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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