%Dllo=7ii =.O
IE I NKT IS ID a a
WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 28, 1846.
[From Blackwood's magazine.]
The Greenwood Shrill.
Outstretched beneath . ' leafy shad*
Of Windsor Forest's deepest glade,
A dying woman lay ;
Time little children round her mod.
And there went up from the greenwood
A woeful wail that day.
-0 mother!" was the rainiest cry,
.0 mother, mother, do not die,
And leave as all alone.'
"My blessed babes!" she tried to say,
Bat the faint accents died away,
In a low sobbing moan. •
And then life struggled hard with death,
And last and strong she drew her breath,
And up she raised her ilea; •
And peering through the deep wood masa
With ■.long, sharp, unearthly gone,
Will he not comer she said.
Just then. the parting boughs between,
A little maids light formlwas seen,
AU breathless with be
l speed ;
And following close, a a p zcarns on,
(A portly man tolook u . -
Who led a panting steed.
a Mother!" the little maiden cried,
Or e'er she reached the woman's side.
And kissed her clay-cold cheek
I hare not idled in the town,
Bat lonorent wandering up end doves,
The minister to seek.
4 1I4rey toW me here—they told me there,
I think they mocked me everywhere;
And when I.found his home,
And begged him on my bonded knee,
To bring his book and come with me,
'Mother, be would not come.
I told Ltim'lnw you dying‘lay
And could not go iu peace away
Without the minister.;
I begged him for dear Christ, his sake,
But oh ! my heart eau Bt to break
Mother, luewould not stir!
'So, though weteirs were blindiig use,
Dow bark as fast as fast could be:
To come again to you ;
And here--close by—this squire I met
Who asked (so mild,) what made you fret;
And when I told him true,
"I will go with you, child," he said,
"God sands me to this dying bed ;"
`Mother, he's here,•harl! by.
Afirlt de thus the little maiden spoke,
The man. his back against an oak,
Looked on with glistening.eye:
The bridle on his neck flung free,
With cluirering, flank and trembling knee,
Pressed closi his bonny bay;
A statelier man, a statelier steed,
saver on•greensward paced, I rate,
Than those stood there that day.
Se. while the little maiden spoke,
'lllls-man, Ms back against anorak,
Looked on with glistening eye
And folded alms; 'end in his look,
Something, that like • sermon beak,
Preached—" All is vanity."
Bat when the dying woman's tau!
Tamed toward him with a wishful go"
He stepped to where she lay;
And kneeling down, bent over her,
Baying—. , I am a minister—
My sistal let us pray."
And well, withoit' en beak Cr stole.
Goil'a words were prinual on his soul,)
Into the.dying ear,
Ha breathed as 'twere, an angers strain,
The thins that unto life pertain.
And death'i dark shadows clear.
Be spoke of sinners , lost eats%
Lo Christ renewed--segesserstet--
01God's most blest skate,
That not a single soul should die
Who turns repentant with the ery
, "8e merciful to me."
Re spoke ef trouble, pain and toile'
Ersional but for a little while
In penitence, faith, and lore—
%re, in God's own good time, to be
Exchuned for an eternity
Of happiness above.
Theo—u the spirit 'ebbed away—
He raised his hands and eyed to P ll l
hat peaceful it might pass; •
Aid then—the orphan's webs alone •
Were hard, u they knelt every ow
Blois round on the green rim.
Bath was the sight their wandering erg
Beheld, in hart-struck mute surprisar.
Whs reined their coursers back.
u they fou . nd the JOBS
Whe in the heat et thus that day
Red wandered from their track.
alie ee b men r e i ne d his pawing steed.
• And lighted down, ati if agreed,
to silent at his side ;
And illere,llMCDTeled all they steed—
It wall a wholesome sight and good—
That dry for mortal Fide.
•
ror of the noblest tithe land
'Wu that deep.bushed, bear.hewded band
And cannel in the ring,
By the dead pauper on the ground
Rer ftgied orphans dinging round '
Knelt their *anointed hint.
TIN told egnisur *was George the Tbitt Thasnec
44 : Muni en ths 'authority of the' ffew. Geo. Crabber
been poet of humble life.
. ..
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" You will not surely, leave me tonight.
Charlotte ! I am extremely weak. and scarce
ly think I shall !Are till morning. You smile
—you don't believe me ; or rather, you wish
not to belieie anything that.will interfere with
your pleasures. Well, go, go—perhaps tex
aggerate my illness." The sick man looked
at his beautiful wife. who bad just entered the
ehamber, splendidly attired for a party. to " see
if he wanted anything" before she went out.
•* I really think you arelooking much better
to•night, and I may venture to leave you. The
Arlington., you know,"are such very, particu
dar friends—they would feel-positively slight
•ed. should I refuse their pressing invitation.—
• shall send up old Mary. so that you will be
quite comfortable."
•• Pray send up no one—l wish to be, as I
&el—alone."
." Well, my lois, I sin sorry to leave you ;
'but bless me ! the clock is striking eight, and
it is time for me to go"—and she hurried from
the room. In the hall she met the physician,
and carelessly remarked--" Dear doctor. do
go and cheer up Mr. Leslie a little. Be has
*the blues horribly this evening, and I am - en
gaged to be out. Why, what is the man star
ing at 1" •
Engaged do be Out, madam I You may
'be too late to close your husband's eyes; I ear
.he will scarcely survive the night."
" Sir, sir what mean you ! Is this done to
alarm me, or are you serious 1" and she imme
diately re-entered the room with the physibian.
As she passed into Leslie's chamber, he open
ed ehis , dull eyes; and, seeing his wife, his
countenance underwent a sudden change from
pale to 4ed, and his eye lightened as if in an
ger. Cis wife approached the bed but he rno-
Wined her away, and feebly raising himselfou
his elbow, said :
" I told you the truth, Charlotte ; I feel that
lam dying. Now answer me, frinkly and
sincerely—have you aught to complain of me
since I have been your husband ?"
She turned pale, and tremblingly sobbed,
" Nu. oh Henry, not one word—but I was
about shamefully to wrong you. I will not go
—I will not go—l will stay with you forever I"
and she burst into tears.
••"Madam F' he candy replied, "the dying
have no sympathies but for justice. Your tears
are unnecessary. 1 precetve that/ have thrown
away my affections upon an unworthy object.
1 have been duped—how deeply 1 know not.
wish not to inquire. Doctor. 1 call upon you
to witness that she has no complaint to make
against me. And now, if you really would do
the a last favor, madam, leave me to die in
peace." ,He sank back exhausted—the hetic
faded from his cheek. and it slight tremor shook
-his frame. The doctor heard a slight shriek.
and turning-round UM that the lady had faint
-ed. He called old Mary, and had her reinov
ed quietly to her own room, where she goon
'recovered, and begged to be allowed to go to
her husband. "He is dying. and I must be
.with bun. Who. but a wife, should close tier
•hushand's eyes ? (must—l will see him'? He
is cursing file now—l know it—hut on my
knees I will sue for his forgivnesa. He dare
not deny it me—he cannot, Lead me to him
—where is he Who
shall restrain me- ?"
She raved Thus for some time, lentil she sank
back 'exhausted ; and when She again looked
up, she found that she was alone. She ran to
the door—it was locked from without But
we will leave her to her sensations, and rejoin
to the sick chamber
Ha, ha, ha!" laughed The doctor, re•en
tering. I think we have done The business,
my dear fellow. Butishs must have been very
blind to have mistaken you fora sick man.—
Why, you look as if you could enjoy a beef
stake and a bottle of,Madeira with the health.
lest bon vivant in town. And then the manner
in which you carried it off—Chippendale could
not haveacted it better."
" Doctor." replied Leslie, rising from the
bed and adjusting his shirtcollor and cravat at
the glass, "Charlotte is a noble woman, and
this thing must not be carried too far. An un
conquerable love of pleasure and society. uni
ted to her extravagance, have come near ruin
ing me, iu a pecuniary point of view, besides
totally destroying my domestic happiness. I
will go to her now and confess the stratagem 'I
have employed. She will understand my mo
tive. and feel die necessity of reforming her
habits. I have acted-from a painful necessity,
and I, would not leave her a- moment longer in
distress."
•• You will do-no such thing." said the doe
40r. taking him by the arm. 4. You are my
patient." continued he, smiling, and for
bid you leaving the -room. You most never
leave the game half played out. if you wish to
conquer a woman. My prescription is a hot
supper and a bottle of wine, after which yon
will proceed immediately to bed. I wilt take
care of your
When Charlotte found that she was a pris
oner in her own chamber, her first impulse was
*to give way to tears.. She felt she had acted
wrongly, and was denied the opportunity.
wheu she wished humbly to have atoned for
her•misconduct. She could not believe that
her husband was really is so much danger as
the doctor had represented, or she surely would
have heard something of it - before. lie had
been sad and peevish for several days, but
nothing more. Shiewas a high-spirited wo-
Matti and began alre . ady to consider herself the
injured "party, from being denied access to her
husband. Gradually her repentant feelings
melted away. and tel the pride of her woman's
nature was aroused. She sat brooding sadly
over her eontenteding emotions' when her
door was Unlocked. and old Mary entered the
MOM.
•* Madam," said Mary. I've got the key
and !hod& I would bring you something warm
arid nice ; and besides; madam, I think I can
give you some news to," added the girl, ap
proaching her mistress and whiipering in her
ear.
'lj; 11'1 j1;"'10 I ;1:11;1 1.101 1
[From the Sunday AWas.]
Tea Well Played.
DT 0. 0, TOSTDIL
ItkOARDI.BIII,I . O/7 .4 14N11NC14T16151 FROM ART -411111M11."
The lady started upon her feet, as if she had
been • Stung by 'a kerpint: exclaiming " My
God ! Is it possible: that I have been doped
thus deeply by a maw! I'll teach him afro he
has dared to play with. Mary I here, quick
my hat and shawl ! call the carriage....
I ani going put."
The orders were speedily obeyed, and in a
few minutes Mrs. Leslie found her self amid
the giy throng at the Arlington party, receiv
ing the homage of a troop of beaux, who im
mediately surrouneed her, protesting that she
never looked so lovely, and that she had come
in good 'time to save the party from ennui, as
they had almost despaired of her for the even
ing.
There was a whirl of indistinct and confus
ed sensatiuns in Charlotte's brain;but this well
timed flattery acted like oil thrown upon the
agitated waters. Gradullay she alloweJ her-
self to be diverted ; and, pride and indignation
at the conduct of her husband corning to her
aid, she determined to allow no one to believe
that she could be otherwise than happy.
The moon had risen, and mingling with the
silver light, the perfumes of -the garden came
floating through the lattice, disposing' every
one to a pensive voluptuousness. Charlotte
was of a sanguine and enthusiastic tempera
ment, and while she leaned out at the casement
which overlooked the garden, and inhaled the
almost spiritual beauty and fragrance of the
scene, she felt her heart swell with indignation
towards her husband, who bad dared to play
tricks with her—to treat her as a child.
Had he reasoned with me," said she, half
aloud ; " nay, had he commanded me I should
have obeyed with the best grace I could. But
thus to deceive mei,with a wellplayed farce, and
then to laugh at his triumph 1-1 hate him, for
he has made toe despise myself."
Why . not revenge yourself, then, dear
Charlotte !" said a soft voice. Her hand was
at the same moment gently but fervently clasp
ed, and looking up, she saw' a tall, elegant
young man, with a- haughty brow and fiery
eye, modulated to an expression Of intense ten=
derness, bending respectfully over her. Her
heart beat audibly ; tor many a time had she
thrilled beneath the tones of that magic voice,
not dreaming the spell which was doing its
work upon lier.
Francis-1 mean Mr. Langham," she
gasped in visible alarm, •• what mean you 1—
How know you my thoughts ? You must not
—I feel you must not—know them. I dare
ask for no sympathy—and especially, not for
yours. Leave me, leave me, if you pity my
distress."
• 'The young man dropped her hand. & stood
erect sod proud before her. Yet there was
something so fascinating in his lustrous black
eye. and his graceful majesty of bearing, that
Charlotte could not choose but ga'ze.
" Charlotte," said he. in a low, calm voice ;
" there are moments in life when the heft of
love within us breaks forth as instantaneously
as the lightning which leaps from the clouds
and shows, at one brilliant moment, the scene
ry, through the surrounding darkness. The
first glance of your eyes which met mine was
the flash which lighted up the darkness of my
heart, and showed me the form of love and
beauty that sheltered there. Fur months I have
fed upon my passion silently, for, so long as
you were happy, I had no right to speak aught
that might disturb you. Now, you are miser.
able—nay deny it not; your eyelids quiver
and your face is pale—and I have a right to
show that I sympathize with your sorrow.—
Having so firmly borne my own distress, I
have th'is stronger claim upon your confidence.
Let me lead you from the hot and suffocating
air of this room into the garden, and there you
shall tell me what is the matter."
There are momenta in which nothing ap.
pears startling. Francis Langman was an im.
perious, haughty man whom nobody thought
of approaching with anything like familiarity.
Charlotte had become acquainted with him
some time before, and was charmed with his
genius and elegance. His standing in society
was unexceptionable, and every body courted
him. To her he had never been anyting but
respectful in the extretne.and his brilliant, con
versation had so won upon her that she regard
ed him with the fondness of a brother. His
calm, quiet.demeanor on the present occasion,
entirely threw her off her guard ; and she al
lowed him to lead her into the garden without
one word of resietauce.
Henry -Leslie did not order the supper or
wine prescribeeby the doctor ; and the latter
having taken his departure. the husband sat
moodily before .the fire, reflecting upon the
course he had pursued. He loved his wife,
and had done it for her good. Of so much he
was satisfied. Yet he could not forego his
misgivings lest he had gone too far. At length
his anxiety increased to such an extent. he pro
ceeded to his wife's apartment, fully determin•
ed_upon an ecclaircisseuient at once. He
found the door open, and Charlotte—gone !
More indignant than alarmed, he returned to
his chamberand went to bed—but not to sleep;
for. when we have torn a loved object from the
heart, the wound still bleeds.
Early in the morning he called old Mary,
and ordered her to request her mistress to at-
tend him.
- " Yes. sir," stammered the faithful creature,
" but mistress went out last. evening. and—"
Well. I know she went out—she went to
Mrs. Arlington's party ; but .I presume she
must have returned by this time. She does
not usually stay out till daylight, does she 1"
" No—no—sir. but'—"
" But what ? answer me instantly."
" Here is a letter, sir, that has just been left
by a serving man of Mrs. Arlington's,"
He tore it open and read :
66 You attempted to deceive me. end have
lost me. I know my fate, but anything is more
easily ham by a woman than wounded pride.
hope . you have recovered from your aim.
and that your hot supper and wineagreed with
you. .thtitatorra."•
My story is told. and the morai is plain.—
A husband may be forgiven by his wife for
every thing except making her contemptible
in her own ere/.
Egg and Girls.
Tani : ARRAYED IN Minn GursL- We
copy tke following seasonable article front a,
late number of the Sivannalt Republican:
Where are they! What has become At the
juvenile race that used to make the welkin ring,
With' the frolicsome latightce. the free. unrestra-:
fined sports;•the merry. innocent pastimes of
happy boyhood and girlhood 1 What has be- .
come of that beautiful race of fair-haired, rosy:
cheeked; healty, wholesome boys. and 'the warm,
radiant sunshine of girlish faces, with step as
elastic and graceful as that of a wood-nymph,
with a laugh sweeter than the music of singing
birds, with all their naturainess..their unaffected
ease. and the beautiful confidence which is the
proper heritage of early youth !
Byron might well have sung,in his day-.-
Sweet is the honk of gins."
It was heard then and now in the " gieen
lanes" of merry England, on the sunny plains
of France, along the vine-clad hills of Germany
and eisevihere. these " celestial voices" may be
heard, but, not in matter-of-fact America. No;
they are not here. During the Revolution it
was not thus. When children had to choose a
play-ground that was secure from shells-` and
round shot, it was not thus. There is no boy
hood nor girlhood now. There is the birth, the
babyhood manhood, womanhood,and death.—
These are the epochs which divide a life
that—
"—b viers like to star
"Twist *tight and . stem
Upon the hotizon'e mge."
Our Atherican boYi are hot well grown boys;
they are homer/tarn, - as Carlyle would say—
minature men drisseid - up en - bones, with long
tailed coats, or smart frock coats, gloves, and
canes, and too often brave in cigar smoke.—
Their hair, it ts long and
,manly,:their carraige
moat particularly erect, and to stumble against
a curb-stone and roll in a little clean dirl would
be a calamity. Their faces are grave and thouht
ful with the throes of nascent manhood; their
address profoundly calculating, and reflecting
the wisdom of the incipient man of the ivorld,
as if they knew sorrow, and had taken deep,
very deep glances into that wounderful store
house of mysteries—which the dayofjudgment
alone will clear up—the human heart.
the girls ! - How many of them are allowed
to give forth the impulse of their generous. sen
sitive natures! They too, are little women.—
They too often do not kiss their .manly broth
ers, much less are they caressed by them.—
They are little women. driep in the mysteries
of the toilet. redolent of cosmetics, perhaps vers
ed in hen:l . -stitching and working lace ; their very
dolls have bustles. and they, poor things, with
forms cast in a mould of God's own worknin
ship. whose every (IMO end every developMent
is beauty and loveliness, must wear bustles too.
Hardly do they darn their brother's stockings,
or hem his handkerchiefs, or delight in -the
bandy-work of making his linen.,
When half grown _they are serious. sober
women. They dance, and ring, and smile, and
simper methodically. They walk on stilti, or
dance with evident constraint, and by-arid-by
we expect they will not dunce at all, We ex
pect soon to see the little. - bzings. with eyes
fixed alone on their neighbor's . deficiencies.—
Ah ! how wrong to check the buoyancy. the ex
hiliration, the joyous outbreak of these young
creature:, wether it be in romping, or rutting,
or dancing and whether the danncing
,be to the
music of , their own voices, of the 'piano, of the
violin, or the harp, or Ike tarbret, or Of a Ger
man,band, if providentially they might pick one
up for love or money.
This is a demure, stupid, hypt ethical. hum
bugging age, and we are going one of these days
to say more about it.
THOUGHTS AND ILLUSTRATIONS:4Im per
fections boasted of by many consists rather in
knowing no difference between gOtid and 'evil.
—Owen.
Prayer without faith is like 'shooting with
out bullets, it may make a great noise, but will
never accomplish any thing.—Burkeh,
Half the follies and vanities of the world are
mere contrivances to silence the troublesome
monitor within.—Faber.
A man may go with a heedless spirit from
ordinance to ordinance.-abide all his days un•
der the choicest teachings.and yet never be im•
proved by them ; for hsirt•neglect is a leak at
the bottom.—Pard. ... •
There is no true cure for sinful: vain, and
unprofitable thoughts but by the contrary. , by
calling up the thoughts to their proper .work.
and finding them more profitable employment.
Baxter.
TEE WASTE IN Wan.—Give metlte money
that has been spent in war. & I Will rinichieve
every foot of land on the globe. 'I will clothe
every man, woman and child, iri an attire that
kings and grieens might be proud of. I will
build a school-house in every valley over the
earth. I will sapply that school•honie with a
competent teacher. I will build an' academy
in every town. and endow it•=si college 0-eve
ry state, and fill it with able professors. 1 Will
crown every hill with a church conietirated to
the promulgation of the' gospel' of I
will support in its' Pulpit an able tiaaier of
righteousness. so-that on•every Sabbath Morn
ing the chime onsone.hill shalt answer to -the
chime on another. around the 'eantes'bread
eircumference,`and the voietrof prayer. and the
song of praise; shall ascend 'as• an. universal
offering to heaven; :.• •.• •
gnucars.—To rub blink the.baek
of a child and lint unlearning with a.bfroh.--
Tile way to educate the young ladies ie. to let
them know all about the jilogies. the °ninnies.
the ffies.and the. rifreks. the ticksand‘the nos
hes: but nothing about , the ings- 7 —sewing.
knitting. washing. baking.& making padding.
Yowdon't like vmokite. l ` fr aint likely t"
asked clank; free and , easy YankeeN as he en
tered a room Where four or five, yonniladies
were sewing. puffing i dark tong nine..,'• Well
air. We do not," was the immediate . reply.
••Umpht" replied the..emoker; removing hie
eigar : long enough - to spit, •• a food many*.
pie den't.” . •
Et IL P. GOODRICH.
Tile UPRIGHT MAN OF.Hurogra.—There is
no being in the amid for whom . I feel a higher.
moral respect and admiration. , than for the . up
right man of business. • No. not fur the philan
thropist. the missionary. or the martyr. I feel
that I could more easily he a marytr, than span
of that lofty Moral tiprithtness.. And let me
say. yet, more distinctly. that it is not: for gene
roue man_ l' feel this kind of respect. • •Getti
rarity seems to me a low quality *ere irtpcilsC,
compared with the lofty virtue I speak of. It
irnoi for 'the man • whb ' distributes extensive
'charities—who bestoirs magnificent duoations.
That may all , be very. well. I speak not to dis
parage it. I.,wislt there were more of it ; 'aud
it may all consist with,a want of the true lofty
uutending uprightness. , That-is .not. the, wan.
then. of whom I speak„; but . it, hp br !rho stamls
amidst all the interest and periloiti esigeneies
of trade,firm; calm.
.disinterested, and upright.
It is the man who c an see another man's - distress
is well se his own. Iris the man. whose mind
his own advantages dues not blind' nor cloud
for an in:ant—who .could sit a judge Upon a
question' between himself and his neighbor; just
as 'safely as the purest magistrate - upon the
bevels of justice. Ah ! how much rieherthan
ermine—how far nobler than the train of mag
isterial authority—bow . more awful
.than. the
guarded pomp of majesty, is thatsimple. maims
aitnoue, and majestic truth ! Yes.it is the man
who islitrue—true to himself.% his neighbor,
and his God—true to right. true to his eonsci
core, and who feels that the olightestauggcstion
of that consience, is more to him than the chance
or acquiring a butidreci estates.
TIE LAST GIFT-. 41
A touching and-beautilul story is told by Lieu
tenant Parsons in his " Nelsonian Reminisce-
nces." ,k young man the name of Richard
Bennett was mortally wu to—one of Nel
son's great battles, and request ell- that a min
iature, and a lock of hair, should be given by
Lieut. Parsons to his ' sweetheart - , Susette, in
ScUtland.—The noble and gallant Lieutenant
thus decribes the interview
' ~ It was at the close of day. when a bright-
July sun was on the point of setting, that I ar
rived 'at the very pretty cottage of Susette's
mother. I tremulously stated who I was, to
the most respectable looking matron I ever saw,
of French extraction. In broken and bitter
acetim of. heartfelt grief, she told me her daugh
ter's death was daily look for, and requested
time to prepare her to new. At last she express
ed a wish to see the friend of Richard Bennett :
and I was admitted to the fairest daughter of
Eve that ever found this world unequal to her
blossoms. Slur was propped up with pillpws,
near the open lattice of her bedroom, that was
clustered with roses. Her white dress, and the
drapery of the room, accorded with the-angelic
vision; who turned her lustrous orbs upon Me.
veiled in long fringed eyelids. She held out
her transparent hand, and gently pressed mine,
as I knelt to kiss it; and as she felt my tear
drop on it softly murmured. -•' I wish I could
cty ; that would relieve my poor heart. She
gasped for breath. and respired with d . rutty.
..'I he lock of hair--quickly. while Ics ee it."
She caught at it, wildly pressed it to her lips
and heart. and fell back. Het mother and I
thought she fainted ; but the pure and innocent
soul had returned to God who gave it.
A SELF-TAIIMIT SLAVY:a•AII a meeting of
*the Synod of Alabama. on the third week in
'January. last. contrioutions were called lowan
purchase a colored man. a slave, of extraordinary
character. It was stated that he was a good
classical scholar. and wholly self. taught. He
is a blacksmith; and was stated on the floor
of the Synod, by members and others. _ who
knew him. that .he first learned the alpha
bet by inducing his master's children and others
to make the letters, one at a time, on the door
of his shop. In this way he familiarised him-.
self with thiletters, and their 'times. then
learned to pot them together and • made words.
and soon was able to read.' He then com
menced the study of arithmetic, and then English
grammar and geography. •
It was also stated that he is now able to read
the Greek Testament with ease, has some know
ledge of the Latin language, and even COMlnPfle•
ed the study of the Hebrew language. but relin
quished it in consequence of not having suitable
books.. It was,stated that he studied at night
till I I or 12 o'clock, and that in conversing with
him, they felt thentselvea in the
,presence of
their equal., He Is between 30 and 35 years of
age., and is willing to go out as a missonary, to
Afrine.'under the Assembly's Board.
linxerat Live.—There is a .happiness in
humble life.—who can doubt it l The' man
who owns but a few acres of land and raises an
abundance to supply. the necessary. wants of
his family—can ask for no more. Kite is sa
tisfied ,with him coudition—and there,are thou.
,sands so situated who are—no man is more
happy. No political movement disturb his re•
pose.7-no speculative minis.. chases the calm
serenity from his 'mind—no 'schisms in the .
Church throw shadows beneath his 'golden
sky. His family is the world to hint; his lit
tle lot ii all liis-care. Who sighs not for inch
a life of calmness, and serenity ? • Amid the
cares and anxieties of business. who would not
exehange his prospects and his honors for the
reptile of him who is contented and happy on
a small piece aground, far from the noise and
beetle: pnncrlY luxury and squalid poverty of
city life? If there is a • situation congenial to
the true' spirit of man and of the growth of vir
tue; it is amid theyrjoicitige of nature—in the
calm retiretitent of rural life.
Nom Conirrrit..—AnOld woman W'4s asked
What she thought of one of her neighbois by
the name oflones : 'with a very knowing look
•" Why. I don't want to say anvtbing
about my • neighbors: but as to Mr. Jones:
sometimes I think. antitheft *rain I don't know
-4titsfter all, I rather guess he'll turn out to.
be a good deal inch a sort of a man I take him
to,be, . ' •
ATIFECTIIONATC--An Irish gentiman, 'the
uthei day. in excess of eonnohial affeetioni ex•
claimed: *. ilearen ,forbid..bir dent: that I
should evet Uri to see you 'a widow."' • ;
THE ItETIMIN Or 286 .Wastiesett.--;Soitter.
years ego a pious widow. who was reduced to
great poverty. had just placed thelasketetoked
herring on her table to supply her - hunger and
that of her children. when a rap was beankait
the door, and a stranger solicited a lodgingintl ,
a morsel of food; saying that be halt not,tainticli
bread for twenty-four hours. - .The
not hesitate. but offered a O .. men) the
_stranger.,
eaying, o We •iliall not be forsaken., orstart;r,
deeper for • art of charity." .
The traveler drew near the When:
he saw the t.eanty , fare, filled Witli•fistitish-'
ment, he said. •• And is this all your
AioldO yoU offer a share . to one you'do'inti .
know ? Theis I never saw charity beforel:=2
Mit. madam, do you not wrong your children.
by giving a part of your last morsel to a scans
ter ?" Ah." said the widow. weeping.' , " I
have
. a bay. a darling son, somewhere on ther
face of the wide world. unless Eleaven,has
ken him away: and I only act rowanla.you,a,
I. would that others should act towards
God, who sent manna from .heaven, can pro-,
ride for us as he did for Ism!: and.,hot
should I grieve if my son should he tkwan'der ;
er de,stitute as you, and should find a shelter.
even as poor as this, and!be turned titirelliived
away 1"
The widow stopried. a nd the stranger.
ing from his seat. clasped her in his
" God indeed. has provided just such it tibial(
for your wandering son. and has' given Min
wealth to reward the goodness of his
to s 4. My mother ! omy mother r ., - -• •
It was indeed her longdost son, retrinted
from India. He had chosen , this way to- sun
prise his family. But never was suprisa mom
complete or more joyfol. He was -able. to
make the family comfortable. which he humor
diately (id. the mother living for some, yea!"
longer in the enjoyment of plenty
EXISTENCE OF GUlL—There is a Godl - 1116
herbs of the valley, the cedars of the molin
tain, bless hint— , the insects sport in his beains
—the elephant salutes him with the risinkof
the eat—the bird sings him in the foliage
the thunder declares his immensity._-. Man
alone has said... there is no God !", : Unite ip
thought, at the same instant, the mast beautiful
objects of nature : suppose that you see,,it
once all the hours of the day, all the year,,a
morning. of spring, and atnorning of autumn ;
a day hespangled with stars. sitight.covere i tt
with clouds ; a meadow enamelled with beau 7
trolls flowers ; forests hoary with 11 1 015111111
fields gilded with the tints' of autznntheit
alone you will have a just conception"of the
Universe. While you are gazing align ihEt
sun which o is plunging under-the vsulte of:the
west, another ob dmires him emerging
from the gilded gates of the east. By what-in
conceivable magic does that aged star, which
is sinking fatigued end burning under ~.41us
shades of the evening, reappear at the ins.tsm).
fresh and humid 'with the rosy dew of the nitog
ning At every instant of the day the glniietts
orb is at once rising—resplendent atnuon-day.
and setting in the west ; or rather, ouri:ensc
deceives us, and there is properltkpeaking;rio
east or west to the world. Every thing fedi
ces itself to one single point, from whenetthit
King of Day sends forth at once r triple' light,
one single single substance.
Nos BAD.—An exchange
. paper. we believe
it is the Lowell Courier, tells the following good
story.
An old lady resident of a neighbarinkri . lnee.
kept a large family of Turkeys, perhaps sixty.
She. like a great many other paople, thought a
great deal of her turkeys, consequently valued
them very highly. Opposite her door . ;was
West India Goode Store." The mait — who
kept it one day emptied Ilia casks : of cherties,
intending to replace them with new. The'obl
lady being economical, thought it a great pity
to have all these cherries wasted, and -in order
to have them saved, she would just drive over
her turkies and let them eat them..ltt the course
nf. the day the old lady thought she would look
after them and see they were in no miachief.yr—
She approached the yard and lo! in one corner
laid her turkeys in one huge pile, dead. •;res
they wets stone deal'. What was to 'be
done!
ly the old matron could not lose 114're-e
-thers ! She must pick them..:':-She called her
daughter , and picked them, intending to have
thew buried in the morning. Morning , conme
and behold there were her turkeys stalking
about the. yard featherless enough (as may ;be
supposed.) crying out " quit, quit ;" fueling no
doubt mortified that their drunken . tit had bun
the means of losing their coats. .Poor things.
if thcy, had ;aid **quit" before they , had begun
they would not have been in this ". bad 'fie!,
' We would advise all young men who are ; in
the habit of drinking , to leave "
offbefore
,tliity
get Bleked; and to those who do not.let every
young lady say
A Hatiaasti.—A, lady who had lost a belo
ved child. was so oppressed with grief that she
even secluded lierself from the society of: her
family. and kept herself locked in her!chato
ber ; but was length prevailed on,..by lieehtut.
band to come down stairs and take a walk in
the garden. Wilds there. she stooped to pluck
a flower ; but her husband appeared as thotigh
helvould hinder her. She plaintively said.
•• what deny a flower r He replied... You
have denied God your flower, and surely you
might not to think, it nerd iu me to deny, you
Mine."
It is said the lady suitably felt the gentle Fe
proof. and had reason to say, •• A won] spoken
in season,' . how tutul it tn."
A FlLetvOtrr...A litda eohler of New York
city is so anzinusto be •" .up in the world." that
he will work intlastrionsly. for several weeke.
until he has welled soma,sixty or eighty dol.
tars. when; renouncing Weeps* and' last. he
dons a firstrate suit and takes board at the Astor.
where he way he seen struuing shout with, the
utmost m yrtles. giving orders like • a lord to
the smantautd-vshiblit4 himself with witegar
opera glass ollliqe Astor House steps..until,hia.
money ran t om. when he again returns to wink
kienfh t to save enough for anotbe t • ow :*
as be calls it.
EN
.;`~
IRE
Kitrall3=2, Ul4,
, •
MEI