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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.”