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pottital.
VOICES OF SPRING.
DT MISS OILIULOTTS ALLEN.
There are voices whispering round us,
Breathing gently airs of love ;
/hada unseen the harp-strings waking,
Emanating from above.
As I list their . softened measure,
Rich in cadence, soft and clear,
Then the spirit-stir-ring powers,
Joyous utters,—" Spring is hero !"
Skies are bright, and birds are warbling
forth their swelling notes of praise ;
Sunbeams on the water sparkling,
Dance in numbers to their lays.
Crass is springing round our footsteps,
Plants are bursting Into life ;
While the fields and meadows smiling,
• Speak theille,with incense rife.
As the breezes on the river
Tremulously pass along,
I can read their notes melodious,
For they sing the cheerful song—
That the Spring is fast unfolding
All its beauties to our sight ;
And the face of Nature's teeming
With the love of heaven bright.
COME TO ME IN DREAMS
DT GEORGE D. PRENTICE
Conic in beautiful dreams, love,
Oh ! come to me oft,
'When the light wing of Sleep
On my bosom lays soh;
Oh ! come when the sea,
In the moons's gentle light,
Beats low on the car
Like the pulse of the night—
When the sky and the wave
Wear their loveliest blue,
When the dew's on the dower
And the star on the dew.
Como in beautiful dreams, love,
Oh come and we'll stray,
Where the whole year is crowned
With the blossoms of May—
Where each sound is as sweet
As thq coo of the dove,
And the gale's arc as soft
As the breathings of love :
Where the beams kiss the waves,
And the waves kiss the beach,
And our warm lips may catch
The sweet lessons they teach.
Come in beautiful dreams, love,
Oh ! come and we'll fly
Like two winged spirits
Of love through the sky:
With hand clasped in hand
On our dream wings we'll go,
Where the starlight and moonlight
Are blending tlfeir glow ;
And on bright clouds we'll linger
Of purple and gold,
Till love's angels envy
The bliss they behold.
(I)Wg nub elt.g.
CJ A GAL'S WASTIL—A school boy " down
cast," who was noted among his play-fellows
for his frolics with the girls; was reading. aloud
in the Old Testament, wheii; coming to the
phrase, " making waste places glad," he was
asked by the pedagogue what what it meant.—
The youngster paused—scratched his head—
but could give no answer, when up jumped
a more precocious urchin, and cried out: "I
know what it means, master. It means hug
gin .the gals ; for Tom Ross is tillers huggin
IWOand the waist, and it makes 'em as glad
,pretty woman is like a great truth or
a Whappiness, and has no more right to.
bundle- herself under a veil or any similar
abomination, than the sun has to init on green
spectacles. - i
always think,'-said a revereadgtie`se",
' that a Ortaiii quantity of wine does a man no
harm' after:dinner.' • Oh, no, sir,' replied the
host, • it. the . Uncertain, quantity that does.
the mischief.'
[l3ile who thinks ho can find within him
self the means of doing without others is much
mistaken ; but ho who thinks that others
cannot do without him is still more mistaken.
D3lt is ordinary for ono man to build his
fortune out of the ruins of another. When the
tree begins once to fall, every one hasten •to
gather sticks.
13:7*The good of the community is oftene '' 'on -
De;ted with harm to individuals. But they
Who suffer from one improvement are benefitted
by a hundred.
o:7°There aro no hands' upon the clock of
eternity, there is no shadow upon its dial. -
The very hours of heaven will be measured by ,
the sunshine—not by the shadow.
0:7 - Many a tender tie is broken,
Many a gentle heart distrest,
By a careless sentence spoken,
• Spoken only as a jest.
na - A person who undertakes to raise him
self by scandalizing others, might as well sit
AQINn on s wheelbarrow and try to wheel him
self-
ID - Truth is known but of a very few—
while filse opinions go current with the rest of
the world,
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Am:act( to Lira nnb Gtncral Vitu s Igiruffurt, uration, mMil, stmu
VOLUME IX:
(Capital sfarg
NEVER DESPAIR
. In 1760, Maine had, here and there scants•
settlements along the coast, and on the banks
of beautiful rivers, whose sources had never
been touched or tracked by the white man.—
Near the mouth of one of those streams which
flow broad and deep into the sea was Pema•
quid.
There lived, long ago, a family of the early
settlers of New England. It consisted, ac•
cording . to veritable history, (we refer to
Holm's Annals,) of twenty-six children. Wil
liam, one of the youngest sons, is the hero of
our tale. He was a hard!.' •Ire and daring
boy. He had a fair, open countenance, which
disclosed among other desirable qualities, enet- •
gy and a fixed and stubborn will, to accomplish
whatever he deemed worth while to undertake.
Ills manners might seem rude in a brilliant
dress party of the present day, and to partake
more of the run of woods than the culture Of
fashion. At the age of seventeen he commenc
ed a trade with a ship carpenter. lie quickly
proved his ready ability and inclination to do
his duty. Still he found time to fall in love
with his master's daughter—a sweet and gentle
girl, yet of strong mind—in whose society he
was thrown. Ile had 'gained her affection and
confidence before his master knew how great
an inroad had been made in his daughter's
heart:-
The mother was at once notified, and enraged
that her only daughter should throw herself
away upon a poor apprentice." Like all good
mothers, who forget they were once young,
Mrs. Mason did not remember that the more
she meddled with such delicate webs, the more
tangled they became. She was no sooner satis
fied that the yo-ng couple were in earliest
and that Mary could not be moved ffoin her af
fection by her motlrr's opposition, than she
assailed her husband in no gentle manner. She
insisted upon dismissing William, and thus
break the connection. She would not suffer ,
such things and he ought not to permit them ;
she enlarged upon the certain disgrace of Mary's
marrying one so much below her in birth and
expectation. She had many hones that her
daughter, so beautiful and fair would sonic day
loran a connection n ith one of the wealt hy
families ef Baltimore, where her relatives chiefly
•
resided.
Mr. Mason had learned from sad experience,
extending over a period of years, that however
much he might order his business out of doors,
within his threshold his dominion ceased. At
home Caudle reigned with undisputed sway—
and so he submitted to lose a good profitable
apprentice, that he might prevent his lacoming
a son•imlaw—although it was difficult for tho
father of Mary to see why lhilliaiu would not
make a respectable husband. , Ile was not,
however, allowed to rest until he had fairly
turned the poor fellow (Mt of doors.
William with a bursting heart, had only an
opportunity to clasp Mary to his antis tin• a
moment; and, as their hearts beat
,high with
the pmt.'s , , affection, they vowed before God.
never to marry unless they could be united to
each other.
"I shall leave the country" said he, "I
shall bravo the storm and sea, and I will seek
in foreign lands, that fortune, which is. neces
sary for our union with your mother's consent."
Her feClingS were calm and deep, and she was
us fixed as a mountain in her purposes, and
she told him so. " Come back," Said
when you• can; and you will find my heart as
truly .yours.ai ever•, if nice ; seek my grave
stone if dead, azd therellad my maiden:
name." • • • '
• William did not rave and tear his hair ; nor
did Mary faint; after the approved style of Bul
wee or Jamea. He did not threaten to take her
• from home and live on love in a mountain cot.
upon the wood crowned summits of Maine, Be
in fact, (how • unsentimental he was) did not
swear to shuffle oil - lls mortal coil, by the direct
agency of pining, powder orpoison. But after .
the first agony of separation and dash.of his
youthful dreams and early hopes had passed, he
determined to be a man, and achieve a victory
over the mother, as he had over the daughter,
by morecbadearing qualities.
William departed for Boston. Ere long he
ascertained that a shipas soon to sail for
London ; ho engaged as common sailor before
the mast, and soon acquired a knowledge ofhis
duties. A heavy gale came on as they sighted
tho coast of Ireland. They struggled. for
;:welKo hours to keep tho ship from going
ashor; having done all that it was possible
for men to do, in anxiety and despair they
awaited the result. They drifted on a leo
shore, and as she struck, the sea made a breach
over her from stern to stern, and carried away
almost every man on dock. William clung to
the rigging, until her masts had gone, and
taken with them beneath the surging waves
every other sailor. As the vessel was breaking
up by the three of the Imes, and by thumping
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'ALLENTOWN, PA
on the rocks, he felt that his hour bad come
and his thoughts, which concentrated in a mo
went whole years of memory, flew to the home
of his childhood, and the haunts of his early
love ; and as the image of Mary stood out befiire
him--a burst in grief from his heart. " Fare
well Mary," ho said, but the roaring winds
heeded, him not ; and the rude rocks rent the
ship, and the waves danced in wild and crested
foam around him. But as the morning broke
and the beach seenied near, hope revived in his
heart ; if the ship could hold together a little
longer. Just then be heard the shriek of a fe
male voice which appeared to be at the en
trance of the cabins, which had burst open by
the workings of the vessel ; and looking in that
direction, he saw a beautiful woman—a passen
ger who had spoken kind words to him on the
voyage. The water in the cabin had driven
' her upon deck, where she had stood in speech
less agony till now. Ile rushed forward and
grasped her in his arms, fur a wave was coming
and the ship was breaking up beneath their
Ergs; its heavy timbers were split into frag
melds, which the sea tossed far and wide. Ile
sprang over the side upon the bosom of the
rolling wave, which dashed shoreward and cast
him almost lifeless up n the beach. The shock
recovered him ; ho held his charge firmly in his
embrace. But another he saw was coming
which might take them back into the boiling
abyss. Ile struggled up the beech, dragging
the senseless form of the woman till he Was in
safety. Then be laid her Sown upon the cold,
wet sand, and smoothed bad: her lock,s, and
strove to recall the life which seemed to have
departed from her sweet, pale countenance,
Ile had rescued a daughter of the Duke o,
Albemarle. Assistance came from the inhabi
tants of the neighborhood. A country gentle
man, acquainted with the Duke, rendered every
aid that care could bestow. With gratitude
known only to those who arc rescued from death,
she strove to :induce William to receive some
costly jewelry which she preserved about her
person, and to go to England and receive some
valuable gift from her faihei'. Ile would re
ceive nothing but a note of introduction which
he never intended to present.
At length he found his way to London, and
unable to pursue his trade with advantage, he
shipped for the East Indies. After a few years
beating around the world, and slowly gaining
the °nice • a mate of a vessel, once more lie was
in' Lomiu , having again been wrecked and
lust. II had lost also his captain, who had
promis to aid him to get a vessel that he
it
:night •connnand in person. By the second
wreck, he also lost his acquisitions in the
East ; and was poor as ever, and a stranger
in a strange land. Worn down by- misfortune,
and also broken hearted, he was wandering
through the streets of the metropolis, and re
volving whither he should direct his course.--
lie had written as opportunity had occurred,
but had never received a single line from home,
or a word from Mary. He knew not whether
she was false or dead, or still true. Ills dreams
of greatness and success 'wean to melt away in
thin air, one by one, as the mist wreathes from
the mountain summit. As he was listlessly
passing along the streets, he beheld an elegantly
attired lady riding in an open carriage. She
ealledsto the coachman, and seized William by
the hands, and wept upon his shoulder. It
was the wife of Sir Walter Worthley, whom he
had saved from the wreck, years before.
She now insisted upon his going home with
Fier. She hnd never ceased to be anxious for
tislitte. Site thanked God that she was once
core able to testify her gratitude fur his sere
ees and noble
.daring,
Ho was received in the most corilial . nianner
by her husband, and the duke, her.father; l Who
gallantly told him he Was indi%ted to William
for his daughter, while.. Sir Walter Worthley
was equally indebted to hini.for his 3vife.
He was provided with every comfort, as'
though he were a most dittinguished guest; in
stead of a homeless wanderer from whom sue
cess had fled.
At the supper table, the conversation broken
in upon by his appearance, was resumed by the
duke and Sir Walter ; it related .to the wreck
of a Spanish vessel 'which had been richly laden
with specie and bar gold, and lost on the Baha
mas. The possibility of recovering the pro
perty was in debate. It attracted -the undivi
led attention of our hero. At length ho ven
tured to make a suggestion upon the matter,
which indicated to the gentlemen his ability
and enterprise. And finally, he engaged to un
dertake the hazard of recovering the property.
It ,was accepted ; they fitted out the expedi
tion, which ho commanded. his first voyage
was unsuccessful. But the duke was so im-
pressed with his ability, that he did not hesi
tate to send him again. This time ho more
than fulfilled every expectation. He recover
ed three hundred thousand pounds sterling.—
Sixteen thousand came to him as his propor
tion, which the. generous duke increased to fif
ty thousand, or $250,000. The fayorable ter
.
ruination of the voyage caused the bestowal on
him of much praise. Even the King noticed
~ MARCH 23, 1855.
him. and made him a knight in proof of his re.
;ard, and conferred uponhim at the sugges•
,ion of the duke, the desirable office of high
sheriff of New England.
Afterwards ho commanded an expedition
against Pert Royal, which he captured.
Other stations of- importance were intrusted to
his charge. And always did ho exhibit the
strong and stern elements of the man he pro
mised to be, when a friendless boy he was work
ing in the ship-yard of Pemaquid.
He became Governor of Massachusetts in
1602. He had nobly fulfilled the vow never to
marry until he could command the respect of
the mother of Mary. Ile had written to his
ION - C, atilt•for many years they had not met.—
But it had become a subject of general remark.
and a matter of speculation, how it could hap
pen that the Governor had so much to call him
away from the capliul to the eastward. How
ever that might be, Pemaquid had its share of
attention.
Great preparations were going on in the gov-
ernor's mansion: It was splendidly illumina
ted. An asseniLlage of wealth, and honor,
beauty of Trimountain had conspired to Make
the affair a brilliant one. The halls were beau
tifully decoratctl and adorned with beautiful
paintings ; among them was a fine picture of a
shipwrezk. The windows were shaded u ith
royal purple drapery curtains, lined with silk
and trimmed with gold lace and tassels, a pres
ent from Queen Mary of England, the royal con
.
soft of who was crowned in 1631.
Rare exotics and beautiful flowers from the
garden of opulence were exhaling their per
fumes on the air. Soft and rich' Music burst
forth, and the light and merry f_et responded to
the stirring strain. And the hour went by
like a pleasing dream. But the chief object of
attraction was the charining bride of the gov
ernor, whose marriage Was then celebrated.—
Then was sanctioned and consecrated those
vows which had been hallowed in heaven. and
were uttered lengliefore by the youthful hearts
at Pemaqui‘l, as • Old: good genius Lade them
ml,ro
Beautiful womanhood added railer than de
traded from tl:e early loveliness of Mary. A
calm r.iid holy joy, a repose of spirit known
only to the virtuous and mhe happy, rested like
an angcl's smile upon the brow of Mary, then
bride of William Phipps r the CeiUaidl Governor
of Massachusetts !— Olive lira;:ch.
The LIAM h eet Eleggar.
lIT GRORGI: CANNI2:O HILL
The following story is a jeml. We ask for
a careful perusal from all our young friends.
Tt was the morning of new year, that had
just set in, bright, golden and beautiful. The
sun glistened like jewelled raiment in the:cloud
less sky. The chiming, of the silvery sounds
of the bells struck joyfully upon the listener,
in every street. The air was cold, thought not
piercing ; bracing though not biting ; just cold
enough, in truth, to diffuse life and elasticity
into every one that moved.
There was a little girl—a child of poverty; on
that new year's tborning,walking the streets
with the gay crowd that swept past her. I.Ter
little feet had grown' so numb, encased only in
thin shoes, and those badly worn, that she
could but with difficulty move one before the
other. Tler cheeks shook nt every stop she
took, and her lips looked truly purple. Alas!
poor Elsie Gray ! She was a little beggar !
Just like the old year vas the new to her. Ju'st
like the last year's wants, and last year's suf
ferings, were the wants and snit rings of this !
The change of the year Lrought no change in
- her .condition with, Slie was poor, her
mother was a Widow and an invalid and the
child was a poor beggar !
In the . old and cheerless room gleamed no
bright fires of anniversary. No evergreens, no
wreaths, no flowers, save a few old withered
ones, decked her time-stained walls. There
was no sound of merry voices within the door,
to say to the Widow Gray--.
" A happy new year to you, Mrs. Gray."
- Heaven seemed to have walled her and her
abode out from the happiness that was all the
tvothrs on that festive day of the year. It had
provided to all appearances, no congratulations,
no laughter, no gifts, no flowers for them.—
Why ? Were they outcasts ? Had they out
raged their claims on the wide world's charity ?
Had they voluntarily shut themselves out from
the sunlight of the living creatures around
thorn ? No ! shame take the world that it
must be so answered for them. Mrs. Gray was
poor !
Littlo Elsie stopped at times and breathed
her hot breath upon her blue and benumbed
fingers, and stamped her tiny feet in their case-
ments with all the force left in them, and then
big tears stood trembling in her large blue eyes
for a .moment, and soiled slowly gown her
purple checks, as if they would freeze to them
She had left her mother in bed, sick, exhausted
and famishing What, wonder that she cried;
even though those hot tears only dripped on the
Has any one hurt you t
little f,llow.
She shook her head negatively.
" Have you lost your way ?" ho persisted.
" No," answered the child quite audibly. •
" What is the matter, then ?" he asked.
Mother is poor and sick, and I am cold
and'hungry. We have nothing to cat. Our
MOW is quite cold, and there is no treed fur us.
Oh ! you do not know all."
" But I will," replied the manly boy.—
, " Where do you live ?"
" Will you go with me ?" asked El7ic, her
race brightening.
" Yes, let me go with you," said he ; " show
me the way."
Throuth street, lane and alley, she guided
him. Thoy reached the door of the hovel.—
The cold breath of the wind whistled in the
cracks and crevices and keyholes before them,
as if inviting them in. They entered. A sick
woman feebly rabic(' her head from the pillow,
and ~!tts. ticr zweLt. "aaeic, have you
come? %.he faintly said. •
" Yes, mother," answered the child, " and
T have brought this boy with me. I do not
know who he is, but he said he wanted to
come and sce where we live. Did Idu wrong
to In ing hint, mother ?" •
'• No, my child," said the mother, " if he
knows how to pity you from his little heart
but he cannot pity me yet—he is not old
enough."
The bright-faced, sunny-hearted boy gazed
in astonishment upon the mother and child.—
The scene was new to him. Ile wondered if
this was what they called poverty. Ills
eyes looked sad upon the wasting mother, but
they glittered with wonder when turned towards
Elsie. Suddenly they filled with tears. The
want and and woe, the barrenness, the desola
tion, were all too Much for him. Ile shudder
ed at the cold, uncsvercd floor. lle gazed
mournfully into ate fireplace. His eyes
.wan•
dered wonderingly over the naked, walls, lobk
ing so uninvitingly ant cheerleSs. Putting hid
hand into his pocket ho grasped 'the Mil that
his Mother had that very morn givtu
drew it forth. 4 ,- is .
‘• You may have that;" saitlhe, holding it out
to the child.
Oh, you arc too good. You arc very gen
erous, I fear !" as it• she ought not to take it
from him.
'• Mother will gite me another 'if I want,"
:said he. "It will do you a great deal of good,'
and I do not need it. Like it, take it, you
shall take it," and he was instantly gone.
It was, a gold corn of ..the value of five
dollars !
Mother and child wept together. Then they
talked of the ' ^•hose heart had opened
for them on New Year's day. Then they let
their fancies run and grow wild and revel as
they choose. They looked at the glistening
piece. There was bread, and fuel and clothing,
and every comfort in its depths. They contin
ued to gaze upon it. Now they saw within its
rim pictures . of delight and joy ; visions of long
rooms, all wreathed and decorated with visions
of evergreens and flowers; visions of smilhig
faces and happy children; sights of !nary
yokes, ttna the charming music bells, the ac'
cent of innocent tongues and the Itiug,h of glad-
sumo hearts. Ah ! what a philosopher stone
was that coin ! How it turned everything firit
into. gold and then into happiness! now it
grouped around kind and cheerful friends, and
filled their ears with kind voices ! how it gar
landed all hours of that day with evergreens
and full blown roses How it spread them a
laden table, and crowded it with merry guests
and those guests, too, all satisfied and happy!
Oh, what' bright rays shone forth from that
trifling coin of gold. Could it have been so
bright in the child's or man's dark pocket?—
No ; else it had before then burnt its very way
through and lent its radiance to others. Could
it have shouo with such visions in the rich
, -
man's hands 3 No ; else his avarico would
have vanished at once, and his hart have flow
t
=l3
- •w story o fits 'cwe
ern pa, L- 'urope.
introduc
tion into Englana is, that ono Edwards, who
had been a merchant in Turkey, in 1052,
brought with him on his return, a servant;
Ivlto was acquainted with the method of roast
ing, coffee, and waking it into a beverage.
Afterwards, a house was kept by this person
for tha sale of coae, in London. In Paris, it
was hardly known, till tho arrival of the
Twkish an bas,, , atlor there in 1669. A public
c,.;.:10 house was seen after opened iu that
The grateful estimation of coffee, when prop
erly prepared ; is almost universal. It has been
the favorite beverage of many distinguished.
men, Leibnitz, Witaire, Frederick the great of .
andiNVpuleon. It is used by all class
es of the people in Euror.e. As a medicine,
strong coffee is a powerful stimulant and cordi
al ; and in the paro.xysrus of asthma, it is ono
of the best remedies. In faintness, or exhaus
tion from labor raid fatigue, it is one of the most
cordial and deliei9us restoratives. But much
depends on the preparation by roasting (not
burhin;;), and the duration of time it is subject
to bulling. The of jection to its strength with
evuy one, is readily removed by the use of
milk ; which, at the same time, adds to the
nutriment 'of this agreeable beverage. Tho
conjecture sometimes made, that coffee is un
wholesome, seems not to be confirmed by facts
or experience. It neither shortens life, nor
does is inebriate, or debilitate, or unreasonably
stimulate. If it
. has a tendency to produce
such effects, 'it ought to be relinquished, as
much as ardent spirits. But the observation
of the most careful and intelligent physicians
does not support the supposition. •
We are aware of the modern theory recom
mended by some, which would exclude not only
ardent spirits and other fermented liquors, but
animal Lod, coffee and tea ; and allow only of
a vegetable and milk diet. Wo will not quer
rel with such benevolent men. But it remains
to be proved; that rater, milk, and vegetable
diet will secure the health and vigor as effectu- •
ally as something more substantialand nutria
fans. Yet, as the zealous advocates of temper
ance, we would not be thought to discourago:
the most plain and simple diet, which consists
with the athletic and laborious duties of man._
Ardent `spit its aro never necessary; not even
as a medicine. Other remedies are eqdally ef
licacieus in all cases ; and, as a drink, even in
a ;nod:rate use, it is always injurious. Wino,
porter, and cider may also be used to pupposcs. •
sntemperance. But whether these must be
entirely proscribed as well as - argent .spirits,
for the promotion of temperance; we do uot.
Undertake to decide. The apostolic advice is,'
to be temperate in all things,!'