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dcuotcb to Citcvaturc, Science, aitb il)t Sons of (Temperance, ©bb ifcllou)sl)ip, iilaoonnj, anb ©cncral jlntelligeurf. VOLUME I. ■ SEfcECIgBP lllfif, From Godey’j Lady’s Dook. SPRING MU SINGS There is n magic in the name of Spring That stirs the purest fountains of the heart, That spreads on gaudiest colors fancy’s wing, And draws the soul from all of earth apart. It is a resurrection time—the birth Os all that’s bright and beautiful of earth; The trees put on their robes of fresh young green, And gently tremble in the morning air; While all around, above, below, is seen A rich magnificence of nil that’s fair. The littlo rills, released from winter’s chains, Along their pebbly channels safely glide ; The mead its velvet carpeting regains, And stretches forth in all its grassy pride. The balmy breeze comes sighing down the dale, And flow’rs of ev’ry hue bedeck the vale ; A thousand insects sport on tiny wing; Their sweetest notes a thousand warblers sing; And buzzing here and there, with dainty lips, The bee the sweets of ev’ry blossom sips. The young corn upwards shoots its tender head, Just peeping o’er the well-turned fertile soil; The husbandman goes forthwith sturdy trend, Jtejoicing in his well-requited toil. And where yon mountains rise, instead of snows, A halo circles round their lofty brows ; So deep their blue, so mingling with the sky, They seem dissolving in the shades of night; While up their sides, fair flowers of ev’ry die Unfold their charms to the admiring sight. The little streams roll down the dark ravines, And with their headlong waters hasten by, And, smiling, look up through the dark-leaved screens That in primeval grandeur wave on high. The maiden trails the vines around her bow*r, And thinks upon the bliss of some fond hour Whon he who in her heart is now enshrined, Shall sit with arms in love’s embraces twined About her waist, while from the flow’rv wreaths Concealing them from view, a perfume breathes. 0 lovely Spring! thou art a welcome guest! Who does not hail thee with enraptured breast ? Who does not feel new life within him spring And new hope fondly in his bosom rise ? Vague, undefined, and yet a blessed thing, That fills the soul with Heav’o sent harmonies. MAN'S WORKS SHALL FOLLOW HIM. BY J. G. WHITTIER. We shape, ourselves, the joy or fear Os which the coming life is made. And fill our future’s atmosphere With sunshine or with shade. The tissue of the life to be, # V* e weave with colors all our own, And in the field of Destiny We reap as we have sown. Still shall the soul around us call The shadows which it gathered here, And painted on the eternal wall The Past shall re-appear. For there we live our life again— ()r warmly touched, or coldly dim tin* pictures of the past remain, Man s works shall follow him! _ si i TA% as. From Godey’s Lady’s Book. ‘ CHE tr EVOR’S VISIT TO TRENTON FALLS, AXD ITS CONSEQUENCES. “How BT MARIE ROSEAU * , hat ’ afteral1 ’ y ou should marr y Wend RlanrlJ t exclaimed Mary Grey, to her acknowledged £ teVOr ’ as tbe latter blushln S l y named. 6 ner cn g a gement to the gentleman but sttttT n f and Up ° n lhe faCC ° f Blanche ’ Her f ’ uu re Pv • • the exchrnot* “ Foro-iv 1011 ’ s^e said, in a gentle tone — rna^ifes^ed e •Tk *° r the sur P rise 1 thoughts •k 1 t have better controlled my that yon Ik Ut , J I cou ld not help feeling wonder here*M arv i° U marr .Y Ernest Barker after ” , wo S 1 , ou hl again express a thought that ** tae e . art °f her friend, said Blanpk 16 t 0 fi n j s h the remark for you, Mary,” s F ea^n g quite composedly. “You cUe said, after my having once, by a chilling manner, given him to understand that his attentions weie disagreeable to me ; and after having spoken slightingly of him, denouncing him as an awkward, unintelligent young man.— There is no necessity for an apology ; it is / who should bear the blame of your present feelings.*’ Mary paused, again in a dilemma as to what answer she should make ; and Blanche resumed the conversation in a pleasant tone. “Did I tell vou the story of my visit to Trenton Falls, Mary ? ” “ No,” replied her companion. “ Well, then, it was on my way to Elfindale with Uncle Frank. He proposed the visit imme diately after we had left Albany, and I gladly as sented, for I had never been there. “ Uncle had business in Utica, which detained him until after the stage had left for Trenton. — We took a private conveyance, at so late an hour that it was nearly tea-time when we arrived at our destination; and, of course, too late to make a tour of the falls before, night. I was more than consoled by my uncle suggesting that, as there would be a bright moonlight, we should go in the evening. Trenton Falls by moonlight! The plan delighted me. I recollected the glowing de scription of the scene, as once given by an enthu siastic gentleman. True, with that remembrance came also the thought of how aghast two or three of his audience had been at the bare idea of any one tempting Providence by a visit , at such an hour, to a place so very dangerous. Yet this did not cloud the bright anticipation, for I felt a strong confidence in the wisdom and protection of uncle, and further reflected that the gentleman previously mentioned (a man of sense, too) had reasoned that,’ with proper care, there was no real danger ; particularly, since the steps and pas sages along the falls had been repaired. “ The hotel was very much crowded, and this occasioned some delay in procuring an apartment for me. At last three young ladies offered to share the same bed, and allow me the small room occupied by a third, for one night, (we were to leave in the morning,) and I was ushered into it just as the tea belt was ringing. My traveling dress was thick with dust, ‘and though the long ride had sharpened my appetite, yet it was im possible to make my appearance in such a cos tume. I was opening my carpet-bag to get out something clean, when the young lady” whose room I occppicd (a Miss Smith, of Philadeiphia,) came to the door with an offer of assistance. 1 objected, on the plea of detaining her from tea. In the pleasantest manner possible, she persisted in remaining with me ; and after a few more de murs, I consonted. We ordered tea in our own room; and when I had hastily relieved my appe tite and prepared for the walk, I met uncle in the parlor. You know how good he is at meeting with acquaintances everywhere, so it will not surprise you to hear that I found him in one corner of the room closely engaged in conversation witfi an el derly and a young gentleman. The face of the latter was singularly familiar. I tried to account for the familiarity, but could not. The recollec tion was accompanied by an unpleasant associa tion, which confused my memory the more, be cause there was something quite pleasing in the expression. I could only presume him to be some travelling companion, whom I had seen while in an uncomfortable position ; such as standing, while the baggage was being called out, under a bright canopy formed by the bright rays of a Julv sun, on the deck of the ferry boat be tween New York and Jersey City, (all the seats being appropriated by the “ excursion passengers journeying at half price.) Very soon uncle per ceived me, and introduced me to his friends Judge Benton and Mr. ; but the last name was lost entirely, and I was leftin ignorance as to the ap pellation of the young gentleman, whose coun nance was so familiar. . , “ ‘ When you are ready foryour walk, Dlancne, we will be glad to accompany you,’ my uncle said, SAVANNAH. GA„ THURSDAY, MAY 24, 1849. almost immediately after the introduction. “ Again 1 sought my little room, and returned bonneted and shawled for our ‘crazy enterprise,’ as aunt has since been pleased to denominate it. “ The young gentleman halted for an instant in the doorway, and then perceiving that uncle had appropriated Judge Benton to himself, (they were on the same side in politics, and it was Pres idential } r ear T ) he hastily offered his arm. “It is too had of uncle to repeat names so in distinctly. I would have given a great deal to have known the name of my companion, particu larly on account of the familliarity which I had detected in bis face by the dim light of the par lors, Then there was for a while an evident con fusion and restraint in his manner, which I could not understand, that served to increase my curios ity. In a short time this wore off, and he spoke unrestrainedly. You know what an abundance of volubility I have ; yet, as the conversation progressed, I had no other desire than to listen si lently to his enthusiasm and good sense. “ We had reached the highest fall, and I stood transfixed to the spot, overpowered by the sensa tions which the scene produced. My companion was silenced by the same emotions ; and uncle and Judge Benton had disappeared—l don’t know where. I afterwards forgot to inquire ; but I believe they passed on, with minds so closely covered by the intricate webs of politics, that there was no interstice through which a single other thought might then edge its way into the in terior. Even Trenton Falls by moonlight failed to pierce the Aim. Take my advice, Mary, and never marry a politician. “Oh ! what a glorious sight it was ! There were the high rocks, far, very far above our heads, their summits crowned with the tall, dark pine trees ; nearly on a level with us were the white foaming waters, sending out a bright shower of gems that sparkled in our sight, and then mingled with the silver current that fell into the abyss so many feet below us. My eyes for an instant turned towards the face of my companion. 1 shall never forget the emotion pictured there, as he gazed on, seemingly unconscious of my pre sence. * “ We kept the same attitude for some minutes, and then, without speaking, he led me a little in the rear; for, unheeding of danger, we had been standing on the very edge of the rocks. Again we stood silently looking on for a time, and then, with a simultaneous movement, we ascended the steps to the portico of the half-way house. “ ‘ Will you go over the rest of the falls ? or are you too much fatigued for further exercise ? ’ my companion asked. “ I was tired, and, besides, felt no desire for any further magnificence. My enthusiasm had been raised to its utmost point, and seemed like the chord of an instrument, which being tuned to the highest pitch, one more effort will sunder; but I thought it selfish to say no, when, perhaps, he might prefer proceeding, and I hesitated. He seemed to read my thoughts, for he continued — “ ‘ I took the whole route myself last eyening, and found the distance longer than I anticipated, though not too long for me. If you wish to go, it will give me much pleasure te gratify you.’ “ I declined, and proposed waiting where we were for uncle and Judge Benton. “We sat together on the portico, looking out upon a scene of romantic grandeur ; I listened attentively as his eloquent voice spoke of Nature and of the God of Nature; for, with Cowper, he thought, “ 4 Acquaint thyself with God if thou wouldst taste His •works.’ . “ In the daytime, strictly speaking, his face might not have seemed handsome ; but there was a high degree of intellectuality in it, which, joined to a pleasing expression, would have made him appear to advantage in any light. You know the effect the moonlight has in softning down all im perfections and giving new beauty ; and as the re- fleeted beams fell upon bis face, it looked singu larly beautiful. There is something very attrac tive to me in seeing a strong, gifted mind given up, with all its high attributes, solely to Heaven, and with bumble reverence submitting to the guidance of a higher power. One who, wherever he may be, never forgets that he is a Christian. I felt then as in the presence of a mind vastly su perior to any I had ever before met. We were both too deeply engaged to bear the footsteps of uncle and his friend, until they were standing close beside us. “ ‘ Well Ernest, have you taken good care of Blanche during my absence ? ’ he inquired. ‘But there’s no need of an answer,’ be continued, 4 for the fact of your not having tired her to death by dragging her the entire distance, proves you to be fully competent to the charge, and I may safely entrust her tovour care in returning.’ “ At another time I should have been provoked at the nonchalance with which uncle seemed dis posed to cast off his responsibility as my guardian, but then, I know not why, I was incapable of any other feeling than a meek humility, (a singular state for me to he in, you will readily admit,) and I silently took the offered arm of my guide. Our companions kept quite near to us on our way back, and the conversation was general. I felt but lit tle inclination to talk, and uncle attributed my si lence to fatigue. I could find no opportunity of having my curiosity gratified that night, by ascer taining the name of my unknown companion, and 1 went to bed still in a dilemma as to his iden tity. It was impossible to sleep, for my imagina tion was busily at work in vividly picturing the falls and surrounding scenerv, with the face of my companion as it appeared in the calm moon light. Who could he be? I tried to recall past remembrances for the purpose of finding out. — Uncle had called him ‘ Ernest! ’ Could he be Ernest ? I could not repeat the surname ; for the tall, ungainly figure of a bashful youth presented itself to my mind, and I repelled the thought as unjust to my talented friend ol the evening. Still I could not help tracing a strong resemblance of some sort, and I wondered at be ing able to do so, when they were so very unlike. The one so dignified and fascinating, the other so shy and awkward. For hours I lay in this rest less state; and when I closed my eyes for a few moments, it only assisted my imagination in pic turing even more distinctly the rocks and trees, and water. At length I fell asleep, to dream that I walked through the gardens ofVUaradise guided by an angel, whose lineaments were strikingly like those of some earthly friend, and awakened earnestly entreating him to tell me what name he bore on earth. I do not believe that my slumber could have been of more than two or three hours duration, for when I became conscious of being still an in habitant of earth, it was not more than five o’clock. Uncle had ordered our breakfast at six, so I de termined to dress quickly and take a stroll over the pleasure grounds belonging to the house. I had not walked far when uncle met me. He was quite alone and I was delighted at the prospect of having the mystery solved. Accordingly, the morning salutations were hardly over, when I said — Do tell me uncle, the name of the gentle man to whose care you consigned me last even ing?’ “ ‘ Why Blanche, is it possible you have forgot ten Ernest Barker ? ’ Certainly not,’ lreplied ; ‘but that was not him.’ . _ • “‘lndeedit was,’ said my uncle. ‘But I beg your pardon for having forgotten that he was no favorite with you when you knew him years ago, at Elfindale.’ “‘You are joking with me,’ I said. “ 1 In what way ? ’ he asked. “ ‘ With regard to Ernest Barker,’ I answered. “‘Jam not,’he replied. ‘He is 3^ t * - - ‘ ■••**-*’ . v ~v ’ r if . NUMBER n.