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__ “A poet’s hand and prophet’s fire, "Struck the wild warbling* oi his lyre.” TO T HE EARTH. BV J. F. HOLLIXGS. My mother! from whose fostering breast This weak and fleeting substance came, And where these limbs are doomed to rest "When thou reclaim'st the dying frame; Within thy regions lone and deep What wild and sullen.horror dwells, And how doth shapeless Mystery keep His watch beside those viewless cells! There slumber they, the sons of might— Titanic forms —thine earliest mould, Who dared the vollied thunder’s flight, And cleft the towering hills of old ; And chiefs who marked the battle bleed When Time his infant course began; And they, the Assyrian Hunter’s seed, The shielded kings, whose prey was mail. There in its tidcless fury shed For ever on those steadfast shores, Bituininious and darkly spread, The eye enduring ocean roars ; And mutters, bound and fettered fast, The earthquake in its sullen ire; And lurks the power whose sulph’rous blast Enrobes the rending mount with fire. Thou hast thy treasures—jewelled caves, With sanguine rubies richly dight, And emeralds green as ocean’s waves, And diamond rocks like veins of light, And sapphires whose unshaded blue Seems drank from summer’s cloudless skies, WVnd opals, as the iris-hue, Where morn’s deep tinctured glances rise. Thou hast thy beauties—realms unknown, Where murmuring music soft and low, O'er onyx, and the sardine stone, The bold petrifie waters flow ; And sparry chambers dimly lit, And shining groves and fretted bowers, Where dreamy Suenee loves to sit, And fancy proves her myriad powers, Thou hast thine habitants —the horde Of swarthy gnomesiu vesture bright, And elves who forge the mystic sword Anil ebon panoply of night; And black-winged dicams whose legion sweep Embattled through the realm of rest; And Phantasy, dim child of Steep, The Proteus of the slumbering breast. Yet not for these thy sacred name I breathe, and on thy presence call, For tkon dost boast a higher claim, Time hallowed al<l and home of all ! Thou pourest forth thy golden birth, As heaven’s own quickening influence free, And blessest, in thy bounteous mirth, The meanest hand that waits on thee. The shades which mark this fleeting lot, Man’s trust or pride with thee are vain ; The weak, the low, thou scornest not, The feeble limb and captives chain • "Thou callest, and our feverish woes, Scared at thy parent voice, depart, And hushest in thy deep repose The weary and the worn in heart. And who shall view thee, even as now, While fraught with life thy features lie, With verdure on that sunny brow, And gladness as a veil on high ; Nor think of what must briefly bn, In that stern hour of good or ill, When thou shalt urge the dread decree, And whisper to the breast—be still! stanzasT . BV K. M. FITZGEIIAI.D. You ask me, gentle maiden, For a rhyme, as friendship’s boon, But my spirit is o’er laden, My heart is out of tune ; 1 may not breathe a poet’s vow, My music is a name, And it seldom breaks its slumber now, Fc-r beauty or for fame. Yet there arc some who still can break The spell that round it clings, And glearn3 of thought, that yet awake Bweet murmurings from the strings ; Bnt then, with something of its old And long forgotten art, Oh ! there mingle tones that fall as cold As midnight on the heart. I hung it or. a blighted tree In a dream-remembered land, Where the waters ripple peacefully In their beauty to the strand ; Beside my own lanthe’s bower, Where I had traced her name, But from that most ill-oinen’d hour, It never was the same. Yet, though its gayer notes be flown, My spirit doth rejoice, When 1 deem that visionary tone The echo of her voice ; For like the voice of the evening br. ezo, When the attimnn leaf it stiis, And a murmuring music is on the trees, Oh ! just such a voice was hcr’s. Silent and sad, her tomb is there, And tny early visions too; But her spirit is lingering in the air, And her tears .are in the dew : And the light of her maidenly mournful eyes On her bower hath never set, For it dwells in the stars, andstglcams from the skies, C a leaely bosom yet, TUB MAC<)i\ ADVKUTISEB, AND AGItIUJLTUIAI. AND MERCANTILE INTELLIGENCER. ALFRED AND ETHELWITHA. The character of the great and favorite King Alfred, M. D’Arnaud, the Richardson of France, contemplates with a degree of en thusiasm, which bespeaks the goodness of bis own heart. The following anecdote, which is mentioned by some of the more ancient English historians, he hats given in a manner peculiar to himself; but which, while it diffu ses a sweeter charm over the whole composi tion renders it almost untranslatable: “In Alfred, the most renowned of the Sax on dynasty in England, with what delight do we contemplate the benevolent and equitable man ! He was the worthiest monarch that ever swayed a sceptre, and nothing w as wan ting to his glory but to be born in a more en lightened age, and to have an historian of ge nius. lie was at once the conqueror, the legislator, and the great man. He scattered in England the first seeds of talent, virtue, love of order, and patriotism.” The prince so effectually established the government by justice and salutary laws, that if, in night time, a vessel of gold had been left in the highway, the proprietor would have found it again the next day. Hume, in a few words, gives this rare panegyric of him, that “he seems indeed to he the model of that per fect character, which, under the denomination of a sage or wise man, philosophers have been fond of delineating, rather as a fiction of their imagination, than in the hope of ever seeing it really existing.” A single act of justice, however, which we now proceed to relate, ha3 secured him im mortal fame; —better far than all Ills feats of arms,which ages ago, have been forgotten. The reign of Alfred was in that period (the ninth century) when sovereigns were only the first men in their courts. The great lords that surrounded them enjoyed those privile ges which were derived from the feudal sys tem. A private nobleman was admitted into the company of his master,and lived with him in the most intimate familiarity. He would even invite him to his country retreat, which he called a castle, and entertain him with all the hospitality of the times. Alfred was making a tour thiough his do minions, accompanied by Ethelbert, one of his general officers, when, the day declining, lie determined to take up his abode for the night at the castle of a nobleman, named Al banac ; —one of those incorruptible men,who can preserve their integrity in the midst of all the seductions of opulence and grandeur. He had followed Alfred in numberless battles, and had retired, covered with wounds and and with glory, into the bosom of a family that adored him. This family was composed of a wife, who was never mentioned but as an example of virtue; of two sons who promised never to disgrace their father’s name ; and of three daughters of exquisite beauty and un common merit. Earl Albanac received his royal master w ith every demonstration of joy. lie ran to his consort and children, and hastened to present them to his sovereign. Alfred was instantly smitten with their charms; but it was to Ethelwitha that lie surrendered his heart.— Beautiful as they were, she eclipsed her sis ters, as the radiant ruler of the day eclipses every other star. She appeared like the young flower that blows in the earliest rays of the morning sun ; and modesty painted her cheeks with a rosy hue, that was heightened in proportion as the king seemed to notice her. The supper was prepared, and Albanac was desirous that the three enchantresses should participate in the honour of waiting upon Al lred, who never ceased to contemplate their charms. Albanac, still flattered with the re membrance of his military exploits, was im patient to remind his sovereign of the glorious victories by which the Danes were driven out of England; but the king’s attention inces santly returned to Ethelwitha- He was con tinually extolling her delicate and easy shape her rosy mouth, her fair tresses, flowing gracefully down her shoulders, her alabaster forehead, and the elegant roundness of her swanlik neck. Albanac spoke with kind ling ardour of Hastings and Lef—two famous Danish Chiefs, whom they had often defeat ed in battle ; buttiip monarch found no plea sure in any subject in which the name of Ethelwitha was left out. On rising from the table, Ethelwitha was charged to conduct the king to his apartment; and from her charming hands he received the cup of repose.* When Albanac, however, retired to his consort’s apartment, she could not refrain from observing his pensive and gloomy air. “ What distresses you, my dear Lord?” said she. “Your face overspread with melancholy, while we arc enjoying an honour we ought to be proud of ! The King is dear to us on many accounts ?” Albanac continued silent. “You do not speak my Lord!” continued she “And will you refuse to open your heart to me ?—you seem greatly agitated ?” “ I have reason to be so,” replied the carl. “Did you not observe that the king fixed his eyes continuuily upon our daughters ? I may err in my apprehensions—but, if Alfred has conceived a design to bring dishonour upon our house! Should he come hither to seek amusement in our infamy ! My honour—l am distracted at the idea—l would rather suf fer an hundred deaths—my whole family should perish with me !” The eyes of a vigilant father ware net de ceived—Alfred indeed loved—most passion ately loved one of his daughters. Ethelwitha was the enchanting object that had inspired the prince with the most violent passion. “ Ethelbert, my friend,” said he to his com panion, “it is not a raort .l—it is an angel of beauty, innocence, and modesty, that we have seen ! Did you observe her t What joy— what intoxicating transports must be his who can obtain the first sigh from this young and ingenuous heart? Speak, my dear Ethelbert speak: I am consumed by the flames of love * Jin flu rvteher, a composition of wine and ho ney, a kind of hippocras, or medicated wine. In Ujßt ago, whe they were desirous of rendering every honour to the strangers admitted into the castle, a beverage railed k vindu toucher , was bronght in the evening to them; and this office was generally performed by the lady or her daugh ter. This custom is one of the remains of the most remote antiquity. 1 —whatever it cost me, I must, 1 will be happy. Could she but love ine !” “ Can you doubt, my lord,” replied Etlicl bcrt,“ whether she will meet your tenderness? King, as well as lover, a hero crowned with ■ laurels, of an age formed to inspire a mutual ardour ; in a thousand respects you may be certain of success.” Early in the morning a servant attended at the king’s apartment, and requested to know whether he could be seen. “Whowould enter at this hour!” answer ed the monarch with some peevishness. “ I my lord,” exclaimed a voice, which Al fred soon recollected ; and lie was instantly surprised by the appearance of Albanac,hold ing a drawn sword in one hand, and with the other leading in his three daughters, who were in deep mourning, and in an attitude of the most poignant grief. “ What do 1 see,” exclaimed the king.— “ A father whose honor is dearer to him than life itself,” replied the earl. “My motive for this intrusion I can soon explain. You are a king, and I am your subject, but not your slave. You must be sensible from how illustriousja house I am descended ;andit now becomes me to speak my sentiments freely even to you. I may possibly be deceived: but I thought, last night, that I saw, on your grace’s part, a particular attention to my daughters. If you have conceived the idea of dishonouring my family, this sword shall instantly prevent my shame ! I will plunge it into the bosoms of these unfortunate, but willing victims. But if a pure and honour able flame be kindled in your breast ; if an alliance with my house be not deemed un worthy of royal ity, choose, name her whom you would wish to dishonour.” Alfred was for a moment thunderstruck and silent, but soon recovering himself, addres sed Albanac with a magnanimity that dis played his exalted soul. “ Noble Albanac,” said he, “you recal Alfred to himself. I might have gone astray ; nut you teach me my du ty, and I will obey its dictates. My choice is fixed. Beautiful Ethelwitha, here is my hand. Can you accept it ? With pleasure I place my crown upon your head. I seat vir tue and beauty upon my throne.” Ethelwitha threw herself at tho king’s feet: he raised her and embraced her with transport. He then embraced Albanac- “Your virtuous courage,” said be, “ well deserved a recom pense. I glory in having the noblest man in my dominions for my father-in-law.” Ethelwitha was soon afterwards publicly proclaimed queen: nor did she wait till the nuptial ceremony was over, to confess to the enraptured monarch, that she had given her heart to him the very moment he had entered lief fathers castle. The happy pair long participated in the glory of one of the noblest reigns of which England can be proud.f fThis is that Ethewitha, who accompanied Alfred to his retreat in the Isle of Athehiey, when he had taken refuge there, till he could again make war against the Danes. Alfred had, by his wife, three sons and three daughters. The eldest son, Edmund, died with out issue in his father’s life time. The third, Ethelward, inherited his father’s passion for let ters, and lived a private life. The second, Ed ward, succeeded him in his power, and passes by the appellation of Edward the Elder,being the first of that name who sat on the English throne. PAINTING OX GLASS. Among those works which profess to teach the art of painting on glass, wc find some in which directions arc given for staining large windows in churches and halls; and the oth ers, which merely contain the process of pro ducing the paintings sometimes seen in cotta ges, are carried about the streets for sale, by the Italians and Jews, representing scriptural or sporting subjects. These, we believe were much in vogue sixty years since, as we find the mode of doing them described in all the Young Artist’s Assistants of that day; which ! inode has been copied into similar publica tions up to tho present time. They direct us to fix a inezzo-tinto print upon the back of a sheet of glass, and to remove the paper by wetting and rubbing—leaving the impression of the print, which is afterwards to be painted in broad washes, the ink of the print giving the shadows. The picture being then turned over, the glazed side then becomes the front, and the colors first laid on are, of course, near est to the eye. The methods by which glass is stained, are scientific; they require a profound knowledge of chemistry, and such apparatus, as must preclude the practice of this, which is the grandest branch of the art, qs an amusement. It may he interesting, however, to know the principle upon which it. is performed. The glass being, at first, colourless, a drawing is made upon it, and the painting is laid on with mineral substances; the vehicle being a vola tile oil, which soon evaporates. The sheets of glass are then exposed to a powerful heat, until tiiey are so far melted that they receive the colours into their own substances: enamel painting is done on the same principle. This is a time of anxiety to the artist; as, with all possible care, valuable paintings, both in glass and enamel, are frequently spoiled in the prov ing, or vitrification. The art seems to have been lost during several centuries, but it has of late been successfully revived; and large windows have been extcuted for churches and gothic halls, which almost vie with the fine old specimens in the cathedrals, in point of colour, while they far excel them in other respects. The branch of the art which may be treated as an accomplishment, is the decoration of glass flower-stands, lamp shades, and similar articles, with light and elegant designs.— Flowers, biids butterflies and pleasing land scapes, yield an extensive range of subject, which are suitable to this style of ornamental painting. The glass may be procured ready ground. The outline may be sketched in with a black-lead pencil, which can be wash ed off' with a sponge when the colours are dry. The whole of the colours employed must be transparent, and ground in oil: opaque, or bo dy colours will not answer the purpose,— They may be purchased in small bladders, only requiring to be tempered with line copal or mastich varnish, and a very little nut oil, to he ready for use. Blue is produced by Prussian blue; red, by scarlet or erimson lake; yellow, by yellow lake or gamboge; green, by verdigris, or mineral green, or a mixture of Prussian blue arid gumbogo; purple, by a mixture of lake and Prussian blue; reddish brown, by burnt sienna; and the other tints may be obtained by combinations: for white, or such parts as are required to be transparent, without colour, the varnish only should be employed. Avery chaste and pleasing effect may be produced by painting the whole de sign in varnish, without colour. It is an ad vantage to this style of painting, that hut few colours arc required; as, from the nature ol the subjects, and their purpose as ornaments, brilliancy is more desirable than a nice grada tion of tints. The work must, of course, be carefully dried, but may afterwards be clean ed with a sponge and cold water. BANK OF ENGLAND. The business of this great corporation was originally transacted ot Grocer’s Hall, in the Poultry. In the year 1732, the first stone of the present building was laid, on the site of the house and garden of Sir John Iloublon, the first Governor; it then only comprised what now forms the centre, with the court-yard, the hall, and the bullion-court. The eastern wing was added in 1770, and the western wing, with the Lothbury front, were begun in 1780, and finished in 1804. The building called the Bank is an immense and very extensive stone edifice, situated a little to the northwest of Cornhill. The front is composed of a centre, eighty feet in length, of the lonic order, on a rustic base: and two ornamented with a colonade. The back of the building, which is in Lothbury, is a high and easy wall of stone, with a gateway for carriages in the bullion court. The principal entrance into the Bank is from Threadneedle street. On the east side of the entrance m a passage leading to a spa cious apartment called tho Rotunda, where the stock-brokers, stock-jobbers, and other persons, meet for the purpose of transacting business in the public funds: Branching out of the Rotunda, arc the va rious offices appropriated to the management of each particular stock; in each of these offi ces, under the several letters of the alphabet, are arranged the books in which the amount of every inidridual’s interest in such a fund is registered. Here, from the hours of eleven to three, a crowd of eager money dealers assemble, and avidity of gain display itself in a variety of shapes, truly ludicrous to the disinterested observer. The jostling and crowding of the jobbers to catch a bargain, frequently exceed in disorder the scramble at the doors of our theatres; and so loud and clamorous at times are the mingled noise of buyers and sellers, that all distinction of sound is lost in a gener al uproar. Besides the Rotunda, and the various stock offices,there are other apartments of the Bank deserving of notice. The hall, in which bank notes are issued and exchanged, and in which are the drawing offices for public and private accounts, is a noble room, seventy, nine feet by forty, and contains a very fine marble statue of King William 111. the foun der of the Bank, an admired piece of sculp ture. The Bank of England covers an extent of several acres, and is completely isolated. Its exterior is not unsuitable to the nature of the establishment; as it conveys the idea of strength and security ; but having been erec ted at different periods, and according to dif ferent plans, by several architects, it wants uniformity of design and proportion. In the interior of the Bank a variety of alterations and improvements have been made to accom modate the great increase of business, and of the paper money and discounting systems, which required considerable enlargements of the offices in every department and has led to the necessary increase of the clerks in 25 years, from 200 to 1100. This national establishment was first in corporated by act of parliament, 1694. The projector of the scheme was Mr. James Pat erson, a native of Scotland. Their original capital was 1,200,0001. at various times the capital had been augmented to 11,686,8001* But in the year 1816, en considerationoflen ding government 3,000,0001. they were by act of parliament permitted to increase their capital 25 per cent, and which makes their present capital, or Bank stock, 14,608,5001. The corporation of the Bank are prohibited from trading in any sort of goods or merchan dize whatsoever, but arc to confine the use of their capital to discounting bills of exchange and to the buying and selling of gold and sil ver bullion, with a permission, however,to sell such goods as are mortgaged or pawned to them, and not redeemed within three months after the expiration of the time of their redemption. The profits of the Bank arise from their traffic in bullion, the discounting of bills of exchange, for bankers, merchants, factors, and speculators, and the remuneration they receive from government for managing the public funds, and for receiving the subscrip tions on loans and lotteries. The allowances for managing the public i funds, is, 'according to act of parliament 3401. ! per million per annum, upon the whole debt, | whenever its amount shall be 400 millions, | and not exceding 600 millions of 3001. per | million upon the amount of the excess of 600 | millions, or of 4501. per million, whenever it | may exceed 300 millions and not amount to | 400 millions, for regulating the subscriptions on the loans contracted by government, they are paid 8051. 15s. lOd. for every million, ! and for lotteries, that is, for making out and i issuing the tickets, and paying the prizes, I they have generally received 10001. for each j lottery The hours of business at the Bank, are ! from nine in the morning, till five in the af ternoon, holidays excepted. Ami any per son may pass through the Rotunda, and most of the other apartments. The direction of the bank is vested in a governor, deputy-governor, and twenty-four directors, elected annually at a general court of the proprietors. Thirteen of the directors, with the governor, form a court for the man agement of the business of this institution. Public Money. —Public money ought to be touched with the most scrupulous conscious ness of honor. It is not the produce of riches only, but the hard earnings of labor A poverty. “ Other employments and arts serve for the em bellishment, but Agriculture is necessary for the support of human life.” From the Baltimore Patriot. THE AMERICAN FARMER. As we anticipated, the late change in the editorship of this truly excellent Agricultural paper, has in no respect detracted from its mer its; but on the contrary, there is an evident im provement in all its departments, leaving no room to doubt its continued unrivalled use fulness to the Agricultural interests of the country. There is on every page of the Far mer, under its present management, an evi dence of untiring industry, application, and practical acquaintance with the subjects on which its treats, that should recommend it to every farmer. Indeed we do not see how any farmer, in the present state of agriculture, can possibly dispense with this most valuable work. We have heard of several gentlemen declaring they would not be without the Am erican Farmer for ten times the amount of its annual subscription. One gentleman, now a rich planter in North Carolina,said a few weeks since, that he owed liis success in agricultu ral pursuits to information derived from its pages, and he mentioned a single instance as illustrative of the remark. He had pursued a particular system of growing wheat, until he had almost ruined bis land, making at the same time most miserable crops. But it was the practice in the whole neighborhood, and no one thought of the fault being in the mode of cultivation, but attributed the decline in crops and impoverishment of land to causes beyond their control. An article in the A mcrican Farmer, pointing out the errors of the practice caught his notice, and he deter mined to try the experiment; he did so, and the result has been a complete renovation of his land, abundant crops, and an independen cy ; while his neighbors, obstinately adher ing to the systems their fathers taught them, and rejecting what they call “book farming,” still continue to reap their scanty crops from their starved and impoverished fields. This gentleman declared that he would not be de prived of the knowledge he obtained through the American Farmer for one thousand dol -1 lars; and that it had already been worth more than that sum to him. Another gentle man in Connecticut, and another in Dela ware expressed the same sentiments. Such testimony, coming as it does from the three great divisions of the country, the northern, middle and southern States—and this, too, voluntarily made, without concert, and un solicited by the editor or proprietors, is the highest tribute that can be paid to the excel lencies of a public Journal. We are glad to learn, that many of the old est and most respectable subscribers to the Farmer, have expressed their entire approba tion of the late change of editors, and volun teered a continuance of their correspondence, while at the same time many new and valua ble correspondents have been added to the list. In a conversation with the editor, we learn, that the demand for complete sets of the Far mer from tiie commencement of its publica tion, qas been so great that very few, proba bly not more than a dozen, can now be made up. This is to be regia tied, as a reprint of such an immense workm out of the question. The proprietors, however, have determined to continue to dispose of them at five dollars a volume, or fifty five dollars for a complete set, —the subscription price, while they shall last; and we would recommend those who may wish to obtain this valuable work, which undoubtedly contains the greatest and most complete body of Agricultural information of any work now extant, to lose no time in se curing it. We aro also informed that there are a superabundance of a few of the volumes, which will be sold separately. We have deemed it but just and proper to say thus much of a publication so deserving, and we hope our brother editors will join us in rendering this justice by copying this ar ticle or taking some other appropriate notice of the subject of it. Anew species of oats has been introduced into Great Britain from Rotterdam, whither it was imported from a remote district in Chi na. This species was unknown to Europe ans till within some three years, and was produced for the first time in Great Britain last season. It is said to be more easily pre pared for food, of a better flavor, and to con tain more farinaceous matter than the com mon species of oats. The English crop was reaped in little more than three months after sowing, produced well, and is withal remark ably hardy. One peck of these oats is sta ted to contain more nutricious food for a horse than three pecks of common oats. GARDEN OPERATIONS FOR LADIES. We would wish every lady who lives in tho country, not only to be fond of botany, to collect specimens, dry them between blotting paper compressed with a bag of hot sand, and then gum them into a leger indexed according to the natural system; but we would wish them to devote a portion of every day, in fa vourable weather in the open air, and in un favorable weather under a veranda or in a greenhouse, to some of the lighter operations of gardening, for health’s sake, and as means of adding a zest to their ordinary in-door en joyments. Cutting out weeds with a light spade, which does not require stooping ; stir ring the surface of the earth with a two-prong ed spud, the prongs of which need not bo touch larger than those of a carving fork, and the handle of willow or poplar, or cane not thicker than a fishing rod; and pruning, with the sliding shears, siirubs from three to seven feet high, are operations which do rot re quire stooping, and which maybe performed during the hottest weather, by?thc use cf a broad brimmed straw hat, or other light, broad brimmed hat of any sort. Thinniog out and j tying up herbaceous plants and low shrubs tying up climbers and twiners, and tving the shoots of trained trees to trellises or tq rails with eyes, fixed iii walls ; cutting off decay ed flowers, flower-stems, withered roses, and dead points of shoots arid leaves; and prun ing shrubs under three feet high, which re quire stooping, and are fit operations for mornings and evenings, and for cloudy wea ther. Watering is best performed in the owning; and if any lady wishes to do this in a masterly manner, she ought to have one of the rotatory garden engines, fitted up with a wheel aud handles like a wheelbarrow; and, hv an operation not too severe for a healthy young woman, and which would add greatly to the strength of her constitution and tho tranquility of her nights, throw the water from thirty to forty feet in every direction. We would much rather see ladies at these opera tions, common to all countries, tiian sec them shifting and otherwise working with sickly hot-house plants in pots, which cannot lie done well without more or less affecting the hands. 'l’he care and watering of neat little alpine plants in pots, is what most ladies are very fond of; and one of the principal enjoyments of city ladies, who know plants only or chief ly as pictures, consists in performing this op eration. The plants to be presented to such amateurs ought to he plants that require water at least once a day, and that grow fast to require tying up, and make frequent dead leaves, to require picking and dressing. The principle is, something to be taken care of, and to care for and depend on us; some thing that requires labour ; the beginning amf end of all improvement and enjoyment. Journal of Health. Tur, Farmers.— Two farmers, who wore neighbors, had their crops of early peas kill ed by the frost. One of them came to con dole with the other on their misfortune.— “ah!” cried he, “how unfortunate we have been, neighbor; I have done nothing but fret ever since: but bless me, you have a fine crop coming up just now; what are these?”— “These,” said the other, “why these are what I sowed directly after my loss.” “What,com ing up already?” cried the frettcr!” “Yes, while you were fretting I was working.”— “What! and don’t you fret when you have a loss?” “Yes, hut 1 always put it off'until I have repaired the mischief.” “Lord! why then you’ve no need to fret at all.” “True, replied the industrious gardener, “and that’s the very reason; in truth, it is very pleasant to have no longer reason to think of misfor tunes; and it is astonishing how many might be. repaired by a little alacrity and energy.” “Mirth, that wrinkled care derides-, “And Laughter, holding both his sides.” .tddrrsscd to Mi s Long, a little lady. Where any tiling abounds, we fuel That nobody will have it; * But when there’s little of the kind, Don’t all the people crave it! The God of Love’s a little wight, But beautiful as thought; Thou too art little —fair ns light. And every thing in shoit. O, happy girl ! I think thee so, For, mark the poet’s song, Man wants but a little here below But wants that little Long. Fee simple, and a simple fee , And all the fees entail, Are nothing when compared to thee, Thou best of fees —female ! Epigram on a large fleshy person. All flesh is grass! thus doth the scriptures say- All grass, when cut, and dried, is turn’d to liay ! Then lo! to thee,when Death his scythe shall take! Oh! conscience, what a hay-stack thou will make ! Asa timid young lady was passing in the street, a person observed that she had on a merino dress ; I thought (replied airother)she looked very sheepish.” A certain Hibernian lady had a custom of saying to a favorite little dog, to make hint follow her, ‘Come along sir.’ A would be wit. ty gentleman stepped up to her one day, anil accosted her with ‘ls it me, madam you called? ‘Oh, no, sir,’ said she, with great composure, ‘it was another puppy I spoke to/ *<!*- Retort Courteous —“ Hold your tongue for a fool /” was the polite recommendation of an Irish husband. “ Sure then you’re going to spake yourself 2 ” was the equally polite reply of the wife. Conundrum. —M ho arc Use most disinte restedly good? D’ye give it up? The good for nothing ? A Yankee Trick. —lt is well known that in the good old daysof our fathers, when N. England was truly the land of steady habits, there would occasionally spring up a volatile and fun-loving character, whose dispositions and habits with the upright and conscien tious bearings of the puritans, formed a strik ing contrast. There were two farmers of this cast who lived very near each other ; one was the owner of some dozen of fine sheep, who, having a decided antipathy to confinement, would sometimes trespass on the enclosures of their master’s neighbor. The other hav ing caught, them in one of these overt acts, determined to inflict summary vengeance on them and their owner. With this intention he proceeded to catch them, and running his knife through one of their hind legs, between the tendon and the bone, immediately above the knee joint, put the other leg through the hole. In this condition the woolly flock de camped, leaving one quarter less tracks than when they came. The feeder of shcCp kept his own counsel; and soon after, his neigh* bor’s hogs having broken or dug into his en closures, lie took advantage of his opportunity for retaliating, by cutting their mouths from car to ear. In this way ihc four footed gran tors, rather chop-fallen, made their way their own quarters. The owner ol the swine soon made his appearance in a great rage, declaring that his hogs were ruined, and tna he would have redress. His neighbor mat 0 answer that it was not he who ruined them “ For,” said he, “ the fact is, friend, I didn cut open them arp hog’s mouths, but my sheep running on three legs, the) *•!’ 1 their months a kinchin.” Fitchburg Gazette-