;-.7aDazaTz..z4l
gi s anthropie Roars.
frelas I could blot
.1 rd mankind from earth— •
o re wrong to blast theni• not,
agratic. so shame their birth,
Mit earth should be 'so fair, •
gal and bright a thinf,
-re i'aould come forth and wear
a pparelling ;
..50, air should live and glow
-„ht and love and holiness,
..en never - feel or know
:tat a God can love or bless.:—
. oeir debt ofthankfulness.
the sun go down atd light
; 0 1s of gold pouied e on the s,ky—
arc tree and iIOWCLAVAS
, er y pulse was beating high
was gushing love,
44 for its home Above--
, a i_en men would soar, if ever,
t t *liomes of thought and soul,
! . ,jZ! degratling ties should sever,
,f spirit spurn to control—
., iitle I seen, oh how my cheek
.4 Rah the shame I feel,
truth is in the words I speak,
my felloix-creatures steal
. to their unhallowed mirth,
•
±e revelries of earth
i that they-could feel . or share,
r!orious heaven were scarcely worth
ssing notice or their care
•
I,WaS a worshipper
la's shrine—yet even there
unworthiness of thought,
en I deemed I had caught
'nee of that holy light
Takes earth beautiful and bright . ;
es of tire their flashes sent ;
lips looked eloquent
g turned and 'wept to find 7
all agrifling mind.
;le of those high halls,
anius breathed in'sculptered stone,
led light in softness falls
beauty. • They were gone
!arts of fire and hands of skill
, ought such power—but they spoke
; cvery feature still
,sh lips breath'd and dark . eyes woke
'on cheeks flashed glowingly
s i td !tition. I had knelt
Titk Mary at the tree
iesus suffered—l had felt
lood gushing to my brow
tern buffet of the Jew ;
Se lord of glary bow,
id for sins he never knew ;
wept. I thought that all
like me—and when there came
bright and beautiful,
p of grace and eye of flame,
I look most sweetly bent .
:r presence eloduent.
looked for tears. We stood
scene of Calvary,—
reing spear—rhe blood
-the 'writhe of agony—
z,unering lips in prayer,
Le.;ve thern,"—all was there.
`-:rness of soul,
r~eyfJesus. I had thought
TOUlti refuse control :
ill's heart, I knew was fraught
sympathies: She gaze 4
on it carelessly,
:url'd her lip, and praisedN \
siest's garment ! Could it be
was Meant;dear Lord, for thee!
team—what her smile—
love—her eyes of light,—
if her lips revile
• Jesus ? ' Love may write
m her marble brow
in her curls of jet—
;rin g , flower may scarcely bow
sr step, and yet—and yet—
meeker grace she'll be
, g than vanity.
Evtoing.
a of brightness and the noon ?
tg with her shining hair;?
11 flooded with the moon?
(besides thae! ,- , riet and fair?
'u ht now su ,.% file y . rhyme,
td ski, sweet evening time.
is filled with crowds and strife,
with many a soaring song;
night is waked' te life,
and many a merry throng ;
and song, and bell's soft chime,
set at Evening time.
tight wanders up the eky ;
rote the 'darkness flying?
Yoe music? 'Tis the sigh
'a tise 'ti e dying
I , ply soul ; let's weave a rhyme
sad, sweet Evening time.
474
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1
The Last Bachelor.
It was on New Year's Eve in 1820,
that twelve young professional men sat
around the table of a club room at sup
per. The cloth had been removed.
and nothi - ng was left :upon the mahoga
ny but an eipressivd black bottle, and
a single thin spirituelle looking glas to
each member.
The Old South -struck eleven, and
the last hour' of the year was hailed
with an uproarous welcome.
" A bumper, gentlemen," said Har
ry St. John, the "sad dog" of the
club, " brim your beakers, my friends,
and let every man boa under the table
when b the ghost of the old year passes
over."
" No, no !" timidly remonstrated
Earnest Gourlay, a pate graduate just
from the University, who sat modestly
'at the bottom of the: table, " no, no ! it
is a sad hour not a Merry one ! Cork
the bottle till after • twelve ! We have
lost too many hours of the year to
throw away the last! Let us be ration=
till the clock strikes, at least, and then
drink if you will. For my part, I ne 7
.ver pass these irrevocable periods with
out a chill at my heart. Come. St.
John, indulge the this time ! Push
back the bottle !" Tlie dark eyes of
the - handsome student flashed as he
looked around, amfth.e•wild spirits of
the club were sobered for a moment—
only !
" Good advice," said Fred Esperel,
a young physician, breaking the silence,
‘• but, like my own pills, to be taken at
discretion. Sink Moralizing, I say.—
There are times and places enough
when we mhst be grave. I, for one,
will never mope when I can be merry ;
what say, O'Lavender ? - Fill your
glass and trump my philosophy."
"Smother me !,bu t-you're all wrong,"
hiccupped the dandy, who was always
sentimental in his cups, " Gourlay,
there,—l am shocked at your atrocious
cravat, by the way, Earnest—Gourlay
is nearer to it—but—but he smacks of
his, vocation ! No preaching, let us
be—pass the bottle, _Tom—sober:—
Send for a dozen " white top," and
when the clock strikes tw twelve—how
those olives make me stutter !—seal- - it
up, solemnly, for the last surviving
m-m-member—solemnly-. I say !"
What's the use 7 thundered Tom
Corliss," who, till the third bottle, had
not spoken a word, and from sundry
such symptoms was strongly suspected
to be in love, who would drink it? not
I faith! What, sit down when eleven
such fellows slept without their pil•
lows," to drink ! It's an odd taste of
yours, my dear marcaroni! It would
be much better to travestie that whim,
and seal'a bottle of vinegar for the last
bachelor !"
The proposition was received with a
universal shout of approbation. The
vinegar.was ordered, with pen, ink and
paper, Gourlay wrote out a bond by
which every member bound himself to
drink it, in case it fell to his lot, on the
knight the last man, save - himself, was
married ; and after passing round the
table, it Was laid aside with its irregu
lar signature's, till twelve.—As the
clock struck, the seal was set upon the
bottle, -and after a somewhat thought
ful bumper, the host was called, and the
deposit with its document was formally
charged to his keeping.
* • *
It was on the last night of 1830, that
a-gentleman, slightly corpulent, and
with here and there a gray hair about
his temples, sat down alone at the club
table in Street, with'' a dusty bot
tle and single glass before him. The
rain was beating violently against the
windows, and in a pause of the gust,
as he sat with his hands thrust deeply
into his pockets, the solemn tones of
the old South, striking eleven, reached
his ear. He started, and, .seizing the
bottle, held it up to the light, with a
contraction of the muscles of his face,
and a shudder of disgust quite incom
prehensible to tho solitary servant wlio
wolted his pleasure.
•
01 You r
- •••
,sy leave the room, William,"
said he: and as the door closed, he drew
from his pocket• a smoky. time-stained
manuscript, and a number of letters,
and threw them impatiently on the ta
ble.. After sitting' a moment and tight
ening his coat about him in the manner
of one who screws up, his resolution
with some difficulty, he filled his glass
from the bottle, and drank it with a sud-.
ded and hysterical gulp.
".Pah ! it cut like a sword. • end- so
here I am-4the last bachelor !
,1 little
thought it ten years ago, this . night.—
How fresh iqis in my mind:!—Ten
years, since I put . the seal on that hot
tie with my- own hand. .
seems im-:
Regardless of Densinciation from any Quarter.—Gov. PORT BR,
citiOWLSYSLa9 I:3aULTKAIIM dreSSUU 9 INSI9O SSOVIELIE2MI2 brs, 0.8441.
possible. How distinctly I remember
those dozen rascally Benet'lots who are
laughing at me .to-night, sea.ted round
this very table, and roaring et my pro
position ! • All married—St John, and
Fred Esperel, and little Gourley, and
to--night, " last of all, little
vender has
got before me. And I am--it's useless
to deny_it—the old bachelor. I, Tom
Corliss, that am as soft injoy nature as
a " Milk diet !" I. that:could fall in
love any time in my • life, from mere
propinquity ! 1, that have sworn—
and broken—more vows than Mercury!
I. that never saw a bright eye, nor
touched a delicat,e finger, nor heard a
'treble voice without making love pre
sently to its owner ! I, Tom Corliss,
an,old bachelor ! Was it for this I
flirted with you, ——? Was it
lot' this I played shadow three nights
successively to you, ? Was
it for this, oh— that I flatter
ed you into the, belief that you was a
wit, and found you in puns a fortnight
to keep up the illusion? Was it for
this I forswore laughter, oh serious
and smothered your mother
with moral saws ?- Was it for this, I
say, that I have danced with time out
of-mind-wall-tiowersi and puckered my
wits into birth-day rhymes, and played
groomsman monthly and semi-monthly
at an unknown expense for new ker
seymeres and bridal serenades ? - Oh,
'Tom Corliss ! Tom Corliss! thou
hest beaten the bush for every body,
but hest caught no bird thyself !
And so, they, have each written me
a letter, as they promised. Let me
see : ,
DEAA TOM—How is the hippocrene?
I think I see vou with the.;:- bottle
be
fore you!. Who would have dreamed
that you'weuld drink it ? • lam married
as you know, and my. children sing
• k ‘ we are seven." I ant very happy—
very. My wife—you know her—is a
woman of education and knows every
thing. I can't say but she knows too
much. Her learning does pester me,
now and then—l confess I think if I
were to marry again, ,it would be a
woman that did n't read Greek. Fare
well, Tom. Marry add be virtuous.
Yours, HARRY.
N. B. Never marry a " woman of
talents."
Ha! ha! happy—very happy."—
Humbug my dear Harry ! Your wife
is a blue, and vrirulent as verdigris and
you are the most unhappy ofßenedicts,
So much for your crowing,—We'll
see another :
Tom, I pity thee. Tnou poor, flan
nel wrapped, forsaken, fidgetty bache
lor ! drink thy vinegar and grow amia
ble !. Here am I, blest as Abraham.—
My wife is the most innocent—that's
her fault, by the way—the most inno
cent creature that lives. She loves me
to a foolish degree; Site has no opin
ion but mine, no will of her own—ex
cept such as I give her, you under
stand—no faults and no prominent pro
pensities: lam as happy as I can ex
pect in this- sad world.—Marry, Tom,
marry. "The world must be peo
pled." ~
Thine ever, FRED.
N. B. Don't marry a woman that
is remarkable for her simplicity."•
I envy not thee, Fred Esperel ! Thy
wife is a fool, and thy children, egre
gious ninnies, every one ! Thou
wouldst give. the whole bunch of their
carroty herds for thy liberty agllin,
Once rne;re
Tor.), .my lad, get married ! " Maid
marry," you know, is like Jeremiah's
figs, the good very good "—the rest of
ttie quotations is inapt. My wife is
.the prettiest woman in the parish. , I
wish she was'nt, by the way-!—my
house is the resort of all the gay fellows
about town. I'm quite the thing—my
wife is, that is to say—every where.
I am excessively happy—excessively
—assure yourself of that. I grow thin,
they say, but that's age. And I've
lost my habit of laughing, but that's
proper, as I'm warden. On the whole,
however, Pm tnlerf o l y
"-'
contented, and
. —4la. I shall live these ten years, if
my wife settles down, as"she will, you
know. Cod bless von, Tom. How
is the vinegar ? LYell, marry mind
.that.
Yours always, G.
N. B. I would n't marry a beauty,
Tom.
Poor Gourlay ! His wife's a belle,
and he's as jealous as Illuebeard--:dy
ing absolutely of conNnion.. It's eat
ing him up by inches. Hang the let
ters !, they make me melancholy. One
more, and I'll throw the boding things
into the fire.
MN SWEET TO3I-1 hope the. gods
have promised thee a new weasand.—
The vinegar imprtwev, doubtless, by
age. It must be a satisfaction.too. that
it is nectar of your own bottling. Here
I am, the happiest dog that is coupled.
My wife—l took warning from Gour
lay—is not run afterpy a pack of pup
pies. She's not handsome, heaven
knows—l wish she were a trifle pret
ties—but she's as good as Dorcas.—
Alt ! how we walk and talk, evenings.
I prefer that time, as I can imagine her
pretty ; when • I ,don't see her, you
know, Tom. And how we sit in the
dim light of the boudoir, and gaze at
each others just perceptible figure, and
sigh ! Oh, Tom ! marry, and be
blest, as I am !
Yours truly,' PHIL.
P. S. Marry a woman that is at
least pretty, Tom. -
\The gods forbid that I should marry
one like yours, Phil ! She is enough
to make one's face ache! And so you
are all discontented—one's . wife is too
smart, another's too simple, another's
too pretty, and another's too plain !
And what might not mine have been,
had I too been irreparably a husband !
Well—l am an old bachelor." I
did n't think it though, till now. And
is it_my lot, with all my peculiar fitness
for matrimony, with all my dreams of
woman, my romance, rity skill in phi
landering, is it my lot to be laid on the
shelf, after all ? Am I to be shunned
by sixteen as a bore, to be pointed at
by schoolboys as an old bachelor, to be
invited to superannuated tea-drinkings;
to be quizzed with solicitations for
foundling hospitals, to be asked of my
rheumatisni, and pestered for snuff,and
reicommended to warm chairs? The
gods pity me !
But not so fast ! What is the pro=
digious difference ! What if I were
married ! I should have to pay for a
whole house instead of a part, to feed
heaven knows how many mouths in
stead of one, to giTe up my whole bed
for a half or quarter, to dine at another's
hour and not my own, to adopt anoth
er's friendship and submit my own to
her pleasure, to give up my nap after
dinner for a room with a child,.to turn
my library into into a nursery, and my
quiet fire into a Babel, to call on my
wife's cronies, and dine my wife's fol
lowers, and humor my wife's palate,
at the expense of my own cronies,
followers, and palate. But there's
domestic felicity," says the imp at my
elbow, .‘ and interchange of sentiment,
and sweet reliance, and the respecta
bility:of a man with a family, and duty
to the state, and perpetuation of name,
and, comfort, and attention, and love."
Prizes in a lottery—all! and a whole
life the price of a ticket!
And why not live single, then. What
should I have then, which I cannot
have how. Company at my table ? I
can have it when Ilike, and what is
better, such as I like. Personal atten
tion ? Half a wife's pin-money will
purchase the most assiduous. Love ?
What need have I of that ? or hoW
long' oes it lastwhen it is compulsory ?
IS.there a treasure in my heart that will
canker if it is not spent ? Have I affec
tions that will gnaw like hunger if they
are not fed ? Must I love and be belov
ed ? I think not. But this is the rub,
if there be one. I'll look into it the
first day I feel metaphysical.
WESTERN ELOQUENCE.—The fol
lowing extract from a speech of a ;,yes,
tern lawyer, we find in the Wheeling
:
Gaiette. It is a caVaal burlesque
!' The law expressly declares,: gen
tlemen, in the beautiful language of
Shakspeare, that where no doubt exists
of the guilt of the prisoner, it is your
duty to lean on the side of instinct and
fotch him in innocent. If you keep
thii fact in view in the case of my cli
ent, gentlemen, you will have the hon
or of making a friend of him and all
hilrrelations, and you can idlers lock
upon this occasion, and reflect with
pleasure that you did as yott would
have Been done by ; hut if, en *:ne oth
r you disregard till' 7 e rinciple of
law, and set at nought m; elegant re
marks, and fetch hie' ;r1 guilty, the si
lent twitches of
mr.science will follow
you all over eve ry fair cornfield. I reck
on,"injured and down-trodden
client an d w
i my
i :ihe apt to light on you one of
these Bark nights, as my cat lights on .
a dosser full of new :milk !"
EASILY PLEASED.—An Arkansas be
ro.was lately convicted othorse steal
ing, and when sentence had been pass
ed on him, he took a survey of the
Court room, and gave vent to his feel
ings after the following manner
Well, this rather the briskest place I
ever did see. Travelled fifteen miles
this morning—stood an election, and
unanimously voted by• twelve men to
be maintained at the public expenie for
two years", by—.:"
I Narket for Whir.
In the district of flemin Sooar, a
mountainous country, inhabited entire.
ly by the Berber tribes of Morocco,
there is ones place, where. during the
fair, a barterof a very curt us kind
takes place. Thio fair is field once a
year, and is chiefly resorted to for the
purpose of, bachelors findino wives,
1 9
married men adding to their matrimo
nial treasures, and the maidenti of wid
ows getting ; husbands. In fact, the
whole affair resolves itself into; the wo
men selling themselves ; but to escape
the ignominy of such a procedure, the
traffic is carried on in the following
manner :—Each lady, desiring to en
ter into wedlock, dresses'herself in her
best and most becoming attire,land tak
ing with her a piece of cloth of her own
weaving., sits down unveiled in the mar
ket place. The men, both young - and
old, who are candidates for matrimony,
parade about, examining the texture of
the cloth displayed by the ladies, and
scrutinizing the same time their looks
and behavior. Should the customer be
pleased with the maiden, he inquires
the price of the cloth; she replies by
naming what she would expect as a
dowry, and the amount of this she rais
es or depresseS, according as he candi
date for her heart may please her, re
sorting to the demand of an exorbitant
sum should she be averse to the pur
chaser. During this barter the enam
ored swain is able in some degree to
judge of her temper and character. If
they come to an agreement, the parents
of the girl are appealed toland they
have the right of assent ; 'the parties
adjourn to a public notary, the contract
is made, and the purchased bride is
carried off to her new home. In this
traffic, widows are at a low rate price
:
in general, and divorded adies sell
their cloths very cheap. The wife
thus purchased cannot be r sold, how
ever much the purchaser nay repent
his bargain. She is his lawful wedded
wife, and retains the purchase money,
which is her jointure or doivry. It is
evident that this curious system of bar
ter has been resorted to by these Ma
homedan mountaineers as
l a means of
evading the law of the Prophet, which
interdicts all courtship before marriage.
1
Lawyers.
Bless me, Cried a stranger, on en
tering a court room, how imany law
yers haVe you ; hew is! it possible
that half this number can find employ
ment 1
.Nothing 'so easily conceived,
said a by;-slander; they live by watch
ing each other. I conceive,say s the stran
ger, hoW the case stands. The catch
pole—watelfes the culprit, the attorney
the catchpole, the counsellor ( the at
torney, and the solicitor the counsellor.
You put. me in mind, says the by-stan
der, of a fable I read when I tv,s at
school. which was this :
A grasshopper, wet with dew, was
merrily Singing under a leaf, a wangam
that eat . grasshoppers, was just stretch
ing forth' to devout' it ; a snake t ht
eats wangams lay coiled u? ready to
fasten upon the wany.;an ; the hawk
that eats snakes trl d . just stooped film
above to seize the snake ; ail 4,uieily
intent u r s e - on their prey, and unmindful
of l'...eirdang,er, Just at the same mo
ment, wangam eat the grasshopper, the
snake'eat the wangam, the hawk eat
the snake, when soaring from on high,
a vulture gobbled up the hawk, snake,
grasshopper, wangath and all.
A CAUTIOUS 'AVlDowEit.—ln a. vil
lage in IPicardy, after a long sickness,
a farmer's wife fell into a lethargy.—
Her htisband was willing, good man,
to believe her out of pain and so,. ac
cord:mg to the custom of the country,
sl'.e was wrapped in A sheet, and car
ried out to be buried. But, as ill hick
would have it. the bearer carried her
so near a hedge, that thorns pierced
the sheet, and waked the" woman from
her trance. Some years after, she died
in reality ; and as the funeral passed
along he husband 'would every now
and th n call out-'t not too near the
neighbori---not too 'near the
hedge r '
_
PAYABLE AT SIGHT:-" Bob, have
you seen Mr, Brown lately ?"
"No, Jim. I havn't—why ?"
\hy, I have a note of his, and he.
ing short of funds, should like to find
"'The note is good, is not!"
yes ; good as . gold,l suppose,
but there's a difficulty nevertheless.—
It reads •• at sight I promise to pity,"
&q. Now I don't say anything against
the note, but blow,,nae if I have had a
stghCat - him since be gave it to me ;
and Probably have again as long
as I live."
{3V as 00 aqyacQztezt owt.
The Factory Girl.
1 have - seen myself, on the third
floor of a wooden factory at Tariffville,
in Connecticut, the daughter—the or
phan daughter, of an Episcopal cler
gyman—the own niece of . the poldest
Episcopal Bishop of the United States,
the late Bishop Griswold of Massachu
setts, so engaged ; and the fair Ger
trude—and fair she was—her brow as
Parian marble—her eye dark and bright,
and full like thr Gazelle'S and
"The mind beamed forth showed a counte-
name
Radiant with pure light ethereal."
She felt none the less good. or vir
tuous, or - respectable, that with the la
bor of her hands she assisted to give
supportlo a widowed mother in declin
ing health,. and two or three young or
phan sisters. She was thus at work -
when I saw her on what was the old
mill-seat lor'her grandfather,- who had
owned the country for a circuit of two,
miles round. I may mention here, as
exposing that silly argunient of the
poor against the rich—that I have heard
my fathersay, that when a boy he took
a g rist to th e same old mill, that Mr.,
afterwards tishopGriswOld, Was mow
ing' in an adjoining field ;- he ; hunt , his
scythe upon an apple -tree, took ° the
grist off his horse . ,:ground it, put" t4te-'t
bags on, and started him home. My,
father subsequently studied Greek and
Latin, with Mr. Griswold, and came
to the bar, while the miller became a
Bishop, and deceased but a few months
since, with
-the reputation of being one
of the most learned' and respectable di
vines in the Episcopal Church.—C. P.
Holcomb. - -
True Female Nobility.
The,woman, poor and ill clad as she
may be, who •balances her income
expenditure—who toils and sweat's
in unrepining mood among her well
trained children, and presents them.
morning and evening, as an offering of
love to her husband in rosy health. and
cheerfulness, is the most exalted of her
sex. Before her shall the proudest
dame bow her jewelled head, and the
bliss of a happy heart dwell with her
forever. IT there is one prospect dear
er than another to the soul of man—if
there is one act more likely to bend the
proud •and inspire the broken hearted
—it is for a smiling wife to meet her
husband at the door with his host• of
happy children. How it stirs up ate
tired blood of an exhausted man when
he hears a rush of many feet upon the
stair case—when the crow and the carol .
of their yonng voices mix in glad con
fusion—and the' smallest mounts and
sinks into his arms "amidst a mirthful
shout. It was a bald from every
countenance that beamed around the
group. There was a joy and a blessing
there.
REVERSING A CUSTOM.--II itherta,
the son has generally succeeded the,
father in his positions and possessions.
The late election for Governor of Ohio,
furnishes . an instance reversing this
very natural and proper arrangement.
The Hon. Th. %V. Bartley, is now
Governor of Ohio. His father, Mot.
decai Bartley, has beetle lected by the
Whigs, and will soon succeeded his
son in the Gubernatorial chair of Ohio:
These are truly days- of strange events.
EARLY MARRiAGE.--TaCittlS says,
Early marriage makes us immortal.
It is the soul and chief prop of the em
pire. That man who. resolves to live
without a wife, and 'that woman, who
resolves to live without man, are ene
mies to the community in Which they
dwell—injurious . to- thmselies, •de
struetive to the whole world, apostates
from nature. and rebels against heaven
and earth
nEMEHBER THE WHEEL.—Let our
rich men remember that their own off
spring may sometimes be poor. His
tory tells of an ancient conquerer, who
having harnessed several kings to his
triumphant chariot, noticed one 'id them
frequently looking hack, and watching
the wheel. The conquerer asked him
why he did so. I was thinking. said
he., him. quick the top of that wheel
would come down into the dust, and
the part now down, would be on the
top. The conquerer unharnessed him.
Rich men ! remember the wheel. .
C:o.r Ott Ihn.—•'.Loot;-heap, Jake.
how you get dat hole in do slee'oe of
your new coat?"
• liole--wharl.war? I doesn't`• see
~ n o hole in de sleebe." •
..xMott doesn't sees tt prays, but y
jtes
got one—bi , ^one too—big error
oh to
put your arm froo."
! I mu.
A 'fC3S yoa
get me dar, nourati."
Mrao 14.140