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POETRY.
From the Edinburgh Scotsman.
TIIE SEA..
Roll on ! roll on! in search of prey,
Thou restless foaming sea !
I love to gaze,in pensive mood,
On all that speaks of thee.
The rugged rocks—the sparkling sand—
The cavern dark and lone,
Where waters rush with sullen sound
The echoing rock among.
Roll on ! roll on ! in all thy pride !
Art cannot thee control;
Man cannot check thy boundless sway,
Nor bid the* thus to roll.
But tlisu has power to crush the heart
That trusts its all to thee —
For widow’s hope and maiden’s love
Lie buried in the sea !
Roll on! roll on! thy restless course
Above the good and brave —
Thou hast no spell to waken thoso
Who perish’d on thy wave.
But quiet they sleep ’mid coral caves,
As in the lofty tomb, ,
Far, far fre m those who deeply mourn
Their sad untimely doom.
Roll on ! roll on ! above the mine
Os all thy hidden store i
Os gold, and pearls, and precious things,
Which man can ne’er explore.
For in thy deepest caverns lie
Those gems of lustre rare —
The richest produce of the earth
Cannot with them compare !
Roll on ! roll on ! above the wreck
Os many hopes and fears ;
O'erwhelwing in thy briny wave
All joys of after years !
The Ruler of the mighty deep,
He will again restore
The loved and lo«t. who sleep in thee,
When time shall be no more! H. Y.
SUNDAY READING
THIS MINUTE
Is the bearer of joys or pangs to the memo
ries of thousands, and the birth of bliss or wo
to thousands more. And what is it to me?
Am Ia mere spectator? or am 1 subject to
Hie possible, nay, sure results of this minute?
Does the stream of time cease its rolling while
1 gaze on its surface, and contemplate its
.course and termination! No; it flows onward
and bears.away, disdainful ol bribe, and with
out discrimination, the noble and the mean,
htc rich and the poor, beautiful and . the
ill-favored, the wise and the fool, the infidel
and the saint, and heeds no mandate but His
who bade it flow, and flow it shall till time
shall be no more.
This minute I am in the current, for the
stream has no eddies. How rapidly have I
passed, in succession, the numerous points on
its banks! How soon shall 1 reacti its mouth,
and then, O then, tne ocean —ti:e bottomless
and shoreless ocean!! Am lof materials and
structure to mount its wave and move buoy
antly and swiftly on its broad bosom—or shall
the grossness of my corrupt nature and habits
sink me info its Jeep and dark abyss, not to
drown, but to endure the suffocation of end
less despair ?
Then what, my fellow men, is this minute
worth? Is it worth the pleasures you desire
while it passes, from the indulgences of appe
tite or curiosity? Is it worth the money you
paid for the last show, or the sum you extort
from vour neighbor? What is it wort.a? ou
may barter it for a dram, or a monkey show;
but roval grandeur, at the point ol death, once
exclaimed, “ A world of wealth for an inch o!
time.” ‘ Christian Index
A GENUINE REVIVAL
Is solemn and even awful. God is in the
midst of it, and his presence carries death to
levity, presumption, arrogance and proud dis
play. It inspires an awe, hke that felt at the
foot of Sinai. It creates a trembling through
out the whole camp. It is marked by deep,
and often long.continued conviction of sin;
overwhelming sorrow for the hardness ol
tlie heart; earnest pleadings with a holy and a
just God for light and direction; a disposition
to retire from observation, and vent tho soul s
anguish in tho closet; love for the Bible; nb
horrenoc of all lightness of speech and liohu
viour; clear apprehensions of the law of God,
in its purity, spirituality, compass and ends;
great fears of self-deception; thorough search
ings of the heart: many, many tears and heart
breakings in view of past offences; and many
strong fears that the day of mercy may have
gone by for ever. W..ere a religions excite
ment is not attended by marks like these, both
among Christians and sinners, we have no con
fidence in it. Some souls may be converted,
but move are like’y to be ruined beyond all
hope of recovery. Presbyt.
KNOWLEDGE OF JKE VT lILD.
It is a gioat mistake to suppose, that those
men are the most distinguished for an exten
sive knowledge of mankind, who have thought
the worst of their species. What lias gouer
a’lv been called a knowledge < f the world, has
ecu an acquaintance with a very small part of
t. W ien Sir Robert Walpole declared that
every man could he bribed, only make tie
temptation largo enough, he undoubtedly spoke
f om the views of human nature which he had
t (ken. But what was that part of human na
ture which came under his view ? The fry of
rt court, the most venal of mankind, ready to
nibble at any bait which corruption might throw
out. Surely, these were not specimens of so
ber tradesmen, honest merchants, and, still less
of humble Christians. The duke de Roche
foucault was not acquainted with human na
ture. lie knew Paris exactly; but Paris,
thank heaven, is not all the world. Lord
Chesterfield knew as little of human nature; in
painting mankind, he saw nothing but his own
fi ivo’ous heart. Human nature, though de
praved. is not such a common sewer of filth as
some would make it. Man has his bright and
his dark sides ; and an extensive acquaintance
with his nature must lead us lo acknowledge
both.
HUMAN LIFE.
Nor should we draw too dark a picture of
the miseries of human l.fe. Human life is a .
cloud, witn sunshine on its borders ; and if
there is much to fear, there is something to hope
for. T.iere is no subject which the old Greek
writers darken so much, when in a gloomy
mood, as the life of man.
“ O, life ! unfriendly still to human joy,
How do thine arrows every scene annoy !
In youth my passions were by want restrain'd :
And passion died in age, w hen wealth was gain’d.
Through joys half-finished all our days are run,
And closed in disappointment as begun.”
But the Heathens s tw not the tomb gilded by
the rays of the Sun of Righteousness. The
following comes nearer to the gospel. It is
remarkable that St. Paul never speaks of Chris
tians as dead; they have fallen asleep. So
thought the writer of the following lines in
Greek. I shall give them in English :
“ Why o’er the virtuous dead should mourners weep ?
The virtuous never truly die—they sleep.”
TRUTH.
Truth courts investigation, but error shrinks
from scrutiny. Truth fears no evil from the
most rigid examination, but error always fears
the consequences. Truth is imntutable, and
will stand criticism. Truth, like its author,
is elenial, and will exist amidst the wreck of
matter and the crush of worlds, whilst error
will be swept away w th the “refuge of lies.”
The more you examine truth, like gold, the
brighter it will shine. < Truth is never tarnish
ed by inspection, but discovers the more splen
dor. Any system which shrinks from scruti
ny discovers corruption in its premises, and is
unworthy the attention of an intelligent mind.
A certain writer has said, with the utmost pro
priety. “He that will not reason, is a bigot;
lie that cannot reason is a fool ; and lie tiiat
dares not reason is a slave.”
Evangelical Univerealist.
REASON.
Reason is one of the greatest gifts with
which we are endowed. There are many,
nevertheless, in this far-famed land of intellec
tual improvement, who deny the use of our
reason, in theology. Such are completely
trammelled by the shackles of priestly influ
ence and intolerant bigotry. If we begin to
reason upon the creeds ot men, we are de- |
nounced as a heretic. We ask, if our reason \
must ever sit in silence when the subject of re
ligion is broached, how shall we ascertain !
which system of religion is correct? The
Mahometan, the Hindoo, the Pagan, tho Jew,
the worshipers of Juggernaut, and the Grand
Lama, arid the Christian, all present their the
ories to our regard. Now, if we have not
the privilege to weigh all these scales of reason, j
how shall we know which is the true religion l
Reason we have, thank God! Let the bigot
rage; let the fanatic worship at tlie shrine of
enthusiasm, yet, so long as reason sits upon
the throne of man’s intellect, we have no
fears. But let this he dethroned, and what
will not ignorance and enthusiasm do? We
say to nil, exercise your reason, and you will
discover a rational religion.
Evangelical Univerealist.
Friendship.— Plato says, “I had ratio -
Invc o e good friend than all the delights and
treasures of Darius;” and Cicero says, “ that
neither water, fire, nor tho air we breathe, is
more necessarv to us than friendship,” The
writings of Tally are full of expressions to the
same purpose'. Xenophon pronounced of its
perfection—“ that it was abovo the reach of the
highest human endowment.” Bius said, “that
man had secured the greatest goo I of life who
had chosen a worthy friend.” Zeno being
asked “wlmt is a friend?” answered, “he is
uuotlior I.”
MACON, (Ga.) SATURDAY MORNING, JULY 7, 1838.
MIS CEla L A EOU S.
From Bentley's MLccilany f. r May.
THE MISFORTUNES AND CONSOLATIONS OF ,
KKGRINE TWESZLE.
Mvfiiend Tweezlo has, through life, bu u
the most unfortuna'e, i.n I yet the most for: -
nate of men. Every species of calamity hs;
befallen him, and yet he has never once be. i
unhappy. M Bfortune aid lie h ive ever here t
at war; she darting her missiles at him, and
tie throwing them back at her, or raising up
b i t ons, tie!find which he has ensconced him
self, and laughed" the malicious jade to scorn.
Lucky has it been for him that he has been
made of such “ impenetrable stuff;” lucky for
him that he has had a thick head and a tough
hide; and that, like the tortoise, which, encased
in its hard shell, less the ponderous wagon
wheel pass over it without flinching, he lias,
also been able to let the heavy car of Fate
drive right over his back, without having a
•single bone broken by the pressure. Some
men, when under the lash of misfortune, sud
denly imagine that they ought to be religious,
and lake to praying rno.-,t vehemently while
the danger lasts; others-again are optimists,
and, when tic shoe pinches them, console
themselves by quoting the hackneyed line of
the poet, “whatever is, is right; ’ while others
—poor weak-minded creatures—fly to the
bottle for solace, and make beasts of them
selves. because Fate lias proved unkind.—
Tweezle, however,condemns all these methods,
and consoles himself in a manner peculiarly
his own. Wheuever any scowling, ill-favored
fiend, of the many that follow in the train of
misfortune, stares him in the face, my friend
Tweezle sits himself calmly down and looks
at him. He quietly takes the measure of his
deformity, and, if the fiend have, by chance,
any good parts about him, l.e treasures them
in his remembrance. Then he shuts his eyes
and gi\es loose rein to his imagination; w hich,
finding it sols at liberty to disport, speedily de
picts the monster as ten times more hidcons
than he. really is. At this creation of his fancy
Tweezle shudders, his h fir stands on end, and
he thinks himself indeed an unfortunate man,
to be in the presence cf a misfortune so great
and so menacing. This, however, only lasts
for a moment, and Tweezle opens his eyes
again. The monster is still there. “ Ha! ha!”
says Teazle, pretending to he agreeably sur
prised, “is that you? Lord love yon, I thought
you were a great deal uglier; really, 3ou are
not half so bad as you might have been. Your
face is really pleasant, and your behaviour ac
tually (ourteous, in comparison with the one
I took you for. What a lucky fellow I am,
that Fate has sent me, in vour person, a mis
fortune that I can put up with. Ha! mv good
fellow! there h comfort in store yet!” and
Tweezle, rhapsodizing in this strain, actually
rejoices that a little misfortune has come upon
him. because a greater might, with as much
justice, have befallen him.
Tweezle and I were schoolfellows, and ore
trait of his early character will exemplify his
peculiar philosophy. Peregrine, being so easy
and good Matured, shared the fate of all easy
folks, and was always put upon, and became,
in fact, the scape-goat of the whole school. If
any riotous urchin had committed a fault—
broken a window, knocked down a pie-woman,
or drawn a caricature of our pedagogue upon
the. wall—Peregrine was pointed out as the de
linquent. Straightway the awful ferula was
put into requisition, and Tweezle and its thongs
became more intimately acquainted than was
at all agreeable to the former. Tweezle was
at this time but seven years old; but his ruling
maxim had even then penetrated into his
brain, and become the guide of his conduct
and his consolation in distress. Onr peda
gogue, Mr. Thu mp’emwell, had a wife, who
had a very inordinate notion of her own excel
lence, both mental and corporeal, and a very
supreme contempt for her husband in both
respects. Thump’emwell, if rumor spoke
truly, now and then experienced from this af
fectionate partner a few proofs of her supe
riority, which she manifested by imprinting
upon his cheeks the marks of her delicate fin
gers, and by letting fall upon his e\"es the full
weight of her dainty fist. One unlucky morn
ing, some satirical rogue—ill-natured, as sati
rists alwa} - s are—drew with dialk upon the
wall a very tolerable representation of one of
the striking scenes above alluded to, which
had, 011 tlie previous evening, agreeably re
lieved the dull monotony of the scltoohnnster’s
life. When Thump’emwell came down in
the morning, his eyes rested immediately upon
this sketch of his connubial felicity. He gazed
upon it for a minute in awful silence; and
then his eyes sparkled with fury, and his face
grew so red, and tlie veins of his forehead so
swollen, that wc thought be would have suffo
cated. Clenching his band, and striking it
against his desk, upsetting, at the same time,
an inkstand all over his nankeen and nether
garments, lie. with a still small voice, ordered
us all to stand up. Tire dread summons was
o'>e)'ed, and we stood in a line across the room.
Thuntp’cmwell was always in a tremendous
fury whenever he spoke low and blandly, and
we accordingly prepared ourselves for an ex
plosion.
“ Now, ni v dear children,” said Tliump’ein
w ell, “ you know - 1 love you sincerely,” and
the hypocritical wretch seized hold of the
ferula as lie spoke: “and I sliould die with
grief, if one of you should ever came to the
gallows. Now - , tlio littie atrocious vagabond
w! o made that drawing is sure to be Imaged;
nothing can save him from it, unless I find
him out un<i flog him, and confine him for
three day? upoo bread and w#«jr» You bee*
j tiierefore, my dear children,” "continued he,
j st.ll in tite same bland voice, “that my affec
i tij:i compels me to punish the offender.—
| Therefore, I ask you who did ii?”
No reply.
“ Tell me, or I will flog every soul of you,
| from tlie biggest to the least. Who was the
a rocious little reptile tiiat had tlie uudu> i y to:
do it.”
Still there was no reply; and Thump’em
well lif ed his rod, and brandisl ed it in air,
passing the fingers of his left lmud lovingly
■ through the thongs as it deseeuded.
Siill a general silence prevailed; every one
looked innocent, and the real culprit certainly
! t ;e mo it innocent of all.
Again the question was asked, and all eyes
were directed towards poor Tweezle, who,
though guiltless as the babe unborn, stood
trembling at the bottom of tlie file, llis coun
! lenance was paler his eyes were downcast,
and his knees knocked together. As the
fierce look of the pedagogue was turned to
wards him, niy poor friend thought that he
might as well have been guilty, since he was
sure to bear the punishment.
“It was you, was it, you incorrigible ras
cal?”.said Thump’emwell, seizing the unlucky
Peregrine by the nape of the neck. Now go,
sir, and rub it off.”
Tweezle did as he was desired.
“Now, my dear little boy,” said Thump
’emwell, “ come here.”
Tweezle knew it would be of no use to re
sist, and so he went.
In a minute afterwards, the instrument of
torture ascended and descended in rapid suc
cession, and the screams of the unhappy suf
ferer resounded through the apartment.
“FU teach you, you imp, to make sport of
your superiors,” sai 1 Thump’ornwell, after lie
had flogged him till his arm was tired. “And
now,” added he, “come with me!”
Tweezle, still bellowing, as if he had the
lungs often urchins, was dragged by Thump
’emwell to a little dark, dusty room, used as a
prison for juvenile delinquents, and there lock
ed up. We all of us heard him roaring for
about five minutes, when tlie noise gradually
subsided, and he was as quiet as if he had
dropped asleep. Feeling acutely for his suf
ferings, and indignant that he should have un
dergone such severe punishment for an oflence
of which he was guiltless, I seized an opportu
nity to steal away to condole with him upon
his wrongs. Tapping gently at the door of
his prison, I announced myself, and straight
way began to console him under the pressure
ofifis evil fortune.
“ Oh, I am quite comfortable!” said
Tweezle, stopping me short in the midst of
my - lamentations.
“What!” said I, surprised, “after such a
beating, as that infernal Thump’emwell gave
you?”
“ Yes,” said Tweezle.
“ And three whole dn3 - s to be locked up
here, and condemned to bread and water.
Comfortable, did you say?”
“Yes, quite comfortable,” said Tweezle;
“ one thing only troubles me.”
“ And what is that?”
“That I was not guilty. However, I intend
to become so as soon as I get out, and there’s
comfort in that.”
“Well done, Tweezle! I admire 30U for
that! But is it not cruel, nevertheless, tiiat you
should be confined here for three da3s? Is it
not disgraceful!”
“It is rather,” replied Tweezle; “ but I do
not mind it. Three da3"s will pass sooner
than a week. It might have been worse!”
And with this small grain of comfort —that
his punishment might have been more severe
—lie passed the term of his imprisonment in
cheerfulness. Happy Tweezle!
This was one of the troubles of his early life;
and in manhood he has not been more fortu
nate. 111-luck has always followed him. He
has been in love, and been jilted; he has pla3 r
ed, and been plucked; he lias confided, and
been deceived; but still, the more that Fortune
has frowned, the more stubborn has he boon
in defiance of her, and the more eager to con
so!e himself, even in F'ate’s darkest day, by re
flecting “ that it might have been worse.”
Another adventure in which he was con
cerned will show his turn of mind. Tlie Hon.
Major Fitzfiggins, a gentleman who rejoiced
in a great stock of assurance, a tolerably hand
some person, and a very accommodating con
science, took it into his head to jure some very
marked attentions to Miss Julictia Blossom, a
young lady to w horn Tweezle was engaged.
These gallantries of the major towards the fair
Julietta were, of course, not very pleasing to
my friend IVregriue;- and it may be inferred
that no great portion of goodwill subsisted be
tween him and the major. Peregrine, being
an easy, good-natured man, would never have
insulted Major Fitzfiggins; but tlie latter,
being an overbearing puppy, thought fit to ap
ply an epitiiet towards Mr. Peregrine Tweezle,
which,as a gentleman. Mr. Peregrine Tweezle
could not do otherwise than resent. I was,
in consequence, commissioned to 'rear an invi
tation to the Hon. MajorTitzfiggins to taken
walk to Gimlk-Fnrm on the following morning,
where lie would find a cc tail person who
would be most hippy to cxcamigo the polite
ness of a shot with him. Major Fitzfiggins
was too much of a gentlemen 10 reject so cour
t reus an offer, and next .norning, accordingly,
the mining took place.
“Sud rascal, tiiat Fitzfiggins!” said Twee.
z!c to me, as wo arrived u[»oii tlie ground.
“ And a good shot!” said 1, like a Job’s
comforter as I was.
“I'm glad of it!” said Tweezlo,
I w as about to a*.k iwu w hy, when the Hon.
; Major Fitzfiggins arrived on the field, accom
i pauied by Ins second. The customary cold
I and formal civilities passed between the belli,
j gorems; the ground was measured by the sc
-1 c unis, and the principals took their places,
i’ .ere was an awful pause. Each man fired,
aid each man fell! My friend Teazle was
s vorely wounded in the right arm. I knelt
down, and began to bondage tip his wound as
well as I was ablex when the second of
Fitzfiggins came up to me. Alarm and anx
iety were imprinted on his couutenar.ee.
ft For God’s sake!” said he, in a hurried
lone. “ gentlemen, lose no time—fl}—fly * Mu.
| jor Fitzfiggins is, I fear, mortally wounded.”
“ Good God!” said I, “ I hope not.”
“I fear so,” answered the second, shaking
his head dolefully, as he turned to render that
j assistance which his friend so imperatively
needed. To my unsophisticated mind the as
ucct of affairs was disagreeable enough.—
Tweezle saw that I thought so; and, looking
earnestly in my face, whispered, in a
tone — “ It might have been worse."
a How?” replied I, mechanically, for I was
thinking whither we should proceed till the
disagreeable business had blown over.
“ I might have missed him!” said Tweezle,
and he fainted from loss of blood.
1 I carried him in my arms to a hackney
i coach that was in waiting, and we drove i.wav
rapidly. 1 hree weeks afterwards we heard
! that Major Fitzfiggins was slowly recovering
i from liis wound, and that no further fears were
| entertained for his safety. Not so, however,
with poor Tweezle. His wound had proved
exceedingly difficult of cure, and at the end of
a month lie lay in a very precarious state. To
add to this vexation, news also reached us that
the heart of the interesting and romantic Miss
Jnhe'ta Blossom had been touched by the dan
gers which the gallant major had undergone
for her sake. Rumor added—and rumor, for
once, told the whole truth—that the gentle fair
one had, after a short siege, yielded her heart,
and fixed a da3 - when she would yield her hand
to the captivating soldier. Tuisncws, I thought,
would prove too much even for the comforta
ble ph.losophy of my friend, and I hesitated
about communicating it to him. By some
means, however, it came to his knowledge.
“ What’s 3'our opinion of my wound, sir?”
said he to me one day, after I had returned
from a solitary saunter tbrough Bologne.
‘‘Bid enough,” said I: “but you will ra
; cover i.i three or four months.”
“1 < oubt it,” replied Tweezle, “but still it
might have been worse!”
“ D he had killed you outright?” said I,
guessing ln'3 meaning.
“ Precisely so,” replied Tweezle, smiling,
and looking quite happy to think he had
escaped with hie, and had only received a
wound \v hich would confine him for six months
to his bed.
“And what do 3 r ou think of womankind in
general, said 1 weezle again, “and of Miss
Julietta Blossom in particular?”
“They arc false in general,” said I, “and
Miss Julietta Blossom is false in particular.”
“All!” said Tweezle, chuckling, “1 am a
happy man!”
“ I wish 3'ou a long continuance of 3 r our
happiness,” replied I.
Tweezle looked serious for a moment, and
then heaved a deep sigh. “I have lost lie:!”
said he.
“ Miss Blossom?” inquired I.
‘•lies; and a sweet creature she was! —rich.,
beautiful, and well born! and I—l’ve lost her!”
Tweezle made an effort to look sad. “ But
it m : ght have been worse/" he added, bi h ei
ing up.
For mv part, I was glad to see him so
cheerlul: but I could not well see what rea
sons lie had for being so, and I therefore ask
ed him.
“ I might have married her!” said Tweezle.
Ilappy, happy Peregrine!
NEGRO GALLANTRY. •’ «
Th' buck negroes of the North an. coming
on pretty fair in pa3’i ,, g their addresses to the
" 'hie lad.es. A person who was present at
the burning of the Abolition Hall in Philadel
puia. tells of a dark Lothario who spruced up
to a beautiful white young lady, apparently 6f
the first respeotabiht3’, who happened to be un
attended—and, making his most condescend^
ing kind of a bow,-he addressed her thus :
“ Hiss Sarah, me hab de generous honor to ac
company you to dc home ob your fathers, and
purtect yon from de fierce rocity ob de childrin
oh dc debil lar a beheber in dc union ob co
lors, and shall always go for de noxious prin
ciple ob malgation. Your arm, Miss ; Ibe
descended from de ben - first families ob de
St. Baboons in Florida.’’ True to her princi
ples, Miss Fa rah resolutely took his arm, held
on to it “like grim death to a dead negro,”
! and stalked off together from the crowd, as
! much pleased to nil appearance with each oth
er, as old mother Eve and the Ourang Outang
ucre * Picayune.
(b 7“ It is seldom wc come across poetic gems
—they are so very scarce in these dull times
—but when we do, they shall !*e preserved.
The following is among the brightest:
“ I love all Nature! Say not then
Aught beautiful I spun
I love to fee bright woman's eye,
And—TJLLLOW CANDLES BURN !'*
A SLENDER REPAST.
1 “ Have you dined ?” said a joker,one day lohis friend,
“ I have, on my li« nor,” tho other replied ;
j “ If you've Jined ‘on y.nr honor, the y«lrr rcpbe.l,
“ I fear that your table wus poorly supplied “’
NO. 37.