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About Richards' weekly gazette. (Athens, Ga.) 1849-1850 | View Entire Issue (Jan. 26, 1850)
it was that excellent poem which he enti tled I’aradise Lost. After l had, with the best attention, read it through, I made him another visit ; and, returning his book with due acknowledgment of the favor he had done me in communicating it to me, he asked me howl liked it, and what I thought of it. which 1 modestly but freely told him; and, after some further discourse about it, I pleasantly said to him, ‘Thou hast said much here of Paradise Lost; what hast thou to say of Paradise Found T He made me no answer, but sat some time in a muse, then hrake of that discourse, and fell upon another subject.’ “‘I modestly but freely told him what I thought of Paradise Lost!’ What he told him remains a mystery. One would like to know more precisely what the first crit ical reader of that song ‘of Man’s first dis obedience’ thought of it. Fancy the young Quaker and blind Milton sitting some pleas ant afternoon of the autumn of that old year, in ‘the pretty box’ at Chalfont, the soft wind through the open window lifting the thin hairof the glorious old poeti Back slidden England, plague-smitten, and ac cursed with her faithless Church and liber tine King, knows little of poor ‘Master Milton,’ and takes small note of his puri tanic verse making. Alone, with his hum ble friend, he sits there, conning over that poem which he fondly hoped the world, which had grown all dark and strange to the author, ‘would not willingly let die.’ The suggestion in respect to Paradise Found, to which, as we have seen, ‘he made no answer, but sat some time in a muse,’ seems not to have been lost; for, ‘after the sickness wasover,’ continues Ell wood, ‘and the city well cleansed, and be come safely habitable again, he returned thither; and when afterwards I waited on him there, which I seldom failed of doing whenever my occasions drew’ me to Lon don, he showed me his second poem, called Paradise Gained ; and, in a pleasant tone, said to me, ‘This is owing to you, for you put it into my head by the question you put to me at Chalfont, which before I had not thought of.” ” vm ®jj j t j £, FATHER ABBOT* The “Xoctes Ambrosiana” and the later “ Dies Boreales ,” of Christopher North, pro bably suggested the plan of this volume. In the execution of it, the author has dis played his admirable fertility of thought, and a no less happy tact in its expression. We have derived much instruction, as well as amusement, from the book, which pro le.sses no small share of bon liommie —by which remark, we do not wish to be un derstood as referring to the goodly propri etors of “Brother Bonhommie,” the “Am brose” of the order. The style of the book is dramatic, and its dramatis persona: are imaginary members of an imaginary monastery-the “Merry Monks of the Moon.’’ They are five in number —Beau- clerk, Pictor, Poet, Editor, and the Father Abbot. The scene of their conversations is Sul livan’s Island, the summer Paradise of our metropolitan population. There they rev el in all the iuxuries of philosophy, poetry and pastime, and discuss with freedom the capabilities and prospects of thatcharming summering-place. Father Abbot bears the same relation to the “ Brethren,” that “Mr. North” does to the person® of “Nodes.” He is their or acle. These monks are not characterized by ascetism, dear reader. So far from it, they are a set of “jolly dogs”—to borrow a somewhat slang phrase—now rollicking, like so many porpoises, in the combing bil lows of the ocean, “ us it breaks upon the shore;” and anon, discussing the merits of cavalli, planted oysters, cream cheeses, nee walHes, and other delicacies, under the sumptuous administration of Bonhommie, who, for his matchless skill in the cuisine, is installed as a member of the order, to his over whelming delight! The spirit of the work is, however, ear nest and thoughtful. A genial philanthro py and a cheerful philosophy pervade its pages. These are everywhere manifest, and constitute the moraleoi the book. We draw’ almost at random, from its raev pas sages : Southern Sceneuv. “ Poet. —You were about to speak of low country scenery. It is the common practice to disparage it. “Abbot. —Unjustly. Every thing in the prospect depends upon the mind of him who surveys it. The mind, and the sort of prepaiation and training through which it has gone, is the usual medium for making the survey. To the eye that looks only for its attractions in form, our scenery must always be unimpressive. But it is full of character, requires nice observa tion. and will reward close study. It de pends for its efiect upon the exquisite gra dations of shade and color, the nice blend ing of tints, the harmony of its transitions, and, if I may so phrase it, a certain delicate intensity- of life. It does not impose upon you, at a stance, like the scenery of the North, or our own back country. Its great deficiency is in form. There are no stu •Fatiier Ai-.no rr, or th” Home Tourist: A Med b‘v. Hy W . (riltnore Simrn.', Esq. Charlcs t,,n : Printed by Miller & lirown. pendous eminences—no frowning heights, that, rising up like giants, stretch them selves with their grey heads into the clouds, compelling the admiration of men, and seeming to challenge that of the gods. Our rivers run not through ledges of bald rock, that threaten momently to tumble ; headlong upon the hissing steamboat as it glides beneath. Our hills do not cluster together, bald and desolate looking groups, as if seeking alliance against the assaults of winter. Our outlines are neither start ling nor imposing, but they are persuasive and grateful. They do not strike you at a glance, but it will please you in time to study them. Nay, they will reward study, when the object which depends for its ef fect upon mere outline, will provoke none. After all, your vast rocky or mountain pictures are very cold and cheerless. — They strike you with awe, but they invite no sympathies. They demand your won der, but they yield and expect no love.— You see all their possessions at a glance— you feel that there is nothing in reserve. Beyond the grand, bold outline, they have no treasures. They move you at the first sight, but seldom reward a second; and the mind at length becomes discouraged and sad in their contemplation, and turns from them to the crowded city, as if seek ing human association and relief. But the effect is far otherwise of our Southern slopes, our woods and waters. They do not strike you at first, and seldom startle, but, at the same time, they never offend. — They rather woo and invite you by their soft attractions. You wander among their groves as you would among the enchanted bowers of an Arinida. They tempt you to look out for enchantments. The bright ness of their green, the wondrous luxu riance of their growth, the rich glow and glory of their flowers, the songs in profu sion, and of every note, of their profligate birds—arouse the fancy, until the spiritual nature feels a flush of expectation, which gradually peoples the scene with fairy and imaginative creations. You are won away, unconsciously, into thoughts and musings which give a strange and sweet vitality to all that you behold. A thousand delight ful meditations inform the mind, and you wander onward, soothed and satisfied with attractive fancies that give you the most appropriate companionship. Nor is it the soft and gentle alone that is awakened in your nature by these scenes. They can impress with equal awe and solemnity.— What more imposing spectacle than the dense pine forest, stretching away for leagues, a monotonous w’aste, like that of sea or desert, of unvarying forms—a realm of equal shadow and silence, gloom and deep, in which all the dwellers are crown ed sovereigns—sovereigns without subjects —voiceless, hopeless, heirless—without speech, without communion—waving to and fro their inexpressive heads, with one unbroken swing of solemn idiocy ! What more wondrous and awful, than the very waste fertility of our mighty swamps— shrined in flowers, wrapped in beauty, gorgeous in natural wealth, rich in all shapes and colors, wondrous in vine, and wreath, and jewel—terrible in the start ling beauty of their reptiles, in the scream of their mighty birds, in the awful majesty of their deep recesses'? Their buds press your cheek as you go forward —their vines stretch forward with a thousand fingers to wind you in their grasp—your footsteps crush perfume from their leaves —your fin gers are crimsoned with the delicious juices of the wild grape—and life, in forms the most magical—and loveliness, in gleams the most musical—are ever rising to the senses, as if to persuade the faith into those ancient fancies, which never left such regions without their elves and fai ries. The deep, impenetrable thickets, skirting the narrow river or oozy lake, seem the very regions of ambush and sur prise; and you look momently to see the feather-cinctured warrior darting out from the shade, in all the panoply of forest war fare. A gloom, which is not painful, gives a mysterious tone and character to this peculiar realm of loveliness and life, and the very droplets of sunlight that fall and trickle through the tree-tops and shrub bery upon the earth below, seem so many wandering shadows—shapes of spiritual life—that come only to declare that, how ever little sought or beloved by man, the region is not yet utterly abandoned of Heaven.” Here we have a passage in a lighter vein—sparkling with life, ami brimming with the physical enjoyment it so happily portrays. It is A Sea Bath at Daavn. “ Editor. —Are you fairly in, Father 1 “ Abbot. —Up to the middle. “ Editor. —Good ! Let us wade some ten yards further now. throw your hands thus, above your head, and bury yourself in the waters. “ Abbot. —lt is done! “ Editor. —That first shock reconciles you to a bath of twenty minutes : only keep moving. It may be well to make an effort, old as you are, to float and swim.— Use equal movements of arms and feet—at the same time, occupying as much surface as you can. “ Abbot. —That is, spreading myself out ? “ Editor. —That will keep you afloat: and to do this will not be difficult, if you will only be cool—be not impatient—be not flurried. Be deliberate; and this ought to be easy, when you remember that you are within your depth, and may, at any moment, lift your head above the waters. Timid persons find their difficulty in this. They do not give themselves time, get flur ried, and having swallowed a pint of sea water, lose all stomach for the experiment. There ! that will do! I see you understand me. “ Abbot. —l certainly contrive to float.— How delicious is the temperature ! How refreshing ! The morning, just after sleep, ia® aaiia©® waas aw ©isiiiia is always the best time for the bath, from head to foot. The system is relaxed from sleep. The nerves need the restoration of tone. The whole body demands the re freshing influences of water, precisely as the face and hands. But for the languor induced by our habits, quite as much as our climate, such would be the common practice. “ Editor. —Look at Beauclerk, Father. “ Abbot.— How the dog rollicks ! What antics does he play with the billows ! He frolics like a young colt, just escaped from the stables to the common. What’s he af ter, now ? Whither does he go ? “ Editor. —Towards the stone wall. Me is after a dive. I fancy. Yes, there he clambers up. Our Poet is there before him. Do you see their forms together on the breakwater'! They mean to dive to gether. Both swim well, and I suppose they design a match for the shore. You see them 1 “ Abbot. —Yes, by Saint Jupiter, and both naked as innocence. They are off. The plunge was a fine one; hut, between us, Mr. Editor, there is a little too much light, methinks, for such bold experiments. The day thickens. Those bright grey streaks, “ the sudden arrows from the eastern bow,” give us warning to depart. “ Editor. —Not so, Father. Our Island ers are reluctant risers. They will keep their pillows for an hour yet. “ Abbot. —I hope so; for, in truth, though no swimmer, l find the bath a rare luxury. What a generous glow ! The sea is a buoyant couch. It sustains me, though not its master. How sadly sweet is the mysterious chiding of the waves against that barrier of stone ; and how softly, with what velvet steps, did the tide creep in this morning. J rose and looked forth some time before you knocked at the window. In the dim light of stars, I could discern the breakwater, and the flashing billows beyond it. But within the basin, there was no sign of water. All was dull grey sands; and that seemed only an hour ago. How noiselessly it stole upward to the very porches of the dwelling. What a wondrous and beautiful mystery in the de cree that moves these glorious elements, in an order so matchless and unerring, and all, as it would seem, in a service tributary to the tastes and the fancies, no less than the common wants of man! See you, in the east, where a little drift of white clouds, a sort of rippled muslin, puts on a delicate carnation tinge. The day is making pro gress. The sun will not be slow to fol low. We must hurry our bath.” While discussing the subject of olisters —and probably they were themselves the subjects —Bonhommie relates the following Adventure with a Shark. “Buta more serious fright was in re serve for an old negro wench belonging to a widow lady of Charleston. It appears that she landed at low water on one of these oyster banks, and soon filled her dug-out. Finding the interval short and shallow between that and another bank, she fastened her boat, as she thought, se curely, and waded across the intervening space. She loitered from one to the other; at length fell asleep upon one of them, and was only awakened by’ hearing the mur mur of the waters, and feeling the surf break over her. The space between her and the point where she had left the dug out, was widened to a chasm quite impass able to one who could not swim. The bank itself was covered ; and soon the fas tening of the boat became unloosed, and it was seen floating high up into the marsh. The poor wretch was in despair. The tide was still rising. The spot of bare rock which she occupied, was soon reduced to a simple ring, which her person nearly co vered ; and in a little while, the waters were over her ancles. They continued to rise some six inches higher; and there she stood, momently expecting the billows to sweep and carry her off. They did not, however; but anew horror, as she told it it hetself, shortly assailed her. Looking forth, she discovered, steadily approach ing, the dorsal fin of a shark. The vora cious beast himself, was soon visible through the water. He had seen or scent ed his prey', and she watched him with all the agonies that predict a most terrible death, as he quietly encircled her narrow territory. She could see his gigantic form gleaming through the waters; and she im agined she beheld his fiery eye, gazing with all a serpent’s power of fascination, directly into her own. She could neither scream nor speak, nor, indeed, would the effort have saved her. She could only fol low his movements, wheeling as upon a pivot, as he circled the hank. The water was too shallow where she stood, to suffer him to approach her in that manner which alone enables him to seize his prey. But, desperate with inflamed appetite, he dashed at her with a fearful lunge, which brought his head quite out of the water, and within a foot of her person. Then she screamed, and, in receding from his jaws, had nearly fallen backwards into the deep. But she recovered herself; and, shivering with dread, continued to confront him. Again did he slowly move about her narrow emi nence—twice—thrice—with his terrible ey’e watching her’s. Again, desperate as before, did he rush upwards, almost to her person, his great head quite out of the wa ter, and his long, double range of sharp white teeth, broadly opening to snatch her into his jaws. But he failed a second time, and drew off, without making a third attempt, as if he had suffered some hurts— probably from scraping upon the sharp oyster-beds, in those which he had made already. But he did not abandon the spot. Still, round and round the bank, did he perform his constant evolutions, until the poor negro was almost ready to resign her self to fate, and fling herself into his jaws in despair. But, at this juncture, some oyster-hunters, like heiseif, discovered her Specimen (!:ngramng from “il)e scl)oolfeUou>.” THE SLEET STORM. predicament, and came to her relief. I have heard that she gave, in a single sen tence, the whole terrible agony of that fearful trial : ‘ God a’massy, I bin dead tousand times dat day!’ ” One more extract will quite absorb all our remaining space, though we shall re cur to the book, for other selections, here after. Good Father Ahbot is expatiating on The Attractions of Sullivan’s Island. “Abbot. —To the people of the interior. Sullivan’s Island ought to be a spot of quite as much attraction and interest, as to the people of Charleston. Hither may they come in midsummer, and remain till frost, in perfect security, and realizing that luxury—that of salting themselves, which is a regular habit with a large portion of the Northern people. They may come and refresh themselves upon shrimps, fish and oysters, bathe in Neptune’s own bath, and enjoy a thousand sports at once novel and attractive. They could visit the city dai ly, and attend to business ; and should the city be unhealthy, could retire, in half an hour, to a scene of equal salubrity and sweelnes, nor would they be without fre quent spectacles of rare interest and gran deur. The broad ocean spread out before them with all his billows, ever more roll ing, and ever more pouring forth a wild chaunt, whose harmonies appeal more deep ly than to the ear of man—which sink deep ly into the soul, and stir up the sublimer thoughts and more spiritual fancies, —is, alone, a spectacle which forever feeds the mind with pleasure. Here may the idler behold the porpoise, in vast schools, roll ing and plunging with an obvious joy and luxury ; and sometimes he may chance to see the mighty leviathan of our seas, the Devil Fish, famous in Beaufort annals, flinging out his gigantic but slender flip pers, above the billows, as if he would em brace the passing ships. At our feet lies a proof of powers in the great ocean, the display of which, to the man accustomed only to the forest and the mountain, would be such a spectacle as his thought would brood upon for long seasons after. Here, safe, himself, might he behold the storm spirit rioting in his native element, and the great ship, cowering and stifled in his wild embrace, lifted up, as an infant in the grasp of a giant, and flung scornfully upon the shores, as if to mock the builder and the owner, with the folly and the feebienessof his creation.” j’ j jj, A DARK DAY. Avery unusual phenomenon was exhib ited on Sunday last. The sun rose in a cloudless sky, though struggling through a thick haze, the usual accompaniment of Indian summer. Toward ten o’clock the haze or smoke increased in density, the sun disappeared and every thing wore a som bre aspect. At half-past eleven the dark ness bad so increased, that a person could not see to read in a well-lighted room ;. and thinking that Luna had suddenly possessed the impudence to stand before his imperial majesty, old Sol, we searched our almanac through for the record of a solar eclipse, but in vain. At a quarter before twelve the whole heavens appeared as dark as midnight, except at the northwest, where for the space of thirty degrees in the hori zon, extending to a point in the zenith, was the appearance of a lurid flame, casting a dull golden tint upon every object. At twelve the heavens brightened somewhat; but a quarter before one, the haze grew more dense ; the outlines of the bluffs im mediately in the rear of the town could not be seen, and in a few minutes more the darkness of night overspread the whole heavens, and a solemn gloom alone was visible. Lights were brought into requisi tion in every part of the village. This darkness was of short duration; a slight fall of rain succeeded, the heavens cleared away, and by 4 o’clock all was natural and straight again. The only explanation we are able to sug gest of this darkness in mid-day, is a very rare atmosphere, together with clouds of smoke from the burning prairies, resting upon us. A similar phenomenon we once before witnessed in New York, we think in the fall of 1833. — Prairie du Chien Pa triot. i Nov, 3. TUNNEL OF THE HUDSON RIVER RAILROAD. The great tunnel at New Hamburg, says the Evening Post, connected with the Hud son River Railroad, is nearly completed.— It is a gigantic work, measuring 830 feet in length; at the south end is a cut 500 feet wide, and 50 feet deep, all through the solid rock before reaching the tunnel, which is 19 feet high and 24 feet wide.— Through the tunnel the passage is gloomy enough to represent the most dangerous re gions, darkness being relieved only by the light of candles, and through two shafts sunk to it, one 70 feet in depth, the other 56, through which a glimpse of day-light may be obtained ; but on emerging at the north end, one other deep cut is found, nearly as formidable as that at the south, being 200 feet long, and 70 feet deep, ma king the entire deep cutting through the rock, all inclusive, no less than 1,530 feet. One who has not seen the work, can form no conception of its magnitude, and it may be put down as one of the greatest curios ities in this part of the country. There are 400 men employed on this great work, under the supervision of Messrs. Ward, Wells & Cos., the contractors. Six thou sand kegs of powder, of 25lbs. each, have been used for blasting, in fourteen months, and nine blacksmith’s shops are constant ly occupied with repairing the tools, &c.— The work goes on night and day, with great expedition. WONDERS OF THE TELEGRAPH. We were present a few evenings ago, at the coast survey astronomical station, on Capitol Hill, which was put in telegraphic connection with Cincinnati, for the pur pose of determining the longitude between the two places. The electrical clocks in this city and Cincinnati having been intro -1 duced into the completed circuit, every beat | at Cincinnati was recorded at almost the ; same instant on Saxton’s revolving cylin der in this city, and every beat of the clock here was recorded in like manner upon ! Mitchell’s revolving plate at Cincinnati.— I At the moment a star passed the meridian i at Washington, by the touch of a key the j record of the passage was made upon the | disk at Cincinnati, as well as upon the cyl inder at the Washington station, and the difference of the time of the two clocks would, of course, indicate the difference of longitude. The distance between the two cities, it must be recollected, is upwards of five hun dred miles; this distance is annihilated, and events happening at the one were in stantly recorded by automatic machinery at the other. The interchange of star sig nals was soon interrupted, however, by the intervention of a cloud at Cincinnati, and the remainder of the evening was occupied by the gentlemen in a philosophical discus sion on the subject of the velocity and transmission of electricity. We were nev er more impressed with the power of the telegraph to annihilate space, and to bring into instant mental communication individ uals separated by hundreds of miles.— Nat. lnt. Tklegraph across the Atlantic.— Mr. S. T. Armstrong, of the Hudson Gutta Percha manufactory, proposes to lay down a line of wires, coated with gutta percha, and rendered perfectly insulated, reaching from New Fork to Liverpool, at a cost not exceeding three millions of dollars. The wire cable is to be capable of sustaining continued action for ten years, and the whole matter completed within twenty months from the date of contract. Mr. A. is also prepared to lay down a similar tel egraphic line of communication between the Mississippi and the Pacific. The pro ject is to be speedily brought before Con gress. Professor Morse is said to be fa vorable to the scheme. —[New York Post. New Invention. —An important im provement in carriage wheels has just been patented by Mr. Isaac B. Ward, of Cam den, New Jersey. It consists in casting the felloes of iron (afterward rendered mal leable) from a beautiful pattern, in segments of the circle of the required wheel, and uniting their ends together and to the wrought iron tire by means of radial bolts passed through the tire and felloes, and countersunk in such manner that it is im possible for them to become disengaged be fore removing the nuts, or to break them by the application of a heavy blow to the tire; and yet, should it be required to re move one of the felloes and replace it by another, it can be done at once, as they are all cast of the same size and shape. One set of these felloes will serve for several tires and hubs, and are very durable.— Wheels made of them present a very neat appearance, far superior to anything of the kind ever before made. Avery beautiful buggy, with these improved wheels, may be seen at the coach factory of Messrs. Haslup and Weeden, cornel of 9th street snd Louisiana avenue. The patent is da ted in December last. A WHITE NEGRO. Some eight or nine years ago, we noticed in the Carolinian something of a natural curiosity—a negro man with white spots on his face, about his mouth. He was an old man, probably fifty, as black as any African, who had been bitten in his boy hood, by a rattle snake pilot. We thought then that he was a good subject for a mu seum, but to our astonishment he came to town a few weeks ago, almost a white man ! the only traces of the negro about ikim, were his kinky hair, and some spots or streaks such as would be made upon the skin of a white person by the application of lunar caustic. The probability is, if he lives five years longer, that there will not be the trace of a negro about him except his hair. Here is a theme fora philosopher. Many learned essays have been written, theori zing upon the causes of the color and other peculiarities of the African race. No other cause than the snake bite can be assigned for this astonishing metamorpho sis, and the philosophy of its operation would no doubt puzzle the most eminent chemist. But so it is; we have a white negro in North Carolina. And we would suggest to his master, if he will excuse, the imperti nence of the remark, that he can make more money by exhibiting him through the country, than he can by his labor, if he lives fifty years longer; although he is a jolly old fellow and can crack a joke yet. —Fayetteville Carolinian. ‘fflflß AiBTHISL PROGRESS OF THE MECHANICAL ARTS. BY DANIEL WEBSTER. A history of mechanical philosophy would not begin with Greece. There is a wonder beyond Greece. Higher up in the annals of mankind, nearer, far nearer, to the origin of our race, out of all reach of letters, beyond the sources of tradition, be yond all history except what remains in the monuments of her own art, stands Egypt, the mother of nations! Egypt! Thebes! the Labyrinth! the Pyramids! Who shall explain the mysteries which these names suggest? The Pyramids! Who can inform us whether it was by mere numbers, and patience, and labor, aided, perhaps, by the simple lever; or, if not by what forgotten combinations of power, by what now unknown machines, mass was thus aggregated to mass, and quarry piled on quarry, till solid granite seemed to cover the earth and reach the skies? The ancients discovered many things, but they left many things also to be discov ered ; and this, as a general truth, is what our posterity, a thousand years hence, will be able to say, doubtless, when we and our generation shall be recorded among the an cients. For, indeed, God seems to have proposed his material universe as a stand ing, perpetual study to his intelligent crea tures; where, ever learning, they can yet never learn all; and if that material uni verse shall last till man shall have discov ered all that is unknown, but which, by the progressive improvement of his faculties, he is capable of knowing, it will remain through a duration beyond human compre hension. But if the history of the progress of the mechanical arts be interesting, still more so, doubtless, would be the exhibition of their present state, and a full display of the ex tent to which they are now carried. The slightest glance must convine us that me chanical power and mechanical skill, as they are now exhibited in Europe and America, mark an epoch in human history worthy of all admiration. Machinery is made to perform what has hitherto been the toil of human hands to an extent that astonishes the most sanguine, with a degree of power to which no num ber of human arms is equal, and with such precision and exactness as almost to sug gest the notion of reason and intelligence in the machines themselves. Every natu ral agent is put unrelentingly to the task. The winds work, the waters work, the elasticity of metals works; gravity is so licited into a thousand new forms of ac tion; levers arc multiplied upon levers wheels revolve on the peripheries of other wheels. The saw and the plane are tortured in to an accommodation to new uses ; and last of all, w ; th inimitable power, and “with whirlwind sound,” comes the potent egen cy of steam. In comparison with the past what centuries of improvement has thi. single agent comprised in the short com pass of fifty years I Every where practi cable, every where efficient, it has an arm a thousand times stronger than that of Her cules, and to which human ingenuity is ca pable of fitting a thousand times as many hands as belonged to Briareus. Steam is found in triumphant operation on the seas; and under the influence of its strong propulsion, the gallant ship, “ Against the wind, against the tide, Still steadies witli an upwright keel.” It is on the rivers, and the boatman may re pose on his oars; it is in the highways, and exerts itself along the courses of land conveyance; it is at the bottom of mines, a thousand feet below the earth’s surface: it is in the mill, and in the work-shops of the trades. Ii rows, it pumps, it excavates, it carries, it draws, it lifts, it hammers, it spins, it weaves, it prints. It seems to say to men, at least to the class of artisans. “ Leave off your manu al labor: give over your bodily toil; bestow but your skill and reason to the directing of my power, and I will bear the toil—with no muscle to grow weary, no nerve to re lax, no breast to feel faintness.” What fur ther improvements may still be made in the use of this astonishing power it is im possible to know, and it were vain to con jecture. What we do know is, that it has most essentially altered the face of affairs, and that no visible limit yet appears be yond which its progress is seen to be im possible. If its power were now to be an nihilated, if we were to miss it in the wa ter and in the mills, it would seem as if we were going back to rude ages. THE DIGNITY OF LABOR. Elihu Burritt—the “ learned blacksmith'’ —we shall never forget him—we saw him for the first time on Wednesday evening a tall, rather thin man, with a long face, fantern-like towards the lower angle, the upper part, where the light is, broad, by comparison, and high, and projecting over a keen, sensitive dark eye, which dartsforth intellectual fire at either side of the bridge —slightly arched—of a long, sharp nose, that knows —so it seems, for it levies con tribution or toll on—each and every though! that passeth the cavern of the mouth, up and out through its tunnel. Let us tab breath. We not only saw, but had the pleasure of hearing him. He is a great idea. He is a model man—a new inven tion, unpatented, free for all to copy. He is Labor personified, and wearing all us dignities and honors. He held forth inGer rish Hall, Chelsea, before the Young Men* Literary Institute. The Hall was cram med. His subject was, The Dignity of La bor. He had evidently “ the hang” of ail the tools. We took a few notes of his most excellent lecture, intending to make use of them, but time and present space forbid. COPPER AT PITTSBURG. The works erected at Pittsburg, saysthe Scientific American, for the smilling of Lake Superior Copper, now smelt from six to eight tons per day. The Detroit Free Pm remarking upon this, says the amount ol minerals melted the past year is 900,000 pounds—the product of which is 540,000 or 50 per cent. But as copper is largely mixed with the slug to be melted over, the average yield is estimated at 65 per cent. From the amount of metal received and that to receive, about COO tons of copper will be made this year at the Pittsburgfur nace. The capitalists of Pittsburg seem deter mined to make something out of our min eral resources. It would seem, that if cup per can be transported to Pittsburg anil there smelted at a large profit, that capital ists might reap large profits from smelting works here. Having a direct water com munication by steam vessels with the mi ning regions, and having every facility that could be offered anywhere, for the erection! of smelting works, manufacture and strip-! ping of the smelted copper, it seems straiipl that our own capitalists take so little lerest in the matter. REMINGTON BRIDGE. Mr. Remington, who has made such® noise in the world has arrived at leans and has erected a model of hisbrUjC® It extends across a space of ninety-six'*® and is elevated some ten feet from the floo'-H Its appearance is so fragile, that few judging from this alone, would willing® trust themselves upon it, yet plenty “ I over it and stand on it. It has four W® tudinal supporters each less than one m ■ square at the centre, butincreasing i" s I until at the ends or points fastening, d*® are 2 1-2 inches square. The bridge lj® one catenary, and two paradolic curves ■ which strength and beauty are bothsec“ r *B The flooring is attached diagonally, 511 made to sustain a portion of the The deflexion of the supporters is - inches. It is capable of bearing the I sure of 7 tons, while each of the sll i’l*’H ers, occupying their place in the h” will sustain a weight greater solute strength of the timber and tl> e '-’ ■ cohesion of its fibres. JtejY’ Some wag says,that it is notal’ a mark of kindness, to have an open nance, as, for instance, an alligator* ■ ceitful creature,and yet he presents*” countenanc when in the very act of 13 ■ you in.”
