Bradford reporter. (Towanda, Pa.) 1844-1884, May 15, 1844, Image 1
v absiwatlavoi - , r.' Val . The and for iale. ' 1 . 1. 17. 3; • . World farsilei-4ang ant a sign, every traveler hereto me; •. rylbey this brave estate . of mine, • Andset my weary spirit free? i , go ing !—yes, I mean - to fling •"? fie bultble from my sotil away; •11 , e R it, whatsnder it bring; , * 3, The world at auction hete,to day ! - s glorious thing to see— • tl4it has cheated me so sore! - u sot what it seems, to be ! or sale! Ittiloall' be mine naintue. e, turn it o'er and lists it well;— would not have' yon purchnie dear go i n g—goirg, !—I linnet sell ! Who bids!-Who'll buy the splendid tear? t e r , w ealth iriglittering heaps of gold— Who bids? _ B at let me tell you fair, - baser lot wisnerer sold, - Who'll buy , the heavy heap; of care "t n d b or e, spread out in broad domain . ; A goodly laudsdiPe all may ,trace I, cottage; tree, field, hill and plain ;' Who'll buy himself a burial place t t re's Love, the dreamy potent spell . Thst Ecsuty.flings aroiind the heart, bow its power; alas!: too Well ; • To going !—Love and I must partl pan!! --What can I - more with Love? over the enchanter's reign; buy the plumeless, dying love,— breeth of bliss,—a 'norm of pain ? Friendship—rarest gem of earth— .o e'er Jiath found a jewel his? fickle, false, and little worth— bids for friendship milt- is doing--going !--bear the call ; Ore, twice, Ind thrice !—Tis 'very low ! an once my hope, my stay, my all— blitow the broken staff must go! tot! hold the brilliant pteteof high ; Gov dazzling every gilded name ! I millions, now 'a the time:to boy. flow inch for fame I How much forfamel .r how it thunders!-World you stand high Olympus far renowned, ra purchase, and a world command, _ Sad be' with a world's curses crowned ! aof Hope ! with ray to shine ery sal forbcding breast, _ • this desponding one of mine— lo bids for' maxi's last friend and best not Mine a bancnipt life, . treasure should my soul sustain; ►pe and I sue now at strife, • wer may unite again. • • _ fashionostrm and pride, from all fir/ever now; m overwhelrainctiae, night my haughty bean to bow. !stern sheriff, all bereft, qt, yet !wink& hiss the rod ; of all I still Itilve . my Bible, and - my god. ltithk.r World than This. • slam I trod li re's early ways, lope sin* my fleeting " hours, mos/Wow in her rays, - . wit is her flowers ; ought on days of present joyi '3l*xi! of future - 111m nod that sorrow could allay tht a woild an this. weary chains I wove, from my fancy tied, - - rich who owned my tender love numbered with the dead; !it pallid lips tpressed l's parting I I • me fo ra world of rest; ;hrer world than this. the spacious world soppy ties of opeaing life, -; its mocking flattery, ° fe e its bitter strife; • first began to look Parer, truer bliss, • Ted to trace.in , dod's own - book, :ter world than this. heart desires; relief, the goad I sought, is trial and in grief, the soothing Mellen, - \ the worldling may deftipiq, )bed of earthly bliss, hoinhly hopes to share net world:than this. • bout and Folly: lily were at play, waVed fo - be wise, °tt; wail in a fray Pin o u t R apid ,. eyes. And wai tried, ‘ uitrtted, itottld to love be 'ead ' 4 144: e d to Iraq thslt • 4' - IRE r • i „. • . . .• ' • .. , ..- • ' . .. . . ~ , - .. • 1 - . , • . . • I , , . ,_ .1 ,-. • . • 4V . -•:...','. ~- ' ',..''''. :: ,''';.' -' . ".. ' ' l ,1: r ... :.!r .. '''. • .'', - , f. ....,--''' • - J.. .. . •0 : • • . -- ,' - . , •• 4 - '.- o ' ....: -..-. 1 . ,•--,' ..... ._,.,. , .. . 'C.../ a. . ) --, ~ Y - ' '', ~ -•'. - , . .., ~ ~ • .. • ._ . . . 1. , /.. ~ .. (II! 1 . .. . .... • .----....,.., ~ . .y. .-. ~ ill gow sweetly bluomed the gay-green kirk, How rich tbehawthom's blossom, 'As underneath t h eir fragrant shade ' , I clasped her to my bosom. • I ' l _ 4 Will you go with me, Laura, down by Alm brook ?" said I, as the merry hearted girl came in,. singing gaily , al: t e fiyatering her flowers, looking doubly beautiful from her exercise. - "Go— . oh ! yes.' • " - But you'll put on your ' bonnet. surely." " What that hateful one with the ve ry, very , large cape, I thought you didn't like it. • • 2 "PshUvf ! Laura—only" put it on— the suitis siift , an hour. high. ' Nell then, since I must"—and tripping gaily in, she re'-appeared di rectly with the huge, bonnet overshad log her face, and covering with its en ormous cape her snowy shoulders. In another instant she was bounding like a fairy over the grassy knoll. Laura wasjust seventeen, with' raven curls, dark hazel eye, and,ii form of exquisite symmetry. She was the on ly child RE my guardian, and we had spent our childhood together.. Even then I had a boyish fancy for her,— climbing the trees to pluek her fruits or nuts, making rail-bridges:for her across the little -streams in our- wall* and gathering the sweetest flowers t6' bring her, when she happened 'one spiing, to be ill for a fortnight. But with my re moval to school new feelings arose; accident had • prevented our meeting for years f.andt I came at last to look back upon that period as on ' a_liappy, but lialf-remembered dream. But this sum mer after eaduating I met her again ; and we had not been together a week before all my did sentiments returned. But it was no longer a' boyish fancy it was the deep. ardent passion of a first love—that holy feeling, which visits us but once, and which amid the woe and misery of this world seems like =a sun beam from the blest. Alas ! that we never love again as we did in the holt . Reis of our first affection. The passion is there, b y t its purity is gone. I found Laera itiipossible to' read.— To me site was all frankness; yet slid 'not this prove that she thought of 'me only as a brother,? 'But I remembered that she _ always lived a. secluded life, and that she freely confided all her lit. sle secrets to me. She was sometimes so tauntingly merry at my eipense 'that I would vow she loved me not.— But then she did at hundred things which could have been done only to please me. That very bonnet had been almost discarded, because one dayi laughed at its enormous . capc.' She read my books,c.patted my dog, and I half suspedted her of filling - the vase in my bed-roOm with flowers every morn ing. It was delicious ; but I would have givenworlds had she been more reserved. If she used to be merry at my ex= pease; I'took my revenge by calling her jocularly a country.girl. She was too,affectienate to get angry, but she only half liked it. But though I, plagued ed her - about her rural education, it was , in - reality her sweetest charm. She had, never been contaminated by the society'of cities, antOike the lily of tier . own valley, was purity itself. Her very voice carolling a song as she tend ed her flower's, gushed forth.with a mu= sic to my fancy almost' divine.. She was the idol of my yonng heart; the theme of daily reveries , and nightly dreams. I still turn to that summer of my young existence, like the traveler to the cool fountain sparkling in the desert. , "Let us go over to the tipper brill ffe'," said she.pausing at the top of the knoll,. and flinging her dark .curls back from her forehead. as she looked up to the cliff from which the structure sprung. . • " Whatl—is it ever used?", said I, in some surprise ; for the fail planks rocked at a dizzy height above us—" I had n 6 idea it was safe." " Had IN you ?—oh ! prove it,—that is,' amid she, smiling 'archly, "if you're 'not afraid to follows wild country-girl." • = Pshaw I 'Laura." . .0 Well—come." • " Stop, Laura--" ".Oh ! indeed it's safe. but if .you're really afraid. I'll come hack,"• foi she was already high on the cliff above,her white dress *Meting. and her ringlets waving in the -breeze. . Afraid !--only oflyoUrself," anti I sprung4,ithe 'went Mier the laughing girl. :SW clime lip. and then for iiirniti r pod pointing at the • • I= ENO I 14 First love, BY 11,4. VERNON. ESSI *; , Regardless of DOSUSSCif 41 . 4 S from any Quarlerr-Gov. PORTZIL, MDWASIIDL - 9 1131BAIMMIBED oannawir, gimr :us You've been .liege for a month, I declare, and never have been on this rock before. I Aally believe," she cods hued, looking nfohly , at me, , , . you wells half afraid toittempt the ascent. But we country-,girts . don't mind.it.— Look - here though at Chester Hill, ris ing dark and gtoomi , on the northern horizon, and away there, ;like a far-off cloud, pi.,lhe blue hills of your own state/ NO that igloor house, almost atone feet,—see I can throw this stone upon the roof—and there is the lake, and the mill-dam. and yonder is New. port, and down, , down there," and she led me gaily to the edge of the ravine. 1.6 the little streamlet murmuring , and `babbling along. 'See, the bridge is swinging in the wind. And now, va liant khight, cross with me,wancl spring ing laughingly away,—for I , had made an attempt to grasp her arm; she,was the next minute rocking on the frail structure, a hundred feet and more from the etreamlet. • , _ s' Take care—take care," . she laugh ed 'tantalizingly, as I followed, *, it may not bear you—or your foot mightalip-6- It's not two feet acres.% do. do go back now 1" and the high-spirited girl stood perfectly secure, upon a height that a.- most made me - dizzy. But I answered gaily, and was soon by her side. ' "And now I'll take you to *brook by my path—you're not afraid are you ?" and breaking from me againin the exu berant"-gaiety of a young and happy heart, she began to descend one of those steep pathit which-may be fdund onthe side of almost every ravine, now spring ing lightly over some narrow chasm, , and then swinging herself boldly around the.corner of the rock by the roots that grew in the clefts. I followed with some difficulty, amazed'at her skill and coolness, and trembling lest a false step should precipitate her down the giddy steep,—while :every moment or two she would pause fcm me to' overtake her, laughing:lerrily at my fears for her safely. When we reached the foot of the cliff she - thing herself panting up on the sod. gaily motioning me to a seat upon the turf beside her. With her eyes sparkling, her cheek flushed with exercise, and her snowy bosom heaving her beddice, I thutight I' had never seen her look so beautiful before; and when carelessly throwing off her bonnet, site permitted the, breeze to wanton over her cheek, tossing the dark curls, from her forehead, I alinost' fan cied I looked upon some mountain nymph, such - as the l old Greek poet loved ,to sing of. The spot too we . were in, -fevered the notion ; for the dark cliff-overhung it on all- sides, aqd the glassy - stream lay like a mirror at out feet. To complete the magic of the scene, the rays' of the setting sun, gliinmering through the leaves down the ravine, flooded the'spot with a mellow, golden, subdued, and dreamy light. •• This is my b oudoir," said Laura gaily, "and you must think it quite a compliment to be admitted, here. Isn't it beautiful?" , • " It is—but, Laura, do you always approach itby that dizzy path 2" ' • Oh ! no, only when I wish to give it eclat, and then, you know, it appears the prettier just in proportion to its dif ficulty of access. But, I declare, I ne ver thought you'd look half so frighten= ed," vontinued she laughingly, I 'shall, not venture to take you back, that way—we must cross the l brook below 05,,..0ver the water and over the sea:r " —and she &fished her sentence by humming that delightful old Jacobite air. • • " Are you serious ?" " Serious !—to be sure, Mr. Imper tinence." . - " Well, then;l' said I, " Laura, I - will go back the way wq-came."" ' "Oh ! no—you musn't think of it— it's, really, positivery dangerous to as cend:Z.-besides I wish to show you my path across the itreamlett" , "If it, is dangeroes to ascend I am decided. And4onder," I continued. pointineto a steep and • apparently im practicable golly up the 'perpendicular side of the ravine. "is a more difficult road still--.wait here till J come back. and• their( you shall shew rme your Qh no—indeed: you shall 'do no 'leek . thing l , l —and , she laid her harifif 'artlessly upon my,arm. _ " But. Laura, you said yoil were se- _ • No=no. , it was only in jest" - said she cage* loo4ing into into thy very soul with her melting eyes, pot only for a ininute or tyo— you've &red minatO f the trialthere no dinger;" -have - gently real - o'6lllo arm as Made - a:step' or• two klva*stketarc*lc -; • - 2 i:• -, ,',.1'':,..1::-,,:;,..!,';','":,1:-;,t',--'-'-'2:' ''.:':-..":,-, !:: - ,ft.t i, f;;. - ..if,V?:44 - ,% ): 4 • i i ., ' :i:l : Ai ; , -,-• = 1 ; ,...• : .! : E-6':: : ,,;•;:;' .:i -, '; ; A..4l: * kZ":l - i i e&l;':4 4 :';ia ' Aat . :fi& ' , t2;;t;4gl,•. " Intreed,:indeed I Twenty injest-r vaned fall,_ indeed yea. will—take. at least, the path we came—now. Hart*, don't go," said she. w'ith that low. thrilling entreaty, and , that , imploring look which makes every nerve tingle. '• - Why. don't Jou' wish ; tine to go, Laura-?! I whippet:ad softly:, . •., " Because I Irn afraid," she scarcely . murmured. Why are 'you afraiil 'for me, La'u• ra ?" Because—because "-=and, [drop piog- her eyes to the ,giound, beneath my gaze, while the crimson tide rushed down to her bosom, and dyed even the fingers That lay upon my arm, she teas all,at once unaccountably silent. My heart beat with wild emotion. Say, Laura," I whispered, as My arm stole 'around_ her delicate waist„ would you weep for me if anything should happen?" ' I conitg l e l el her-light form. trembling as I pro ded=but she made nose ply. Thera , was , a minute's silence, and then /came a deep, 106 - g -drawn sigh. • a , And—Laura! will you love Toe too?" • Her bosom heaved wildly, and she breathed quick ; but; she neither an swered, nor raised her eyes from 'the ground. She-was picking a flower to pieces. I ventured to draw her to my bosom as I whispered Will you."' , • .- 14, She looked up timidly, but olli how trustingly into my eyes. and heaving a sigh as if her heart had brOke, fell upon my breast. I pressed her sacredly to it, and in _silence, It was .a tnnment never to be forgot. One holy kiss I bestowed upon her brow, onelong, passionate l embrace,—and then gently she iiisengaged herself front my-:arms. But her ‘sWinirning eyes, froarbeneath their lbng, silken , lashes, told of her first,antkonlv love. It is many a long - Year since then, but Laura is still. tolny eyes, as beautiful as ever. She isvi..;not so' merry as' she was that summer, though' .her eye" is softer, and her voice more sweet. She has now a matronly look, and a smile of holier repose ; but there is a little Laura on liertnee with the self-aame eye and girlish laugh. and her mother still brushes to the brow when shelisps out a request, at her father's laughing bidding, to hear .the story about 'pa's Flaw Lovi. Egypt at Daybreak from a Pyramid. This remArkable night passed with. out sleep, under the wondrously( glit tering scars of the African heavens, now brought so near to us. We awaited with eagernesss the morning; 'Mien it broke, and the • sun arose out of the san dy desert behind Cairo in glorious state, we had a majestic prospect.— Eastward -flowed the Nile, through the fruitful plain ; beyond, we beheld Cairo with ite green palms and acacias; south from it, in the distance, nearly twenty lesser pyramids in a wiste'sandy plain ; and 'deer na l farther in the desert, between the Nile, and .the ,pyramids, the ruins - and mounds of the ancient ,city of Memphis. ImMediately around us, on the same hill of sand six other pyramids reared themselves, one of which . was nearly as large as that on which we stood. byt had yet a smooth and pginied top, and had never yet been, jasiended. Another, not very distant, is but a 'very little less; but the other four are decidedly less. All these monstrous piles are'said to have served for the sepulehres" of the: kings and priests of the ancienf Memphts,, and that their entrances were but :re cently discovered by an Austrian ship's captain. Liberty. Ariosto tells a pretty story.ota fairy, who, by some ,mysterious law of •her nature,..was condemned to-,apppear at certain' ' seasons in 'the form of a foul and poisonous snake. Thole who in. jured her in' the period of her disguiSe, were excluded from participation in the hiessings which she bestowed, But to those who, in spite . Ocher loathsome aspect, Oiled 'and .ptotected her. she' afterwaniscrevealed hentell in the_ bee* tiro) 'atfeelestial form which urea pat— ural to`‘,her. accentpanted' 'their steps, granted all their- wiehe.s, filled' their bailees With 'wealth,' midi-them hap py in RiVer and victorious in war. Alvah a spirit isliberty. At times she takes. the form - of a hateful' reptile. 'She' grovels, ,she 'hiSses: she stittps. wo to . ti who in &egos t shall venture to-crsh .ter' , 1 And'happy,' are ,thoife hcit ,avieg,,dated to - tecm° her in her degraded:aa:crfrightfut., shape ' Shall a( length WieWatiled - * het in: the %hie of her f. bei hint t • RW-t! 0 caw • , • - .„•1. • 1 1 The , Aga of _ pleasing to the 'philosopher, as well as the .Plularithropist, ,to mark the march of moral! reformation which is - ihread in the,, land. Its mighty reviile tionris liand, , more glorious. than any, ever recorded on the pages of history-- more brilliant and beneficial than any that. ever severedthe,ohaiss from the limbs of liberty, or rescued and , redeemedilman from slavery far more dreadful than death. It will be achieved ..without arms—and,. unlike the conquestS of Alexander, Cae ser, and that man without a model, who snatched a brand from the French volca no and lit all'Eurppe with its blaze, it will be eccompliShed without bloodshed and established without tyranny. ' How glorious, will be its accomplishMent !—• How brilliant.the benefits` upon mankind ! Thej greedy grave will no longer be glutted with the.victims of a, vice which ha's stain more than ail the evils of the earth ; yea! More than live fallen by , famine, pestilence -and the sword. Dreadful indeed has been the record ‘of their ruin antic& their renown, and melancholy the memorials of their martyrdom. = Of all bondage that ever blasted ht man ambition and - shackled- the' understand ing of man, the most galling and inglo ,rious is, the slavery of the soul. The chains of habit! are strong as adamant, and it requiret , a grasp like that of a giant to rend them' asunder. Of all ~ the cala !Office of life, the most touching and ter riffle to behold is human reason in ruins, hurled from the exalted throne by the paralizing power of intemperance., . Thank Heaven; the spirit of glorious temperance has; ohe forth into the gar dens of America, and an effort is being made ~ which- will save millions from dis graceful graves, dry up the team of the weeping wife, and soothe the anguish of the weeping Mother, who has so long lamented the eareer of her wretched sons. Thank .11eaven, the time has arrived when .the catalogue of crime be oblit erated ; when the gallant end gifted will rescued from rhin - , and the reckless will not dare to outrage public opinion: - ! Oh baltimore, mother of monuments and moral reformation, march praise is thine, for thy mighty efforts in the cause of temperance.: Other cities will folloW thy example, and' ere long we hope to be hold our country freerrom a curse, more fatal to the fame, fortunes, and -eternal salvation of man, than any other that ev er disgraced the annals of burden error. Oh! what a beautiful world werethis, were the demon of dissipation exiled from the earth, and the spirit of teMpe ranee tnumplient. Man, redeemed from this curse, would rise in the scale of he ing ; the ' serpent that crawled over the cradle or Eden _would no longer tempt him to error, and virtue would preside over the hopesi and happiness of .the hu man heart. The red arm of repine and revenge would no longer reek with hu man gore, nor the gleamy walls of the dungeon echo the groans of the. con science-stricken. wretch. Intipstry, pros , perity and happiness would rise from the ruins of degradation and' disgrace, and peace, like a clove, carry couselaticil`tO thousands,lyed Millions, who mourn.. 'Go oq,. then, ye ,pioneers in the great ,cause of human happiness. Relax not , 3iour • efforts,,,, until the strong towers of Intemperance! hall lie level with the= dust, and the beautiful temple offempe ranee shall, rise upon its ruins and stand to all 'future - ages the - admiration Of the. World. , r. • • / TREATMENT OF SCARLET r In letter Ifrom Mr: Edward — Chaplin, 0, eSt. Helena, South Carolina, recent ly published in die - Charleston Mercu ry be descibes the following treatment for' Searles Fever, as having been emi niiitlY itteceisfal. He says ..out of thirtyitour caies' where administered the Jalap,l mit - one remained in bed more than; one day." • 4. Direcliorts--Immediately on the first syniptotria, whieh, is a Sof* throat, give a lulUdoie Of jalap; to.artudult ty, seventir,.or even eighty grains. ;at night givo i strUng red pepper tea, from a tea cup ,to. a pint, according to age and violence_pf the sytiptonis s ; the onezt.day 'give a smell "dose'-of; jalap; say half the-quantity.given the,day be fore. continne the popPer;tea *night ; On the third ; (Ny ~if there is , any. soreness remaining" iti ' `theihroat; give .a dose of salts, which Ivillgenarally effect a cure; the doses' of Course moat be - regulated atoordintta the lige•of the PStient." IffusiciL.--44 Smith, mud' a New York Judge,-` l when :about 10 'sentence a . ciilprit•hut. just arrived: in country, Smith, I shall have 0. send you to 'Slug Sing."?Judge," . .,said he; have,a very bad cold just at this par ticalar dine, sod I would rather be expi 'sed fronCeiliginuuntil -, k - get' over my titlarEc*Sso if it,'o!,2lllfitioiiolne 20 y011. 2 -' • • ; -1 . e eoagazta.zt Gum, =III -.The young and-r osy-footed )Spring, with all its freshness andl;fAauty k is breaking brightly 'OPon Us. Its many toned voices are heard echoing thrthigh *the grovi,and,forest, and ,ruakieg our hearts, glad by their sweetness and 'lovely_ melody. - The limpid - istreime, freed froth their icy bOnds,-are leaping aloivg in every' jOy uE freedoni, and breathing music in , the!r gentle caden ces. The feathered choristers ;; of na ture are. making ' their'sylvan . homes vocal with their .untaught minstrelsy, and sending , up the incense ,of praise in song to God. Every season has its moral and its • type. Spring- ,. --with its blooming flow er', its beautiful landscapes, its bright full dreamy sunshhie,its circulean skies, its fragrance and. its *dome !--Thow emblematic of the adolescence nf infan cy and childhood-- when Hope, with rain-bow hues, weaves' its fairy wreath o'er the chinded future--when the young heart, unschooled in the wiles of. deceit and free from the turbulence of passion and ambition, revels in its lit. tle world pf innocence - and joy.! Summer and autumn, too,,have their bright skies and their mellow sunlight, but they bring with then the sober re-' elides of riper - years. The freshness of the young year_ has Iled,and a bit ter drop mingles with the cup that was once all sweetness to the taste 'and brilliance to the eye. The ideal crea tions of the glowing imagination, have lost their fair_ proportions, and wear a sadder and a sterner tinge • and the Harvests of Life, seen th rough the meridiarhof Hope, has not been realiz ed in its fulness. Rank weeds arid tares have sprung np in the,spot which delusive fancy decked with flowers and shrubbery—aid p a in and cate.ocCupy the foreground, instead of joy and bliss, • ' Then comes old winter, With 'his hoar frosts and bleak and -.chilling airs. that bear no fraarance on their wings. How symbolic of that ..second _ infancy and mere oblivion" .of the lest of seven ages of man, ere Death, in pity of his dotage and infirtnities,4 drops the cur tain over the - diante- of this. strange. eventful history, and the solemn 'epi logue is rehearsed. - If we could look into the . heart: Of a girl when she first begins to love, we should find the nearest resemblance 'to what poetry has described as the state of our parents when in. Paradise Which this life ever presents. Ail is .then eolored with an atmosphere of beauty and light, or. if• a passing cloud sailiracross' the azute sky, reflecting a transitory shadow on the scene below, .it is but to be swept away by the next balmy gale, which leaves the picture more lovely for this momentary, interruption of its stillness and repose..- But that which coustitmei the essential eharnrof a first, attachment is its perfect disinterestedness. She who entertain? this sentiment, lin its profound est character, lives no longer for herself. In all her aspirations, her hopes, her en ergies-7—in all her noble flaring, her con fidenceAer enthusiam, her fortitude,'her .own interest is absorbed by the interest of another. for herself, and in her own charaeter alone, Ole is, nt the same time, retiring, meek mid humhle—content to. be neglected by the whole world—,des nised, forgotten or contetnnedso that to one being only she. may t3iill be ill in all. ' And is this love to be slightly spo ken of, or harshly dealt with? Oh, no! but it bas'nlanY a rough blasi to encoun ter vet, and an insidious enemy to copewith, before it can be stamped - with the seal of faithfulnesi ; and until then, Who can distintruish the ideal from the true ?' • • AFFECTATION ETTRAORDINARir.4--1 . 14 Mamma,! exclaimed a beautiful girl. who had suffered affectation to obscure the' little intelligent she iiosseased.: what is that long green thing lying,on: - the dish before P - • 4! Acucumber, .my - beloved Georgi ana,"'replied the mamnia,"with a blind smile of' approbation on - her darling's commendable nurtosity.. - “,A. 'cucumber! gracious goodness:. -my dear mama.' how very extraordini. : ryi. . : I ;always ituagined. - until thiS moment, that they.grew , in slices l" TAXING A POETICAL LICENBB.---18 8 church yan.l in•theNonli Enginnd is an epitaph on . John Newtown Pile* lies. (alas!) and tutee's the pity, ; • 4P thai Wmarns orlotin New The :poet v.erYhandsoglelY,lkekilioWt edge* thnpooticai license,. he haa .!aken 16.114 notabeve e. The•inites nitne . - ' . . „ inn EN MEN IN ME MEE - ,<- lEEE FICDo . O.De LOW.