“ Struck the wild warblings of his lyre.”
From the .Imtricnn Monthly Magazine.
THE DYING ALCHYMIST.
The night wind with a desolate moan swept
by, _
And the old shutters ol the turrent swung
Screaming upon their hinges, and the moon,
As the torn edges of ths clouds flew past,
Struggled aslant the stained and broken panes
So dimly, that the watchful eye of death
Scarcely was conscious when it went and
came.
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The fire beneath his crucible was low;
Yet still it burned, and ever as his thoughts
Grew insupportable, he raised himself
Upon his wasted arm,and stirred the coals
With difficult energy, and when the rod
Fell from his nerveless fingers,and his eve
Felt faint within :s socket, he shrunk back
Upon his pallet, and with unclosed lips
Muttered a curoe on death! The silent room
From its dim corners mockingly gave beck
His rattling breath; the hummim/ in the fire
Had the distinctness of a knell, and when
Duly the antique horologe brat one,
He drew a phial from beneath his head,
And drank. And instantly with his lips corn
pressed,
And with a shudder in his skeleton frame,
He rose with supernatural strength, and Sat
Upright, and communed with himself.
1 did not think to die,
’Till I had fiuished what I had to do ;
I thought to pierce the eternal secret through
With this my mortal eye;
I felt—Oh God ! it seeemeth even now
This cannot be the death-dew on my brow.
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'Twas morning and the old man lay alone
No friend had closed his ey r elids, and hislips
Open and ashy pale, th’ expression wore
Of his death struggle. His long silvery hair
I .ay on his hollow temples thin and wild.
His frame was wasted, and his features wan
And haggard as with want, and in his palm
His nails were driven deep, as if the throe
Of tlte last agony had wrung him sore.
The storm was raging still. Ths shutters
swung,
Screaming as harshly in the fitful wind,
And all without went on —as aye it will—
Sunshine or tempest, reckless that a heart"
Is breaking, or has broken in its change.
The fire beneath his crucible was out:
The vessels of his mystic art lay round,
Useless and cold as the ambitious hand
That fashioned them, and the small silver rod
Familiar to his touch for threescore years,
Lay on th’ alembrics rim, as if it still
Might vex the elements at its master’s will.
And thus had passed from its unefpial frame
A soul of fire—a sun-bent eagle stricken
From its high soaring down—an instrument
Broken with its own compass. He was bprn
Taller than he might walk beneath the stars
And with a spirit tempered like a god’s,
He was sent blindfold on a path of light,
And turned aside and perished! Oh how poor
Seems the rich gilt of of genius when it lies
Like the adventurous bird that hath out flown
Ilis strength upon the sea, ambition wreck’d,
A thing the thrush might play, us she sits
Brooding in quiet on her lowly nest.
From the Lady's Book.
REMEMBER ME 1
Afar, to woo in distant lands
The smiles that Fate denies me here,
I tiy and burst the silken bands
That absence will but more endear :
But though no more at evening close,
We r.c-t beneath th* accustomed tree,
To watch the twilight shut the rose —
At that calm hour—remember me 1
And when the twilight dim is o’er,
And the bright moon rides high in heaven—
When, through the blue aerial ilood
Sparkle the silver lights of even—
Then, while the placid radiance beams
On marble brow and snowy hand—
There, in the light of rosy dreams,
Let thine[adorer’s image stand.
And when again returning day,
Fraught with new bliss to thee and thine,
Wakes thee from visions bright and gay,
To bend at Heaven’s eternal shrine —
There, while thy grateful thoughts arise,
And God, propitious smiles on thee—
■ Before the Great Supreme, all-wise,
In holy pray’r —remember me ?
Thus would 1 live in ev’ry thought,
Blended with all of dear ami bright—
Jlcjifiir thee in each favoured spot,
A thing’of happiness and light ?
Thus think of him who loves the well—
Would the pale moon my page rniirht be,
On her clear disc each hour would tell
How fondly I remember thee. S.
EPIGRAM.—By T. S. Ciolidge.
Sly Belzebnb took all occasions
To try Job’s patience and constancy.
Ho tuok his honor, took his health .
He took his children, took his wealth,
His servants, horses, oxen, cows—
■% But cunning Satan did not take his spouse.
But heaven, that good from evil,
And loves to disappoint the devil,
Had pre-detennined to restore,
T'iv<>-fold all he had before ;
His sonants, horses, oxen, cow?—
•short-sighted devil not to take his spouse.
<On the murriege of Mr. Muddto Misa Johnson.
Lot’s wife, his said, in days of old,
For one rebellious fault,
Was tam’d, un we are plainly told,
Into a lump ofsalt.
The same propensity to change,
Still runs in female Wood,
For here, we see a thing as strange,
A fearilu turn’d to MudJ.
tub MACON AO V EKTiSER, AN p AOiili) ti'LTiilt AL AN 0 AiEHUIANY ILK INTELLIGENCE K.
isasauLiujg'g*
THE MURDERER’S DEATH.
The sun went down amidst a sea of fiery
looking clouds, while a fresh breeze spring
ing up unexpectedly from the north-east;
canlc sweeping over the waste of moor and
bog, driving before it a dark grey gigantic
mass, more like a chain of uprooted moun
tains travelling through the air, than an as
semblage of unsubstantial vapour. \S hen
right over head, the eanopy of clouds settled
and paused, the breeze lulled, then died
away in faint irregular moanings, until all was
as still as if Nature herself was holding her
breath of a we.' Then the clouds opened like
the rending of a veil, giving to view, not a
flash, or a sheet of lightning, but something
like a mighty conflagration of blasting, su
pernatural light, accompanied, not followed,
by a crash as if ten millions of angelic cha
riots were chasing the ruined host of Lucifer
from the uttermost verge of heaven into the
bottomless abyss of the damned. The black
ness that followed the roar of the thunder was
so sudden and startling that for an instant I
thought l was struck blind for my daring har
dihood, in looking with a bold and over-curi
ous eye at the awful and dangerous myste
ries of elemental strife; but again the clouds
rolled back like mighty gates, again the light
ning sprang forth, and the thunder pealed,
and then, down, through the pitchy darkness,
came a ifood, a cataract, a Niagara of rain,
such as never since the days of Noah deluged
an unfortunate bog-trotter like myself. I
plunged and flloundered through the solid
sheet of water, until 1 got to an elevated sit
uation, and there l sat down upon a rock, for
as to proceeding until the rain lightened, the
thing was out of the question.
I suppose about two sours passed in this a
greeable situation ; at length, as if more from
want of means than inclination, the torrent
abated; and though, the rain still fell in what
would be counted a very severe shower un
der ordinary circumstances, yet as it is no
longer threatened to beat me to the ground,
and then float me off to the nearest river, 1
judged it expedient, not to pursue my route,
for that as 1 told you 1 had voluntarily lost,
but to seek the shelter of the nearest cabin,
and there wait until the friendly morning
should come with -its welcome “vade mccum ”
to throw new light upon the subject, and help
me out of my dilemma.
1 had not proceeded more than half a mile,
when the sullen voice of rushing water
warned me of the proximity of a mountain
stream, swollen to a dangerous torrent by the
heavy rains. Steering myself cautiously by
the sound, I reached what seemed to be a
rude by-path ; 4lld not being in a very fastid
uous mood, 1 was right well pleased at find
ing myself in a few minutes in front of a ru
inous looking hovel, through whose manifold
chinks a faint light glinnn rod, notwithstand
ing the lateness of the hour.
Several minutes passed without any no
tice being taken of my application. I thought
the light appeared to move; but, though I
listened attentively, 1 could not hear the
sligiitest noise, except a low snoring, ns of
one in a drunken sleep. “I must disturb
these revellers,” thought I, “unless I can re
concile myself to passing the night in the bog,
in preference to interrupting their gentle
slumbers.” So, forthwith, 1 assail, and the door
hand and foot, after a fashion calculated to
satisfy the inmates that if they took much
more time to consider before they made up
their minds to admit me in the usual wav, 1
wis likely to save them all further trouble
on the subject, by effecting an entrance into
their respectable mansion in the manner of
house-breakers and heroes: that is to say, by
storm. A harsh-voiced female instantly ac
knowledged the force of my reasoning, with
“Asy—asy—take your time—ye’re always in
a hurry,” at the same instant opening tin i
door so suddenly and readily, that die the!
sleepers whom they might, it was quite clear
that she was not one of them. 1 never, inth<
course of my life, saw so repulsive-looking a
being as that women. Her age might be a
bout five-and-thirty; her strong-built, muscu
lar figure, rose so considerably above the fe
male height, as to giye her the appearance of
a man in disguise, and the harshness of her!
voice in some measure countenanced the idea
but her features, stamped mere deeply than
any I have ever seen before or since with the
indelible traces of fierce and evil passions and
a licentious life, were those of a woman. 1 ler
ilress was squalid and neglected: but her
long hair, once as black as jet, but now ting
ed with grey, less as it seemed from years,
than from the premature old age of misery and
care, and, it might be, guilt, hung in matted
elf-locks over her face and shoulders. In ont
band she held a candle, and cautiously sha
ded it from the wind with the other, so t hat
the light feil full upon her face and figure,
while I remained in the shade ; and in spin
of all 1 have said, and though 1 repeat that 1
never saw a human being from whom 1 felt
so much inclined to draw back, with that un
definable, instinctive feeling, which seems
implanted in ns bv nature to give warning of
the approach of guilt, yet I could not help 1
seeing that, changed as they were, that fact
■and figure had once been beautiful and ma
jestic; but, as it was, so strong were the
Knowing that the part of the country I was
in was free from disturbance, though the em
bers of insurrection, still glowed in the south
ern counties of Ireland, the .worst I apprehen
ded from intruding into the cabin at that un
seasonable hour, was finding myself amidst
the orgies of a knot of bibacious peasants, en
joying the festivities of a “Sliebca n”anglic,
house of concealment; that is to say, a house
where people get drunk in secret, not be
cause the act is disgraceful or frowned at by
the law, put because the whiskey is of that
illegal description 1 have spoken of already ;
and as I well know the manners and language
of the people, and have not in the least the
look of a gang r, 1 apprehended no danger
beyond that of being obliged to join in the
debauch, my scruples about which, to say the
truth, the rain had in a great measure wash
ed away ; I saluted the door with the half
confident, half-dillidcnt knock of an unex
pected guest, sure that whatever difficulties
he may encounter in getting admittance,
when ©nee fairly in he can make himself
welcome.
traces of recent and powerful emotion, that
she looked more like a witch, disturbed from
same damned rite, than the poverty-stricken
tenant of an Irish cabin. I suppose I need
hardly tell you, that in the minute descrip
tion 1 have given you, I have embodied much
more than the first impression of my hasty
glance when the cabin door was flung open;
but, I promise you, cnongh occurred after
wards to fix all I saw that night, in my recol
lection to the longest day 1 have to live.—
“Come in,” said she, too busily occupied in
shading the candle from the gust of wind, to
bestow a glance on me. “Ye needn’t be
al'eard of disturbin’ him now—come in quick,
and shut the door.” Though I saw that she
evidently mistook me for someone she ex
pected, I did as I was desired, and then turning
round from the closed door, our eyes met for
the first time. The woman drew back a step
or two, and holding up the light, eyed me in
silence from head to foot with a most sinister
look. “Who the devil are ye?” said she at
last, “and what d’ye want here this hour of
the night ?”—“My good woman,” said I, “I
am a stranger, and 1 only want a little shel
ter until daylight.”—“Your good woman !
W r ho tould ye 1 was a good woman ?—don’t
believe them the next thing they tell ye.—
And you’re a stranger, and only \v%nt shelter,
throth, an’ I dare say, or it’s not here ye’d
come to look fo‘r it.” Just then the snoring
noise 1 spoke of, and which seemed to come
from a pallet in a corner of the cabin, ceased
abruptly. The woman walked slowly to the
side of the bed. Upon it lay a man stretch
ed upon his hack at full length. She felt his
temples, and his side, ns if to ascertain if
pulsation remained, holding the light close to
liis face; hut a single glance to his distorted
features was enough to show that he had at
that instant, passed the final and bitter ago
ny of death. She set down the candle at the
head of the corpse, and stood tor ail instant
with her hands folded and h r lips moving.—
Then turning abruptly to ine.— ‘ Are ye a
ministhcr?” said she, “because, if ye are,
sa. sonic o’ yer prayers: any body’s prayers
’ll bo betther nor mine.” 1 assured her that
liiough I did not belong to the sacred profes
sion, yet I sincerely compassionated her deso
late condition, and would willingly assist her
o the utmost of my power, taking out my
purse at the same time as the best and short
est proof of my sincerity. My singular com
panion bent on me a look ef solemnity not
unmixed with scorn. “ Put up your purse
young man,” said she, “ and leave oil’condo
lin’ me. Ido ’t want your money—an’ Pm
| not in grief. But mind what Pin sayin’.—
Ye say yc want sh-Iter till day-light—take
my warnin’, and go look for it somewhere
else, or may be ye’ll never see daylight a
gain—lave the pi :c : —Jr re’s neither look
nor grace in it.” “1V../,” said I, “what
danger can happen to me from remaining
here for a ew boar.. ? You arc alone, I sup
pose.”—“Yes,” roplie "I she, sternly : “yes—
-1 am al ,ne—here, an ’ in the world—but Pll
soon be where there's company enough.”—
She paused for a me- c it, as if to master her
feelings, and rocai and collect her scattered
thoughts; ar. so w: V and convulsed was the
expression pf ner countenance, while, with
a powerful effort, and without uttering word
or groan, she controlled an obvious tenden
cy io something ike epilepsy, that, for the
i stunt, I was afraid both mind and body
would give way in the struggle, and, with an
impulse of pity which I could not check, 1
caugtit her in my arms to prevent her from
falling on the fio r. The effect of his tri
lling act, not of kindness, jut mere humani
ty, was magical. The touch of human sym
pathy struck to the fountain of her grief like
the wand of the prophet to the waters of the
rock: and the unhappy creature burst into a
flood of tears, so passionate, vehement, and
overpowering, iliat it resembled ra her a
struggle of nature fer life and death, than
any ebullition oi mortal grief I had ever be
held. At last, when the hysterical sobbing
suffered her to articulate—“Ye’re the firsi,”
said she, “that’s spoke a kind word, or looked
a kind look at ine for many a long day, and
may God Almighty ant ye an innocent life
anil a happy neat , an : may the Heavens be
ye’re bed lor the same. Many and many a
weary hour I’ve been prayin’ to be able to cry,
an’ 1 didn’t think there was a tear left in my
heart; out God was good to me, and gave me
leave to cry at last: so let me alone a little,
an’ I’ll he better by and by.” I saw, of
course, that the best thing I could do was to
let Nature take brr own tin. ,so I turned
away from h r at once, o. i employed inysett’
in examining the cabin it. :.if.
Every thing that met my yc in this house
of death, spoke of the most abject, hopeless
poverty ; that st, to of sci: u-andonment and
despair, when the wrote 1 gives up the con
test with his destiny, ;nd sullenly resigns him
self to his doom. A low ruinous partition
had divided the cabin into two rooms ; but the
door and door-frame were gone, and the grea
t< r part ol’the partition it- if had fallen down
and cumbered the floor, from which the in
matt s had not even taken the trouble of
shovelling it away, though, to all appear
ance, it had remained there a considerable
time. The entire furniture consisted of two
or three broken stools, a crazy dresser, un
| garnished by a single plate, a large wooden
j chest, and the wretched pal ct where the dead
man lay; and so scanty was the covering of;
bed-< lothcs that lay upon the body, that I
could judge of his proportions almost as well
as if he were naked. Though emaciated, ei
ther by hunger, or wasting sickness, he had
evidently been a man of a most powerful
frame. He appeared to be several years ol
der than his wretched companionand if ev
er l saw “Despair and die I’Vritton by the
mortal agmy of an abandoned villain, it was
on the brow of that man. In his wildest re
veries, Dante never dreamed of any thing half
so horrible. I could have thought that the
guilty spirit had been suffered, for an instant,
to return from the place of doom to whisper
the awful secrets of the grave to its old com
panion ; or, that half in life and half in death,
while looking down info the gulf, before the j
final spring, it had left (like the footsteps of j
a suicide on the brink of a precipice, stamped'
deep u ith the energy of his fatal plunge,) the
appalling traces of its despair on the sense
less clay it had abandoned, —so intense and’
powerful 'sthe painful expression of the I
final panj Inch tears the soul out of the]
body, and the mental spiritrial horror of the
soul itsolf at the thoughts of the doom to,,
which it was about to be borne on the apings
of death. I turned, shuddering, from i
ghastly corps, as from a dark vision of limit j
Bv this time my companion r> covered J
her self possession. Her eveggas dahn and
settled, but full of serious purpose: “Young
man,” said she, “ it was an unlucky hour
that ye came to this house o’ sin, to see a
bad man die an unhappy death, without prie.-t
nor prayer, nor friend, to say a blessed word,
nor heart heart to think a iioly thought, an’:
make his way asy. If yc had taken my word
and gone ye’re way when I hid yc first, it
might have been better for you, may be, but
worse for me, for I’d have missed the only
kind eye that ’ill ever look on me in this
world agin—but mind me now, for the time
is short. There’s them coinin’ that I’d cut
the priestls throath afore the althar of God
for a goolden guinea, let alone the money in
ye’re purse, an’ the watch in ye’re pocket,
and thim chains o’ goold ye have twisted a
bout ye, like a lady, jist as if ye wanted to
coax somebody to murther ye; an’ him that’s
lyin dead afore ye ’id be the first to do it if
God ’id let him—ye’ve stayed here any how,
till it’s safer for ye to wait till mornin’ an’
take chance, than venthur out th’ door whin
maybe, every step ye’d take ’id be to meet
thim that hould ye’re tongue —iv ye stir,
or spake, ye're time’s come—here they are”
and sure enough, I heard the voices and foot
steps of several men approaching the hut.
Silently, but with the speed of lightning, the
women passed two strong rough wooden bars,
such as I haa never seen in a cabin before,
across the door, secured them in their res
pective staples, and then sitting down near
the dead body, commenced singing a low,
monotonous song, something like a nurse’s
lullaby. Her arrangements were scarcely
completed when the dreaded visitors reached
the door. Something had happened to tickle
their fancies, for they were laughing boiste
rously, and continued in noisy merriment for
a few minutes before any of them thought of
knocking. During this time, I watched the
face of my mysterious hostess, without taking
: my eyes off her for a second; though she never
I interrupted her melancholy, moaning lay, yet
i her eyes, fixed on the door as if they would
pierce through it, her attitude of watchful at
tention, and the air of coolness and prompti
tude with which she had made her simple
preparation for defence, satisfied me, that be
my dangers what they might, treachery was
hot among the number—at last one of the
party knocked Tor admittance—‘Who’s there?
I said my companion, in the same harsh tone
with which he had first addressed me. “ Its
me—its all of us,” growled a brutal voice
from without. “Open the door, an’ be damn
ed t’ye, an’ dont be keepin’ us in the could
rain.”—“Ye can’t come in, Larry,” replied
my hostess, coolly. “ An’t he dead yit ?”
exclaimed the other : “ blood an turf, let us
in quick, we’ve got what’ll put life in him in
a hurry.”—“The breath’s lavin’ him while ye
are spokin’,” answered my companion, “ an’
nothin ye have can stop id, an’ the sight o’ye
will brin’ bad look ; devil resave the one o’
ye’ll see him till he’s laid out, thin yez can
do no harm.”—‘fYe’ll not let us in—ye’ll not
let us in, wont ye ?” shouted half-a-dozen
voices; “ brake the door, boys.”—An’ then iv
ye do, cried the woman in the same tone,
springing to her feet, and snatching a blun
derbuss from under the bed, “ye’ll go out
stiffer than ye come in; for, by the cross, I’ll
blow the head off the first o’ yc that stirs a fut
in here this blessed night.” She passed the
door w itli the cool, fierce look of one deter
mined to execute her threat. “Boys” said
she, when close to the door; “what does yez
want ? is it proper or dacent for yez to be
wantin’ to come into the place where the
corpse is, the minute the breath’s out of it ?
it id be fitter for ye to go and sind Biddy Ou
laghan to me to help an’ lay it out, nor to
come riothig this way afore the wake.”—
“Throth, an’ that’s thrue for ye,” replied ano
ther and a graver voice; “ an’ divil a one o’
the best of ye, boys, I’ll let stir in to-night till
the women lays him out, and makes him da
cent an’fit to be seen—so go along an’sind
Biddy;” and instantly, though not without
some gruff murmurs, the siege wes broken up,
and the party retired.
Wbcn I thought they wore out of ear-shot
I was about to speak, but the instant 1 arti
culated a sound, iny companion laid her hand
on my mouth, and with a fierce gesture mo
tioned me to be silent. Scarcely had he done
so, when a low whisper of “ Molly—Molly 4 ”
close to the door, told me that her caution
was not without reason. “Well, w'hat is if!’
replied she, sinking her own voice to that of
the whispc rcr. “The boys are gone on to Bid
dy’s, as 1 bid thiin, an’ I stopped to ax ye iv
ye w ould’nt like a dhrop of whiskey to com
fort ye in the could an’ the grief, ye poor
crathur”—“An’ thcres’ nobody wid ye, an’ ye
wont want to cross the door, Micky ?” inquir
ed my hostess. “The never a sowl wid me,
an’ I would’nt go in if yc axed me till the
wake” replied he, in an offended tone, as if
hurt at his politeness being called in question.
While unbarring the door with one hand,with
the other she drew me behind it, so as to put
ine completely out of view, and hold it ajar,
took from the hand of her condoling visitor a
bottle. “ Did he go asy?” said he, in a voice
intended to be very sympathetic, but which
resembled the subdued grow ling of a mastiff
over a bone. “lie was in grate pain, ravin’
an’ dharnmin’ about a bloody bill-hook last
night—he died as hard ns ever man died,”
said, and struggled the-wav you’ll struggle on
the gallows, Micky; bud away wid ye, and
send Biddy down afore he gets stiff,” and w ith
out further ceremony, she shut the door.
From a dark nook she produced two gob
lets and a pitcher of water, and knocking off
the neck of the bottle she had received from
her last visiter, invited me by her example to
taste its contents; and let lions vivants say
what they please about Clos de Vougcrt, La
Fitto or Sillcry, there never was a draught so
much to mv mind after the fatigue, the del
uge, and the excitation of that nigiit, as the
copious libation of whiskey and wkter with
which I forthwith refreshed my inward ' an.
“Ye want to know whom I am, and where ye
are,” said my singular hostess, when 1 had
finished my draught; “I sec it in ye’re eye,
an’ so ye shall, ye’re in the house ova man
that might have been a daccnt laborer, and
the father ova lively, healthy family, and the
Jiiis band of an honest wife,” and here her
voice faltered for an instant, “but he had a
bad dlirop in his heart that wouldn’t let him
conic to good. I listened to him, an’ he made
mo a fool an’ a disgrace to my people; an he
listened to the devil, an’ spilt his masther’s
blood for the lucre ov gain; but (he judgment's
come at last. 1 was a dacent, innocent girl,
when first I met him that’s there —look at me
now, an’ see what he’s made me —but that’s
not what l want to talk about. It is now cl
: even years, last Michadmas, sence him an’ I
were livin’ in the sajvice cv Air. Daly, a far
mer, and a kind mr.sthcr he was; an’ tiiere
come a girl out of the County Mat he into the
same sarvice, an’ she wasn’t in it two days,
when she come in the morning in a thrimble
ov fright to Miss Daly, and tould her that she
dhramed that the masther an’ misthress were
murthcred in bed by. a man that she knew the
face ov well, and that the dhramc was too
sharp a dhramc, not to come for a warning.
Miss Daly was walkin’ out ov her room an’
goin’ on to the kitchen all the time, never
mindin’ a word the girl was sayin’, for she had
a bould heart an’ didn’t mind dhrames no
more nor if she was a Jew. In the kitchen
were the labourin’ men all at breakfast, an’
him,” pointing to the corpse, “along wid the
rest; an’ as the girl passed through after Miss
Daly, the moment she saw him she screeched
and ran out as fast as a hare from the dogs;
an’ when Miss Daley asked her what ailed her
to make her behave that way, she tould her,
that the inurtherer she saw in her dhramc
was sittiu’ in the kitchen, an’ iv he wasn’t
turned off that instant minute she’d lave the
sarvice that very day. An angry girl Miss
Daly was to hear her talk in that way, an’
tould her to go as fast as she liked, and go
she did. Three nights afther that the dhramc
came thrue, and the masther and misthress
were killed in their bed—Oh! the kind mis
thress that never closed her eyes on her pil
low with an’ angry thought agin mortal brea
thin’. Ain I belyin’ yeF’ said she, stepping
fiercely up to the corpse. “Didn’t I curse ye
on my bended knees, when ye wakened me
up wid your bloody hands to tell me what yc
had done? An’ isn’t the curse come thrue?
Where’s my child, my beautiful boy, that
sickened from lhat very hour, as if he was
sthruck wid an evil aye? Where’s my ould
father, that died ova broken heart wid the
shame ye brought upon me? and where, oh
where is the innocent thoughts that used to
keep me singin’ lor joy the live-long day, an’
I listenin’ to the birds in the threes, an’ look
in’ at the deer in the park, an’ gatherin’ the
flowers on the hill, an’ thinkin’ nothin’ that
wasn’t good an’ happy? An’ where is that
quiet sleep that never came near me from the
day I knew ye, an’ never will ’till I’rn laid in
my grave? an’ the sooner that blessed hour
comes the betther, for there I’ll be quiet at
last. Ye’ve seen an awful sight, Sir, an’
ye’ve heard an awful story, an’ iv it’s a warn
in’ to ye, gentleman as ye are, that bad com
pany lades to ruin, I’m glad ye come: any how
it was kindness made ye stay, an’ God ’ill
bless ye for it. There’s the day breakin’, an’
the wimin’ ’ill be coinin’ here to lay him out
wid the first light, an’ the sooner ye go, the
better for both.”
* "inQ 40 £>*<•' ——
DISAPPOINTED LOVE.
To a man the disappointment of love may
occasion sortie bitter pangs—it may wound
some feelings ef tenderness, and blast or con
summate some prospect of felicity—but he is
an active being, and can dissipate his discon
solate thoughts in the vortex of varied occu
potions. He can plunge into the tide of Ely*
sian pleasure, or if the scene of disappoint
ment be too full of painful associations, he
can shift his abode at will; and taking, as it
were, the wings of the morning, fly to the re
motest parts of this sublunary sphere, and
there rest again in felicity. But Woman’s is,
comparatively, a secluded and meditative life.
She is the companion of her own thoughts
and feelings, and if they are turned to min
isters of sorre w, where shall the bereaved and
oppressed heart look for consolation? Her
lot is to be wooed and won—and if unhappy
in her love, her heart is like some fortress
which has been captured, ransacked, and
abandoned. She exists only to brood over
the ruins of disappointed hope and crushed
affections.
THE STARS.
Those young looking rascals that peep from
out the blue above us—who have winked
down upon cur forests and follies for so ma
ny centuries—who nightly come out from
their homes to light the sable countenance of
old night, who & what are ye? Are ye shining
worlds, and have yc bright eyes and broken
hearts in your realms, such as shine and break
here? Move ye on your immeasurable path
thoughtless of earth and its graves—its great
ness and its pefishabilty ? Whence come ye
and w hither do ye go ? Reck ye of time, or
or do yc move amidst the endless space, and
interminable paths of eternity ? I see your
bright faces reflected in the lake—your silver
hue resting on the leaves of the forest—but
who and What arc ? And what is the inquirer?
The dust will cover him,but you will shine on?
Ambition disappointed—Love ruined—the
grey of age on him—still ye shine, and gild
the head-stone of his grave, when he that once
lived, shall be forgotten. The monarch and
his sceptre shall crumble—the oak grow old
and fall—empires wax and wane—but still ye
w ill shine on unruffled, serene, glorious, bcau
iiful as now. Not one ray will (Ice from your
glittering brows, though it w ill fall on other
eyes, on unborn millions—on other forests
and lands now unknown to thoscq who, in the
mockery of science, trace out your paths
through infinity of heaven. Bright stars, look
not in the mockery upon me ! but gaze on hu
man genius, and read to both the lesson of
human frailty.
—****+€ ® ©♦*<• *"-
It is the practice, in many Post Ofllec?, to
allow the Newspapers to be opened and read
by by-standers. An honest yeoman, in a re
mote town, on calling for his newspaper,
which was the only one taken in his neigh
borhood, found that it had been opened and
read ; throwing it back to the Post-master,
he indignantly exclaimed, “I’ll be darned to
darnation if I’ll have a paper, after all the
news has been read out of it.
Boston raUaitivm.
VI omcn'ts Curiosity —This trait which the
most curious men say is peculiar to women,
does sometimes subserve more useful purpo
ses than the accumulation of subject for scan
dal and gratuitous distribution at tea parties
for it appears that it is almost if not entirely’
owing to its strong developement inthephr; -
ncologic.il structure of Mrs. Bangs, that the
Bank Robber was detected, and ten thousand
dollars secured to her husband. Such a wife
should have all her inquiries promptly an
swered ; and though a man were a blue Beai.l
no chamber should be too sacred for her in
quisition. It seems that Mrs. Bangs smelt
the rogue Smith on his first entry into her
house, at the corner of Elm and Bromc streets.
He had a suspicious way of half closing the
window of his room, which gave the poor dear
w oman so much trouble that it almost threw
her into hysterics. Indeed her maladie arose
to such a pitch from his desiring to be alone,
that in a moment of extreme and irrepressible
curiosity, she went bolt up to the’mans door,
and asked him if he did not want a “pitcher of
water ! ’ But one is “ naturally curious to
know,you know,” as Paul Pry says. Besides
there was something so “ very m > eri u ’ in
his opening one half of the shutter and keep
ing the other closed, that she thought she
would “just drop in,” not intending to intrude.
It was a sad visit for poor Smith, for no sooner
did Mr. Bangs get a “ notion of it, than it was
“ bang up” with. He incontinent called up
on “Old Hays”—when you may be sure the
proverb that “it is too late to repent when a
a certain gentleman is come,” was an applica
ble to him as any other sinner. We hope
some of our playwrights 'will dramatize this
plot, and call it Curiosity Rewarded,of the de
plorable consequences of a man closing only
one of his window shutters, and eating his din
ner in bis own room.” The dramatis persona;
would figure well on the stage. — Standard.
Gr
it was Bishop Hone’s opinion that there is
no better moralist than a newspaper. He bays:
“The follies, vices and consequent miseries
of multitudes displayed n a newspaper, are so
many admonitions and warnings, so many bea
cons, continually burning to turn others from
the rocks on which they have been shipwreck
ed. What more powerful dissuasive from
suspicion, jealously and anger, than the story
of one friend murdered by another in a duel 1
What, caution likely to be more effectual a
gainst gambling and profligacy, than the
mournful relation of an execution or the fate of
ot a despairing suicide ? What fine lecture
on the necessity of economy, than an auction
of estates, houses and furniture, at Skinner’s
or Christie’s ? “Talk they of mortals ? There
is no need of Hutchinson, Smith, or Paley ;
Only take a newspaper and consider it will
ihstruct thee ; plcniuset mcliues Ckrysippo ct
Cran tore."
MAGIC TABLET
FOR FIYEiSG TIIU AGK 07 ATTY PKRSOX.
I H 111 IV V VI VH
”1 2 4 8 16 22 CT ~
a 3 5 9 17 33 65
5 6 6 10 18 34 66
7 7 7 11 19 35 67
D 10 12 12 20 36 68
U 11 13 13 21 37 69
13 14 14 14 22 38 70
15 15 13 15 23 39 71
17 18 20 24 24 40 72
19 19 21 25 25 41 73
21 22 22 26 20 42 74
23 23 23 27 27 43 75
25 26 28 28 28 44 76
27 27 29 29 29 45 77
29 30 30 30 30 46 78
31 31 31 31 31 <47 79
33 34 36 40 48 48 80
35 35 37 41 49 49 81
37 38 38 42 50 50 62
39 39 39 43 51 51 83
41 42 44 44 52 52 84
43 43 45 45 53 53 85
45 46 4G 46 54 54 8G
47 47 47 47 55 55 87
49 50 52 56 GO 56 88
51 5 1 53 57 57 5 7 89
53 54 54 58 58 58 00
55 55 59 59 59 59 91
57 58 00 60 60 60 92
69 59 61 61 61 61 93
61 62 62 62 62 62 94
63 63 63 63 63 53 96
65 66 68 72 80 90 96
67 67 69 73 81 97 97
69 70 70 74 82 98 98
71 71 71 75 83 99 99
73 74 76 76 81 100 100
75 75 77 77 85 101 101
77 78 78 78 86 102 102
79 79 79 79 67 103 109
81 82 84 88 88 104 104
83 83 85 89 89 105 105
85 86 86 90 SO 106 106
87 87 87 91 91 107 107
89 90 92 92 92 108 108
91 91 93 93 93 109 109
93 94 94 94 94 110 110
95 05 95 95 90 111 111
97 98 100 104 112 112 112
99 99 101 105 113 113 113
101 102 102 106 114 114 114
103 103 103 407 115 115 115
105 106 108 108 116 116 116
107 107 109 109 117 117 117
109 110 110 110 118 118 P 8
111 111 111 111 110 119 119
113 114 110 120 120 120 120
115 115 117 121 121 121 121
117 118 118 122 122 122 122
110 119 119 123 123 123 123
121 122 124 124 124 124 124
123 123 125 125 125 125 125 •
125 126 126 126 126 126 12G .
127 127 127 127 127 127 127
“I 11 111 IV V Vi VTI
Rule —Let any person tell in which col
umn or columns he finds his age—-add togeth
thc first numbers of those columns, and thtU
sum is tlie person’s.age.
Suppose for example, that a person sny? l‘ c
sees liissge in tli c first, second and fifth col
umn, then the addition of one, txo and sixteen.
(the first numbers of said columns,), gives
for the person’s age.
The above combination was originally
made by a Quaker gentleman in Pennsylva
nia, about fiftci n years ago; but as it only
extended to No. 63, we have carried it
twice the extent, so as to answer for any pH
as well a? young people’s age..
