Bradford reporter. (Towanda, Pa.) 1844-1884, August 20, 1845, Image 1

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    cYSMWD-M ,
U. 0 'W .k. BM & 8
Tea Le-ICASTIII Dsmocasx, in noticing the coin
risiats, made by several of our Democratic cotempora.
rasa, against Mr. Horn, collector of.the Port of Philadel
phia, for his avowed proscription of the country in his
a ppointments, says : The story that Mr. Horn intends
to confine all his appointments to the city, needs confir.
mation--so does Mr. Horn's nomination.
Watts' Lt-rrEns.—lt is a strange, though often•re.
marked fact, that the youthful productions of men'of ge
nius, are almost invariably their best. Years—though
they may add to their knowledge and:experience—seem
to have no ages y in developing the Heart; and the ar
tiMeal and finished production of' the poet, though they
may be more correct, are not more to be adMired, than
the heart.wqm effusions of an earlier period.
This is particularly true of N. P. Willis. He should
have thrown away his pen tars ago. His Sacred and
other poems—written long since—won for him a fame,
Which high as it is, can hardly withstand the weak, silly
and puerile productions he has of late put forth. His
Sacred poems, in particular, tho' hearing the marks of a
high finish, breathe the true spirit of religion; expressed
in true poetry. But of late years,-he has laid his offer
ings on the shrine of Fashion; and in catering and writ
mg for the Upper ten thousand," he has adopted a tone
and style which make him, appear contemptible, when
exposed to the test of his former writings. Chandler, of
the United States Gazette, in spen:ring of his writings,
.call them " Wil!is' inimitable nothings," and we know
no term better calculated to give an idea of his "skim
ming the superficies of society." Probably, the insignifi
cance of the subjects and incidents which come under
his notice, may be accounted from the well-known fact,
that whatever is lightest rises to the top, and Willis al
ways looks up, rather than down.
Mr. Willis is now in England, engaged in writing
Leiters to the New Mirro . i. The only one tvhich we
haw seen worth reading—and this barely conrea,within
the test—will he found in another column. We must
ranfem that we are more disappointed in these letters
this in anything Mr. Willis has ever written. His
'Pencillings by the Way," published some years since,
sew sensible, well-written sketches of things seen, and
:•ressiotu rerciscd, such as a person could read without
fc,:rl.7 contempt for the writer, or pitying his mental
im ecility. It is.but charity to Willis to mention, that
be has been severely afflicted with brain-fever, since his
armsl in England, which may be the cause of the dete
r:.-vion of his late letters from his former. Seriously,
t: its person, unknown to fame, had asked the editors
the New Mirror to have published the letters Willis
ha, written from London, we will venture to assert, they
would have laughed at his impudence.
Can he not find anything more worthy of being com
municated to his American readers, than the dress of fe
males ; accounts of coats and hats and white cravats ;
visits to Lady Blessington ; Count D'Orsaff painting,
statuary and good looks; dining with great. men, and
suiting the opera, with other important matters that
rtvould interest and delight young ladies? Are there not
tales to tell" of the situation of the oppressed and down
trodden pier of England—which could strike a chord of
sympathy and interest in every American breast—her
mighty.aristocracy, and her humble operatives; no les
sons of morality or philosophy to draw from the splendor
tithe one and the squalidity and wretchedne.s of the
other: no speculations upon the political and social con
dawn and destiny of that country in whose midst is now
at work, silently, though it be, amid starvation and tears
and sighs, a mighty revolution?
A person who can go to England, and view her in
tor present conditiontand write home the nonsense that
Wlilis has written, has no feeling in common with the
Athericari people, and no sympathy for those suffering
cads oppression and tyrranny. He would pay his ho
'maze to the wealth and splendor that has been the cause
of all this misery. sad turn his back upon the suffering,
to ' , bend the suppliant hinges of the knee," to obtain - a
nod from Royalty.
But associations are aristocratic; he writes,
too, far those who delight in rank, and are dazzled with
the splendor of royal institutions; and his life for years,
has unfitted him to think of aught else but foshiiiiiis and
operas, and their 'nonsensical appends. Consnently,
his railings are of his style is pecu
liarly Willis' --and he ventures, in some of his flights,
to the extreme borders of Willis-dom. It is a style, we
presume to say, which he will never need to have copy
righted, as the Brigadier" has his letters.
lot we are not finding fault : 'we du this merely to
give those interested our reasons for not publishing his
letters. They ore, intended for the "Upper ten thou.
k moil,"
,and calculated for the meridian of London, and
won't answer for this latitude. Nonsense from N. P.
Willis, is nownse still —and even his name shall not
be a passport to admit it to our columns. As he writes
an interesting letter, however, see shall, give it to our
W e God in one of his letters, the folloWing pieces of
poetry, which he highly commends, and he is still a judge
of. though he has ceased to write, good poetry. They
are the production'ef Mr. M. F. Tresza, of London, and
probably have never been published before. The first
teaches a good lesson, and the second has a lo fly , noble
Never Give up
Never give up! it is wiser and beuer
Alway s to hope than once to despair ;
Fling off the load of Doubt's clinkering fetter,
An break the dark spell of tyrannical-aye.
Never give up ! or the hunhen may sink you—
Providence kindly has mingled the cup,
And in all trials or tmublei, bethink you,
The watchword of life must be, Never give up!
Never give up! there are chances and changes
Helping the hopeful a hundred to one.
And, through the chaos, High Wisdom arranges
Ever success—if you'll only hope on.
Never give up ! for the wisest is boldest,-
Knowing that Providence mingles the cuif,
And of all maxims the best, as the oldest,
Is the true watchword of Never give-up.
:Never give up ! though the grape-shot-may rattle,
Or the full thunder-cloud ever burst ;-
Stand like a rod, and the Storm or the battle
Little shall harm you, though doing their worst.
Never give up! if adversity presses,
Providence wisely has mingled the cup,
And the best counsel, in all your distresses,
Is the stout watchword of Never give up.
Awily with false fashion, so calm and so chill,
Where pleasure itself cannot please—
Awriy with cold breeding, that faithlessly still
Affects to be quite at its ease ;
For the deepest in feeling is highest in rank,
The freest is first in the band;
And nature's own nobleman, friendly and frank,
la a man with his heart in his hand.
Fearless in honesty, gentle yet just,
He warmly can love and can hate,
Nor will he bow down, with his face in the dust,
To Fashion's intolerate state;
For best in good breeding, and highest in rank,
Though lowly or poor, in the land,
And nature's own nobleman friendly and frank,
The man with his heart in his hand.
His fashion is passion, sincere and intense,
His impulses simple and true,
Yet temper'd by judgement and taught by good sense,
And cordial with me and with you;
For the finest in manners, as highest in rank,
ft is you, man !or you, man ! who stand •
Nature's own nobleman, friendly and frank—
A man, with his heart in his hand !
Itiessns.EDlTonsi—The following was written on hear
ing of the suicide of an acquaintances young man
of brilliant parts, but who bad been- through life the
victim equally of his misfortunes and follies. You may
give it an insertion in your columns, if you think pro
To persons occupying different conditions in the world,
this enigma which we call Life, is interpreted with very
different and opposite meanings. The man who has al
ways basked in the sunshine of fortune, who was born
to the inheritance of affluence and Metals; blessed with
such a happy equanimity of temper and moderation of pas
sions as have always preserved him from fatal indulgence
in thriSe, guilty pleasures which are equally ruinous to
health and' destructive to peace—such a man can form
but a faint conception of those sorrows of the mind, of
that utter desolation of the soul, which driye the unhap
py to madness and self-inflicted death. To seek death,
to long for it, •• as for hidden treasures," to rush into his
embrace as a refuge from evils too heavy to be borne, to
greet the dread monster as a friend—all this to such a
man incomprehensible. Is there not glory in the sum
mer cloud, is there not' oy in the sunbeam ? Is not the
earth overspread with a mantle of beauty and loveliness?
Do not the herveits glow by day and by night with un
imaginable beauty and splendor? Do not the human
form and face divine" beam with sympathy and love?
Why then should a living man, with an eye to behold,
and a soul to drink in, the splendor and the joys which
the goodness of God has gathered around our mortal
state, dose his eyes against the consolations of nature, of
revelation and society, and occupy his mind with
gloomy thoughts of the tomb Why should a man
with the glow of life around him turn away to muse on
death 7
No man was ever able able to enter fully into the feel
ings of another so as perfectly to understand his true
case. Grunt that many of the sorrows of men are irnag
inarfand unfounded in any sufrwient cause—.they arc
nut the less real to the sufferer. It is from the inmost
recesses of his own being that each individual looks forth
upon the world, and it matters not how much glory or
splendor there may be around him so long as there is
darkness there. Everything external appears to us in
the light or in the twilight of our own spirits. Nothing
is bright or beautiful considered distinct from the mental
dispositions of him who beholds it ; no external bright.
ness can compensate for the extinction of that .within
one's own bosom. Go speak to the unfortunate man
whose spirits have consumed away under the influence
of long disease, in whose breast, hope having long flick
ered, has at length expired ; and say to him—" Come, let
us go forth over the flowery meadows, let us listen to the
melody of the groves, and refresh ourselves with the cool
breezes of the mountain tops ; let us clitith the hills and
gaze upon the red sunset, or let us wander under the
stony roof of the solemn night, for the spirit of nature
shall flow in upon our souls and attune our inmostbeing
to harmony and joy." Will he not seem as one who
mocks at the wretchedness of his neighbor! Those
meadows, that woodland =music, the red sunset and the
solemn majesty of night, are associated in his mind with
the early dreams of childhood, when every sight and
sound cherished those illusions of hope which are now
fled forever. What are the choicest viands to him who
cannot eat ; and what are all the beauties of nature and
and the sympathies of social life superadded, to him who
has lost the capacity for their enjoyment?
.Almost every individual ties some time or other in the
course of his existence met with some adverse fortune,
some bitter trial of nature, when be has been constrained
to say with Hamlet,
How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable,
Seem to me all the uses of this world!
The loss of a dear relative and friend has for a time
dispelled the illusions of hope, darkened the future, and
made the ideal of joys to come seem like an impossibili
ty. Recall that hour of deep gloom, that midnight of
the soul, when all the ends and purposes of life seemed
summed up in one bitter disappointment, and form some
conception of his state in whose breast hope is extin
guished. Remember that there may be a despair which
endures not merely for one bitter moment of grief and
which time softens and removes; but a despair that be-
Comes the fixed and settled habit of the mind, which over
spreads this gloriorts creation with the blackness of dark
ness and Purscies its wretched victim to the grave.
H. B.
[Written for the Bradford Reporter.]
A word to a Young Man.
Young Man, I entreat you to let that bottle.alone. It
contains ardent spirits, and ardent spirits are evil spir
its—and with them the laws both of God and man for
bid all commerce.
Do you think it going to far' when I call ardent spir
ile, evil spirits• Bee what they do. But a few days
•I am told that a certain priest, in a certain 'place,
says openly to his flock,"—street ought to be called
h-11 street," and this I understand because these same
spirits often walk there. This I conceive to be good au
Nature'm Nobleman.
since, one of these hot days, when every one in his sen
ses slept in the shade, if possible, I saw, within three
miles of this place, a man lying upon his back, on the
open highway, looking for all the world as if smitten
down by some raging disease. And what do you think
was the matter I He was so near a house, which I will
not name, that I cannot doubt he had been assailed by
the very spirits in question. His appearance bloated,
and so feverish, was just what I have often seen upon
the drunkard, % And there the man lay—one not ac
qdainted with such cases would have directly roused the
neighborhood to bring him relief, Two hours laves,
when night had closed kin , I passed by the same spot,
and he was gone—where I cannot tell, but I know
where his road leads ; and I hope he will try another
before he comes to the end.
But I need not give details of these work.sofdraknesti.
There is nothing so good or so precious, but these same
spirits will rob you of it, and thatin a method so stealthy,
you will never set up a cry against your assailant. It is
their daily practice to rob men of health, property, char
acter, friends, peace of mind, reason, and finally of the
soul itself. You must have remarked instances of all
these. If such are not evil spirits, I know not where
they can be found.
Be persuaded then, to let them alone. You have fac
arid opportunities too good to be lost in this fool
ish way. Look about you. Here is a world in which
you may do much good, and share sotneyourself. You
have a curiously formed body, and a spirit mysterious
ly endowed, every faculty of which might be employed
for noble purposes. You might become a valuable mem
ber of society, en ornament to your species. You have
lost some time, and something more, but there is room
for hope. Only let that bottle alone, once for all ; your
prospects will directly brighten. And there is no other
hope for you. I speak considerately; you had better be
in the dungeons of a Beadle to day, and for life, than to
be such a slave, as you must inevitably become with
out the amendment here proposed..
' I could say much more; but a word to the wise is.
sufficient. If not you may hear from me again.
, Your true Friend,
Aug. 12, 1845. Bss z vote.
P. S. lam not sure but you might as well throw;,_
away that cigar too. There are not wanting instances,,
to prove the possibility of 'some mysterious relation be• 11
tween spirits of tobacco fume and those of the barring l'
liquid sort. I speak this softly, not wishing to offend .
any of my respected neighbors.
[From the Edinburg Review.)
Importance of Manuxe.
The progress of agricultural improvement
brings with it increased demand for manures
of. easy transport. The supply gradually fella
short of the demand, and the market value
rises until they reach a kind of famine price
at which, the corn they can be made to raise,
barely pays the cost of applying them. This
high price which at first appears to be an un
mitigated evil, leads, however to good in many
ways. Perhaps the simplest and most intelli
gible way of treating our present subject will be
to follow in order, the successive effects or im
provements to which this high price naturally
gives rise.
In the first place it causes all known manures
to be eagerly sought for and collected. The
home dealer is stimulated to search for them
in every quarter, and each bone-mill employs
its staff of humble collectors to preatubulate the
towns and villages. Foreign and larger deal
ers spring up in the seaports. Our east coast
puts the whole seaboard of Europe under re
quisition—whole fleets of merchantmen from
the west skirt, the Irish shores, or, crossing
the Atlantic, bring their cargoes of. bones from
the United States ; and even to Buenos Ayres
and Montevideo, suggest a new article of ex
port, in addition to the hides and tallow of
their numberless cattle. Such is.. perhaps, the
earliest national advantage which springs from
high prices and increased demand.
It is interesting enough to mark low agri
culture arid' commerce thus aid each other—
how the wants of one country impart a new
value even to . the refuse substances of another,
and afford-a new employment to its idle popu
lation. But it is more interesting still, to ob
serve how such a traffic commenced with a
view to the benefit of our own farming interest,
reacts upon the minds of the agrictlltural popu
lation in these distant countries—awakening
in them new desires, and leading them to in
creased skill in the art by which they
Bones for example, they come to think, may
he useful at lime, if it is worth the while of
English merchants to bring them from so
great a distant{e. How are they to be used
they ask, when and where applied, to
crops, on what soils, and after what prepare
non ? Such questions called forth, by de
grees, a vast amount of practical information,
the diffusion of which, in Sweden has already
given rise-to the complaint that bones are not
to be obtained by the home farmer, because of
the high price offered by the exporters to En
gland ; and in the United States of Amenca, to
the reflection, that they are worth more for
home consumption than the seven or eight dol
lars a ton which the English agents pay for
thWm. How striking to see the awakening in
telligence of a few thousand agriculturists in
our own island. thus rousing a spirit of inquiry.
and actually pushing forward the art of culture
in the most remote and distant parts of the
world !
A second and no less important consequence
of this high price of manure, is the, saving to
which it leads, of such - as were previously
wasted. It is only the more skillful farmers
who use these comparatively costly substances
in any quantity. The less skilful cannot afford
to use them. Their land is not in proper con
dition, perhaps". because it is undrained, or
they apply them after a wrong method,
or at a wrong season ; so that if,' by way of
experiment they are tempted to try them again,
they suffer en actual money loss, and they are
long deterred from employing them again.—
Nevertheless, the absolute value of manure of
every kind rises in the estimation of the far
mer, as that of portable manures increases.—
He comes to see that every waste of manure is
an actual loss of money ; and when satisfied
of this, the slowest begins to move, and the
most wedded to old customs to think of de
viating from the methods of their forefa
The instructed look with amazement, when,
on the borders of the Roman Campagna, they
see whole hills of dung, the long accumulating
refuse from the stables of the post house, or
when, on the breaking up of the winter's frost,
they see the yearly collections from the farm
yards floated away on the ice of the Volga.
almost literally realizing the times of the Au
gean stables. We never dream that anything
half so barbarous, could by possibility happen
among ourselves ; and yet a visit to a hill-farm
in Northumberland, may show us the same
winter accumulations emptied purposely on
the side of a brook, that the water may carry
them off, or in some neighboring hollow,
where they are least in the way, and have
been permitted to collect for entire generations.
Such palpable waste is seldom seen, indeed in
in the lower country, where intercourse
is greater, and where knowledge and public
opinion spread more widely, and exercise a
more immediate influence ; and yet the no
less serious waste of the liquid from our farm
yards is still too widely prevalent, even in our
better cultivated districts, and among our more
improving and intelligent farmers. Within
the last few weeks, we have walked over the
farms of the first practical farmer on Tyne side,
and of the most celebrated breeder in York
shire, and yet from the fold-yard of the one,
the liquid was conducted by a drain into the
nearest ditch; and from the cow-house of the
other, into a shallow, open pond, where it
stood reeking and fermenting beneath a blaz
ing sun ! W hat merit as a farmer can that
man claim ; who, though he annually lays five
tons of guano, bones or rape dust upon his
farm, yet allows what is equal to ten or twen
ty tons of the same, to run to waste from
his farm-yard, in the form of - liquid ma
nure !
It is such waste as this, that the high price
of portable manure tends to check. It is now
happily checking here and there in various
parts of the island ; but it will be long before
the evil is remedied over the general face of
the country.
But after he had done everything in the way
of saving wilat he had hitherto inadvertently
neglected, the inquiring farmer still finds that
his wants are not all supplied; that if he
would farm high—raise, in other words', the
largest possible produce from his land—he
must still incur a considerable annual expense
in the purchase of foreign manures. Can I
' not, he next asks himself—can I not husband
those manures which cost me so much ? Is
there no way in which I can more economical.
ly apply them, so as from the same quantity of
manure, to obtain a larger return of roots or
corn I This inquiry leads him to three' suc
cessive mechanical improvements, as they may
be called, which are severally applicable to one
or other of the crops he cultivates. First, to
put his manure into the ground before he sows
his crop in spring or summer, rather than in
the preceding autumn. This is a result of the
same system of saving to which vie have al
ready adverted. By examining the waters
which escape through the drains during the
winter—upon his thorough drained land—he
finds that they actually carry with them a por
tion of the manure he had previously laid upon
his fields in the autumn, and that thus he had
unconsciously suffered a partial loss. To put
it in therefore, only when springs arrives, will
ensure him a certain saving. Second, to de
posit the manure in the drills when his seed is
sown, putting it all thus within reach of the
plant, and wasting none of it on the unproduc
tive or unprofitable part of the soil. And third.
with the drop drill to bury it only beside the
seeds it is intended to nourish, and thus inure
perfectly to - effect what laying along the whole
drill had only in part accomplished. By these
methods, he husbands his manures, and at the
same time, calls in the aid of the ingenious
mechanic to furnish cheap and efficient imple
ments, by which the several operations may
be easily performed. They may not be ap
plicable to all his crops and there are certain
circumstances under which the intelligent,
practical man will wisely refrain from fully
adopting any one of them; but-they are valua
ble illustrations of rural economy, nevertheless,
and of the line along which improvement will
proceed in endeavoring "to raise the largest
amount of produce. in the shortest time, at the
smallest cost, and with the least permanent in
jury to the land."
But the same desire to husband his manures,
leads him also to what may be called a chemi
cal improvement in the form in which he ap
plies them. "If," says he. •• as chemists tell
me, the roots of a plant drink in only that
which is in a liquid form, the manures which
are already in a liquid state, or in such a con
dition at least, that the-rains will immediately
dissolve them, should be more immediately
useful in the nourishment of my crops. If I
apply dry bones to my turnips, they must take
a considerable time to become soluble, and may
not yield all their substance to the growing bulb
before its period of maturity arrives; and
the residue of the bones left in the soil does ,
benefit the after crops, still the rains of winter
must wash away some of their constituents.
and thus occasion to me a variable loss. Would
not the same quantity of bones or rape dust,
or even guano, go further in the production of
corn, or potatoes, or turnips, if I could apply
all their constituents to my land, in a fluid
form I" 'Theory and experiment both answer
these questions in the affirtnatice. Recent ex
periments, especially upon the action of bones
dissolved in sulphuric acid, have thrown _new
light upon this subject; and though too hasty
inferences have by some been drawn from
them, and the benefits to be derived from the
new method have been exaggerated, and un
reasonable expectations have consequently
been excited, yet such good , may fairly be ex
pected from the use of the , liquid form of ap
p,lying manures, as will encourage, we hope,
the continuance and extension of experimental
[From the N. Y. Mirror.]
Willis' Letters from Europe.
Power's statue of the Greek - Slave—Great
Western - Railroad—lf buoy Castle—Read
ing—Miss Milford's residence-3 rural
subject for Mount, the artist—English sur
liness—,New way of advertising—llliberal
conduct of Macready's friends towards Mr.
Forest, etc. etc.
MY DEAR MoRRIs—I took advantag e - of
long interval between the packet of the eliti-and
16th, to consign my precious companion lo the
rural vicarage in the neighborhood of Oxford,-
which is to be her future home. lam now in
London, alone. These two or three days of
mental idleness have quite restored my brain
to working condition, I believe, and now let
me see what I have to say to you.
Power's statue oldie .; Greek slave " is one
of the topics of London, at this moment, and,
in my opinion, if it fare as well, as to preser
van& as the Venus de Aledicis, it will be
more admired than that first marble of the
world, when London shall be what Rome is
now. Power should be idolized by woman
for the divine type of her, by which he has
now elevated men's ideal of the sex, That so
wonderfully beautiful a thing can be true to
nature—that this divine mould is unquestiona
bly like some women—is a conviction that
must strike every beholder, at the same time
that it makes him thank God that he is born
one of this • kind " and makes him adore wo
man more intensely than before. This Greek
slave stands ti,r sale in the Turkish bazaar.—
Her dress hangs over the pillar against which
she leans, and she is nude with the excep•
tion of the chain hung from wrist to wrist.
It is a girl of eighteen, of beauty just per
A particular criticism of the figure and limbs
would hardly be interesting to those who are
not to see the statue, and .1 can only speak of
the expression of the face, which is one that
gives the nude figure a complete character of
purity—a look of calm and lofty indignation,
wholly incapable of submission to her
captors. Power has secured, by this work, I
fancy, commissions enough for new works to
fully occupy his time. It was bought by an
Englishman, who has been offercd four times
the sum for it. If we are to believe one of the
London critics (?) the chief merit of the statue
is due to Mrs. Trolloppe, who discovered Pow
er's genius when he was making wax figures
in Cincinnati, and induced him to embrace the
art and go to Italy !! !
My trip to the country was made by the
Great Western Railroad, which is the most
complete in its arrangements, ands Vs the
lastest trains—two every day going the . ( route
at the rate of sixty miles in the hour !' he
scenery in this direction from London is ex
ceedingly fine.•Winsor Castle lying on the left
of the track, among other objects of interest,
and reading, the fine ola town, honored as the
residence of Miss,Mitford. Nothing in Ameri
ca can give you any idea of the expensive ele
gance and completeness of the railroad stations,
its hedgings-m, and its arrangements of all
kinds. Every foot of the ratite is watched by
a guard in uniform, and do human being ex
cept workmen is ever seen within the limits.
At every stopping place, the cars glide into
spacious buildings, with magnificent refresh
ment rooms, costly offices, and attendants in
the lettered dress of the cempany's men. The
system for admitting and discharging passen
gers is admirably complete, the delay is but an
instant, yet sufficient for all purposes, and I
should think ingenuity and order could no fur
ther go.
A hundred delicious pictures glided under
my eye in our rapid flight, but I saw one that
I wished Mount, the artist, could have seen -
thirty or forty haymakers, men and women,
eating their dinner upon the edge of a stream,
the field half mown on which they had been
working, and the other half completely scarlet
with the poppies that overshadowed the grass.
A thicket behind them, a shoulder of a hill ris
ing beyond it, and various other features, made
the mere rural scene singularly beautiful.but the
acres of this scarlet flower, gave it somehow
a peculiar and racy mildness. The farmer has
no great affection for this brilliant intruder up
on his land, but the owner of the splendid park,
and the scenery-loving traveler look on its no
vel addition to Nature's carpet with very vivid
admiration. •
On my return I saw an instance of the En
glish surliness so much talked of, and, I think,
so seldom seen. A remarkably elegant and
high-bred looking lady was separated from her
party by want of room in the car before us,
and on getting into ours, she found herself
opposite a manifest aristocrat of sixty. Think
ing she recognized an acquaintance in him,
she leaned forward with a charming grace of
manner, and said, " Mr. I believe ?"
Not my name, madam !" was the reply
in gruff repulsion,- and the gentleman turned
and looked very steadfastly out of the win
The English have a new way of advertising
that is quite worthy of Yankee invention.—
They have hit upon the time when men's eyes
are idle—(when they are abroad in the street)
—and you cannot walk now. in London with
out knowing what amusements are goink on.
what new specifics are for sale, what is the
last wonder, and a variety of other matters
which send you home wiser than you came
out. Mammoth placards, pasted on the side
of a structure as large as a one story house,
are continually moving along on wheels at the
same pace as you walk—the street rdally re
sembling a gorgeous pageant with the number
and showiness of these legible locomotives.—
I observe one particularly, which more!) by
some mysterious power within—a large, showy
car, making its way alone. without either horse
or visible driver, and covered with advertise
ments in all the colors of the rainbow. An
every day sight is a procession of a dozen men.
in single file, each carrying on a high pole.
exactly the same theatrical notice. You might
let one pass unread, but you read them, where
theni are so Many, to see if they ate all alike !
Alen step up to you at every corner and hand
you, with a very polite air, a neatly folded pa•
per. and you cannot refuse it without pushing
your breast against the man's hand. If you
open it, you are told where you can see a
mysterious lady." or where you can hate
vow corns cut. In short, it is impossible to
be ignorant of what there is to see and buy in
London, and this applies also to the large class
who could not, formerly, be reached, because
they never read the advertisements in newspa
pers. Possibly the carriers of these sign
boards and the drivers of these vehicles might
make a better use of their time and horse-flesh
in America..but otherwise I should think this
a notion," worth transplanting.
Forest is still in London, and has two pro
jects in view—one of playing in Paris, andt
another of a professional trip to St. Petersburg.
In either capitol he would do better than in a
place 'precluded, as London is, by Macready
and his crew. A gentleman in no way con
nected with the drama, told me that, on one
of the nights when Forest played, he sat next
a man who confessed that he :was paid for
hissing him, and for calling any subordinate
actor before the curtain to drown any call for
Forest! I wish there were no disagreeable
topics ; but I will try to avoid them in my
next. Yours faithfully,
Our Conatty.
There are already finished and in use in the
United States, five thousand miles of railroad.
Three thousand seven hundred and sixty-eight
miles have been made since the year eighteen
hundred and thirty-five, making, in all, almost
twice the distance across the continent. The
average cost is set down , at twenty thousand
dollars per mile, making :theffst of the five
thousand miles already in use, one hundred
millions of dollars. If through the energy and
at the expense of private companies and indi
vidual States, such art amount" of money has
been raised, and such an extent of railroad
made, how easy it would be for the United
States in their aggregate power to construct the
one proposed' The Government should con
struct it. It should be national property. It
would be, during all coming time, a proud
monument of national glory, not, however,
like pyramids. pillars, and obelisks, raised as
mementoes of the past,but Ailing, ever abiding
witness to a great Confederate Republic, that
the bonds of its union are founded in social in
tercourse. In the accomplishment of so great,
so grand, and so useful an object, all sectional
interests should be merged and local jealousies
be laid aside, for it would contribute to the
great good of the whole. The views which I
have here and in the preceding remarks pre
sented, are no fancy sketches. They are not
castles in the air. They are facts which must,
and will ere long, be realized. Since-the set
ting up of this Republic, since the establish
ment of its independence, facts under the ex
periment of freedom of government have been
developed which have astonished the monar
chial governments of the old world. Facts
have outsped fancy, and the dreams of the
visionary: have fallen behind the realities.
The mot fervid and glowing imagination.
while we as a people were achieving our in
dependence, never portrayed to itself the ra
pidity with which we have advanced. Can
you believe that the fertile imagination of
Dwight, when he sang
Columbia! Columbia! to glory arise,
The Queen of the world, and the child of the skies.—
could have presented to hie ken its verification
so speedily ? Think you that the sages and
statesmen who held their deliberations in yon
der ball, could have imagined that their most
sanguine hopes could he realized even by the
first generation after them, and that however
resplendent it might appear at that time, it
would be but the dawning of the future great
ness and glory of their country ! Is it possi
ble that Fulton in his experimental trip up the
Hudson in his first steamboat; at the rate of
four or five miles an hour, could have foreseen
that in forty years from that time, the vast
lakes and rivers of the continent would be tra
versed by steamboats propelled against, the
strongest currents at the rate of twenty miles
an hour, and that the broad Atlantic would be '
crossed by the most magnificent ships, pro
pelled b'y the same power. and making a voy
age of three thousand miles a mere pleasure
excursion for a few days ? And then again,
that the productions of his inventive genius
should bop, applied as to hurry along earth's
surface, th`rough hill and over dale, ponderous
cars of burthen and passage at the safe and
easy rate of thirty miles an hour? Think you
that Franklin would not have been stared at as
a maniac. if after having playfully, though
tremblinglymmtucted the lightning of heaven'
to earth, he should have predicted that in eigh
teen hundred and forty-four an American citi-,
zen would seize it, and charter it to the go
vernment as bearer of its despatches ? These
are realities which pass daily in review before
us, and if such has been the onward and up
ward progress vl ibis Republic during the first
half century of us political existence, what
may not be anticipated of its wealth, its power.
its greatness and magnificence, in two hundred
years from this time Anditill further. when
it shall have ripened into maturity, when the
age of England, of France, and other European
powers shall be upon its brow, what a glorious
manhood will it present r! _ _
ATER...—The United Service Journal. 01 Lon
don, contains a paper on the subjects of the
defence and resources of Canada, in the course
of which the Writer comments upon the absur
dity of the British Government, during the
last war, in sending out etaves for water casks
to the fresh water Lake of Ontario. The
Courier, of New York. apropos. of this, tells
a story of an old English salt of that time, and
upon that Lake. uttering a most vehemeht and
profane aspiration for a drink of water ! These
old sea doge had been suffering for hours from
thirst, without a suspicion that the water along
side of them was drinkable. Such is the force
of habit. .
N. P. Wain.