and sealer of their love to
each other; and if they had continued in
their uprightness, life would have been a
form of wedded worship—a sq-cred mystery
of spiritual oneness and communication.
They did not continue. Curiosity triumph
ed over innocence. They tasted sin, and
knew it in their fall. Man is changed;
man’s heart and woman’s heart are no
longer what the first hearts were. Beauty
is blemished. Love is debased. Sorrow
and tears arc in the world’s cup. Sin has
swept away all paradisean matter, and the
world is bowed under its curse. Still one
thing remained as it was. God mercifully
spared one token of the innocent world;
and that the dearest, to be a symbol forever
of the primal love. And this is marriage.
This one flower of Paradise is blooming
yet in the desert of sin.— Rev. Dr. Bush
nell.
Strange Ideas of Happiness. — l was
Gray, the poet, we believe, who said that
the highest state of enjoyment which he
could imagine, was to lie all day on a sofa,
and read books of romance. The imagin
ation of the Burman soldier was equally
fertile, when he replied to a question of
what were his ideas of a future state. “1
shall,” said he, “be turned into a buffalo,
and shall lie down in a meadow%if grass
higher than my head, and eat all day long,
and there won’t be a single musquito to
annoy me."—Jean Paul.
Winter in Spitzbergen. —The single
night of this dreadful country begins about
the 30th of October; the sun then sets,
and never appears till about the 10th of
February. A glimmering indeed continues
some weeks after the setting of the sun;
then succeed clouds an-.l thick darkness,
broken by the light of the moon, which is
as luminous as in England, and during this
long night shines with unfading lustre.
The cold strengthens with the new year,
and the sun is ushered in with an unusual
severity of frost. By the middle of March
the cheerful light grows strong. Arctic
foxes leave their holes, and the sea fowl
resort in great numbers to their breeding
places. The sun sets no more after the
14th of May; the distinction of day and
night is then lost. In the height of sum
mer the sun is hot enough to melt the tar
on the decks of ships but from August its
power declines—it sets fast. After the
middle of September, day is hardly distin
guishable, and by the end of October takes
a long farewell to this country; the earth
becomes frozen, and winter reigns.—Chris
tian Intelligencer.
Nations without Fire.—Duringthcan
cient day of Welch Royalty, among the
twenty-four ranks of servants that attend
ed the Court, was one called “The King’s
Feet-Bearer.” This was a young gentle
man whose duty it was to sit upon the
floor with his back towards the fire and
hold the king's feet in his bosom all the
time he sat at the table, to keep them warm
and comfortable.
It is said that fire was entirely unknown
to many of the nations of antiquity, and
even at the present day it is unknown in
some parts of Africa.
The inhabitants of the Marian Islands,
which were discovered in 1551 had no idea
of fire, and expressed the greatest astonish
ment on first beholding it-—believing it to
be some kind of living animal which lives
on wood.
T u-Lips. —An editor says: “A fair young
friend of ours recently invited us to imbibe
the fragrance of her tu-lips; we did so,
| with great unction, whereupon she boxed
our ears, and affected to say she had allu
sion to a paltry flower of that name.”’
“Alas, alivs” he thereupon
“there is no truth in woman.”
Alpacas for tiif. United States.—
Mr. L. T. Brown, of the U. S. Legation,
near Boliva, has written to the Managers
of the American Institute, of New York, of
fering to procure alpacas, vicunas, or
mas, for American agriculturists. Their
cost in Boliva is from three ta five dollars
each ; but on account of the difficulty of
transportation, they would be worth
each delrveied in New \ r ork.
Thf. Art Union. —The American Art-
Union has aided to maintain, during the laat
year alone, as students in Europe, fourteen
American Artists, at an aggregate expense
of $7,470 : and this sum, moreover, has not
been abstracted from the subscribers f
without return but ba,s been paid for by p IC ”
; lures from these same students, which are
| to be distributed aiftong the members.
Strong Commendation. —For sale,
brown horse, with a Ronjan nose. He ‘ 3
in good, health, and vei;y fond of travelling
—having run away four times with" 1 a
week.