Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

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.