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iaiiiJLUviixS/iTtt * —— X ■ A poet’s hand and prophet’s fire, “ Struck the wild warblings of his lyre.” '< ' '-'' js&x ~i> tT ~'-+ : ■,"*& i •,mv My Home* There is no spot upon this earth, Whose landscapes seem so fair, As that ■w herein I had my birth, And breathed my native air. Its azure skies seem purer far, Its sun more brightly shines, And with more radiance glows each star, Than those of other climes. The foliage that adorns the trees, Seem lovelier to my view, Than that where autumn’s blighting breeze Ne’er fades its summer hue. -Its hard-faced rocks more precious seem, Along its wave-wash’d shore, Than those rich gems that brightly gleam Among Peruvian ore. Thus Providence has lent a charm, To home—wherever plac’d, <Xn climes where summor heats alarm, Or mid some frozen waste. Early Affection*, I had been talking with my little boy-- My second one, just past his accend year— And talking seriously, for even a child, So young, oft loves and wears the serious mood, Adopting it most naturally and sweetly, I had been tolling liirn, that if he proved A good obedient boy, loving and mild, And innocent, lie would be loved of God, And God would take him up at last to heaven, He knows that heaven’s a glorious happy place, What more indeed, do any of us know ! And his eye brightened, as it answered urine, 'But soon an anxious shade passed o’er its light, And looking steadfastly, he said, And brother too 1 My child, my precious child, Let it ever Ire thus. Still crave to share All happiness, reward and holiness, With him, and we your parents, will bo blessed. GREENWOOD. Tlie Miser# .From “Curiosity,” a poem—by Chas. Sprague, The churl, who hold it heresy to think, VVho loves no-music but the dollar’s clink, Who laughs to scorn the wisdom of the schools, And deems the first of poets first of fools— W ho never found what good from science grew, Save the grand truth that one and one are two ; And marvels Bowditch o’er a book should pore, Unless to make those two turn into four; [-sky Who placed where Catskill’siforehead greet the Grieves that such quarries all unhewn should lie; Or, gazing where Niagara’s torrents thrill, .Exclaims “A monstrous-stream—to turn a mill.” \\ ho loves to feel the blessed winds of heaven, Hut as his freighted barks are portward driven; ' Even he, across whose brain scarce dares to creep Aught but thrift’s parent pair—to get, to keep ; Who never loarn’d life’s real bliss to know— Vi ith curiosity even he can glow. Go, seek him out on yen dear Gotham's w alk, A here traffic’s venturers meet to trade and talk, VN here Mammon's votaries bend of each degree, The hard-eyed lender and the pale leudee ; \\ lie re rpgues insolvent strut in whitewashed pride, And shove the dupes who trusted them aside, Hew thro’ the buzzing crowd he threads his way, To catch the flying rumors of the day : To learu of changing stocks, of bargains cross’d, Of breaking merchants and of cargoes lost; The thousand ills that traffic’s walks invade, And give the heart-ache to the sons of trade. How cold he hearkens to some bankrupts’woq, Nods his wise head, and cries, “ 1 told you so— “ The thriftless fellow lived beyond his means, “He must buy brants—l make my folks eat beans \\ hat cares he for the knave,the knaves sad wife, The blighted prospects of an anxious life; The kindly throbs that other men control, Ne’er melt the iron of the miser’s soul, Thro’ life’s dark rood his sordid way he wends, An incarnation of fat dividends ; lint w hen to death he sinks, ungrieved, unsung, Buoyed by the blessing of no mortal tongue, ° No worth rewarded and no want redress'd, To scatter fragrance round liis place of rest, V hut shall that hallowed epitaph supply— The universal woe when good men die 1 Gold Curiosity Shall linger there. To guess the wealth he leaves his tearless heir; Perchance to wonder what must he his doom, In the far land that lies beyond the tomb, Aias! for him, if, in its awful plan, Heaven deal with him as he hath dealt with man! _ “Mirth, that wrinkled care derides, “And Laughter, holding both his sides.” THE SKLYNEI)HORSE. A friend of ours informs us, that an acquain tance of his assures him, that lie has often heard his granfather tell how an officer in the Revolutionary war used to relate the follow ing story. It therefore comes from good au thority, and we hope nobody will take the lib erty of doubting Hs ta*th. Colonel , an officer in the “times that tried mens souls” and horses’bodies, owned a faithful steed which had served him through the wars, and had arrived at tlie mature age ot twenty-five years. Being on a visit a tew miles irom home, while his master was enjoy ing a glass of cherry bounce with his host, the .horse got to a pile of cherries which had just been emptied from the cask, and as they were well saturated with spirits, they soon made bun as drunk as David’s sow.” If our readers know how drunk that means, they will be able to judge the condition of the poor old horse. 11 not, we must inform them he was so badly iffias to lie taken for dead ; and in this state deprived of his shoes and stripped of his hide. The Colonel hired another horse and re* hmicd home,ssadlv lamenting the fate of his venerable anil faithful steed. The misfortune •fthe animal was ttiked over between the Co lonel and his wife, and though they aeverelv blamed hi in for getting so beastly drunk, it was concluded on the whole, that as this was die only instance of intemperance during a long and useful life, they should net visit his memory too severely. With these reflections - trhoj- r tired. But what was their astonish "c ‘ “bout midnight at being nwakened by Till'* MAH IN AinfliiTlSEii, AMI AGRHi LTUBAL AMI MKIIUANTJLE IN I’KLLiGEN(LIt. dyspepsia. A wealthy manufacturer from the west of Scotland, while at Edinburgh on business, called upon Ir. Gregory for his advice. He was a man of middle stature, rather corpu lent, with a rosy complexion, and whose ex terior altogether hespoke the comfortable li ver. After seating himself the following di alogue ensued.- Gentleman. Well, Dock Gregory, I ha’ come up to Ldinbro’ in the way o’ business, and J just thought I would take vour advice about my health. I)r. Your health, sir? What’s the matter of you? GV/g. Pm no just sat! wcel i’ the stomach as Id like-to be. Hr. Ihe stomach! I suppose you ere a drunkard or a glutton then, sir. Gent. Na, na, Dr. Gregory, ye canna say that ye cannk say that; ye maun ken that 1 m a sober man, and a deacon of the kirk, as my worthy father was afore me. Dr. Well, let us see: what do you eat and drink? wh it do you ake for breakfast? Gent. I true coffee or tea wi’toast, a fresh egg or a Up o’ salmon, though I have no much appeti e tor nreakfast. Dr. fes- and then you take bv way ol .uncli ,et\voen broakfast and din ner? Gent. I canna say I care ower much about the lunch; but can take a bit o’ bread and cheese and aglass o’ ale, if it be there, but 1 canna say I care ower much about it. Dr. \\ ell, w hat do you eat for dinner? Gent. O! I’m no very particular, though I maun sny I like my dinner. Dr. I suppose you take soup first? Gent. Yes, I can say I like my soup. Dr. And a glass of porter or brandy and water with it? . Gent. Yes, I like a glass of something wi my soup. Dr. And then you have fish or bcof, and then mutton with vegetables? Gent. Yes. Dr. And a glass of ale or porter with them? Gent. Yes, I take a glass o’ ale now aii then wi my meat. Dr. And then you have boil- and fowl and bacon, or something of that sort, I suppose? Gent. Y r es, I maun say I like a bit of fowl and bacon now and then. Dr. And a glass of something with them? Gent. Yes. T9** And after the fowl rou have a pud ding? * . Gent. I’m nave feud o’ the pudding, but I can take a bit,, if it be there. l)r. And you must drink wine with your pudding? 1 Gent. I cam a take ower much o’ the wine but if I ha’ a friend wi’ me, I take a glass or so. And then you have cheese or nuts? , Gent. "Ves; the gude wife is over fon<F o them, but I canna say I care much about them. Dr. But you take a glass of wiuo or two with your nuts? Gent. Yes, a glass or two. Veil, do you finish your dinner with out whiskey punch? Gait. I firiduny dinner sots better on mv stomach with a little punch, so I take a glass or so. Dr. And you have tea, I suppose? Gent. Yes, I maun take my tea wi’ the gude wife. • And a bit of something with it? Gait. \ es, I can take a bit o’ something if it be there. Dr. But you do not go to bed without supper? y’ enf ' na i Hr, Gregory, I eanna say 1 like to gang to bed and without my woe bit supper.- Dr. And w hat do you eat for supper? , Gcnt ' O! a bit o’ ony little tiling—a bit o salmon, or boiled tongue, or cokl fowl. Dr. And a glass of something-with it 7 Gent. Yes. Dr. And can you go to bed without a night cap of hot punch? Gent. I maun say I sleep the better for a glass o hot punch, though t* canna say I’m ower fond o’ the habit. Dr. \\ ell. Sir, you are a flnedVUow; you are mdeod a fine fellow. You rome to me with a li*m your mouth, and telhme you arc a temperate man, and a deacon cf the kirk, as your worthy father was before you; and' you make yourself out, by your own r ate, inent, to be a a tet ne-bibba, and the neighing of a horse, which sounded pre cisely like that of the one whose death they had been so deeply lamenting. ** Husband ! htisband!” said the old lady, giving the Colonel a nudge “ is’nt that our old boss ? It whinners jest like him.” “Our old horse, replied the Colonel. “How do you think, wife that the poor old horse could coine here, after being dead and skinned ?” “ I don’t know how, I’m Sure,” returned the old lady, “ but it sounds jest like our old boss; and if it isn’t he, it must be his ammunition, that’s all.” The good woman meant apparition. But while the worthy couple were yet talk ing, the same noise was heard again, and in the most piteous tones of a suffering horse.— The Colonel was no believer in ghosts, but the neighing was too much like that of his old favorite to be any longer disregarded. He got up and went to the door, and there—what a sight for sore eyes!—he saw indeed the very identical old horse, shivering in the night air and looking most reproachfully in bis niastt rs face* The heart of the old Revalutioner smote him—fur it was nmv apparent that the poor beast had never been dead—hut only dead— drunk—and that he had acted with too much precipitancy in divesting him of his skin. hat was to be done ! The horse begged most piteously in such language as he -could use, and asked, as plainly as a dumb bc£st could, to have his skin put on again. The old lady was consulted, and being very handy with her needle, she readily sewed the hide on again, which being still moist, soon grew as fast as ever to the flesh of the animal, who lived sevwn years afterwards—and never a gain was guilty of eating rum-cherries. a whiskey-tippler, and a drinker of that most abominable of all compositions, called punch. Go home, Sir, and reform yourself, and be come temperate in your eating and drinking, and you will have no need of my advice -S'©©- j An Irishfishing smack coming alongside of an American ship, off Cork, one of the crew asked the captain of the ship if he did not want a fine fish ! The captain asked Pat what he would take for the one in his hand. “Be me shout,” says Pat, “you may have it for nothing ftt all & so you may, if you will give me a bot tle of rum;” which was accordingly given him. He then showed the CapU another fish and told him he would make him a present of that for another bottle of rum; to which the Captain agreed; when Pat looking him full in the face, observed, “sure, Mr. Captain, I know your name.”''“What is my name?” says the Captain. “ Oh botheration,” says Pat, “ you know as well as I do; why need you ask?” Coxjrovi. Affection. —After the heat of the late contest in the streets of Paris had subsided, a woman was seen running about and eagerly examining every dead body in tier way—she was looking for her husband. A gentleman who bad watched her progress for some time, endeavoring to console her witht!ho hope of his being yet alive. “No, he must be killed; I have not set eyes on him since the morning ; I hope in God I shall find his body, for he has got tkt key of the street door in his pocket. r 1 * ll 0 Charles 11. was once told by a courtier, that someone had observed, that “ his nia jesty noversaid a foolish thing, nor did a wise one.” The king- replied “that is easily enough accounted for, since my acts arc my ministers, and my speech is my own.” From the Portland Advertiser. ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER. You hare all heard of the adventures of a penny, a sixpence, a shilling ; but none of you ever read of. the adventures of a news paper. lam one of the hebdomadals ; and and you will just give an ear, I will tell you my story. Know ye tlien that lam being of might and meanness—jiowefful and weak—saucy and servile. Igo every where—from the es critoire of the lady to the palace of the king. 1 raise up and knock down kingdoms ; tell and truths, prodigies, and littlenesses ; am abroad at all times, talking to every thing. Sometimes 1 speak in inuendoes,then in point blank sarcasms, then in formidable para-, graphs, then in joyful captions. Sometimes lam hurrahing loi one state gained, then crying for another lost. Sometimes intoxi cated with joy, and then as mad as a “ march hare.” Some say lam not refined. Not refined — pho. Why, scraps of me this very moment, are waving in the ringlets of the queen of the dance as she courtisies through the cotillion. 1 am touching her neck (aye, what kings dare not do) lam kissing her cheeks; I am float ing all around her; and she ever keeps me in her company, cherishes me and would not part with me on any consideration. No mat ter if I do talk boisterously of politics, and cry out “ All hail Ohio,” or “ hurrah for Ken tucky,” on the very piece she lias folded up so beatufully and this too in flaming capitals, she keeps me—even though she should be flirting with Van Buren and talking wiih the President. Yea I have danced with the ad ministration when I was ferrretting out all their secrets and they have looked upon me with the utmost* tenderness, even when I was ferretting out all their secrets ; and they have looked upon me with the utmost ten derness, even when 1 was ringing their death knell. And then I go to the palace itself; the great ones praise me or censure rue stoutly, just as 1 puli'them. Now you will hear one calling mo “ able;” another ** scurrilous.”— The Kentuckian -says I am “ ring-tailed roarer the Congressman from Missouri “a Mammoth;” the man from Maine “ a capital fellow ; ’ the one from Massachusetts “ a whale.” Thus talk they, if they be friends : hut if enemies some call me “ a ditnder head others a “ fool .” others “ a devil;” others “ a liar.” But I bear it all, and am neither pulled up nor depressed. My editor thinks ho is the character of importance ; but the-fool of a man little thinks that I do all the talking and he only the writing; he is the Clerk and lam the Master. Ayo, I Igo where ho is nor admitted. They let me into all kinds of society. I aofcwelcome with the greatest, and visit them weekly ; and he, poor soul with all his importance is never ad mitted into their company ; I tell thewfaults point out where they go wrong; and tell them to got fight; but he dare not open his mouth before them. Every body runs after me; lam not only invited but paid for, (querc, when you are borrowed by a whole neighbourhood ? tod.) Enemies, and friends are indiscriminately glad of my company. Every body knows me; I am famous and im mortal. See the multitude waiting for the mail to get a peep at me; see them staring at what I say; see how they push to get a first sight; hear thousands echoing and re echoing all my stories. How is it .with mv editor? lie might travel forever and no one would know him; notone would ask for him ; no one would take the trouble to look at him. And he might talk till the 1 judgment day in propria iwrsona, and not a Soul would’ think of repeating ins sayings; but only let me put. them m print, and then see how important they became. lam the man and lie is the tool I-work with.- * i True this omnipresence of mine might sub ject some to mortification. Go to the tavern and - see How I am maltreated. Hear two bumpkin* canvassing my merits. (I hear the whole.) Ilear two village politicians not re. gardirtg my presence, lashing and praising me just as their ideas happen to be. Oh that I could tell my editor w hat some folks say about him, lie would not sleep a wink for ten years to come, for he by the way, is a mealv. mouthed man, and cant put tip with jibes thrown out by word of mouth, though he is impervious to printed bullets. lam as tough as India rubber ; and have not a superabun dance of feeling. Occasionally, I must eonfess, I do-descend from my high estate, for 1 line trunks, make bandboxes, paper rooms ; am used to wrap ar ticles ; hold medicines of all kinds, sugars, teas, coffee ; am put round ribbands, calicoes silks, sarsnetts, bombazines—yea, a.ound old shoes and new ones—but then there is re demption for allthis degradation. The ladies are glad to get me into their sleeves,a nd now the “ leg of muttons” are in fashion, they take hundreds of me under and round their arms. And the gentlemen would give millions to be where I am. lam often in the crown of their bonnets; often in his excellency's pocket. The honourable Mr. is glad to look over me ; and all the Esquires in the na tion are ever talking about me. But then the rogues often forget my sarviees w hen I have grown a little old and turn me to some menial purpose. I will have revenge on them. Y'ou often can see me in the libraries bound up in leather, in elegant calf, moroeco, perhaps; and then lam kept till a good old age, and posterity looks at me with wonder ; and the statesmrn searches me for history and facts. I have fine times a journeying, and prome nading. Igo from Maine to Illinois*, at the public expense, and ride in the best carriages. I go too, with the greatest rapidity, and tell the backwoodsman on the Arkansas all that is doing on the Atlantic. I shew him Lafay ette at the head of the National Guard; I tell of I’olotechnies, of the “great week," the bloody contest under the embattlements of the Tuillerics. I tell him of the insurrection of the Belgians, the troubles in Saxony—and I catch up words as they drop from the mouths of kings, .and send them to the remo test quarters of Christendom. See me trum peting the -speeches of Wellington ; sec me conveying parts of the speech of Sir R. I’eelc to the Indies, or Americas, before his honor has sat down. See what. I have done in France, I have dethroned Charles X and put Phillipon the throne. lam this moment rocking Europe, and every crowned head is startled at my presence. Talk not of armies where I am. I can put them down in a twinkling. I can-rouse up the whole people —Furor ministrat arma —and nations shall be in collision by my mandate. I work w ith an instrument called Public opinion. I form it and guide it—and it lays hold of thrones with the grasp of a Hercules, and tumbles them to the earth. Some call me a tattler ; but what of that; it is my business; I am paid for cronicling every thing; and I think it as important to tell what John Randolph did before the Autocrat and the Empress of the Russians, as to tell of the wars and troubles in the Netherland. I give you marriages k deaths. I tell you of shipwrecks, and offcasts and il luminations. I puff your scholars, your au thors. I raise you to the skies and tumble you to the earth; I carry your advertisements to every mans house; give you prices currents and shipnews, “ good luck” and bad luck.” In short I am a very potent sort of a being Fools give me a kick, & swear about “libels” and “ editors” and turn up therr noses at news papers ; but there is not one that does not tremble at my nodding, and whom I cannot put in passion and make him “ tear it to rags.” Yes,'gentlemen, you cannot do with out me ; you must take me, good, bad, or iti differeut; lam a friend to you all, except the villain “ borrowers” and reading thieves, that go to the barber shops and taverns to get a squint at me—and them, by the soul ofFaus tus, my purchaser is a fool not to blow them sky high; yes,sky high sir, I wish every Scrap of news they steal from my sheet were so many porcupine quills tearing tfeeir way through the eyes to the brains. I warrant you they would not steal longer. TIMES GONE BY. The times of old—the good old days of frankness and honesty and singleness of heart! Their memory lingers around us like sun shine upon ruins, or like the incense of flow ers whose beauty has been trampled beneath the feet of the spoiler ? We fear the glorious days of our country have gone by—that the characteristics of her children have departed —that the luxuries and vices and fashions of strangers, have usurped the beautiful plain ness and simplicity—the freedom, the gene rosity and the bravery of the nation. A false and evil spirit has gone over the land, undermining tjie foundations of her strength, and despoiling her real beauty—lopping away the noble oaks of her forests—the rough-fea tured but useful products of her soil, to give place to the graceful, but worthless exotic It has penetrated every where —from the thronged village to the isolated farmhouse; and the plough has been exchanged for the insignia of professional life, and the spinning wheel for the piano. ’Tis an evil change;—and we fear that there is no going back to out original ground Strange—that the young farmer—he, whose associations of life’s purest and dearest en joyments are with the homestead of his an ceetors should so readily -leave the beaten and proved track of honourable industry, for the uncertainty and dangerand mortifications of more fashionable pursuits. Strange, that he can thus leave the hills and streams ofhis boyhood—the blue skies that bent like a blessing above hirchildhoori—the sanctuary of his father’s fireside—the open communion of his neighbours—the playmates of his in fancy—the companions of his opening' man hood—the very graves of hisfathere—Whore will ho again find the deep affection of the friends he is leaving ?—Where again will the eye of love beam so kindly on.him, and where will the grasp.of friendship be ns warm ahd as sincere as in his own beloved birth-place? Does-her hope to find them in the gay circle of fashionrble folly ?—Miserable will be his disappointment. For him there will be no vexation—and changing hope—and fear— slight, indignity,-'resentment, and hate—con fidence misplaced,-and vows broken, and af fection outraged. It is in the solitude and awful beauty of nature that heart answers to heart, thrilling with a passionate touch the mysterious chords of human sympothv—■ rath er than in the artificial beauty and the heated atmosphere of fashionable existence. , -Jldctro. GENERAL WASIUNG’i'ON. His life net spared by a British officer, at Brandywine, as has been stated. Mr. Cooper, the distinguished American author, has addressed from Paris, under date of 28th January, a letter to Mr. Skinner, Ed itor of the American Turf Register and Sport ing Magazine, on the subject of taming wild horses; and takes the occasion to correct an historical error by the following observa tions:— “While troubling you with this letter, I will take an opportunity of correcting an er ror, which has been very generally circulat ed, and is even in numberless magazines.— Among others who have fallen into the mis take to w hich I allude, Bigland, in his “View of the World,” relates an adecdote, by which if would appear, that at Brandywine, the life of Washington was at the mercy of the cele brated British rifleman, Major Ferguson, who was too generous to profit by his advantage. “Mr. J. P. De Lancey, (father of Mrs. Cooper,) though of a well known American family, was regularly educated for the British Army, in which he received a commission at eighteen. In 1774 he was quartered.at Phi ladelphia, with a part of his corps, the tßth of the Roy.il Irish. Washington was then a delegate in Congress; and in consequence of his having dined w ith the mess of the 18th, and of the intercourse which naturally existed between gentlemen of the different provinces, through then- family connections ami ac quaintances, Mr. De Lancey had a perfect knowledge of his person. When the army of Howe was preparing to embark for the Chesapeake, a corps of riflemen was organiz ed, by drafting picked me n from the different regiments, and was placed under the com mand of Major Ferguson, who had invented, several improvements in the Rifle, and who had acquired great skill in the use of that weapon. Of this corps, Mr. De Lancey was appointed the second in command. During the manoeuvres which preceded the battle of Brandywine, these riflemen were kept skir mishing in advance of one-ol'the British co lumns. They had crossed some open ground, in which Ferguson was tvounded in the arm, and had taken a position in the skirt of a thick wood. While Mr. De Lancey was occupied in arranging a sling for the wounded arm of Ferguson, it was reported that an American officer of rank, attended only by a mounted orderly, had ridden into the open ground, and was then within point blank rifle shot. Two or three of the best marksmen stepped for ward, and asked leave to bring him down. Ferguson peremptorily refused; but he went to the skirt of the wood, and, showing him self, menaced the American with Severn! ri fles, while he called to him, and made signs for him to come in. The mounted officer %aw his enemies, drew his rein, and sat, look ing at them attentively for a few moments. A sergeant now offered to hit the horse,- w ithout injuring the rider. But Ferguson still withheld his consent, affirming that it was Washington reconnoitering, and that he would not be the instrument of placing the life of so great a man in jeopardy, by so un fair means. The horseman turned, and rode slowly way. When the British army reached Philadelphia, Mr. De Lancey was promoted to a majority, in another corps, and Fergu son, not long after, went to the South, w’here he was killed at King’s Mountain. To the last moment Major Ferguson maintained that the officer, whose life he spared, was Wash ington; and it is probable that the story in circulation has proceeded from this opinion. But on the other hand, Mr. De Lancey, to whom the person of Washington was so well known, constantly affirmed that his comman der was mistaken. I have often heard Mr. Dc Lancey relate these circumstances, and though he never pretended to be sure of the person of the unknown horseman, it was his opinion, from particulars of dress and stature, that it was the Count Pulaski. Though in error as to the person of the in dividual whom he spared, the merit of Major Ferguson is not at all diminished "by a knowl edge ol the truth. I correct the mistake, on ly because the account is at variance with the probable situation of Washington, at so im portant a moment; and because every cir cumstance codneeted with the public or pri vate history of that illustrious man, has great interest, not only with his country, but the whole civilized world. Very truly yours, J'. fenmore cooper. Puberty. —There is a wild, buoyant feel ingrjf independence, a strange mixture of sadness rand enthusiasm, that alternately sways the mind at the idea of throwing off forever the trammels of scholastic bigotrv, and putting on instead the togi virilis of manhood. While we are at school—it is useless to mince the matter—we are, in eve ry sense of the word, children, with whom ladies may venture to be familiar before com piny; superannuated nurses to visit and sa lute by some old nursery abridgement, that adds any .thing but grace or dignity to our patronymic; and indescribable grandmothers —those venerable and grotesque abomina tions to treat half-price, to the pantomime of some minor thcatrfc. But when once we have bidden adieu to the school-room, the scene becomes altogether' Changed. In an instant we take our proper sttßion in society. We rise to the moral altitude of manhood bv virtue of our incipient whiskers-and instinc tive impudence; are no longer cyphers, but have a stake in the great affairs of life, and may even go the extreme length of sporting a political opinion. A weighty Jury. — I’he officer whoso pro vince it is to summon the County Court Ju ries for Preston, having been found fault with at the last Court lor bringing together so poor a jury, was Requested on tho next occasion to invite a more weighty ahd substantial class -of men. Accordingly,on Tuesday last he in troduced into court a set of jolly looking fel lows, whose weight and substance wHI not be questioned, when it is known that the twelve good men- and trud,-on being put into the bal ance at the close of the days business, were found to weigh no less than 1 ton 7 cwt. 21 lbs or 3,045 lbs. the lightest man anion" them being 225 lbs. Of all the vices, vanity and the lovq oflawi suits arc the most difficult to correct. “.Other employments and artjfw bellishment, but Agriculture isJh „ lit;.” - ■ AGRICULTURE. The first employment of the first inhabitants of the world was agriculture: it gave direction t ■ their labors and supplied their Wants. Their dc* scendants, the greatest potentates of the.earth i. nil civilized countries, have not disdained to fol low the plojigh—-and in many countries, at presen day, husbandry is at once the amusemtu '* and delight of the affluent, and the support of that numerous and important class which constitute?! the strength and bulwark of a nation. From th (lays ot Chinenoung, 3000 years before Christ tl Emperor ol China has annually held the plough and been honored as the head husbandman of th empire. The heroes and statesmen of arteier? Koine were found to-day in the-camp and the fo rum,and to-morrow at the plough. It is n- i strange that the eulture of the earth has been the business and pleasure of the world in all ages: u is the parent, the basis and support of all other arts: without it civilization ceases, aud popula tion fails. Other employments and arts serve fat the embellishment , but agriculture is necessary fo: the support ot human life. It is an employment in w hum too many persons cannot be engaged. Th. literary professions may be crowded;"trade and commerce may be overdone; too great a number engaged in these starve each other. But in anew. fertile & extensive country like the United States, every one who industriously and skillfully tills the. ground, while lie adds fo the public good, secures liia own ladqiendvmce. THE .FARMER. it docs one 9 heart good to see a tnerry rouiid faced former. So independent and yet so free from vanity and pride. So rich, and yet so industrious, so patient and pers< - t ering in his calling, and yet So kind, social and obliging. There are a thousand noble, traits about him which light up its character. He is generally hospitable ; eat and dunk with him, and he wont seta markon you,and sweat it out ot you with a double compound interest at another time—you are welcome. He will do you a kindness without expecting' a return by way of compensation, it is not so with every body. He i 9 generally more, he nest and sincere—less disposed to deal ir a low underhand dinning than -many I could name. He gives to society Its best support —he is the edifice of government and th. lord of nature. Look at him in homespun and gray black, .gentlemen; laugh as you wilt but believe me, he can laugh buck if ho pleases. “Not one immoral, one corrupted thought, “Gtw wwd, when dying, hewould wish to blot.* LACONIC PREACHER. “ It is good for us to be here.” —Matt, xxii, 4. It was indeed good for the little band of disciples, to witness the rise and natural and glorious transfiguration of their friend arc master. To hear a celestial voice prole aim,’ the meek and lowly Jesus, Son of flic Most High God—in whom he was well pleased— and directing them with more than human?' eloquence to hear him, “ who spake as never man spake.” Doubting and timid as they were, a vision so transeendently glorious, must have d.s pellcd the mist of darkness and the niisgiv - ings which brooded over their minds. Well then might the ardent and impetuous Apos tle, always foremost in expressing the nature and sentiments of hi* heart, exclaim—“ Lord it is good for us to be here.” But although the ef Gfed has long since ascended to the bosom of his Father, and opr Father—his Gd and our God—tin spirit and the institutions of the holy religioK thus established, remain as imperishable as their founder, exerting a mighty influence the character and prospects of men. The spire rears its head in every part of the h; . bitable globe—and although no miracle in, parts the wonderful works of God in differ ent languages, education fostered by Chris-’, tianity has scut forth the oracles of God, anti heralds to declare them to every kindred an.’ tongue under the canopy of Heaven—Thou sands weekly assemble within the consecra ted walls of these houses of God, and gates o' Heaven, to render-up the tribute of grateftj and adoring hearts. To listen to the learner, exposition of men, deep in sacred literature l’o the splendid and powcrftf! diction and tin persuasive eloquence of God’s ministers.--- These lcel as did Peter when he addressed t- Messiah the ejaculation—“ It is good for to he here." The good man, who at the dawn and clos of each day, assembles-with hisr beloved par V ncr, and the dear objects cf their fondest cf. fections, around the family altar, to raise tl . voice of praise and thanksgiving tot-lie Grc. .? Father and Founder of Families, for that ws. profusion of good which has been so bounti fully scattered around them, feel that it is good for them to be there. It is good to visit the bed of languishing— to go to tl . house of mourning, and to follow to thegwu -i the “ friend bcloned,” foroccasions like tin weaken the heart’s hold on existence, lead i.r correctly to estimate the value-of sublunar , tilings, and mi** our thoughts and wishe* ti those mansionwthere all tears will cease *o flow, and where every eye shall sparkle wilt ineffable joy. Where angels, and the spirt - of the just mad# perfect, unite with the rrx , rapturous acclamation in the Bcntij*ent, •“ is good to he ht rje.” It is observed that all the virtues are rrpr - sent.-d by pairfnrs; and statuaries under I - forms; bit if any ef them have a more particular title 0 that sex, it is modesty, HAPPINEBS. Do yon wish|<t happiness 1 Enjoy possess, withou'ironsuming life in vain exphny , tions; learn to bipatient, and set proper bourn 7 * V ries to your desfes. Without moderation; nr' filing can be reaijy enjoyed.