Newspaper Page Text
Worrell, could I venture to go to that
house ?”
“ Why, ma’am, it’s very wet; but if
you were as far as that big stone, there’s
a sort of path from that up to the door.”
“Come John, let us try,” said the la
dy, jumping from the caa. And she did
try, and reached the low door with her
husband,-and stooping, went in. Grace
was sitting at the fire mending some
thing ; the children were crouching
over it; the : r mother w r as sleeping on
the bed. Grace coloured as she recog
nized the lady, and stood up, giving her
mother a push. Mrs. Saunders looked
round in astonishment. The bed of
straw, without bed-clothes—the half
dressed woman on it —the naked child
beside the fire, and the other hardly
better off’!—the smoky atmosphere,
and the damp floor and walls! Mr.
and Mrs. Saunders looked at each oth
er with looks of pitying commisera
tion.
“A nice place you’ve come to to choose
a servant!” said the former smiling.
John ! Is it not horrible?”
Mrs. Kennedy had by this time
roused herself, and stood up.
“ O, me lady, an’ I haven’t a chair or
a sate to offer ye.”
“My good woman,” said Mrs. Saun
ders, “are you the mother ot this little
girl?” pointing to Grace.
“ Yes, yer ladyship.”
“Will you allow her to come to my
house for a month; and if I like her,
and she proves honoet and obodient,
and truthful, I may teach her to be a
servant ?”
“ (), I II <jo bail for her bein’ honest,
yer honour.”
“ It is because she honestly brought
me back a cap which she was tempted
to steal, that lam induced to take her
on trial. Will you allow her to come?”
Her mother darted a look at Grace.
“ Ye’ll be givin no hire, ma'am ?”
asked Mrs. Kennedy, thinking perhaps
ot ihe generally successful foraging of
Grace.
“O, come, Ellen,” said Mr. Saun
ders, going to the door.
“ O, mother dear ! —O, ma’m !” cried
Grace,springing forward with her hands
clasped —“1 don't want hire; I’ll go
with ye ma’am dear; I love ye. Nivir
mind mother.”
“ 1 can’t take you, though, without
your mother’s consent; and as I will
not undertake to give you any wages,
she does not appear to wish you to
come.”
“O, in God’s name take her, ma’am,”
said her mother. “ I didn’t mean any
thing whin I spoke of hire. Take her
wid ye.”
“ 1 am not going to take her now,”
said Mrs. Saunders, smiling. “ I will
send for her to-morrow, and my mes
senger will bring some clothes for her,
and she can give those on her to the
poor little children there.”
Thus it was arranged. And Grace
felt her father’s cheek wet with tears
as she kissed him, and told him, that
night, when he came home from work.
And he hugged his little daughter, and
tried to think of some prayer he had
been taught in the bright days of child
hood, long ago. And he saw a gleam
of happiness to cheer him through the
dark mist of misery. The next day
Grace went to her new home.
(P i nr nil <l-rlrrtir.
BEING IX LOVE.
The epoch of being in love, notwith
standing all, is the most agreeable in
the whole course of life. The soul has
then no craving to gratify. Existence
is at its hightest premium for it is then
we are furthest from indifference. lie
who is in love cherishes life, and but
enjoys it the bette-- for little drawbacks
other affairs, which only heighten love’s
relish when we return to it. It is a
better and pleasanter thing than money
getting, or courtship, or sullen study, or
maddening ambition, or a thousand
grasping desires that engross us w holly
without our feeling satisfaction in their
pursuit. I hese are solitary objects;
being in love is participated with anoth
er, and therefore is a more social plea
se re. dhe romantic tinge which often
colours our conduct is agreeably char
acteristic ; it increases the attraction
and confers a hallowed charm upon the
passion. Being in love is a restraint
upon evil feelings—a situation favour
able to virtue. The love of woman
is a correction of our perverse natures,
and, while its season lasts, always
mends the heart. Let an unbiassed
and discriminating cenleiwire answer,
what part of life he could look back
upon with the most kindly feelings—
what portion of his departed years he
most cherished in his remembrance, and
he will doubtless answer the time when
he was in love. The memory of that
delicious season—its little adventures,
hopes, fears, and enjoyments, always
come over us with a rush of pleasing
warmth —a sunbeam piercing the clouds
of departed time, and irradiating for a
moment our tottering steps and gray
hairs. Being in love mingles us with
the better things of life—keeps beauti
ful forms perpetually before the eye—
gives us pleasing dreams —elevates the
spirits—exalts our views. It tempers
our harsher dispositions with the gentle
nesss of beauty—subdues our proudest
pretensions to the government of tears
and caresses, of mildness and persua
sion. II e who has never been in love
is a miserable block-head, who is igno
rant of the highest joy this distemper
ed life posseses for mortals. Being in
love is, in fact, a sort of rnillenium far
above all life’s other good. I would
desire no better state than that of be
ing in love a thousand years; and I
would demand the temperament of
youth from seventeen to twety-five for
the above space of time, and all its
lessons of innocence and happiness.
LORD DUCIE ON MESMERISM.
Earl Ducie has consented to become
President of a “ Mesmeric Institute,”
which has just been formed in Bristol.
His Lordship stated, “ He felt bound
to tell them the history of his conver
sion, for he used to laugh as much at
mesmerism as any person in that room
could do. Some years ago he had suf
fered much from gout and other affec
tions. (Jne day a clergyman, a friend
°f his, came to him in great glee, and
to ( him that he had it in his own
powei to be cured. His informant
went on to tell him that he had been
cured by clairvoyance of a nervous at
tac* he had suffered from for many
>ears. It he was not afraid, he was
recommended to go to a curative clair
voyant. Being piqued on his being
afraid of going, he sent for the lady,
laughing, he must confess, at the whole
affair. He was, how’ever, cured after
being mesmerised regularly for some
time. The very first time the lady
operated on him, by taking his hand
and making the passes, he went sound
ly to sleep, and every time after he did
not know r when the lady left the room.
He then went daily for about four
months to a London surgeon, who prac
tised mesmerism,and every day he saw
proof of the science. On one occa
sian, when he still rather doubted the
truth of clairvoyance, this surgeon ask
ed him (Earl Ducie) to accompany
him to see an interesting case of clair
voyance on whom he was going to ope
rate. He explained his wish to do so,
but the necessity for him to leave on
other business. The surgeon rang the
bell, called in a girl of about 18 years
of age, and, mesmerizing her, left the
room. He (Lord Ducie) then finding
her clairvoyante, began to question her.
They then travelled mentally to the
railway station, the clairvoyant ex
pressing her wish to go into the coun
try, as she had not been there for many
years. He then, selon le regie asked
her to go into Gloucestershire, and
went down to his mansion. She de
scribed the gravel walk, the iron gates,
the hall—she described its checkered
pavements, the musket and cartouche
boxes on the wall, the carved fire-place
of his Elizabethan house. They then
went over his farm, and she described
the crops of his fields, occasionally
seeming puzzled at the plants, and mis
taking, as a Lonooner might, turnips
for potatoes. The singular proof of
her clairvoyance was, that she noticed,
to him that one field in particular was
planted with two diflerent crops; she
noticed this, and told him that part of
the field was cut and carried, and the
other remained ; he found this after
wards to be true, although he actually
at the time did not know it himself.—
The lady by whom he was cured told
him several things about himself which
he thought no one in the world knew.
There could be no collusion in the case,
for he had never seen the girl before,
and she did not know his name or resi
dence, and, if she had been informed,
she conld not have known all the details
of his farm in Gloucestershire. He
might mention that the same girl al
luded to a fine chesnut tree on his es
tate, and mentioned that it was sur
rounded by an iron fence, describing
the long fanlike leaf of dark green
with the most perfect exactness, al
though perfectly ignorant, as a girl liv
ing in London would be, of the sort of
tree.”
LONGFELLOW
The muse of Mr. Longfellow owes
little or none of her success to those
great national sources of inspiration
which are most likely to influence an
ardent poetic temperament. The grand
old woods—the magnificent mountain
and forest scenery—the mighty rivers—
the trackless savannahs—all those stu
pendous and varied features of that
great country, with which, from his
boyhood, he has been familiar, it might
be thought would have stamped some
of these characteristics upon his poe
try. Such, however, has not been the
case. Os lofty images and grand con
ceptions we meet with few, if any tra
ces. But brimful of life, of love, and
of truth, the stream of his song flows
on with a tender and touching simpli
fy, and a gentle music, which we have
not met with since the days of our own
Moore. Like him, too, the genius of
Mr. Longfellow is essentially lyric; and
if he has failed to derive inspiration
from the grand features of his own
country, he has been no unsuccessful
student of the great works of the Ger
man masters of song. We could al
most saucy, while reading his exquisite
ballad of the “Beleaguered City,” that
Goethe, Schiller, or Uhland, was before
us; and yet, we must by no means be
understood to insinuate that he is a
mere copyist—quite the contrary. He
has become so thoroughly imbued with
the spirit of those exquisite models,
that he has contrived to produce pieces
marked with an individuality of their
own, and noways behind them in point
of political merit. In this regard, he
affords another illustration of the truth
of the proposition, that the legendary
lore and traditions of other countries
have been very serviceable toward the
formation of American literature.
About the year 1837, Longfellow,
being engaged in making the tour of
Europe, selected Heidelberg for a per
manent winter residence. There his
wife was attacked with an illness,which
ultimately proved fatal. It so hap
pened however, that some time after
ward there came to the same romantic
place a young lady of considerable per
sonal attractions. The poet’s heart was
touched, —he became attached to her ;
but the beauty of sixteen did not sym
pathize with the poet of six and thirty,
and Longfellow returned to America,
having lost his heart as well as his
wife. The young lady, also an Ameri
can, returned home shortly afterward
Their residences, it turned out, were
contiguous, and the poet availed him
self of the opportunity of prosecuting
his addresses, which he did for a consi
derable time with no better success
than at first. Thus foiled, he set him
self resolutely down, and instead, like
Petrarch, of laying seige to the heart
of his mistress througn the medium of
sonnets, he resolved to write a whole
book; a book which would achieve
the double object of gaining her affec
tions, and of establishing his own fame.
“ Hyperion” was the result. His labor
and his constancy were not thrown
away: they met their due reward.
The lady gave him her hand as well as
her heart; and they now reside togeth
er at Cambridge, in the same house
which Washington made his head-quar
ters when he was first appointed to the
command of the American armies.
These interesting facts were communi
cated to us by a very intelligent Amer
can gentleman, whom we had the
pleasure of meeting in the same place
which was the scene of the poet’s early
disappointment and sorrow. — Dublin
University Magazine.
Hints to Beaux. —To please the old
folks while you court the daughter,
agree with the father in politics, and
keep the mother in snuff. To please
the brother lend him your rifle and
buy him a dog. To please her sister,
buy her a dress. To please your dul
cinea, keep her in jewelery, and call
her an “angel.” To please yourself,
be a fool.
SOUTHERN LITERARY GAZETTE.
Clj i IBnrlii nf Jl-'nsljinn.
THE WINTER FASHIONS.
We copy the following important
(to the ladies) announcement from the
Tribune. —[ Gaz.
Congress and Conventions and news
from all nations have mouopolized our
room and attention almost entirely for
a long time ; but news from the Couit
of Fashion is matter too important to
be thrust aside any longer, so we give
some General Observations on Fashion
and Dress from a source of high au
thority in the beau mondeau. The re
cent mild weather has tended to retard
the preparatins which were in progress
for the fashions of Winter. However,
a few bonnets, intended for the ap
proaching season, have been received
from Paris. Some are of satin and
others are of black and coloured velvet.
Those of velvet are trimmed with a
small feather on each side, the inside
trimming consisting of velvet flowers
and foliage in tints harmonizing with
the colour of the bonnet, when the lat
ter is of coloured velvet. Several of
the satin bonnets are of bright colours,
such as pink, lilac and green, and they
are covered with black lace of a pat
tern at once rich and light. These bon
nets are trimmed on one side with a
bouquet of flowers of the same tint as
the satin, or of velvet foliage, black
and coloured intermingled. Pardessus
of the same material as the dress are
very generally worn. Owing to the ad
vanced period of the year,these pardes
sus are now frequently lightly wadded.
They are often ornamented with braid
or embroidery, and when trimmed
with lace have the addition of rows of
narrow velvet-ribbon. Embroidery is
likely to become more fashionable than
ever. Vast numbers of dresses, man
telets, and other articles of costume
now in course of preparation, are in
tended to be ornamented with braid
and embroidery. Avery elegant em
broidered silk dress has just been com
pleted. The silk is gray, shot with
white, and the front of the skirt is beau
tifully embroidered with wreaths of
flowers and foliage in gray silk, the
stems and tendrils being in white. The
corsage is low, open in front, and has a
shaw berthe embroidered in the same
manner as the skirt, and edged with
white and gray fringe. The sleeves
are demi-long embroidered, and edged
with fringe, like the berthe. Anew
material, recently introduced by the
French manufacturers has become a
great favourite with the Parisian ladies.
It is well adapted at the present season
for plain walking or in-door dresses, as
it consists of a mixture of silk and
wool. This fabric is manufactured at
Lyons, and is called amure. It is made
in dress lengths, each dress being of
one colour, as gray, violet, green, &c.,
but shaded ; the front breath and cor
sage are ornamented with narrow satin
stripes of a tint different from that of
the dress; for instance, these stripes
may be blue or green on gray. These
dresses are usually made with the cor
sage to fasten in front,and with basques.
This shape has been styled the corsage
veste, as it presents the appearance of
a jacket of the same material as the
dress. Valencia, poplin, merino, and
the materials intended for plain cos
tumes may be made up in the same
way. Many ladies find it convenient
to have the skirt of the dress separate
from the corsage, the latter consisting
merely of a jacket which may be either
of the same material as the skirt, or of
any other. For dinner costume da
mask silk is much employed. Dresses
of this material are made rather plain,
the trimming consisting merely of light
passementerie, revers of black lace, or
rows of narrow velvet, &e. A dinner
dress of chine silk has been made with
two japes, the upper one open, in the
tunic form, and with the edges pinked.
The corsage was open and edged with
double revers, pinked and terminating
in a point at the waist. Sleeves, demi
long, reaching just below the elbow,
edged with pinked frills. Lace under
sleeves. Thin under-sleeves are gradu
ally disappearing in out-door dress as
the chilly weather advances. For walk
ing dress many ladies now wear close
under-sleeves of the same material as the
dress ; even for evening costume the
Parisian dressmakers have devised a
sort of modification of the open pagoda
under sleeve; it is called the Manchette
Louis Quinze, and is a demi-pagoda,
slightly confined at the wrist,and edged
with two rows of lace which fall over
he hand.
THE DRESS REFORM.
We cam mend the following to our
readers as worthy of their considera
tion. We are for a revolution in the
wardrobe. Under the tyrannical im
positions of Fashion, “our sufferings is
intolerable.” Let editors who are fa
vourable to “ the cause ” pass the fol
lowing along: *
Let us Improve our Toggery.— The
Industrial Show of London is suggest
ing a variety of new thoughts to the
people, here and there. The artists of
that metropolis are getting up a demon
stration in favour of some change in the
existing costume of the European peo
ple —that of the better classes; for the
dress of the lower classes, in various
countries., is poetical and picturesque
enough. These artists wish to bring
some practical result from the opinion,
long entertained, that the tight and rigid
toggery of the civilized nations has
sinned a great deal against the laws
alike of personal grace and personal
convenience. Our painters and sculp
tors (for we, of course, are in any cate
gory which includes the English peo
ple) have been always puzzled how to
reconcile their artistic ideas of grace
fulness with the tailor work of modern
times. Hence the multitude of in
stances in which they have utterly im
paired the personality and identity of
great men, by representing them—
particularly in sculpture —wearing to
gas, sandals,and what not. No sculptor
would be mad enough to represent a
modern man “in his habit, as he lived.”
Suppose Canova sculptured a man in
the most graceful costume of London,
Paris, or New York, with trowsers,
coat and hat, and put him on a pedes
tal ; what would be the consequence?
Why,Canova’s best friend —the mother
that bore him—could not keep from
an involuntary desire to laugh at the
figure. All this is more curious than
we imagine. Why should the Greeks
aud Romans admire so much the sac
similes of themselves, in sculpture, and
we tolerate ours so little ? These Lon
don artists have taken it into their
heads to obviate this anomalous state
of things, by the introduction of a more
easy and graceful costume, to be gen
erally adopted by the civilized nations.
Certainly, any revolution which will
banish, knock off, and utterly discrown,
the dreadful, tight, rigid, inconvenient
hat, silk or felt, black or white, such as
is now worn, and abolish the pillory of
the scanty fashionable coat, in which
you cannot safely fling your arms above
your head, would be* a good one —a
consummation devoutly to be wished.
Os all the people in the world, we, the
redoubted liberty-loving Anglo-Saxon
race, are the greatest slaves to the de
spotism of the fashions. We really
think it would be no detriment to our
Christian comfort, if we imitated the
Turkish looseness of toggery. It may
be said that a certain closeness of dress
is necessary to a nation that works
actively, and that has to guard against
the chills of a northern climate. But
we think a happy mean could be hit,
which would leave our costume much
looser, and more flowing, and yet an
swer all the purposes of our avocations
and the changes of our climate. We
sincerely hope, therefore, that these
wardrobe revolutionists in London will
bring about the abolition of the high
crowned hat and the body coat. These
tyrannical impositions first, and the rest
will follow. We think the hat as pre
posteious, awkward and useless a su
perfluity, in one direction, as the horri
ble old high-heeled shoe used to be, in
another. The taste and the sense of
the graceful, which belong to all our
rigidly-dressed people, have tacitly
pronounced sentence of condemnation
against their mathematical toggery, in
refusing to have it perpetuated in sculp
ture and painting. In portraits, to be
sure, a bit of the coat is tolerated ; but
that does not tell against the general
rule, which makes the ungraceful cos
tume of the present day unfit to clothe
our ideas of beauty and dignity. We
hope, in fact, before we are much older,
to see a certain idea of caps, easy caft
ans, brave, loose continuations, and so
forth—which has been long running up
and down the cage of our brain—grace
fully and pleasantly developed in our
streets, offices and apartments.
[ Yankee Blade.
lilt Spirit XDorlii.
INTERVIEW WITH THE SPIRITS.
Mysterious Rappings in Boston
and Charlestown.— We find the follow
ing communication in the Springfield
Republican of Sept. 17th. The editor
remarks, in introducing it: “It is
hardly necessary to call attention to
the article over the signature of Mr.
Elmer, which we have compiled from
his written notes and verbal narration.
Mr. Elmer is well known, has the cred
it of being a shrewd man, not easily to
be imposed upon, and a man whose
truth and honesty are certainly not to
be questioned in this community,
w here he has resided for many years :
We give the communication here
referred to.
Mr. Bowles : Perhaps it w ill inte
rest your readers, if you will allow
me to recount to them some of the
wonders which 1 witnessed last week,
in a series of interviews with what are
claimed to be “Spirits.” On Wednes
day evening, I very gladly accepted an
invitation from my friend, Mr. La Roy
Sunderland, to witness the rappings at
his office in Boston. After several
gentlemen, who, with myself, were
thorough unbelievers, had intimately
examined every part of the room, fur
niture, &e., we were requested to form
a circle around the table. Mr. Sunder
land then stated that his daughter,
through whom the spirits usually res
ponded, was not present, and he should
be obliged to put several of those
around the table into a state of trance,
and then see if he could get the spirits
to communicate through them. This
he accomplished, and they commenced
calling on the spirits of their departed
friends. They were also answered by
the “raps,” which I heard distinctly,
and which appeared to be produced
under the table, at different points. I
placed my hand upon the table, being
theonly individual who touched it atall,
and felt the vibrations, corresponding
with the raps. Numerous questions
were correctly answered.
Mr. Sunderland asked the spirit of
his departed son, by my request, if the
spirit of my daughter was present, and
was answered that it was. This daughter
was one at whose death a singular
phenomenon was witnessed by several
persons, and which I only allude to
to recal it to the memory of those
who knew it at the time. It was
sometime before I could muster faith
and courage enough to consult some
body who appeared to be nobody. I
finally asked if the spirit of my daugh
ter was present and would respond to
me, and was astonished to hear some
thing respond promptly, with a difle
rent sound from any I had hitherto
heard. I asked her several questions,
which I very well knew no one present
but myself knew how to answer, and
was answered with uniform correct
ness. What purported to be the spirit
of my daughter, told me that the halo
of light that filled the darkened room
at the time of her death, was spiritual
manifestation.
On Thursday evening, I visited Mr.
Sunderland’s house in Charlestown.
Mr. S. was not at home but his excel
lent family told me if I wished to hear
the rappings, I could hear them. Mr.
Sunderland’s daughter, through whom
the spirits respond, is a married lady,
and was sitting by the cradle, with a
young child in her arms.
After I had examined the cradle,
floor, &c., we formed a circle around
the cradle. Someone asked if the
spirits w r ere present, and was immedi
ately answered by the raps upon the
cradle, much louder than those I had
heard the night before. During the
evening, we had many of the manifest
ations which have so frequently been
described as having occurred at Roch
ester, Auburn, New York city, &c.
On Friday, I called on Mr. Sunder
land, at his office, in Boston, and ex
pressed a desire to test these things in
the day time. He very kindly accom
panied me to his house, where he, his
daughter, and myself seated ourselves
by the cradle. After I had faithfully
examined it, and everything about it,
as well as everything about the room,
the questioning and responding com-
menced. Mr. 8. stated previously,
however, that he would go into any
room in the house, if it would be any
more satisfactory, or to any room in
any neighbouring house, but 1 was sat
istied with regard to this. 1 put the
questions in every possible way, ques
tions which l had fixed upon as tests
all of which were promptly and cor’
rectly answered.
Having been placed in communica
tion with what assumed to be the spirit
of my daughter, 1 asked her to tell me
how old she was when she died, and to
signify the number when I mentioned
it. I commenced and called numbers
above and below the real one, in every
variety of manner, until at last, calling
the real number, the rap was made
promptly. iShe also told me how old
her brother was when he died. These
two facts 1 knew were known to no one
within a hundred miles of me, except
to myself. Then the being who claim
ed to be the spirit, of my daughter, by
the use of the alphabet, spelled out:
“Dearfather, I love you.” 1 asked her
if she had any message to send to her
mother. She replied in the same man
ner : “Tell mother lam happy.”
Mr. Sunderland, being partially deaf,
requested the spirit of his little son to
raploude.i. 1 then saw the cradle move,
at least three inches, though not a visi
ble hand touched it. Mr. S. asked if
his son would communicate by sight in
stead of sound, moving the cradle as
the means, and was answered that he
would. I took up the cradle, examin
ed it and the floor, in every possible
way, without finding any apparent
means by which it could be moved. 1
afterwards saw it move more than fifty
times, and once, at least six inches.
Now, as the preacher says, “with a
few remarks I close.” And first, allow
me to say that as the fear or the odium
of being considered a fanatic will not
shock my nerves very much, 1 do not
hesitate to say, there was no deception,
fraud, or trick, about the “ lappings”
which I witnessed. I think I know Mr.
Sunderland and his family to be truth
ful and worthy people, and 1 do not be
lieve, under the circumstances, that
t hey could have deceived me, if they
had attempted it. Ido not know that
these mysterious responces were spirit
ual, but to believe any explanation 1
have yet heard, would certainly require
a larger tax upon my credulity', than
it would to believe they are what they
assume to be. 1 certainly have no ob
jections to urge against the establish
ment of a telegraphic communication
between those in the dody and those
out of it, for I have no religious creed,
and belong to no party, which would
be likely to sutler from such a commu
nication. It would clash with no arti
cle of my faith, nor would it effect me
unpleasantly in any manner.
Mr. Sunoerland is now perseveringly
investigating this subject, and gives
the result of his investigations in his
“Spiritual Philosopher.” lie believes
his children are all together, four in the
body and two out, and the latter are
around him, touching him so that he
can feel them, and communicating
with him in various ways. He says
that he knows that they thus commu
nicate. RUFUS ELMER.
Illirrllniuj.
Southern Florida. —Ancient In
habitants. —“ The early history of the
Southern part of the Peninsula of Flo
rida, shoAs that when discovered by
Ponz de Leon, in 1512, it was numer
ously peopled by Indians living in towns
under their dominion and that they were
of an intrepid and enterprising char
acter, possessing the same qualities in
war, that have recently rendered the
Seminoles such troublesome foes.”
This section of the Florida Peninsula
was then called the country of Calos,
the name of the Cacique wno ruled
over many chiefs, and w hose dominion
embraced the Everglades, part of the
coast, the Florida Keys, (known then
as the Martyr Islands ,) and a portion
of the Bahama Islands, it is supposed.
At the mouth of the river entering
into the Straits of Florida, was a town
called “Tocobago,” in which, when
first visited by the whites, there were
fifteen hundred inhabitants. The inha
bitants of this town were hostile to the
dwellers in the Calos country ; and the
location of the town of Tocobago is
supposed to have been on the St. Lucie
Sound, near the mouth of St. Lucie
river, which forms a junction with the
Sound and then empties into the sea,
so as to make the figure of a cross, the
St. Lucie sound and the Indian river
forming the beam, and the St. Lucie
forming the arms. There was also a
town on the Miami river.
The Indian towns of the Glades,
when first discovered, contained each
about forty persons; Calos, the King,
reigned over forty-eight towns —the
names of more than half of w hich are
given by a Spanish captain, Picalante,
who, by shipwreck, was thrown among
this people, within fifty years of the
discovery of Florida.
[Florida. Republican.
Singular Trap. —They have a sin
gular contrivance for catching wolves
in Norway. It consists of a circle of
about six or eight feet in diameter, in
which stakes are driven so close to each
other that a wolf cannot creep through,
and which are high enough to prevent
his leaping over them. In the midst of
this circle a single stake is driven, to
which a lamb or a young kid is bound.
Around this circle a second is formed,
of which the stakes are as close and as
high as the inner one, and at a distance
not greater than will permit of a wolf
to pass conveniently, but not to allow
of his turning round. In the outer cir
cle a door is formed, which opens in
ward, and rests against the inner circle,
but moves easily on its hinges, and
fastens itself on shutting. Through
this door the wolves enter, sometimes
in such a number as to fill the enclo
sure. The first wolf now paces the
circle in order to discover some open
ing through which he can get at the
lamb. When he comes to the back of
the door, which is in his way, he pushes
it with his muzzle, it closes and fastens
as he passes by, and goes the round for
the second time, without being able
either to enter the inner circle or to re
treat from the outer. At length he
perceives that he is a prisoner, and his
hideous howding announces to those
who have constructed the trap, that he
is taken, who immediately come and
dispatch him. It is said that this sort
of trap is also used for foxes, und even
occasionally for mice.
Morals in Llayti. —The New York
Journal oj Commerce says :
“In the official part of a late num
ber of the Moniteur Haytien, is a docu
ment giving the number of births,
deaths, marriages and divorces during
the first quarter of the present year, in
the follow ing named towns: In the Pro
vince of the West—Porte-au-Prinee,
Jacmel. Croix-des-Bonquests and Ar
cohart; in the Province of the South—
Miragoane, Petit-Trou and Tosbeck;
in the Province of the North —Cape
Haytien, Fort Liberte, L’Aeul du Nord,
Limbe, Plaisance, Jean-Rabel, Porte-
Margot, Li monad e and Plainedu Nord.
In these towns the whole number of
children born in three months was
1,863, of whom 1,700 were born out
of wedlock and only 163 were legiti
mate. Such a monstrous disproportion
between these two classes of children
exists in no other country, we venture
to say, on the face of the earth where
the institution of marriage is recog
nized. In the same towns, in that pe
riod, there were 408 deaths, 65 mar
riages and one divorce. In Porte-au-
Prince alone, the capital of the empire,
there were 413 children born, and only
28 of them in marriage; 77 deaths and
20 marriages.
English vs. American Girls. —The
English girl spends more than one half
her waking hours in physical amuse
ment ; which tend to develope and in
vigorate and ripen the bodily’ powers.
She rides, walks, drives, rows upon the
water, runs, dances, plays, sings, jumps
the rope, throws the ball, hurls the
quoit, draws the bow r , keeps up the
shuttle-cock, and all this without having
it forever pressed upon her mind that
she is thereby wasting her time. She
does this every day, until it becomes a
habit which she will follow up through
life. Her frame, as a natural conse
quence, is larger, her muscular system
better developed, her nervous system
in better subordination, her strength
more enduring, and the whole tone of
her mind healthier. She may not
knovv as much at the age of seventeen
as the American girl; as a general
thing she does not; but the growth of
her intellect has been stimulated by’ no
hot-house culture, and though matuiity
comes later, it will proportionally last
longer. Eight hours of mental appli
cation each day, tor girls between ten
and nineteen years, or ten hours each
day r , as is sometimes required at school,
with two hours for meals, one for reli
gious duties, the remainder for physi
cal exercises, are enough to break down
the strongest constitution.
Sottiiern Cotton Goods in Boston
Market. — We learn from the Travel
ler that the Tuscaloosa Manufacturing
Company, located at Scottsville, Ala.,
has recently nold goods manufactured
at their factory, in this market and also
in New York. The goods are of a
coarse fabric, of the kind denominated
Osnaburgs. The factory at which they’
were made is now’ in successful opera
tion, notwithstanding the high price of
cotton; and last year the company
made a dividend of 8 per cent. They
have made dividends as large as 40 per
cent. The factory has been in opera
tion since 1836, and is managed in
person by Mr. David Scott, who is also
the largest shareholder, and w'ho last
year caused extensive additions to be
made to the machinery and buildings.
The goods are sold in this city by r one
of the largest houses in Pearl-street.
Professor Agassiz is still lecturing in
Boston, on the Unity of the Human
Race. On Friday last, in the course
of the lecture, he pointed out many
differences between the forms of the
negro and the white race, a large pro
portion of which have not been previ
ously remarked ; and in proof of his
statements, he exhibited a large num
ber of daguerreotypes of individuals
of various races of negroes. These he
procured during his visit to the South,
last spring, during which he paid much
attention to the anatomy of the negro
race, as there exhibited in individuals
of the purest African blood.
Rules for Preserving the Health.
Rise early and never sit up late.
Wash the whole body every morn
ing with cold water, by means of a
large sponge, and rub it dry with a
rough towel.
Drink water.
Avoid spirits and fermented liquors
of every kind.
Keep the head cool, and sleep in an
airy apartment.
Eat no more than enough, and let
the food be plain.
Let your supper be light, if you take
any.
Study to preserve a tranquil mind
and a cheerful temper.
These are golden rules for health.
Too White. —The Milwaukie Dem
ocrat tells 11s that Frederika Bremer,
the other day, in Wisconsin, was invi
ted to sit near the fire, where some
other ladies were seated, hut replied,
“No, no, you American ladies are very
handsome, hut you are too white. You
sit down bv a fire of your own making,
and neglect the great fire that God has
placed in the Heavens, which would
give you health and better colour.”
Quite right.
Urbanity in Death. — The King,
(Charles the Second) blessed his cliild
dren ; spoke a word of remembrance
touching his mistresses; begged par
don of his wife; and then apologized
to those who had stood around him all
night, for the trouble he had caused,
lie had been, he said, an unconsciona
ble time dying, but he hoped they
would excuse him for it.— Church of
England Quarterly R'evieio.
Admonition to Boys. Never mistake
the soft-soap barrel for apple-sas; nor
beleive that algebra can be learnt with
out rattan and raw hide.
Parties in New’ Orleans are pushing
the Tehauntepec project of a connec
tion with the Pacific, with energy.
Appartments have been engaged for
Mile. Parodi and her attendants, and
also for Mile. Nattalie Fitzjames and
suit at the Union Place Hotel, New'-
York.
The Chancery suit, in England, of
the Attorney General vs. Treschyan, is
now one hundred and sixty-four years
old.
€l }t Incrti) lltnr.
From the Western Literary Messenger.
SONNET
Written on reading of the burial of the Rer. Jldoniram
Judson, in the Indian Ocean.
BY J. CLEMENT.
Humbly, in a sea-weed for a winding sheet,
The bravest hero of the cross is dress’d ;
’Neath Indian waves has laid him down to
rest,
Where rolling billows will his praise repeat
In anthems for the Christian warrior meet,
Till dies the latest wave on ocean’s breast.
W'hen summoned from the field at Death’s
behest,
He made a glorious, since a sole, retreat,
Leading the way to Burmah’s iron gates,
He formed tne van of Christ’s uncowering band
Where goaded Error all his vengeance sates
He battled with his minions, hand to hand,
And, conquering, glory on no victor waits
Like him who struck for Truth in Burmah’s
gloomy land.
EARTH AND HEAVEN.
Flowers that bloom to wither fast,
Light whose beams are soon o’ercast,
Friendship warm, but not to last—
Such by earth are given.
Seek the flowers that ne’er shall fade,
Find the light no cloud can shade,
Win the friends that ne’er betrayed—
These are found in Heaven.
Lesson for Sunday, October 27.
THE CHRISTIAN’S DESIRE.
“The desire of the righteous shall be granted. ** —Prov.
x. 24.
What a contrast is there bet w ecu the
righteous and the wicked ! They and tier
in their principles, feelings, pursuits,
prospects, and final destinies. Let ns
observe here respecting the Christian
The character he bears. “ Right
eous.” None are so by nature. This
is founded in reason, stated in Scrip
ture, and proved by experience. Many
are so in their own imagination ; but
some in reality', by God’s grace. Such
individuals bear two marks; the one
is wrought within them. The other is
shown without. Righteousness is im
puted to the soul, and exhibited in the
life.
The desire he cherishes. It is ex
cited by Divine grace, and therefore
very different from that which arises
from corrupt nature. He desires
Increase of knowledge. This feeling
will strengthen in proportion to the ad
vances he makes. What is the highest
point of know ledge to which we can at
tain here, compared with that which
shall be possessed in glory'? Here
there are but a few scattered rays of
light, which only discover to us more
clearly the dark clouds of ignorance
and imperfections that still envelope
the mind ; but there shall be the full
blaze of immortality, dispelling every
shadow, and chasing away the last mist
that would gather around the soul.
Growth in grace. Many figures are
employed in Scripture to set forth the
pleasing truth of progression in the Di
vine life. “Forward” is the Christian’s
watchword.
Enjoyment in duty. Too many’ are
contented with the formal observance,
w ithout the spiritual enjoyment, of or
dinances.
Support in trial. It is a good evi
dence when we feel the desire to be
purified in, rather than to be delivered
from, the fiery furnace of affliction.
Rest in glory. This is the consum
mation of all. When this is granted,
the Christian has nothing more to de
sire ; his prayers are ended.
The satisfaction he obtains. His
desire shall begranted, but how ? Free
ly, gradually, and entirely.
THE RAILWAY LAMP.
“ Light in darkness.” —Psalm cxii: 4.
When the traveller steps into the
railway car, in the bright summer’s
day, his attention is drawn to the friends
who stand to bid him good-bye ; and
as the train moves on more and more
rapidly, the mile, and half, and quarter
mile posts, seem racing past him, and
the objects in the far distance, appear
so rapidly to change their’place, as to
move oft'the scene almost as soon as
they have been seen by the eye upon
it. Now% the long train, like some vast
serpent, hissing as it moves swiftly
along, suddenly plunges under ground.
The bright sun is suddenly. lost; but
the traveller's eye observes, for the
first time, perhaps, the railway carriage
lamp ; and though it was there all the
while, yet, because the sun made its
light needless, it w r as not observed.—
God’s promises are like that railway
light. The Christian traveller has them
with him always, though, when the sun
is shining, and prosperity beaming on
him, he does not remark them. But
let trouble come —let his course lie
through the darkness of sorrow or trial,
and the blessed promise shines out,
like the railway lamp, to cheer him,
and sheds it gentle and welcome fight
more brightly when the gloom is thick
est, and the sunshine most entirely left
behind. — Prot. Churchman.
THE DEATH ON THE CROSS.
The Head, the Hope, the Supporter
of those who gave their bodies to be
burnt, drank himself of a bitter cup.—
Os all the devices of cruel imagina
tions, crucifixion is the masterpiece.—
Other pains are sharper for a time, but
none are at once so agonizing and so
long. One aggravation, however, was
wanting, which 4 owing to the want of
knowledge in painters, is still, we be
lieve, commonly supposed to have be
longed to the punishment. The w eight
of the body was borne by a ledge which
projected from the middle of the up
right beam, and not by the hands and
feet, which were probably found une
qual to the strain. The frailty of man’s
frame comes at last to be its own de
fence ; but enough remained to pre
serve the pre-eminence of torture to the
cross. The process of nailing was ex
quisite torment,and yet worse in what
ensued than in the actual infliction.—
The spikes rankled, the wounds in
flamed, the local injury produced a gen
eral fever, the fever a most intolerable
thirst; but the misery of miseries to
the sufferer was, while racked with a"o
----■ 7 “
ny, to be fastened in a position which
did not permit him even to writhe. —
Every attempt to relieve the muscles,
every instinctive movement of anguish,
only served to drag the lacerated flesh,
and wake up new’ and acuter pangs;
and this torture, which must have been
continually aggravated, until advancing
death began to lay it to sleep, lasted,
on an average, two or three days.
[Quarterly Review.
Meekness of Leighton. —Of Bishop
Leighton, Bishop Burton declared that
during a strict intimacy of many
years, he never saw’ him for one mo
ment in any other temper than that in
which he would wish to live and die.
<£>ngittnl
For the Southern Literary ‘ i
messilla. *’
I.
She died at last,—’twas sweet to dlc . ,
ness ever came, *
To sooth a heart, so lost to all, Sav „
and shame,
A scorned heart in its early love,-.,
dearly known,
Surviving joy, and every hope, ands
all were gone ;
A single word had slain her; a word
liest spell—
And what a mocking curse to l lr
same word, farewell !
She saw the lips that spoke it, and
beneath the blow,
How could she fare a moment well
deserted so ?
11.
She died at last—she lived not 1 0| ,,
that weary hour,
Yet twas a lengthened time to her
had lost its flow’r ;
Yet tears were never in her eyes, th OUg ,,
they might have been,
For with a spirit fine as here, the gr „
within ;
But the bloom had left her cheek, the]
fled her eye,
And the airy lightness of her step, and 4
cent warm and high :
She had no more the spirit, so true i n
years,
Which hung around her childhood’s hea
never taught her tears.
111.
She died at last, and gladly died in %
and shade,
E’en as some flow'er that sinks away,
autumn sweeps the glade ;
A swelling tone the lyre gave forth, br
the night wind’s thrall,
As long untouched by hand of hers, it
upon the wall,—
It came upon her heedful ears, like some:
accents sped,
From the lands of time’s affection, where
rove the happy dead ;
There is a spirit’s faith which warms j
earthly care is past,
And like that lyre’s protracted note, the maul
died at last.
iDrigittnl feoi)s,
Forthe Southern Literary Gazette.
EGERIA:
Or, Voices from the Woods and Ways;:?
THIRD SERIES.
LX 11.
Worship. There never was a 1
pie yet who having built the tern
stood long in waiting for the pr
The conscious wants of the people]
always produce the endowment. |
LX 111.
Mature. The pictures of Nat
though done in water colours
never lose their freshness.
LXIV.
Woman. The woman who goes 1
from her sex is always in danger. 1
true secret by which Virtue is kept
safety, is never to be forgetful i
weakness. The devil watches allii
the eager interest of a proprietou
that class of persons who confidal
say “I dare!”
LXV.
Ruins. It is but too frequently:
case that we know where a God 1
been, only by the ruins of his altar.
LX VI.
Oracles. We apply to the w
only in the failure of our hope. ‘
call in the physician when it is the I
dertaker only who can be o*|
How sad are the accents of that 1 1
of which we had no consciousne-l
til awakened to the truth by its 1
agonies. llow’ mournful that v I
counsel, which rebukes us for Li
sought for it in vain.
LXVII.
The Affections. Did we e.'tl
our affections as sensibly as ou’l
sions, we should be the more pert®
masters, not only of our happino-i
of our hearts. Os these, however!
really know quite as little as we!
those of other people, and it is on!
the ruin of our resources that “ I
informed of their extent.
LXVIII.
The Heart. The heart has it’ o
season for maturing and for frult
suffering that season to escape
we plant but vainly for the future I
LXIX.
Occasion. Occasion is the aecw*
of genius; but he surely is nog'*
who is content to wait for tin
sion.
LXX.
Counsel. The world which si I
vils at the fortunate, as certain'.' 1 1
sels the defeated. Exhortation i'*l
as spontaneous and prompt 3’ j
The vanity which breeds the ■
equally fruitful of the other I
same lips that denounce succe* 5 ■
audacitv, as confidently teach J I
in what its error has lain. u
lent, wise world, that equal!) ‘ r6 , I
derstands how to censure
triumph and defeat—triumph® I
fends pride, and defeat as 1* F
provocation to vanity.
LXXI. I
Guilt. The Guilt that feel 5
own shame is wholly i nClira ‘ B
was the redeeming promise 1 ■
of Adam, that, with the eon ■
of his crime, came the sense of j
kedness.
LXXII. H
Virtue. How sublime is <V|
that still plants w ithout an fl
tion that it shall ever reap. B
emulates the Deity who pl atlt ’
ture generations.