1 II N -722 U Wi1011213D&5293 •i' ‘ VMo '7O [From the Newark Daily Advertiser.] Haman 'Life. - 4h! what is lifer a vessel driven „Across Time's Wild and storm-swept tea, ~a b elmed, nnmasted, sails are riven To sink at 'last, no more to be! t thing of nameless destiny from nothing sprung, to nothing born— vies to vice and misery ; provoking pity less than scorn ',Dy foul in, heart, not less than deed, Whom guilt alone prompts thus to think That lead.like helps the soul to sink: - -ney pushed by passion, to the brink Of sin' s abyss, leap madly down; ' - sAnd then there's naught from which to shrink, S. dreadful as their maker's frown. • < `g - The Tears depart, and with them gol The frierids we love—ah whither !lied? 'jawarned, mysterious breezes blow, That waft to regions of the dead : Gained they the port with sails all spread, Where sky doth mingle with the main ; Where teem once wiped no more are shed Then life is lots, and death is gain. Ily God ! what bitter tsars I poured Above a father!ce.orse of late; The heaviest loss e'er son deplored— . The darkest of tho frowns of fate ; The grief that maketh desolate— And with the sweet blood mingleth gall When fear and unbelief were great, And eve* , faith-born comfort small. Sleep is a mystery, no.less Than death, and may bestow A sense and function like to this, WhiCh waking we can never know; May lift the veil that hides and show The secrets of the world unseen Which makes the life-blood freeze or glow; Share converse held the dead between. S'haje of my sire ! oh nightly hless )Cy pillow,. in that. radiant guise I saw thee once, when comfortless; And with rapturous surprise Thee. rapt new corner from the skies With oath-like emphasis declare 'NUT ALL TLIAT'iI GBilT lIN GOODN[SB LIES, AND ALL THAT'S SWEET AND ALL THAT'S DM Tost on the waves af Time and change, 'That roll and rock and rush and rave: Engulphing all within their range,— Each billowy vale, a mighty grave: Yet hands I see, stretched out to save ; There far within you-azure cope As born along on topmost wave— Cast strongly forth thine anchor, Hope Cast all on God when worst ills frown: Fo'r neither can thy burden small. 't Nor multitude of worlds weigh down • :The Godhead underlying all: Oh thou upstarting at Heaven's call, Scram up the mount that's summitleaa, 14'6resunbeams ever flash and fall— Sky-piercing mount of holiness. LOU Unchanging. And is it just or kind; my mother, To break my heart to soothe ydar own?. And *bald you give me to another Thlin him I love, and love alone ? :! Shall I bb fhlse to every feeling, To every;plighted word untrue—% And with poor smiles my thoughts concealing, I ' Bestow this wedded heart anew 1 never loved but once—no never 1 And when a heart like mine is given, It fondly lot'es and loites forever,- - tinchanging as the truth of heaven. Before the sacred marriage altar, With him alone, hand linked in hand, 'dastained by trust that cannot falter, Dear mother will yoUr daughter stand Then deem it not that such love perish, By any change, or time, or chance,— For I can never cease to cherish : . The thoughts you vainly call " romance." tadimmed will grow my true devotion, Now rendered to. his dearest name— nifaded bloom each sweet emotion, - Through life, through life—the same, the - same_! • Pretty. The earth hath treasures fair and bright, .Deep buried in her Caves, And ocean hideth many a gem, 'With his blue curling wavers ; Yet not - within his bosom dark, / Or 'math the dashing foam, Lives there a treasure equalling A crokhl of love at home. Oa a ,Dattdr. • A dandy is a chap that would ;.; Be a young lady it he could But as he can't, does all he tats 'c9 ahoy' the world hes not a men. . 0 to rte' 0 c4 , 24 ... A %--. D . 0. _ l ir or Lore and the Pledge. A young gentleman and a fair 'girl Were seated in thoughtful and empai fassed silence, in a fine house in Ches nut street, studying the fire that glowed in comfortable quiet in the grate. At length, the lady said, in a low and hur ried voice, while her eye was steadfast ly turned away from- her companion, after a furtive glance : "James, I have considered your proposals long and seriously since I saw you ; for my happiness as well as yours depended upon the decision, and I am obliged to say that I cannot ac cept them." Cannot, Anna ? Do you doubt my love, dearest? Surely you do not." " No, James ; I do not doubt rOur love, nor do I deny that my own feel ings plead against the decisicin lam constrained to make." Your feelings plead forme ! Why, how then can you reject my hand 1— Am I not worthy your love, of your esteem ? Why do you despise me !" Ido not .despise you, James ; we can still be friends." Then you love another ; for surely you would not grant your friendship to one who was unworthy of you. Tell me the truth ; be candid—do you love another." " 1 do not." "Then why this, determination?— What is the reason of your conduct ? You tell me that your feelings must be repressed to enable you to fulfill this resolution ? Of what have I been guil ty ?—Cannot I prevail upon you to change your opinion. If I have done anything to offend you, let me know it." James, you cannot alter my deter mination ; and you only cause me pain and excite yourself by argument against it." But will you not tell mo why you have come to this conclusion ?" Do not ask, me, James ; it would only offend you, without doing you the slightest good." It will not—indeed it _will not, however unjust and unkind ; I will not reproach you even with a look." " James," she answered, after a mo ment's silence, and her voice was sad, and seemed half smothered by a sob.— " James, you are too fond of wine !" " Fond of wine ! Is this your rea son ! When have I ever used wine to excess ? What harm have I done by drinking a few glasses of, wine ?" he replied angrily. " Who ever saw me . intoxicated ?" " You have been so, James." He hesitated, and, then continued— " But that was an accident ; and many, whom the world esteem, use wine more freely than I do, I never injured any one by drinking." " James, you have injured others by • your example. You have afflicted your mother and sister, and you would embitter the life of a wife by chance intoxication. James, lam not unrea sonable in this refusal ; it is beet for us both. Look at your sister, Alicia.— When she married, 'she knew that Mr. Herrick used wine, but she feared not the consequences. Now :look at her. All their comforts, every means of sub sistence, have been lost by the habits of her husband„ and she 'is hourly afflicted by The evil example he sets her children. Yes, by the .- lessons he gives them in vice 1, You have seen his little boy intoxicated by his father, to give pain to his wife and her family, open whose bounty he was living."f '` , But I never use wine as he did ; I will promise never to use it to ex cess." James, r dare not marry any man that uses any intoxicating drink." Well, persevere in your reasonable determination, but I will not be subject to your capricious government." James retired with the angry design of making Anna rue what she had said, by deliberately intoxicating himself, but judgment whispered in time to re stritin,him—that this would only be proving her opinion of him correct.— He resolved not to let her see him again improperly excited by liquor, while he at the same time purposed, by studious ly avoiding her, to show his incl4en dence of her esteem ; and although they met occasionally at parties, he ad hered to both of his resolutions, even while he felt piqued that she did not notice his neglect ; but one evening he was standing near her as the wine puls ed round, and observed that her eyes were upott him as approached; te show his superiority to her opinion, lie took a glass, and rejoiced that he had caught a glance of reptoach as she turned away. The , determination, painfully broken, Regardless of Denunciation from any Quarter. P _ OHM. cOOMZRIUDiks BIBEEKMIII3 OZIDTTUPSI . 9 3)&49 11.Mcir leo lißc. ceases to be a restraint, and James drank more 'freely - than'ever,- until her was excessively intoxicated. The next morning brought repentance and regret for the insult of the indulgence of _ap petite, but could not convineellirri that the appetite itself was false, and that'he should conquer it. Once more he al lowed himself to mingle in scenes of donviviality, until. his prudence was overcome by the allurements around him, and reason was bartered for a mo ment's enjoyment. One morning, as he was soberly re flecting over the folly of the preceding night, and questioning the propriety of continuing to use liquors, he received a summons from his sister, Alicia. In a mean and unfurnished house, in a poor and disreputable part of the city, James found the sister who had sent for him. She was - in bed, having been beaten by her husband for remonstrating with him against giving their little boy, who was barely six years old, whiskey.— The child was beside her on the bed, insensible from drink, and squalor and misery reigned in the abode of those who had been educated in affluence, but wasted their comforts by vice and heed leafiness. James could not see this without feeling the dangers that beset those who use alcohol ; and after he had done every thing in his power to make his 'sister comfortable, he sat down for a few moments and reviewed the past, whose present was developed in that room. Eight years before, his sister had married a man who was in profita ble business, but he,sometimes drank to excess. She hid married knowing this, and her husband continued to in dulge himself in liquor until he became an habitual drunkard. He failed, and had sunk down, gradually, to be a com plete sot, without one redeeming trait in his character ; brutal and insulting when most sober, and sacrificing every thing to obtain money for liquor. i. Anna was right," said James to himself, as , he rose from his chair.— "There can be no solid expectation of happiness for any woman that marries a man who uses liquor in any way. I will join the Temperance Society."— He immediately did so; and as he left the hall of the society, after signing the pledge, lie walked up to the residence of Anna. He found her alone, and was kindly but coldly received. After the first salutation, lathes laid the pledge upon the work-table before Anna, and said, There, Anna, may I now ask you to re-consider the an- Myer you gave me one month ago, when. I asked you to be mine? I have long been convinced that you were right; but my pride revolted against ad mitting it. I have, howevet, seen to day what forces me to give up pride to duty. Now may I not urge you to re-consider your answer ?" Anna bent low over the card, and tears filled her eyes as she read, but she looked smilingly up. ' 4, There is nothing for me to re-consider, James— nothing to.withdraw ; but you will let me ask for a brief proof of your resolu tion ?" Yes, dearest ! if you will be mine when the probation is over." She whispered faintly, "six months!" and yielded to the happy confidence of mutual affection. Six months passed, and they were married, and six years have since flown by, without causing either to regret that they have thought principle a bet ter guide than ungoverned and unre fleeting feeling in the selection of a partner for life. Christian. Education. We are hoping to form new men and women by literature and science ; but all in vain. We shall learn in time that moral and religious culture is the foun dation and .strength of all_ true' cultiva tion ; that we are deforming human nature by the means relied on for its growth, and that the poor who receives care which awakens their conscience and moral sentiments, start under hap pier auspices than the prosperous, who place supreme dependence on the edu cation of the intellect and taste. It is the kind,.not the extent of knowledge, by which the advancement of a human being must be measured, and • that kind which alone exalts a man is placed within the reach - of alt. Moral and Religious Truth—this is the treasure of the intellect, and all are poor without it.. This transcends physical truth as far as the Heaven' is -lifted' above the Earth. TRY tr.---Sage put into a closet, or any place frequented by those • trouble some little . visitors-fled Ants-,-will drive them. awa s-. "Shoppin g " Ladies. We happened to be ina dry good store the-oilier day when a lady enter ed, and enquired for some trifling • arti- ' cle, which was shown. The article was exariiined, laid down and another taken up. But we will describe what took place as near as possible. " I see," said the lady, " you adver tise some cheap ribbons ; _please let me see' them." (They were shown, and the Lady unrolls some half dozen' pieces.) What a beautiful calico! will you hand it down. (Examines it.)-- These are delicate _tousling ; what is the price ? Will they wash ? Are you sure ? What is the price of the shawl ? That is too high. 0 ! I want to look at some book muslins. (They were shown and turned over.) I forgot it, it is Swiss I wanted to see. (Swiss shown.) Are not those new patterns of delanes ? Do let me see them.— (Shown.) Now thael am here I may as well look at some fine cotton hose. (Shown four parcels.) Please show me a few samples of silk hoer). I was informed you had received a new lot of silks—dress silks ; will you let me see them, sir! (The clerk handed down and unrolled eight or nine pieces.)— W hat a lovely lace ! please let me see it. (Shown.) Have you no other patterns. (Others shown.) Well on ly think, it was thread lace I wanted, and this is cotton ; please let me aee your thread laces. (Shows a large box full, which were all examined.) I am sorry to give you so much trouble, but do let me see some of your best French kid gloves. (Several dozen shown and a half dozen pair pair tried on.) What an elegant tunic ; please let me see it. What is the price ? Is not that rather high ? Have you others ? (Others 'shown.) Really, I'm afraid you'll think I'm troublesome,— " Not at all," said the clerk, and blushed as he spoke it. But do let me see your Cashmere shawls. of the !merit style. (A dozen opened and examined; counter by this time piled up so that the clerk, who was rather short in stature, stood on his tiptoes to look over.) I would like to see some Irish sheetings. What a lovely embroidered packet handker chief—do let me see it. Lovely. Have you others ? (Others handed.) W hat's the price of this muslin ? " Ten cents a yard, ma'am." I'll take two yards. (The counten ance of the clerk lighted up as he mea sured it.). Let me see your sewing silk. How much a skein ? I'll take one. (3 cents.) 0, dear! I had al most forgotten I wanted to see your carpets. Piece after piece was unrolled —this piece had too much red and that too much green, the other too much blue ; the next was too high, and the other following too low—finally she said, I'll call again if I cannot suit my self better. The 23 cents worth was folded up, paid for, and when the clerk. handed the parcel to the lady, she abid, " Please send it to No. York street." I would madam," said the clerk, butlthe cartmen are all gone home." The lady left the store and the poor philosophical clerk set about his one hour's work to fold up and put away the tossed goods. We gave up—we thought the printer's devil's cry of copy —copy, was the most annoying thing in the world, but the practicedshopping lady goes ahead of it. To the above the New York Com mercial Advertiser offers the following as a set off:. Not so fast, neighbor, not so fast.— We have a word to say about the scene you have so graphically described.— Was the lady handsome, agreeable, in telligent ? "On your-honor, sir," was she not a good nat*d, elegant, educa ted, with a bewitching smile, dimpling her fair cheek, and as each request par ted her coral lips, was there not music in her si!very tones ? Aye, we thought as much- Well, then. we say the young gentleman had his reward, and was rather to be envied than pitied.— .. What a beautiful calico !" Why there's melody in the 'very sentence, though we hear not the sweet warbling of the lady's voice.. , Will they wash ?" we own, is.rather practical and prosaic, but no doubt her mamma bade her ask that question. and it. was amply. atoned for by the half mistrusting, half confid ing—" Are you sure ?" No wonder that our philoiophical" friend blush ed as avowed that it was no trouble to comply with the gently uttered wishes., . Nay, we even go further and aver a tonVietion that the young gentleman gained nitwit bx this pleasant interlude of his occupation, We . have uo doubt he had his-say in the matter, which °tit neighbor did not overhear;. or perhaps,' overhearing, has " cast discreetly into shade." At least he had an 'interview with a real heroine, when perhaps otherwise he would have been conning the pages of some miserable novel in chase of an imaginary one. Be that as it may, we must protest against any comparison between the harsh sound of the printer's devil, calling for "copy," and the feminine tenderness with which the lady whispered what a lovely lace." Supposed Con cealment of a Gold Nine by the Aborigines of Mexico. Tradition speaks of numerous and productive mines having been in opera tion in New Mexico before the explo sion of the Spaniards, m 1680, but that the Indians, seeing the cupidity of the conquerors had been the cause of their former cruet oppressions. determined to conceal the mines by filing them up and obliterating, as far as possible, all trace of them. This was done so ef fectually as is told, that, after the se cond conquest, (the Spaniards, in the mean time not turning their attention to mining pursuits for a number of years,) succeeding generations were not able to discover them agaio. In deed, it is now generally credited by the Spanish population, that the Pueblo Indians, up to the present day, are ac quainted with the locale of a great num ber of these wonderful mines, of which they most sedulously preserve the se= cret. Rumor further asserts that the old men and sages of the Pueblos periodi cally lecture the young men on this sub ject, warning them against discovering the mines to the Spaniards, lest the cruelties of the original conquest be re newed towards them, and they be for ced to toil and suffer in those mines as in days of yore. To the more effectu al preservation of secrecy, it is also stated that they have called in the aid of superstition, by promulgating ,the belief that the Indian who reveals the locations of the hidden treasures will surely perish by the wraths of their gods. Playing upon the credulity of the people, it sometimes happens that a roguish Indian will amuse himself at the expense of his reputed superiors in intelligence, by proffering to diiclose some of his concealed treasure. konce knew a waggish savage of this kind proffer to show a valley where virgin gold might be scraped up by baskets full." On a !night Sunday morning, the time appointed for the expedition, the chuckling Indian set out with a train of Mexicans, at his heels, provi ded with mules and horses. and a large. quantity of meal bags to carry in the golden stores : but as the shades of evening were closing round the party, he discovered that he believed - he could n't find the place. Knuchansenism. " I belong to a rifle company in Ver mont, 100 strong, called the "Mountain Peak Range's," and our Captain takes us out every week to practice; he draws us up in single file, and setting a cider barrel rolling down a steep hill, we commence shooting from right to left, by file at the bongh4e, as it comes up! You know stranger, this is pretty . quick work. We then shoot by sec tions, then by platoons and lastly by company. After the shooting is over, our captain examines the barrel, and if he finds a.single shot that did not enter the bunghole, the member who missed is expelled ; and I assure, you. sir, that I have belonged to thiicompany eight years, and there has not been a single member expelled, since 1 have been a monterr Plague. Some of the most memorable visita tions of this disease were ;—in the year 1348, ninety thousand perished in Ger many. - In 1352, fifty-seven thousand in England. In 1409, forty thousand in London alone. In 1499, thirty thousand in London. In 1517, it was computed that one half of the entire population of England cut off' by this scourge. In London, 30,000 died in 1604, and 35,000 in the year 1625. At Constantinople, 200,009 perished in 1611. At Lyons, in 1632, it NVIIB es; thuated that 60,000 perished, And in London, at the time of the great plague in 1665, More than 68,000 persons were swept away. Marseilles lost 18, 000 of .114.' population in 1720, and at Baso;a in Persia 80,000 died in the year 1113. TIOUT. Lscliio.--We once saw a lady laced 'in tigh - fthat, while stooping to pick up a pin, her stay gave way, and she tamed .threb soinersett in con segnence, It gave our natural mcalesty a shock. 144 oct . VOoDSla4lll C 160% Cheerfulness. The, ladies of England give a more practical exemplification of this virtue, than those of any other nation on the Globe.• -Their genuine sociability and cheerful mirth, contrast, strongly' with the surliness and ill-humor so-frequent ly attributed to the opposite sex of that country. The merry faces and ringing laugh of childhood, seem but softened and tempered down, in after life, while genuine sympathy, and social accom plishments, guided by a calm, even temper, spread happiness in every family circle. A stranger introduced, soon ceases to be one ; friendly inqui ries as to his welfare; cheerful ecinver sation, remarks calculated to draw forth his oivn views upon topics with which• he is conversant, soon combine to make• him feel " home" and among friends, and he leaves with a lively impression of a cordial_ reception which cannot be effaced. Itcauses an acknowledgement also of the full power of female influ= ence at the domestic hearth, The , cares of life are materially lightened, by greeting cheerful and happyfaces, with welcome conversation at our daily meats and when the business. of- the day is laid aside. • Who can compare the so cial board, with an assemblage of joy ful faces, cheerful conversation and merry laughter, so generally found in England, with the solemn bolting of a melancholy meal so prevalent here. without a strong preference for the for mer ? Although English satire upon this subject, is generally carried to-ex tremes, we cannot deny the existence of an' evil, within the power of our fair er sex to ameliorate, perhaps_destroy. Let them change that formal, chilling aemeanor, so frequently exhibited in their own circles, and towards stran gers, and adopt the cheerful, social ins tercourse, which characterises the la dies of England generally, with their cordial and ever ready sympathy for all, and a full reward will be found in a consciousness of their superior influence and power, while rendering home hap py, and being at all times the counsel lors of those who look to them fur sympathy,. friendship and love. Butter Makipg, MESSRS - . EDITORS :—One word on butter-making, if you please—Well do I remember what a task it was to churn, 'when I was a boy. It was ms lot to chop, and one cold day in the winter I was pounding away at the churn, and sweating-as I had for many a time be fore. ‘. Poor boy," said my mother. let me take hold, it is too hard work. I wish some way could be deVised to make our abutter come quicker." My father came along, and, hearing it, ol;- served—.. Sarah, it is too hard work. indeed ; and I have heard something about scalding milk, as a good plan : let us try it after this." And so scald ing was agreed upon. My mother was particular and never thissed to do it.— The cream rolled over, thick as a sole leather,-and when we camel° the churn ing, it was, comparatively, nothing at all. About fifteen minutes would gen erally complete the buSiness. Ever after this our milk was scalded, both winter and summer. Hut, what is very itrange, although my fattier, and my mother and all the family told of our good success, note sthil of a farmer around us would try the plan ; nav, all seerned•to disbelieve its truth, and fol lowed on in the old way of tugging foe hours and hours to fetch their butter, white indeed, as lard ; while my mo ther's was rich, delicious .and of a good color and I have -never failed to prac tice the above mode of butter-making .since I kept house myself, and the agitation necessary to bring the butter is always of short duration, . Your correspondent, A .I-IotrSE KEEPtt." of Jan. 25th is in the right of it. Never mind the increase of manufactures, the pursuit of fashion. and other causes combined,"stick to the scalding, trimmer and winter---.keep but few - cows, and these of the first rate .---such as give good milk, rather than the greatest quantity.. ,Whether this is called a new system. or one learned from some old c,odger." I know not, and I care not. - no far: mere, I think, will by-and-by, crane it - lb it, and the dairy-Maid and boys will all be. glad for the itnprovement.—Cul. Uvular. VERY' LlKE.—When Woman Meth her good name she can't get it bark again.. That is precisely the case with a dog Made "tip into - Sausages. He is a ! Alas; poor Tray ! • " Remove the limb," the judge said when he saran; the aw)rney offtlie WOo ifiro
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