Newspaper Page Text
POETRY.
From the Knickerbocker.
“ THERE IS ONE GOD.”
What speaks the thunder, when its midnight cry
Rolls through Heaven’s vast and cloudy palaces!
What writes the lightning on the ebon sky,
When the fierce tempest’s, wrapt in sack-cloth rise
From their huge cradles on the roaring seas !
Whatshout the gaunt and time defying trees,
That toss right royally their arms on high,
When from the hills the cold north-western gale
Calls to the torrent in the misty vale,
And the air rings with heaven's artillery!
“ There is one God !” to him they lift their prayer,
He framed them temples and they worship there
Storm, wind, and howling thunder! Go vain man
And think their mighty creed a false one if you can !
From the Violet for 1839.
THE GRAVE OF FRANKLIN.*
.No chiselled urn is reared to thee,
No sculptured scroll enrolls its page,
To tell the children of the free
Where rests the patriot and the sage.
Farm the city of the dead,
A corner holds thy sacred clay;
And pilgrim feet by reverence led,
Have worn a path that marks the way.
There, round thy lone and simple grave,
Encroaching on its marble gray,
Wild plantain weeds and tall grass wave,
And sunbeams pour their shadeless ray.
Level with earth thy lettered stone,
And hidden oft by winter’s snow,
Its modest record tell alone
Whose dust it is that sleeps below.
That name’s enough—that honored name
No aid from eulogy requires;
'Tis blended with thy country’s fame,
And flashes round her lightning spires.
C. 11. W.
* Franklin lies interred in the north-west corner of
Christ Church Cemetry, Fifth and Arch-street, Phila
delphia.
MIS C E L L ANY.
THP. GRAIN OF SAN*.
Tiie Caliph Omar, who destroyed the Alex
andrian library, the second in succession from
Mahomet, and under whom many empires,
and Jerusalem itself, were added to Islam,
was journeying on the borders of the Egyp
tian desert, and heard of the fame of a holy
and wise hermit, who lived in a cave of the
rocks, amid the sandy waste. Him he re
solved to visit, hoping to learn front him where
was concealed the buried treasure of the old
idolatrous kings of Egypt. When the Caliph,
attended by several tall and dark Arabs, and
by Amrou, the conqueror of Egypt, entered
tiie cavern, he found the hermit seated on a
rude bench at a stone table, which supported
a written volume. His eyes were bent down
ward, as if in thought rather than study, and
the Arabs were surprised to see a man of low
stature, with long and silvery hair floating
round a face not like theirs, tawny and scorch
ed, but smooth and ruddy. The large and
light gray eyes were raised at his approach
with a look of mild abstraction; and Amrou,
who had conversed with many men of wisdom
at Alexandria, was struck by the breadth of
his head, the clear polish of the forehead, the
well-cut and rather small nose, and the large,
lightly-closed mouth, which seemed to quiver
with feeling, and to be ready for the lively ut
terance of countless and sage proverbs and
comparisons.
“ Sage,” said the Caliph, “ I see that thou
wouldst not approve of the act of justice by
which I have destroyed the storehouse of Pa
gan errors, called the Library, in the city of
Iskander! Thou hast n book before thee, and
I see some others in that half-open chest,
which do not resemble the volumes of be
lievers.”
“In my youth, O Caliph! I read many
books in that Library which thou hast destroy
ed, and by the study of these, and their cleat
presence in my mind, I became capable of
sustaining, and even of profiting, by this soli
tude in which I live, without companions, and
with few writings.”
“ What profit couldst thou derive from those
infidel volumes ? The Koran teaches the one
God, and to know him is to know all.”
“ The Koran indeed teaches truly that there
is one God; and because we know that he
exists, we should be careful to understand him
as displayed in all his works. Os these the
noblest is man, and of his mind we have so
many several pictures in every book, however
mistaken its doctrines ; and in books can we
also learn more clearly and fully to under
stand what other works of God inferior to man,
but still more wonderful, reveal his will and
power.”
“Ah! shameless unbeliever!” exclaimed
Omar, and stroked his beard, “ now would I
order thee to be slain upon the spot, but that,
I have need of thy wisdom for the good of the
faithful, and of the true faith. Tell me where
t-re concealed the riches of the Pharaohs, and
I will spare thy life?”
“ I know not that I can teach thee this, but
what I can show thee, thou shall know. Then,
turning to Amrou, the fierce and conquering
general of the Moslem ai mies—“ Fetch me, I
pray thee, a handful of sand from the desert,
at the mouth of the cave.” The warrior start
ed, and his eyes turned disdainfully on the
hermit. But they sank under his quiet gaze,
and Amrou went and brought the sand. The
hermit received it into his palm, and turning to
the Caliph, desired him to pick out a single
grain, and lay it on the blade of Amrou’s dag
ger. The bright weapon, which had so often
been red with blood, was drawn from its
sheath, and the Caliph held it in his hand.
Then, following the hermit alono into the
dark interior of the cave, he placed upon the
blade, held horizontally, a single grain of sand.
On this, he fixed his eyes. In the deep gloom,
the grain brightened like a spark of fire, and
grew larger and larger, even as the brightest
planet of evening, and it paused not in its ex
pansion, till it seemed a luminous hall of mild
pale fire.
“ Look steadily,” said the hermit, “ fear
not; and tell me what thou seest ?”
“ 1 see,” said the Caliph, “a small goat-skin
fHWte
BY P. C. PENDLETON.
V OL. 11.
;tent, under the shade of rocks, among palm,
trees and wild vines. A man, naked save his ■
girdle, sleeps in the cool, With his head upon
a dark and sad looking woman’s lap, and two
children are not far oft'. A thorn has pierced
the foot of the infant girl, and the boy, her
brother, is endeavoring to draw it from the
flesh. Her tears fall upon his cheek, and his
hand is red with her blood.”
“ Look again, and tell me what thou seest?”
“ I see a mountain covered with trees, fields
and villages,and, by Allah! with Pagan tem
ples. But lo! an earthquake heaves the whole,
and half the houses are overthrown or swal
lowed up. The survivers arm themselves for
battle, and a fierce conflict rages for the en.
joyment of those of their possessions which re
main. Fire spreads through the ruined vine
yards, woods and houses, and by its light many
men arc slain, and women and children made
captives. Some of the combatants, O Der
vish, are sons of the giants, and the maidens
whom I look upon are lovely as the damsels j
ol Paradise..”
“Look now again. What seest thou?”
“ A lonely waste. The gray desert spreads
far and wide, save where a dark sea beats hea
vily on its coast. Not a ship, not a camel, not
a house is there. But. among heaps of carved
stones and fallen pillars, such as might build a
royal city, a white-haired, withered man sits,
with his eyes upon the ground. A vulture is
perched upon a mound near, and looks at ;
him, and a jackal eyes him from a shattered
tomb, and gnaws a skull. The wind of the
desert, has blown the sand sver his feet, and
almost to his knees, but he cares not to rise
and free himself. Dervish! God must have
fallen asleep in heaven above that place, and
left it to die utterly.”
“ What dost thou now behold ?”
“ I see around a broad bay of the ocean, a.
range of green hills, with streams and torrents,
and gardens, reaching to the skies. Amid
these are palaces, with pillars built, doubtless,
hv the genii, and along the wide terraces, in :
front of the buildings, sons of wisdom and
daughters of beauty, are walking or leaning.
One is a story-teller, who has gathered round
him a crowd of listeners, young and old. Ano
ther seems to have just shaped a figure of a ;
woman out of stone. She is more than half j
naked, but looks as if none dare think her so. j
On the torch which she holds in her hand, a'
flame of green fire burns like a bright star in
the sunshine round her. A band of children j
are wreathing floweis,and laying them before;
the Pagan image, which, not smiling, seems to j
delight in their smiles. The workman looks j
dissatisfied, though rejoicing, as a bridegroom
who has won his bride, but mourns that he
cannot oiler to her more precious gifts than
all his substance. Elsewhere, I see living
figures glancing among the trees. To the
quay, which borders the shore, some barks
with deep blue sails are hastening; and one
even now touches the porphyry wall, and j
pours out gold and spices—by Allah! I smell
the sweetness of Yamen—on the smooth
stones. Nay, as tlse sun goes down, I hear;
the faint song of the mariners, and the music j
of stringed instruments tinkling in reply from i
the distant mountain side.”
“Is there nought more than this?”
“ Yea, high upon the mountain I see a
mosque of another sash on than ours, surround
ed by a place of tombs, with many graves and j
cypresses. High above them all rises a shape,!
silvery as the flashing of a cimitcr, or of wa- j
ter, gigantic, kingly, with a mantled head, and j
long folds covering his whole form. But he |
stretches his great moving hands over the pa-;
laces and bay, and flakes of pale fire fall from 1
ihem, and kindle every window and capital of
a pillar, and flash from every face, and shoot [
again upward, and beam as stars in the dark I
sky. The mantled genii looks not like any
one of the spirits of the past, but as if they were
all combined in him.”
“ Look once more, O Caliph !”
“ Juggler! there is but a grain of sand.”
“Thine eyes are weary of looking, not the
visions «f displaying themselves. Thou canst
see no more this day. But if all this be visible ]
in a grain of sand by the open and fresh eye
of man, what sights beyond this, thinkest thou, I
that there must be m a man himself? Os j
these sights, a portion are in cverv book re-1
corded.”
“Slave!” sad the Caliph, “tell me not of;
books, but of hidden treasures, or I will havej
thee impaled, ere an hour is past.”
“I have told thee of far more than thou |
thougbtest. The treasures of the Pharaohs;
would show thee little of what thou hast seen
in that grain of sand. Farewell, O Caliph !:
I have been ordained but to live till l had seen i
and known thee, and then to depart. In that
world where the hearts of men shall be more j
■open to each other than their books are here, it
will be read in mine that 1 hold thee ignorant
and headstrong, but still a man, and. therefore,
| capable of good. Farewell! lam but a grain
■of sand; hide my corpse under those of the
desert before me.”
The hermit sank on the rocky floor of the
' cave at Omar’s feet, quite dead.
One of the highest compliments that could
be given an author, has been cunlered by an
intelligent writer upon Addison. 4 He never,’
says he, 4 oversteps the modesty of nature.’—
When regarded in this light, compare Addison
with the great majority of writers of the present
iday and how very far will they full short of the
| standard ?
Some cases of the plague have appeared at
Constantinople.
DEVOTED TO LITERATURE, INTERNAL IMPROVEMENT, COMMERCE. AGRICULTURE
FOREIGN AND DOMESTIC NEWS. AMUSEMENT. St c. Stc.
TERMS : THREE IN ADVANCE FOUR DOLLARS, AFTER THREE -MONTHS.
MACON, (Ga.) SATURDAY MORNING, NOVEMBER 10, 1838.
MISFORTUNES OF A GIANT.
Letters from Valenciennes announce the
arrival of a giant on his way to Paris. He is
30 years of age, and his name is Bien ; he is
not 6 feet 11 inches high, as the Journal de la
Frontiere stated, but seven feet two inches.
His shoulders are magnificent; his chest broad
and full, his limbs finely proportioned. In fact
he is the finest giant that can be possibly
imagined ; we could not have had a better if
we had bespoke one. Yet with all these ad
vantages the poor Goliah is the most unfortu
nate phenomenon of France and Patagonia.
Every day he comes into collition with our
little tempers, tastes, and customs ; like Micro
megas he is entangled and tormented by our
microscopic humanity. He was obliged to
ride from Brussels to Paris on the roof of a
diligence, simply because he could not get in
side. The office keeper indeed had offered
him two places, the coupe and the rot unde, but
the traveller did not think proper to accept of
either. All along the road he had melancholy
experience of the miseries of great stature.
Whenever he alighted he terrified his fellow
travellers ; and in a village about 10 leagues
fro.n the frontier he caused no little distur
bance. He had descended from his place on
the diligence with his cloak, which by the way,
contained not less 10 ells of cloth, when the
inhabitants, on perceiving him, fled in all di
rections, taking him for the Devil. Those
wonderful fellows, the gendarmes, thought of
the infernal machine, and demanded his papeis.
M. Bien showed them the following passport:
“ We, &c., request the authorities to allow
free liberty to travel about to M. Bien, of whom
this is a description :—Black hair and eye
brows, brown eyes, ordinary nose and mouth,
a rounnd chin and an oval face ; his waist
measures two metres and thirty-five centime
tres ; his particular characteristic is, that he is
seven feet two inches in height.” The gen
darmes, convinced that the person answering
this description could not be a conspirator, and
seeing nothing singular about his dress to ex
cite suspicion, returned his passport with a
military salutation. The troubles of M. Bien
were not ended when he arrived at the gates
of Paris. An official clerk, about four feet
and a half high, declared that there must be at
least three feet contraband measure belonging
to him. In this city he fared still wor >e : a
hackney-coachman informed him that he
could not carry him ftom the Barrie de la
Villette to his destination in the Rue de la
Fosses du Temple in less than twojournies.
He then went to hire an omnibus for himself
only, and the driver consented to take him for
double the usual charge. Arrived at the lodg
ings provided for him, he forgot to stoop on
going into the great gate, and gave himself a
tremendous thump on the forehead. He was
obliged to bend his body to get up the stair
case, and when he entered his mom he smash
ed his hat by driving it into the ceiling. This
apartment is not more than six feet and a half
high. Tiie next day, wishing to replace his
damaged hat, he went to all the hatters in Paris,
but could not find one to fit him; they tried
to take his measure, but all the measures were
too small; at last one made of paper was in
vented for the purpose. When he wants
gloves he is obliged to order them eight days
beforehand ; if he wishes boots, the bootmaker
commences by taking eight days to have a
last expressly made for his huge customer ; if
he has occasion for anew coat, the tailor finds
it impossible to cut one to his model under 15
days. When he goes to rest, he is obliged to
put up with mattresses and coverings only six
feet long, and gets up in the morning with
broken knees. In short poor M. Bien is so
oppressed, hampered, and stifled by our dwarf
ish accommodations, that he will become stun
ted himself unless he build a house to his own
size on the plain of St. Dennis. Surely a
whale in a basin of the Tulleries, or a lion in a
rabbit-hutch, would be more at ease than he is
in a box only 12 or 15 feet square. Luckily,
the winter is coming, and the unfortunate giant
may have a little more elbow-room ; let him
go to the Olympic Circus and fill up the part
of Goliah in the piece of that name. We are
certain that the public will not throw a stone
at him. LeCorsaire.
SUNRISE AT NANTUCKET.
The Editor of the Nantucket Inquirer thus
describeth ‘ day’s first smile’ upon his sandy
shore :
‘lt was a most lovely morning. A semi
annular piece of moon, from its zenith of glory,
like the half closed eye of a Persian princes,
looked brightly but blandly down upon tin
humble race of bipends beneath. The placid
tides were up, and with a clean face reflecting
the image of every superior object, reposed in
their channels, unruffled by oar or barge, or
wing of sea bird, or even the zephyr’s breath.
The'coasting craft, smacks, sloops and schoon
ers numerous, were yet fast asleep in the still
docks. Presently as the golden orb crept
gently and gingerly over the fartherest protur
beranee ofSquam Head, his assent was greeted
with a display of bunting. All around, skip
pers, mates, and stewards were running up
their motly signals to the topmost pinnacle,
to be gilded and burnished bv the sun’s first
ray.’
BEAUTIFUL IDEA.
Mr. Stephens, in bis incidents of Travel,
mentions that the tomb-stones in the Turkish
burying grounds arc all fiat, and contain little
hollows which hold the water after a rain, and
attruct the birds, who resort thither to slake
their thirst and sing among t le trees.
A STRAY LEAF FROM MV LOG-BOOK.
Last night I had the supreme gratification of
seeing a storm in all its grandeur. The sun
set in a gorgeous panoply of azure clouds, the j
outer edge surrounded dy a dim vapoury ring, j
which the experienced mariner might know |
portended a boisterous night. All was bustle
and preparation. Ropes were snugly coiled
away, hen-coops and barrels securely lashed,
and stun’sails taken in. Our captain, who is
one of the most singular specimens of a sa lor,
possessing none of the peculiarities of that
most quizzical class, but as plegmatic as a
Dutchman, eyed the preparations forthe com- !
ing squall with both hands buried profoundly
in his pockets. I have often heard of the por
tentous silence that preceds a storm at sea, but
never felt the intense excitement created by
overwrought anxiety and expectation. “ Haul
down the flying jib-—take in the royals, Mr. j
Lang!” suddenly shouted the captain, starting j
from his apathy; “by Jupiter, we have it with
a vengeance ! death and destruction are in its
path!” cried the captain, staring to windward.
We all turned in that direction, and beheld at
the distance of a half a mile, a long and distinct
line of white foam, which appeared to travel
toward us with astonishing rapidity. Above
the line appeared a dark vapour, which shut!
in by degrees the visible horizon, and fell like
a pall on the ocean.
“ Avast! there, shipmates,” cried the mate;
| “ hold on ; many a stouter man has visited the
moon with less wind in his cap ; I always con
descends to hold on to something under.
The last words of the mate were drowned
in the horrible din that followed. I can com
pare the tumult to nothing but the hissing
created by the contact of fire and water, com
bine I with other hellish and unnatural sounds.
The good ship seemed endowed with natural
instinct; now receiving the shock of the gale
with perfect steadiness ; and now staggering
under the shock of the hurricane; but, as the
sails felt the fury of the wind, she bent like a
reed gracefully before the blast, and careened
over the boiling waters like an animated being.
Huge wandering waves rose, as if by magic,
towering and hissing in the wake of the vessel
like created monsters of the deep, with pro
found valleys between. Our craft, as she rose
Jon the summit of the billows, seemed now to
glide down into the valley of the shadow of
doath—now to rise to the clouds :
“ And every mad wave drown’d the moon,
And whistled aloft its tempest tune.'
We scudded like a thunder-cloud before the
wind. The demons of the deep were abroad.
Sail after sail of our beautiful cruft was taken
in, until she tv; s running under bare poles.
About ten o’clock at night the fury ofthe gale
was at its height, when I ventured to peer into
the profound darkness. A vivid Tia*h of
lightning revealed a sublime panorama to my
view. It seemed as if sky and water were
commingled. Then an intense darkness tell
over the sea, and nothing but the glimmer of
the foam-capped waves, as they sped past the
vessel with the velocity of the wind, was visi
ble. At mi Inight the severity of the gale aba
ted ; and at one in the morning we were
careering met rilv before a fresh southerly j
breeze, with royals and stun’sails set.
It is a rare life, a sailor’s—a short life and a
merry one ! Even suppose you founder in
the wild solitudes of the ocean, or are cast on;
the breakers of a rocky coast, while the spirits
of the winds are contending, is it not a fitting
requiem for a sailor’s tomb, the melody of the
storm ? Well does Barry Cornwall sing,
“ And death, whenever he comes to me,
Should come on the wide, unbounded sea.”
New-York Mirror.
CROWS VERSUS ALCOHOL.
Col. B. has one of the best farms on the 11-;
linois river. About two hundred acres are
now covered with waving corn. When its
first came up in the spring, the crows seem- 1
ed determined on its entire destruction.—
When one was killed, it seemed as though a
dozen came to its funeral; and though the
sharp crack of the rifle often drove them away,
they always returned with its echo. The colo
nel, at length, became weary of throwing
grass, and resolved upon trying the virtue of
stones. He sent to the druggist’s for a gallon
of alcohol (spirits) in which lie soaked a few
quarts of corn, and scattered it over the field.
The black-legs came and partook with their
usual relish ; and, as usual, they were pretty
well corned; and such a cooing and cackling
—such a strutting and staggering! The
scene was like—but I will make no invidious
comparison—yet it was very much like .
When the boys attempted to catch them, they
were not a little amused at their zigzag course
through the air. At length they gained the
edge of the woods, and there being joined by
anew recruit, which happened to be sober,
they united at the top of their voices, in haw,
j haw, haw, hawing and shouting either the
praises or curses of alcohol; it was difficult
to tell which, as they rattled away without
rhyme or reason, so very much like .
But the colonel saved his corn. As soon as
they became sober, they set their faces steadi
ly against alcohol. Not another kernel would
tliev touch in his field, lest it should contain
the accursed thing, while they went and pulled
up the corn of his neighbors. They have too
much respect for their character, black as
they are, again to be found drunk.
4
If you wish to annoy a little man, quiz him
nboul his diminutive stature. He will affect
to laugh at himself, but will for all that, hate
! you like the devil.
| C. R. IIANLEITF.R, PRINTER.
GIGANTIC MASTODON.
As some hands, who are employed by Mr.
Hahn of this town in exenvating a mill race,
were digging in his meadow about a mile from
the town, on Monday last, they happened to
strike upon a huge bone which upon being ta
ken out from the bed where it had reposed for
ages, proved to be an under jaw of the Gigan
tic Mastodon, in an excellent state of preser.
vation. Farther search being made on Mon
day and yesterday, the most of the bones ne
cessary to the formation of a complete skele
ton have been found, and among the rest the
entire skull, with its upper part, even where
thinnest, entire and well preserved, and form
ing when connected with the under jaw, a head
that would do honor to the largest version of
the sea serpent. This we believe to be the
first entire skull of the Mastodon found in the
United States, or {terhaps in the world. The
bones which have been found and measured,
are upon an average, about one-tenth part less
than those of the mastodon in Peale’s Museum
in Philadelphia, ns detailed in Godman’s Amer
ican Natural History.
1 he teeth are finely enameled, and appears
not to have suffered in file least from decay,
rhcluske have not yet been found; their sock
ets are more than a foot in depth. The hin
der part of the skull next to its junction with
the neck, that is the posterior surface of the
occipital bone is very square, and measures
about 18 inches in height, and 27 inches in
width—length from hinder end to snout 42
inches. Ihe bones of the legs are massive,
corresponding in siie very nearly with the des
cription given by Godman as referred to, and
to which for the present we must refer the rea
der. A more fuli description will be given in
our next paper. These bones were found
from five to six feet beneath the surface •(' the
ground, in a kind of bog or morass, the soil tor
one or two feet at top being nothing but peat
or turf; and underneath, a rich alluvion, full
of vegetable and organic remains, such as
reeds, small wheels, Ac. The entire sk ■Fton
would be well worthy of a place in the best
museum in the world, and hope auch ar
rangements may be made *s will prevent its
being removed out of our state. We would
respectfully cnll the attention of the antiquar
ies and naturalists among our citizens to the
subject. Bucyra* Democrat.
STANDING ON THK TOP OF SINAI.
I stand upon the very peak of Sinai, where
Moses stood when !*e talked with the Almighty.
Can it be, or is it a mere dream ? Can this
naked rock have been the witness of that great
interview between man and his maker ? where
amid thunder and lightning, and a ft-arful quak
ing of the mountain, the Almighty gave to his
chosen people the precious tables of his law,
those rules of infinite wisdom and goodness
which, to th s day, best teach man his duty
towards his God, his neighbor and himself?,
The scenes of many of the incidents recorded
in tho Bible are extremely uncertain. Histo
i ians and geographers place the Garden of
Eden, tho paradise of our first parents, in difler
erent parts of Asia; and they do not agree
upon the site of the lower Babel, the Mountain
of Ararat, and many of the most interesting
places in the Holy Land ; but of Sinai, there
is no doubt. This is the holy mountain ; and
among all the stupendous works of nature, not
a place can be selected more fitted for the exhi
bition of Almighty power. I have stood upon
the summit of the giant Etna, and looked over
the clouds floating beneath it, upon the bold
scenery of Sicily', and the distant mountains of
Calabria ; upon the top of Vesuvius, and look
ed down upon the waves of lava, and the ruin
ed and half recovered cities at its foot; but
they are nothing compared with the terrific
solitudes and bleak majesty of Sinai. An ob
serving traveller has well called it a perfect sea
of desolation. Not a tree, or shrub, or blade
of grass is to be seen upon the bare and rugged
sides of innumerable mountains, heaving their
naked summits to the skies, while the crumb
ling masses of granite all around, and the dis
tant view of the Syrian desert, with its bound
less waste of sands, form the wildest and most
dreary, the most terrific and desolate picture
that imagination can conceive. The level
surface of the very top or pinnacle, is about
sixty feet square. At one end is a single
rock about twenty feet high, on which
as said the monk, the spirit of God decended,
while, in the crevice beneath, his favored ser
vant received the tables of the law. There,
on the same spot were they were given, 1
ope led th; secred book in which those laws
are recorde I, and read them with a deeper
feeling of devotion, as if I were standing nearer
and receiving them more directly from the
Deity himself. Incidents of Travel.
MODESTY.
All hail, thou sweet, becoming grace, bright
attitude of genius! thou pearl of precious
price, that ever, in the youngest and most beau
tiful, blooms with roseate blush ! Just so dost
thou mantle on the cheek of the talented and
palpitate in the breast of the wooer. Although
in truth, the maiden need not shrink, the
philosopher fear, nor the lover doubt, modesty
bei ig a charm that adds worth to the whole, and
“ Throws a perfume on the violet,”
There is perhaps notan instance of a man of
genius, having had a dull woman for his mother
though many have had fathers stupid enough
in all conscience.
A rich man is a slave to his feelings—a poor
man to bn wants.
SATURDAY NIGHT.
It is good when the week is ended to look
back upon its business and its toils, and mark
wherein we have sassed of our duties or como
short of wh it we shou'd have done. The close
of the week should be to each one of us as tho
close ot our lives. Every thing should bo
adjusted with the world and with our God, as
if we were about to leave the one to appear
before the other. The week is, indeed, one
of the regular divisions of life, and when it
closes it should not be without its moral.
From the end of one week to the end of ano
ther, the mind cin easily stretch onward, to
the close of existence. It can sweep down
the stream of time to the distant period when
:it will be entirely beyond human power to
regulate human affairs. Saturday is the tima
I for moral reflection. When for the mercies
of the week we are thankful, and when our
past months and years come up in succession
before us—we see the vanity of our youthful
days, and vexations of manhood, and tremble
at the approaching winter of age. It is then
we should withdraw from the business and
cares of the world, and give a thought to our
end, and to what we are to be hereafter.
NO. 3.
LABOR TO MAKE A WATCH.
Mr. Dent, in a lecture delivered before the
Loudon Royal Institute, made an allusion to
the formation of a watch, and stated that a
watch consists of ninety-two pieces; and that
forty-three trades, and probably two hundred
and fifteen persons, are employed in making
one of these little machines. The iron of
which the balance-spring is formed, is valued
at something less than a farthing; this pro
duces an ounce of steel, worth four and a
half-pence, which is drawn into two thousand
two hundred and fifty yards of steel wire, and
represents in the market, thirteen pounds and
three shillings; but still another process of
hardening this originally farthing’s worth of
iron, renders it workable into seven thousand
six bundled and fifty balance-springs, which
will realize, at the common price of two shil
lings and sixpence each, nine hundred and for
ty-six pounds and five shillings, the effect of
labor alone. Thus it may be seen that the
mere labor bestowed upon one farthing’s
worth of iron, gives it the worth of nine hun
dred and fifty pounds and five shillings, or four
thousand five hundred and fifty-two dollars,
which is seventy-five thousand six hundred
and eighty times its original value.
A lady’s LATIN.
Cerne here Arabella, dear, and tell me what
Latin is! Why,Latin ma, said Arabeile, is
—am-o, I love; am-at, be loves ; am-arnus,
we love ; that’s Latin. Well, it does sound
dreadful pretty, tho’, don’t it ? say I; and yet
if Latin is love, and love is Latin, jou hadn’t
uo occasion—and I got up and slipt my hand
into her’s—you hadn’t no occasion to go to
the Combined School to lam it, for natur,’
says I, teaches that a—and I was wisperin’ of
the rest o’ the sentence in h*r ear; when her
mother said, Come, come, Mr. Slick, what’s
that you are a saying of? Talkin’ Latin says
1, a winkin' to Arabella; ain’t we, Miss?
Oh yes, said she, returnin’ the squeeze of my
hand and larfin’; —oh yes, mother, arter all h«
understands it complete.’ Then take my seat
here, says the old lady, and both on you set
down and tulk it: for it will be a good prac
tice for you ; and away she sailed to the end ot
the room, and left us a— Tulkin Latin.
Sain Slick, second series.
A HIGHWAYMAN OUTWITTED.
“Stand and deliver,” were the words ad
dressed to a tailor travelling on foot, by a high
wayman, whose brace of pistols looked rati er
dangerous than otherwise. “ I’ll do that with
pleasure,” was the reply, at the same time
handing over to the outstretched hands of the
robber, a purse apparently pretty well stocked;
“ but,” continued he, “ suppose you do me a
favor in return. My friends would laugh at
me were I to go home and tell them I was
robbed with as much patience ns a lamb;
s’pose you fire yeur two bull-dogs right
through the crown of my hat; it will look
something like a show of resistance.” His
request was acceded to; but hardly had the
smoke from the discharge of the weapons
passed away, when the tailor pulled out a rusty
horse-pistol, and in his turn politely requested
the thunder-struck highwayman to shell out
every thing of value, his pistols not omitted,
about him.
The following neat little gem is from one of
Fletcher’s plays. Like much of the old En
glish dramatists, it is a beautiful illustration
drawn from the simplest habits of nature.
1. “Os all the (lowers, me thinks the rose is best.
2. Why, gentle madam?
1. It is the very emblem of a maid ;
For when the west wind courts her gently, *
How modestly she blows and paints the sun
With her chaste blushes!
When the north wind comes,
Kude and impatient, then, like chastity.
She locks her beauties in her bnd again,
And leaves him to base briars.’’
YOUTH.
How delightful dost thou revel in the full
flow of nature’s bounteous stream, swelled to
expected perfection! To the present feeling
of enjoyment, and to the unbounded anticipa
tion of future bliss, how open is youth! How
full of delight, and how beauteous in infancy,
although, like the early blossom of spring, it
fcels the chills that its nature is heir to. Wo
press the elastic muscle, full and soft, of the
healthful child, and pass our fingers through
the glossy curls, and fondly pinch the rosy,
dimpled cheek, and gaze in the laughing eyes,
and, express with enthusiasm our admiration
of the promise nature gives of its future per
fection—we know not what—but we feel and
know that we love youth, even in its imbecili
ty. As it approaches to and attains maturity,
how admirable, how lovely is youth in its
pristine purity! Though man may not mea
sure the power of God by his own weakness,
be may, and must, love youth, beauty and pu
rity, and while such love is active in him, he
must adore his infinitely good Creator,
The Paris papers announce the death of
the Duchees de Broglie. Slie was tlui daugh
ter of the eclobratcd Madam de Stuck