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WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 27, 1845
Ortyrows 1;1` Canasta. JACEIO3I tt Emmert.—
The news of General Jackson's death hu Made a deep
i m pression in Europe, and many of their mast prominent
papers are teeming with With comments Upon his life,
public curer, and manly and patriotic virtues. Euro.
puns who ondentorst his character, place him in the
niche of fame beside our beloved and lamented Wall
ington as his most worthy companion, and the second
tiarior of his country.
W e copy below an article from the Dublin Journal,
illestrsting the sentiments of respect and admiration ea
t:nuked townie this eminent man in Ireland the land
•of his forefather.
Death of Andrew Jackson.
A peatetship, arrived at Liverpciol on Tuesday last, fur
nishons, though having but one day's later news from
America, with the deeply to be lamented tidings of Gen.
Jackson's death. This event took place it his private
widener, the " Hermitage," in the western state of Ten
ne&4e, on the Sth alone last, in the With year of his
age. An old comrade in alms, hurrying to the veteran's
dying bed to abide with him in the final conflict, which
,it is the lot of all men to sustain, met hii physician on
the way, proclaiming that the hero was no more.
We can imagine how this intelligence has been re
ceived throughout America. Friends palsied with a
sudden grief, and they who were once his foes, now
voluble eulogists of his character. Over his grave there
is heard but one gush of universal sorrow. His death
s indeed • national calamity to his countrymen, and •
wide void-left in the ranks of manhood. Though for
rats he had not mingled in active public life, the,oracle,
memorable for troth and age thus veiled in hammed pri
vacy, was heard in the ruttiest and respected in the high
!Si quarters. His very mutterings were treasured by the
favored few, who lately taw him face to face; and the
word of his mouthtdecided the destiny of his Continent.
A great career, indeed is closed; a luminary has gone
down in the west and the flash of his 'onset has come
out to us, acrotilhe water&
America maf:well lament her loss. He had grown
with her growth . , a limb of the giant oak ; and in his fall
the stem and all the branches were shaken. Kings die
often, and the common herd of 'conquerors rush down
the precipices of time to their own undoing, but the fall
of a virtuous citizen, brave and merciful in war, straight.
forward and incorruptible in peace, who made his arm a
shield, and his power -beloved, cannot be-sustained by
any country, however rich in public virtue, without the
sense of bereavement which is entirely forgotten. The
world has lost a second Washington in Jackson's death,
Gs though their characters may differ somewhat, their
moral' construction was the same. Times and tempera
ment modify the operation of similar pi'fnciples aid so
with them. Jackson was more ardent, more tenacious,
More of the iron cast of Napolean in his action. He
was a man of unparalleled firmness in the camp, and in
the cabinet. Made as if to mould the future national
character of America, his own wasdeeply marked with ell
the great Republican lineaments. And he has impressed
himself more deeply than any other man, Washington
or Fraaklin not excepted, ran the general character of his
people. He has given them a boundless national ambi
tiOn—an apthition not to enslave but to liberate—not to
centralise, but to diffuse power—not to, heap wealth in
one imperial fortress, but to partition its influences,
and scatter its advantage over the area of the confeder-
sey.
General Jackson was bom in Mirth, 1767, of Irish
parents. While yet a lad, he entered the army of th c l
Resolution, and carried his musket through the wet;
Independence. The dearest event in his miliatarylek.
nay was the proud prerogative he enjoyed, of termina
ting by one master-stroke the war with England oflBl2-
'll. OD the honks of the Mississippi, st New Orleans,
be encountered the veterans of the Peninsula, and their
wad hosts were levelled with the marshy waste, which
they had polluted by their presence. In punishing the
inconions of thaindians, his usual fortune attended him
--civilized skill and savage wile were alike broken be
fore bins
There grew up in America after the second war with
England, a monied monopoly, called the United States
Bank. This great machine,in the hands of reckless end
negligent men, would, if suffered to exist, have long since
Jeopardized the liberties and the prosperity of that Conn
try. Jackson was made President, and be overthrew,
by am exertion of his daring genius, this dangerouienor
enilY. The factious railed, and the avaricious conspired
again him :never was statesman so baited by the snarl
ing =Manes of • bastard aristocracy: he stayed not to
Ire* or to. hear, bat working under the fury of the
dorm, with a faithful few, he swept awry this standing
army of natters completely as he had swept away
the hosts of Packenham. The public voice at last was
beard in his dekrree, and he was placed a second time in
the chair of the Pnradenta. In his eight years of offiee
he latt i r enr eemplezion to American politico, and one
which since been changed.
We cannot here enter ; at length into the considera
tion of the varied events - Of the long life of this Duni
mamma. We say illudrious, not M common place of
r imle ss eningY, but became we consider that gnat in
•telPily, without pretensiOn,embition without selfishness
and memo without arrogance, are among the best titles
to t hat high appellative. The world has known no man
'more . pure than Jackson America wilt feel bis lose mod
ihti matelY. Bat why should not we here, throughout
the hero's fatherland, give voice to deep regret and utter
ance to our melancholy: pride in the departed I The
home which his parents loved—the altar where they
were married—the last spot of Irish soil they saw may
be unknown, but the fame of their son reflects back up.
en their coturtry too broadly and brightly to be confined
to localities, or have limits less extensive than than his
iliand• Ever in Nitre .he was proud of his descent, and
Ids bout
bket -would glow at the sight of any f' Ireland's hum
sona,While 'grateful people— - over whose growth he
has watched, for whose rights he braved death in the
field ; and the fury of a wen had faction in peace—
*bile they are tendering due honor to his' Vtirturta. his
'esker!, and his exampie, some eon of Ireland, banished
by ;donde • will, we trust, us a representative .of the
People tithe hero's fathom, mingle in their grief, and
dabs, as a mad perogative,of his • birth-right, to mourn
for the illustrious dead. -
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II
✓ [Written for the Bradford Reporter.)
Fragment.
The noon is still, and sabhath nips among
These pine clad hills with a pervading power
Of bbliness and life.—Such deep repose
Embalmed Judea's mountains when the Lord
Of life proclaimed to willing ear the words
Of hope and peace. An overarchingeky
Above him spread and earth beneath, while down
The mountain's shady side the multitudes
Were gathered. Canaan's sunny fields and hills
And peaceful villages were smiling beat; •
And all that living landscape and th' abode
Of men were imaged in the spesker's'eye
And heart. How sweetly rose that voice divine
Upon the ravished air and died away
To silence in the distant space I How sank
Its sacred accents into burning hearts
That felt the majesty and power of truth—
And tears of penitence and joy and love .
Descending wet those cheeks, embrowned by toil -
Which sin bad hardened—melted now by touch
Of grace divine. And them was age with locks
Of silvery white and‘lisping infancy
Unconscioneinlts'grther'srirms ; who sat
With earnest eye attentive to the words
Of wialdm. Rosy boys, and laughing girls
With sun-bright hair, and eyes of childhood's light,
Forget their sports and gather round with looks
Of wonder. Each young heart is wafted on
That stream of heavenly sound, proceeding from
The Savior's lips. Each childlike countenance
Upraised in attitude of innocent
Enquiry, marks with earnest look the mild
And placid majesty 'that overspreads
The Savior's face—but who diacritic that face
Where,Deity his bright effulgence shows
And chastend all and manifest to sense,
The Godheads stands revealed in human form
illristrionio What pity quite beyond
The reach of human hearts to comprehend
Gleams in the swiietals of that smile.
What radience in those eyes from whose
Calm depths beam , infinite intelligence(
And love.
With simplest, plainest imagery
And illustration, did the Man Divine
Convey to simple beans profoundest truth,
And solve the grand, momentous problem of
Man's destiny and Heaien's purposes
To be evolved in this our mortal state.
Yonder the city act upon an hill—
And here the sparrow chirping on the bough—
The !die:, of the field were growing near—
And each became the vehicle of truth.
Pour athestic man, whose practice still
Belies the language of his lips, was made
To know even from the perishable grass,
One common Providence is over all.
TOWANDA. August 17, 1845.
The Wedding—A Backwood Sketch.
During a residence in America, no observing
person can fail to have remarked, whether he
travel in Canada, the United States, or Texas,
the vast number of Irish families everywhere
to be met with_. They bear such distinctly
marked peculiarities, that no mistake can occur
in attributing to them their native soil. It has
been my lot to visit may of the settlements of
these wanderers from the green isle; but no
where' did I meet any family which so singu
larly interested me, as one which a few months
back was residing within the limits of the re
public,of Texas, consisting of the fathei, mo
ther, a son, and two daughters. Old Rock. or
as he is generally called, Captain Rock—a
name doubtless assumed—emigrated to Ameri
ca seventeen years ago—his family then con
sisting of two daughters; for the Pon was born
afterwards in the land of his adoption. For
seven'years, the sturdy Irishman, (originally
well informed aria well educated, though his
early history_ was never. known,) contended
with the difficulties incident to new settlers,
with various success in different parts of the
Union, when he was induced to join the first
band of adventurers who, under General Aus
tin, obtained leave from the Mexican govern
ment to locate themselves in Texas. The
family obtained a grant of land, as a matter of
course ; but otd Rock did not fancy settled
agricultural pursuits. To have round him a
well-stocked farm, cleared and productive
fields, and herds of cattle, would have required
a degree of perseverance and patient personal
labor of which lie was incapable. • He prefer.
red the life of a wandering squatter, upon
which lie at once entered, and which he •has
never since deserted. Building a boat, old
Rock embarked in it at one of the Texian ri
vers, with his family, an old gun. and a small
stock of ammunition, and, following the wind
ings of the stream, did not stop until he came
to an abandoned log hut, or frame house.where
he thought he might find temporary accommo
dation.
Of these deserted houseeTexas has many,
their abundance arising from various causes—
death from fever, the terrible civil war. or, of
tener still, from men having hastily chosen, a
location, and built thereon. before it was found
out that the spot was undesirable and unpro
dictive. Rock was not nice. If the neigh
borhood supplied game, he was satisfied.—
Sometimes an acre of sweet potatoes, Indian
Corn, and pumpkins, might he put under cult'.
Vatioll ; otherwise, the family lived entirely
upon venison, wild - fowl, fish and oysters, and
it was whispered. pork upon occasion. A re
ported fondness for this latter article w as one
of the causes of old Rock's frequent migrations.
No sooner did he pitch himself in any neigh
borhood, than it was said pork.waa at a pre
mium. Pigs certainly disappeared most mys
teriously; but though all threw the blame upon
Rock. he ever averred the panthers, wolves.
and stray hunters to have been the real cul
prits. However this may be, alter some
months' residence in any particular spot, the
family usually received a polite notice to quit,
and find another dwelling-place. Eighteen
several times had the Hibernian patriareh,re
moved his tent at the.bidding of his &Howl;
any neglect of orders being ritually followed
PUBLISHED EVERY WEDNESDAY, AT T
H. B
" REGARD .Olt DENUNCIATION FROM ANY QUARTER."
a •
by the infliction of that summacji justice called
Lynch law.
When I became acquainted ugh the Tamil'
.cearne acquainte. ..,.. 4,
early in the autumn of 1842, thy were read - '
hag on one of the tributaries w ich pour into
Galveston bay—known as Di 's Creek.—
The son was sixteen, a small-rlade lad, who
entirely.supported the family byl means of his
gun, being onti-of the most expert hunters 1
ever met with in the backwoodie, Every arti
cle not-produced by themselves-their clothing
being entirely of deer skin—was obtained by
bartering venison hams, which they always
carefully preserved for this *pose. Rock
and his wife were now old ; the former, though
yet sturdy, moving about only id his boai4nd
smoking over his fire; the latter doing ail the
cooking. Mary and Betsy Rock, the daugh
ters, it would be vain to'attempt faithfully to
delineate. Fat, brown, and healthy, dressed
in petticoats and spencers of deerskin, they
were the most original pair it w4s ever my lot
to encounter. They could neither read nor
write, but could bunt and fish mist excellently
well : and two adventurous days they were
that I spent in their company. They bad ne
ver seen an Englishman before since they
were grown up, and my pictures of life at home
enraptured them. Witb the younger daugh-
ter, Mary—the other was engaged to be mar
ried to a Yankee-1 became a prodigious fa.
'mite, and many a hunt in canoe and in the
prairie had we together. But to my story.—
Alter leaving them, with a faithful promise of
paying another visit, I found myself, six weeks
after, again at the door of the once elegant
frame-house where I had left them. To my
1 surprise it was half-burot and desolate. This
disappointed me much ; for I had brought up
'several appropriate presents for both of my
young friends. Pursuing my way v however,
up the river, I halted at a farm house, where I
founa several persons collected, who quickly
informed me that the family had been •• mob
bed " off the creek, with threats of being shot
if they settled within ten miles of the spot.—
W here they had gone to no one knew, nor
seemed to care ; and these parties being the
very extempore adati,istrators of justice who
had warned them off, I soon departed, and
gained the house of tey friend Captain Tod,
where I proposed ruralizing during some
weeks. From Tod I learned that two fat pigs
had lately disappeared ; and suspicion must
unjustly, as it afterwaids turned out, having
fallen on the Rocks, the squatter and his fami.
ly had to seek a new resting-place. On hear
ing this. I gave up all idea of ever again seeing
!`my fair friends.
Three dais pissed in the usual occupations
of a Minn , g party ; when, on the afternoon of I
the lourlt day, l w as left alone in die log-hut
to amuse myself over certain lately arrived
Engli-h papers, while my companions were
employed in searching the cone - try round for
some cattle which my friend the captain was
desirous of selling. About an hour before
sunset, footsteps, which (supposed to be those
of on e' of the returning party of cow-bo y s,
were heard behind the hut, then at its side, and
in a minute more the latch was raised, in walk
ed—Tim Rock. The young hunter, having
satisfied himself that I was really there, ad
vanred close to me, and am% ered my greet
hugs. My first inquiries were after his sisters.
" /It hy," said he. " sister Bet is to be mar
ried to-morrow, and sister Mary has sent me
to invite you to the wedding." "How, said
1. in some surprise, " did your sister know I
was here 1" Tim laughed, and replied that,
when 1 stopped with my boat's crew at the
farm-house, he was on the opposite bank in
the big timber hunting, but dared not commu
nicate with me in consequence of what had oc
corred. After a few more words of explana
tion, I shouldered my gun, my packet of pre
sents for the young ladies, and, leaving a line
in pencil for my friends, followed Tim through
the forest, until we reached the water's edge,
where, carefully concealed by overhanging
trees and bushes, I found a moderate sized ca
noe. It was almost dark when I stepped into
the boat, but still I saw that it already contain
ed a human being; so my hand mechanically
sought the butt of my pistol. •' You won't
shoot me, sir," said the rich, full, merry voice
of Mary Rock to my infinite surprise. Tim
laughed heartily at my mistaking her for an
Indian, and then, cautioning me to speak low,
until all the houses on-the river were passed.
we placed ourselves in the craft, and com
menced our voyage. I, knowing the bayou
to a nicety. acted as steersman. Mary sat .
next with a paddle,and 'rim in the bows with
another. It seemed that, determined to have
me at the wedding; the brother and sister, with
the consent of their friends, hid started to fetch
me, feeling certain that I would come, after
the promises I had made to that effect. It
seemed that they had, judged rightly, for here
was I. in company with two of the rudest set
tlers in the wilderness, embarked in a frail ca
noe to go I knew not whither—nor did I much
care.. This roving spirit was indeed, what
initiated me into many secrets -and Mysteries
of the woods and prairies which escape the
more sober and methodical.
Thr ird of thr - mild '
.4e record of that night's journey wot. in
itself be a.curious chapter of "western economy ;
but more important matters forbid. Suffice it to
remark, that, after sixteen miles' journey down
a river by moonlight, and as many more across
the rough and-sea-like bay 'of Galveston. en
livened by jocund talk all the way, we arrived
about daa n at the new .ettlement of the!Rock
family. It was a large deserted barn orivare
house near Clare Creek. The family were
already up and stirring.nnd . engaged io active
preparation for the important ceremony ; and,
to my surprise, the supply of eatables - and
drinkables was both varied and great—all.
however. being presents from the hridegroom,
or Luke, a wealthy landowner for Texas: in
possession of much cleared tround. and many
hundred head of cattle. It may be a matter of
surprise theta man well to do in the world
should have chosen a bride so every way rode
and uneducated; but in -Texas women are
scares. and then the lover : might hive looked
far before he could have found a more cheer
ful and reddiatured companion, more willing
Eilailtim 0; D CI r MZIII3II4VIEMI I OM:IMO
to learn, more likely to be loving, faithful, and
true, than Betsy Rock. The blushing bride
I received me in a cotton gown. shoes and stock
ings, and other articles of civihted clothing
previously unknown to her, and in which she
felt, sufficiently awkward. But Luke had sent
them, and Betsy wished to appear somebody
on her wedding day. My presents were alt,
therefore, except a bead-necklace, employed in
decorating Mary, who, secreting herself be
hind a screen with her sister. almost convulsed
me with laughter by appearing a few minutes
after an a man's red hunting-shirt, a cotton
1 petticoat, white stockings and moccasins, the
' body of a silk dress sent to her by a Galves
ton lady, and a cap and bonnet. Never was a
' London or Parisian belle prouder than was
this little rosy-checked,' light-hearted Tezian
beauty.
eight o'clock the visitors began to sr
riie. First came a boatful of men and women
f onrealleston. bringing with them a negro
1 fi dler, with - nut whom little could have been
:one. When came Dr. Woreister and his la
dy from 6t. Leon in a canoe ; after them
i Colonel Brown from Anahatic in hie dug-out;
ad, about nine, the bridegroom and lour male
and an equal number of female companions on
horseback, the Wise riding either before or
ehind the gentlemen on pillions. Ere ten,
1 ere were thirty odd persons assenibledoben
a most substantial breakfast was set down to,
chiefly consisting of game, though pork, beef,
coffee, and rarer still, bread, proved that Luke
had a hand in it. This meal being over, the
boat in which the party from Galveston had
come up, and which was an open craft for
sailing or pulling, was put in requisition to
convey the bride and bridgroom to the nearest
magistrate, there to plight their troth. The
distance to be run was six miles with a fair
wind going, but dead against us on our return.
Theparty consisted of Luke, who was a young
man of powerful frame, but rather unpleasant
features ; the bride and bride's maid, (Mary
Rock officiating in this capacity,) papa of
course, myself as captain, and eight men to
pull us back. The breeze was fresh, the craft
a smart sailer. the canvass was rap full, and all
ilierelore being in our favor, we reached West
Point, the residence of M r. Parr,the magistrate,
in less than an hour. We found our Tezian
Solon about to start in chase of a herd of deer,
just reported by his son as visible, and being
therefore in a hurry,-the necessary formalities
u ere gone through, the fee paid. and the usual
document in possession of the husband in ten
minutes. The eye of the old squatter moisten
ed as he gave his child away ; stone natural
tears she shed, but dried them aeon ; and pre
softly everybody was as merry as ever.
No sooner were the formalities concluded,
than we returned to the boat, and to oar great
delight found that, close-hauled, we could al
most make the desired spot. The wind had
shifted a point, and ere ten minutes. we were
again clean full, the tide with us, and the boat
walking the waters at a noble rate. All look
ed upon this as a good omen, and were pro
portionably merrier; none more so than my
own particular friend Mary, who, in her finery,
was an object of much good-humorettjoking
from the men who surrounded her. About
one o'clock Mr. and Mrs. Charles Luke were
presented by old Ruck to the assembled COM.
pang at the barn • and; after an embrace from
her mother, the bride led the way, accompa
nied by her lord and master. to the dinner ta
ble. The woods, prairies, and waters, as well
as the Galveston market, had all liberally con
tributed their share of provender. Wald tur
keye, ducks, geese, haunches of venison. were
displayed, beside roast beef, pork, red-fish.
Irish and sweet potatoes, pumpkin and apple
pie, and an abundant supply of whiskey.
brandy. and Holland., without which a fete in.
Texas is nothing thought 01. An hour was
consumed in eating and drinking, when Sambo
was summoned to take his.share in the day's
proceedings. Tables, such as they were, were
cleared away, the floor swept. partners chosen.
and, despite the' remonstrance of one of the
faculty present, Dr. Worcester, against danc
ing so shortly after a heavy meal, all present,
the dissentient included, began to foot it most
nimbly. Never was there seen such dancing
since the world began, never such laughing,
such screaming, such fiddling. Every one
took off shoes and stockings. I was conipel,
led to do so, to save the toes of my especial
partner, Mary ; and to the rapid music of the
old negro, reels and country dances were rat
tled oft at a most surprising rate. All talked,
and joked. and laughed, such couples as were
tired retreating to seek refreshment ; but the
dancing never ceasing, except at rare intervals,
when Sambo gave in from sheer fatigue and
thirst. Such was the state of things until
about nine o'clock, when a sudden diminution
in our number was noticed by all present.
Mary had before let . me into the secret ; and
the bride and bridegroom were missed, as well
as the foot couples who had accompanied Luke.
Rushing into the open air. we descried the
husband on their fine black horse galloping be
neath the pale moon across the prairie. escort
ed by their friends. A loud shout was given
them. and those who remained, returned to
the house to renew the dancing, which was
kept up until a late hour. It was four days
after my departure ere I regained my friendi at
Todville.
Such was the wedding of one of those hardy
pioneers of civilization, whose descendents
may yet be members of a great and powerful
nation. I saw Luke and his wife, as well as
Mary, on many subsequent occasions ; but I
never learned that the American backwoods.
man refroted his union with the, wild Irish
'Diana, who had hunted deer on Murtany island
with the English stranger. could paddle a ca
noe !with more ease than she could use a needle,
and shoOt a duck with more facility than write
er name. Luke. however, is teaching her
ore uieful accomplishments ; and Betsy. ere
er children—one of whom 1 .have . already
Been—stre clan age to require instruction. will
doubtless be able to' render it. 1 hope, how:
el ver. My picture will send over no one to wed
Miry ; for, though I have for the mein' time
retorted to eivilizellou, C cannot yet resign a
certain faint notion. that liters might be worse .
lives than that of a Texian settler with sucho
associate.
[From the N. y. Evening Poet]
Letter from fir. Bryant..
Lonna', June 24, 1845
Nothing can be more striking to-one who is
accustomed to the little enclosures called pqi
hc parks, in our Americau cities, than the spa
cious open grounds of London. I doubt, :in
fact, whether any person fully. comprehends
their extent, from any of the ordinary descrip
tions of them, until he-less seen them or tried
to walk over them. ou begin at the East
end, at St. James's Park, and` 'proceed along
its columnades of old trees, its thickets of iir
namental shrubs carefully enclosed, its grass
plots maintained in perpetual freshness and
verdure by the moist climate and the ever
dropping skies, its artificial sheets of water cov
ered with aquatic birds of the most beautiful
species, until you begin to wonder the paik
has a western extremity. You reach it at last
and proceed between the green fields of Con
stitution Hill, when you find yourself at the
corner of Hyde Park a much more spacious
pleasure ground.
You proceed westwardly in Hyde Park o I 4
til you are weary, when yon find yourself on
the verge of Kensington Gardens, a vast extent
of ancient woods and intervening lawn*, to
which the eve sees no limit, and in whose
walks it seems as if the population orLondon
might lose itself. North of Hyde Park. af
ter passing a few streets, you reach the great
square of Regent's Park, where, as you stand
at one boundary the other is almost -undistin
guishable in the dull London atmosphere.—
North of this park rises Primrose Hill, a bare,
grassy eminence. which I hear has been pur
chased for a public ground, and will be plant
ed with trees. All around these immense en
closures, presses the densest population of the
civilized world. Within, such is.:their extent,
is a fresh and pure atmosphere, 'and the odors
of plants and flowers, and the twittering of in
numerable birds more musical than those of
our own woods, which build and rear their
young here, and the hum of . \ insects in the sun
shine. W ithout are close and crowded streets,
swarming with foot passengers, and choked
•with drays and carriages.
These parks have been called the lungs of
London. and so important are they regarded
to the public health and the happiness of the
people, that I believe a proposal to dispense
with some part of their extent, and cover it
with streets and houses, would be regarded to
much the same manner as a proposal to hang
every tenth man in London. They will proba
bly remain public grounds as long il as London
has an existence.
The population of your city, increasing with
such prodigious rapidity, your sultry sum
mers, and the corrupt atmosphere generated in
hot and crowded streets, make it a cause Of re
gret that in laying out New York, no prepara
tion was made, while it was yet practicable,
for a range of parks and public gardens along
the central part of the island or elsewhere, to
remain perpetually for the refreshment and
recreation of the citizens during the torrid heats
of the warm season. There are yet nnoccupi
ed lands on the island, which, on account of
their rocky and uneven surface; ight be laid
out into surpassingly beautiful pleishre grounds;
but while we are discussing the subject, the
advancing population of the city is sweeping
over them and covering them froth our reach.
II we go out of the parks into the streets, we
find the causes of a corrupt atmosphere much
more carefully removed than with us. The
streets of London 'are always clean. Every
day, early in the morning, they are swept, and
some Willem, I believe, at other hours also,
by zAchine drawn by one of the powerful
dray horses of this country. Whenever an
unusually large and fine horse of this breed is
produced in the country. he is sent to the Lo
ndon market, and remarkable animals they are,
of a height and stature almost elephantine,
large-limbed, slow-paced,' shaggy-footed.—
sweeping - the ground.with their fetlocks, each
huge foot armed with a.ehoe weighing from
five to six pounds. One 'of these strong crea.
tures is harnessed to a street cleaning machine.
which consists of brushes turning over a cylin
der and sweeping the dust of the streets into a
kind of box. Whether it be wet or dry, dust
or ntud. the work is thoroughly performed; , it
is all drawn into the receptacle provided, for it,
and the huge horse stalks backward and for
ward along the street until it is almost as clean
as a drawing-room.
I called the other day on a friend, an timed
can. who told me that he bad that morn
ing spoken with the landlady about her care
lessness in leaving the window of her lower
rooms unclosed during the night. She answer
edthat she never took the trouble to close them,
that so secure was the city from ordinary bur
glaries, under the arrangements of the new po.
lice, that it was not worth the trouble. The
windows of the parlor next to my sleeping
room opened upon a rather low balcony over
the street door. and they are unprovided with
any fastenings, which in New York we should
think a great piece of negligence. Indeed, I
am told that these night robberies are no lon
ger practiced, except when the thief is assist
ed by an accessary in the house. All classes
of the people appear now to be satisfied with
the new police.. The,officers are men of re
spectable appearance and respectful manners.
If I lose my way, or stand in need ol local in
formation. I apply to a person in the uniform,
do police officer. They are sometimes more
stupid in regard to these matters than there 'is
any occasion for, but it is one of the duties ol
these officers to assist strangers with local in
formation.
Begging is repressed b,y the new pollee regu
lations. and want skulkihri holes and corners.
and prefers its petitions where- it cannot" be
overheard by men armed with the authority of
the law. There his great 'deal Of famine in
Londoni saidit frientto me the other day, but
the police regulations drive it oat bi siggt. As
I wee going threngh Oxford street lately, I aaw
l~j~ I {:~L f< I
an eit:erly town of small alature4roorly dressed,
with a mahogany complexion. walkingslowly
before me. As I passed him. he said ear..
with a/110110W Voice. 4 lam starving to death•
with hunger." and these word., and that hol.
low voice sounded in my earAll,day. •
Walking in Hempstesd Heatti.a day or..two,
since, with an English friend. we Were moo.
ed by two laborers. who were sitting on a bank.,
and who said that they had came to that neigh !
Mahood in search of employment in hay may
king, but hailinot been able to get either work' ,
or food. 51.1 i friend appeared to distrust their
story. Rut in the evening, as we were walk•
ing home, we passed a company of sores fear'
or five laborors in frocks,, with bludgeons in
their hands, who asked us for Something to est.
"You see how it is .gentlemen." said ens 'of
them. " we are strong ; we have had nothing
to eat all day." Their tone - was dissatisfied.
almost menaneing ; and the Englishmen who
was with na referred to it several times after-
wards, with an expression of anxiety and
alarm.
1 hear it often remarked here, that the direr..
eoce of condition between the poorer' and the'
zi.
Aier classes becomes greater every day. and
...the etid will be the wisest pretend not tO
x
, ~ es e.
No GENTLENAN.—Profanity is generally
condemned. as a low. vulgar. vogentlemanlike
vice. The condemnation is just, for it iiiit
terly inconsistent with every trait of the gen
tleman, according to the proper definition or
that term. A gentleman is a man who resp ects
the rights and feelings of others, as the best'
means of promoting their happiness. Accord
ing to this definition, a gentleman will not
swear ; for he will not deliberately cheek tbei
veneration of others by irreverent appeals,and
much less will Invoke more than human pow
er to aid him in inflicting pain. And among
who do we fipd this vice most prevalentl—
Among thosenmat addicted to other vices, and
especially intemperance. Drunkards general
ly swear, because intemperance impairs self
respect and respect for other.. To swear like
a pirate, is a proverb. Why I 13!C110110,pro
fanity is the usual vice of the violent ' : and, Is,
piracy is the greatest crime of violence, it is
naturally accompanied by the last degree of
profanity.
CALIFORNIA AND OReooN.—The last ac- .
counts from California, state that that country
has declared its independence of the Mexican
Government. and organized itself into a repub
lic. We understand that advices have also
been received by the government at ,Washing
ton, confirming in every particular this inter
estina intelligence. II such be the case, it is_
probable, that in addition to the Texas ques
and the Oregon question. we shall have II
California question in a very 'short time.' Vast'
numbers of emigrants are niiw traversing the .
Western States and crossing the Rocky Moun
tains. on their wny to Oregon ; many of them
will now, doubtless, be attracted southward.tO
California ; and the probability is,. that in less
than five years, that young republic, with its
numerous fine harbors. its fertile soil. end its
delightful climate, will also be knocking for
admission into this confederacy. Thus on all
hands plenty of work is promised. on this con•
tinent, for the British and Freuch diplomatists
for many years to come.
A NEW IDEA.—How To EECOSE OWNER or
A House.—A sorieiYitas been incorporated
Montreal. called the Montreal Building Serie
ty, by becoming a member of which a person
is enabled to build a house. by means of aloan
granted him fur that purpose repayable by in
stalments, fur what the rent of such a house
would cost him in ten years.. The workingof
the plan is as follows:—Having a , piece of
land, an individual becomes a subscriber io the,
Society for one or more.shares. at $6OO each,
paying a monthly subscription of two dollars
and a half for each share, for a period of 'nine
or ten years. at the end of which time he finds
himself owner of his house, having paid off
the . principal. This sort of Savings Bank has;
it is said, been found to work very well in
England.
Smorso.—A young man at a social party
lately was vehemently urged to sing a soup—
He replied that he would first tell a story, and
then, it they still persisted in their demand, be
would endeavor to execute a song. When a
boy, he said, he took lessons in singing; and'
and one Sunday' morning . he went op into 'big
father's garret to practice shine by himself...—.W
hile in full cry, he was suddenly sent for by
the old gentleman.
" This ispretty conduct." said the - father.
" pretty employment fur the Son of pious pa.
rents to be sawing boards in the garret onto
Sunday morning, loud enough to be beard' by
all the neighbors. Sit down and.:Ake vat
book."
The young man was unanimonely escusik4
from singing the propose 4 song; • .
Tor IrAT To BE HAPPY.—Happiness *al
ways to be found. if we will only condescend
to pick it up. seed by seed. As none-of its**
gredients should be thought too minute to be
gathered and added to our store, so none should
be deemed too insignificant for distribution to
others. Occasions for* conferring great'bene
fits do not often occur. and when they do, it
may hot be in our power to bestow them: but
the little services and gratifications which eve
ry current day places within the means of the
humblest member of society. will constitute.
if we all throw nue share in the common stock.
no inconsiderable aggregate of human enjoy
ment and actual good will.
INKLING.—••AN Do you uuderatand ,ties►
now V' thundered out - a, hasty pedappe, to
an urchin at, whose htad ha threw ert
nk
stand•. I have got an ink•ltng - t►f whit. .Ain
s. •
meart." - replied the boy.
TI4.IIWMI PlitiOSS.--" 1 don't 'sr akt
how nallans:ittbiks. but I do know that tko
bottle ini i the dark closet don't keep NI all the
time.
EOM
lin
=MI