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