H . " " - irr: - , 1 : , . . : 1 r. 1 1 - . .. .
i-;u ; ;:V " . : ; : ... ... . ' TREE AS THE WIND. AND AMERICAN TO THE CORE. , . -- .
.n fi? i.il, ,- , n; -". .- . .' i.i ' I ' ' ; ' J ; ; . .. . . i - , 1 1 i
BY I-BTJCBER SWOOPE. " 7 r CLEARFIELD, WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 15f 1855: ' VOL. 2 -NO. 3.-T0TAL, 55.
. . . .' '" '' ' - J ..."-.'" -
,,THE BBIDE,i , , ;,; ; :;
A KXTRACT FROJt MACB--TEnVtSON's SEW 1'OEM.
I havk led her home, my love? uiy only friend.
There is none like her, none, - "
And nerer yet bo warmly ran my blood, ;
And sweetly, on and oo
Valniingitself to the long-wish'd-for end.
Full to the banks, close on the promised good.- -?
Jfone like her, none. -
Just now the dry tongued laurels' pattering talk,
ticcm'd her light foot along the garden walk,'
And shook my heart to think she conies once more;
,3iat even then I heard her close the door, ."
'i'lic gates of Heaven arc closed, and the is gone.:.
, ?.. .
There is none like her, none. '
Aor wilTbe when onr cummers have deceased.".
X), art thou sighing for Lcblrnon ' ; (East,
In the long breoae that streams to thy - delicious
EigMng for. Lebanon. : ' ''' ' "
i)ark cedar, tho' thy limbs have hero increased, ;
Vpon a pastoral slope as fair, -
Atod loosing to the South, and - fed .'
With hroeyd taftj and delicate air,
Aad hauatva by the starry head .
Of her whoee will has changed my fate,
,A.nd made my life pcrf'uuied alter-flame; .
And ff?r whom thy darkness must have spread ;
With such urj8nt M theirs of old, thy great
Forefathers of the. 'hornless garden, there came.
Shadowing the. snow-linrd Jive from whom she
Here wilt lie, while tk'esC long branches sway,
And you fair stars that crown a tappy day ,
io in and cut as if at merry play, '" ,
Who am no more S9 all forlorn, ; ' '
As it seemed far better to b born
To labor and themattoek-hardon'd hand, -Than
aursed at ease aiid brought to understand .
A ad astrology, the boundless plan 1 . .
That makes us tyrants in your iron skies, - f :
Innumerable, pitiless, passionless eyes. . -Cild
fires, yet with power tc burn and brand ,t , .
Ui nothingness into man. . .
But now shine on: and what care I," -.
Who in this stormy gulf have found a pearl .
Tho counter-charm of space and hollow sky,
And do except . my. madness, and would die .
To save from some slight sham one simple' girl. .'
Would die ; for sullen seeming Death may give
More life to Love than is or ever was
In our low world, where yet 'tis sweet to live. ".
I.etno one ask me how it came to pass; ,'
It seems that I am happy, that to me . '
A livelier emeral twinkles in the grass, ' . '
A purer sophire melts into the sea. ; '
Not die : but lire a life of truest breath',
And teach true life to fight with mortal wrongs. '
). whv should Love, like men in drinking-songs," '
Hptceis fair banquet with the dust of death i
.Make answer. Maud my bliss, '
Maud made my Maud by that long lover's kiss,
J. if of my life, wilt thou not answer this ?; . .. .
'The duoky strand of IeatU inwoven here dear.'
With dear Love's tic, makes Love himself moro
li tbut enchanted mean only the swell
of the long waves that roll in yonder bay? - - .
And hark the clock within the silver knoJl - .-
.f twelve sweet hours that past in bridal white, i
And died to lire, long as my pulses play;
Hut now by this my love has closed ncr sight
And giveu false dcuth her hand, and stol'n away ;
To dreamful wastes where footless fancies dwell
Among the fragments of the golden day.
May nothing thcro her maiden grace affright !
Dear heart, I feel with thee the drowsy spell. -
My bride to bo, my ever more delight,
My own hearts heart and owncst own farewell. ,.
I I Is but for a little space I go :
And ye mcanwnile far over moor and fell
Iteat to the noisless music of the night !
Jlaj our whole earth gone nearer to the glow
Of your soft splendors that you look so bright ?
I have climb d nearer out of lonely llelt.
lie it, happy stars, timing with things below,
Heat with my heart more blest than heart can tell.
West, bat for some dark under-current woe
That seems to draw but it shall not be so :
Let all be well, be well.
J AN IEL TwEBSTEkT "
JV 13WIS CASS.
Daniel Wkbstek was, indeed, one of those
remarkable men who stand prominently for.vard
upon the canvass of history, impressing their
characteristics upon the ago in which they
live, and almost making ft their own by the
force of their genius and by the splendor of
their fame., The time which elapsed between
the middle of the eighteenth century and our
own day was prolific of great events and ol
distinguished men, who guided or were guid
ed by them, far beyond any other equal period
In the history of human society. ' But., in my
opinion, eren this farored epoch has produced
no man possessing a more massive and gigan
tic intellect, or who exhibited more profound
powers of investigation in the great depart
ment of political science to which he devoted
himself, in all its various ramifications, than
Das if.l Webster. ',,
The- structure of his mind seemed peculiar
ly adapted to the work he was called upon to
do, and indeed could have done it. And his
name and his fame are indissolubly connected
with some of the most difficult and important
questions which our peculiar institutions have
called into discussion. It was my good fortune
to hear him upon one of the most memorable
occasions,1 when, in this very hall, filled to
overflowing with an audience whose wrapt at
tention indicated his power and their dicta
tions, he entered into an analysis of the Con
stitution, 'and of the great principles of our
political organization, with a vigor of argument,-a-
force of illustration, and a fecility of
Miction, which have rendered this effort of his
mind one of the proudest monuments of Amer
ican genius, and one of the noblest expositions
which the operations of our government have
tailed forth.' I speak of its general effect,
without concurring in all the views he presen
ted, tho the points of difference; neither impair
fny" estimate of the speaker nor of the power
he displayed ia this elaborate debate.
- The judgement of his cotemporaries upon
the Character of his eloquence will be confirm
ed by tho future historian. . lie . grasped the
question involved in the subject before him
with a rare union of force and discrimination,
and he presented them' in an order of arrang-
menf, markod'at once with great perspicuity
and with logical acuteness, so that, when he
arrived at the conclusion, ho seemed to reach
it by a process of established propositions, in.
terwoven with the hand of a master; and top
ics, barren 'of attraction, from their nature,
were rendered interesting by illustrations and
I allusions, drawn from a vast storehouse of
knowledge, and applied with a chastened taste
formed upon the best models of ancient and of
modern learning; and to these eminent qualifi
cations was- added an . uninterrupted flow of
rich and often racy old-fashioned English,
worthy of the earlier masters of the language,
whom he studied and admired. ,
i As a statesman and politician his power was
felt and acknowledged through the republic,
and all bore willing testimony to his enlarged
views, and to his ardent patriotism. And he
acquired a European reputation by the state
papers he prepared upon various questions of
our foreign pulicy; and one of these his refu
tation and exposure of an absurd and arrogant
pretension of Austria is distinguished by
lofty and generous sentiments, becoming the
age in which he lived, and the great-people in
whose name he spoke, and is stamped with a
vigor and rrscarck not less honorable in the
exhibition than conclusive in the application ;
and it will ever take rank in the history of dip
lomatic intercourse among the richest contri
butions to the commentaries upon the public
law of the world.' And in internal as in exter
nal troubles he was true, and tried, and faith
ful ; and in the latest, may it be the last, as it
was the most perilous crisis of our couutry,re
jecting all. sectional considerations, and expo
sing himself to ' sectional, denunciation, he
stood up boldly, proudly, indeed, and with
consummate ability, :for. the constitutional
rights of another portion of the Union, fierce
ly assailed by a spirit of aggression, as incom
patible with our mutual obligations as with the
duration of the confederation itself. In that
dark and doubtful hour, his voice was heard
above the storm, recalling his countrymen to a
sense of their dangers and their duties, and
tempering the lessons of reproof with the ex
perience of age and the dictates of patriotism.
He who heard his memorable appeal to the
public reason and conscience, made in this
crowded Chamber, with all eyes fixed upon tiro
speaker, and almost all hearts swayed by his
words of wisdom and oi power, will sedulously
guard its recollections as one of those precious
incidents which, while they constitute the po
etry of history, exert a permanent and deci
sive influence upon the destiny of nations.
And our deceased colleague added the kind
lier affections of the heart to the lofty endow
ments of the mind; and I recall, with almost
painful sensibility, the associatious of our
boyhood, when we were school-fellows togeth
er, with all the troubles and the pleasures
which belong to that narrow relation of life, in
its narrow world of preparation. He rendered
himself dear by his disposition and deport
ment, and exhibited some of those . peculiar
characteristic, features, which, later in life,
made him the ornament of the social circle ;
and, when study and knowledge of the world
had ripened his faculities, endowed him with
powers of conversation I have not found sur
passed in my intercourse with society, at home
or abroad. His conduct and bearing at that
early period have left enduring impressions
upon my memory of mental traits, which liis
subsequent course in life developed and con
firmed. And the commanding position and as
cendency of the man were foreshadowed by
tho standing influence of the boy among the
cumrades who surrounded him. Fifty-five
years ago we parted he to prepare for his
splendid career in the good old land of our an
cestors, and I toencounterthc rough toils and
trials of life in the great forest of the "West.
But, ere long, the report of his words and his
deeds penetrated those recesses, where human
industry was painfully, but successfully, con
tending with the obstacles of Nature, and I
found that my early companion was assuming
a position which confirmed my previous anti
cipations, and which could only be attained by
the rare faculties with which he was gifted.
Since then ho has gono on irradiating his path
with the splendor of his exertions, till the
whole hemisphere was bright with his glory,
and never. brighter than when he went down in
the West, without a cloud to obscure his lus
tre, calm, clear, and glorious. Fortunate in
life he was not less fortunate in death, for he
died with his fame undiminished, his faculties
unbroken, and his usefulness unimpaired; sur
rounded by weeping friends, and regarded with
anxious solicitude by a grateful country, to
whom the messenger that mocks at time and
space told, from hour to hour, the progress of
his disorder, and the approach of his fate!
And beyond all this, he died in tho faith of a
Christian, humble, but hopeful, adding anoth
er to the roll of eminent men who have search
ed the Gospel of Jesus, and have found it the
word and the will of God, given to direct us
while here, and to sustain us in that hour of
trial, when the things of this world are pass
ing away, and the dark valley of the shadow
of death is opening before vs. :
How are the mighty FALLEN ! we may yet
exclaim, when reft of our greatest and wisest ;
but they fall to rise again from death to life,
when such quickening faith in the mercy of
God, and in the J sacrifice of the Redeemer
comes to shed upon them its happy influence,
on this side of the grave, and beyond it.
IIT-Pnt two persons in the same bedroom:
one of whom has the toothache, and the other
in love, and you find the one who has the tooth
ache will go to sleep first. , ' '
SO.VIETHINU TO DRINK.
" BY VICTOR BTGO '
Tho pleasure of seeing curious objects, mu
seums, churches, or town halls, is considera
bly lessened by the constant demand for fees.
Upon the Rhine, as in all much-frequented
countries, such demands sting you like gnats.
On a journey let the traveller put faith in his
purse, and without it let ho man look for the
tender mercies of hospitality, "or the grateful
smile of a kindly farewell. Allow me to set
forth the state of things which the aborigines
of the Rhine have created, as regards the fee
or pour boire. As you enter the gates of a
town you are asked to what ' hotel you : intend
to go; they next require your passport, which
they take into their keeping. The carriage
pulls up in the court-yard of the post-house;
tho conductor, Who has not addressed a word
to youduring the whole journey, : opens the
door and thrusts in his filthy hand "Some
thing to drink.7' A moment afterwards comes
the postilion, who, though prohibited by the
regulations, looks hare at you, as much as to
say, "Something to drink!" They now un
load tholiligenc.e, andsorae vagabond mounts
the roof mid throws down your portmanteau
and carpet-bag "Something to drink!"
Another puts your things into a barrow, and
inquiring the "name of your hotel, away he
goes, pushing his barrow. Arrived at the ho
tel, the host insinuatingly inquires 3'our wish
es, and the following dialogue takes place,
which ought to be written in all languages on
all the doors of all the rooms. '
"Good day, Sir." - ;'':')' :
'SirI want a room." - ,; '
"Good, Sit: (bawls out) No. 4 for ttiis gen
tleman."
"Sir, I wish to dine." " ' . ''
"Directly, Sir," &c. -
l'ou ascend to your room, Xo. 4, your bag
gage having preceded you, and the barrow
gentleman appears.
"Your luggage, Sir Something to drink."
Another now appears, stating that he car
ried your baggage up stairs. - -
"Good," say you, fI will not forget you
with the other servants when I leave the
house."
"Sir," replies the man, "I do not belong to
the hotel Something to drink."
You now set out to walk, and a fine church
presents itself. Eager to enter, you look
around, but tho doors are shut! "Compelle
inirare" says holy writ, according to which
the priests ought to keep the doors open. The
beadles shut them, however, in order to gain
"something to drink." An old woman, per
ceiving your dilemma, points to the bell-handle
by the side of a low door; you ring, the
beadle appears, and on your asking to see the
church, he takes up a bundle of keys and pro
ceeds towards the principal entrance, when,
just as you are about to enter, you feel a tug
at your sleeve, with a renewed demand for
something to tlriuk."
You are now in the church. "Why is that
picture covered with a green cloth ?" is your
first exclamation.
"Because it is the finest wo possess," re
plies the beadle.
"So much the worse," is your reflection.
"In other places they exhibit their best pain
tings, here they conceal their chefd,aucres."
"By whom is the picture 1"
"By Rubens."
"I wish to see it." ,
The beadle leaves you a moment, and re
turns with a grave-looking personage, who,
pressing a spring, the picture is exposed to
view; but upon the curtain reclosing, the usu
al significant sign is made for "something to
drink," and your hand returns to the pocket.
.Resuming your progress in the church, still
conducted by the beadle, you approach the
grating of the choir, before which stands a
magnificently attired individual, no less than
the Suisse, waiting your arrival. The choir is
his particular department, which, after having
viewed, your superb cicerone makes you a
pompous bow, meaning, as plain as bow can
speak, "something to drink."
You now arrive at the vestry, and wonderful
to say, it is open; you enter, when lo! there
stands another verger, and the beadle respect
fully withdraws, for the verger must enjoy his
prey to himself. .You are now shown Btoles,
sacramental cups, bishops mitres, and in
some glass case", lined with dirty satin, the
bones of some saint dressed out like an opera
dancer. Having seen all this, . the usual cer
emony of "something to drink" is repeated,
and the beadle resumes his functions. ;
You find yourself at the foot of the belfry,
and desire to see the view from the summit.
The beadle-gently pushes open a door, and
having ascended about thirty steps, your pro
gress is intercepted by a closed door. The
beadle having again departed, you knock, and
the bell-ringer makes his 'appearance, who
begs you to walk up "Something to drink."-
It is some relief to your feelingB that this man
does not attempt to follow you as you make
your way upwards to the top of the steeple.
Having attained the object of your wishes,
you are rewarded by a superb landscape, an
immense horizen, and 'a noble blue sky; when
your enthusiasm becomes suddenly chilled by
the approach of an individual who haunts you,
buzzing unintelligible words into your ears,
till at last you find out that he is especially
charged to point out to strangers all that is
1 remarkable, either with regard to the church
or landscape. This personage is usually a
stammeier, and often deaf: you do not listen
to him, but allow him tof indulge in his mut
tering, completely forgetting him, while you
contemplate the - immense pile below, where
the lateral arches lie displayed like dissected
ribs, and the roofs, streets, gables,' and roads
appear to radiate in all directions, like the
spokes of wheels, of which the horizen is the
felloe.
naviug indulgedin a prolonged survey, you
think about descending, and proceed towards
tho stairs; and lo I there stands your friend
with his hand extended.
You open your purse again.
"Thanks, ,Siu!" says the man, pocketing
the money; "I will now trouble you to re
member e." . - ' ',
How so have I not just given you some
thing?" " "' '
"That is not forme, Sir, but for the church;
I hope you will give mo something to drink.'11
Another pull at the purse.
A trap-door opens, leading to the belfry;
and a nothe'r man shows and names you the
bells. "Something to drink" again! At tho
bottom of the stairs stands the beadle, pati
ently waiting to reconduct you to. the door;
and "something lo drink" for him follows as a
matter of course.
You return to your hojcl, taking good
care not to inquire your way, for fear ot fur
ther demands.. Scarcely, however, aro you
arrived when a stranger accosts you by name,
whose face is wholly unknown to you.
( This is the commissioner who brings your
passport, and demands Something to d.iuk."
Then comes dinner; then the moment for de
parture "Something to drink." Your baggage
is taken to the diligence "Something to
drink." A porter places it on the roof; and
you comply with his request for ''something to
drink," with the satisfaction of knowing that
the claim is the last. Poor comfort, when your
miseries are to recommence on the morrow!
To sum up, after paying tho porter, tho
wheel-barrow, the man who is not of the ho
tel, the old woman, Rubens, the Suisse, the
verger, the ringer, ichnrch, under-ringer, stam
merer, beadle, commissioner, servants, stable
boy, postman, j-ou will have uhdergono eigh
teen taxings forfees in the courseofamorning.
Calculating all these from tho minimum of
ten sols to tho maximum of two francis, this
drink-money becomes an important item in
tlie budget of the traveller. Nothing under
silver . is excepted. Coppers are the mere
sweepings of the street an object of inexpres
sible contempt. To this ingenious class of
operatives the traveller represents a mere sack
of money, to be emptied in the. shortest man
ner possible.
; The-govcrnmeut sometimes comes in for
its sharo ;takes your valiso and portmanteau,
shoulders them, and then holds forth itsoflicial
hand. In some great cities the porters pay
a certain tax to government, of so much per
head on every traveller. I had not been a
quarter of an hour in Aix-la-Chapelle before I
had given "something to drink'7 to the King of
Prussia.
A Beautiful Sentiment:
The moon looks calmly down when man is dying.
The earth still holds her sway; (sighing;
Flowers breathe their perfume. and thewindskeep
Naught seems to pause or stay." -
Clasp thy hands meekly over the still breast
they've no more work to do; close the wea
ry eyes they've no more tears to shed ; part
the damp locks there's no more pain to bear.
Closed is the ear alike to love, kind voicc,and
calumny's stinging whispers. O, if in that
stilled heart you have ruthlessly planted a
thorn; if from that pleading eye you have care
lessly turned away; if your loving glance, and
kindly word, and clasping hand, have come
all too latethen God forgive you! No frown
gathers on the marble brow as you gaze no
scorn curls the chiseled lip -no fjush of wound
ed feeling mounts to the blue-veined temples.
God forgive you ! for your feet too, must shrink
appalled from death's cold river your falter
ing tongue asks: "can this be death?" lour
fading eye lingers lovingly on the sunny earth;
your clammy hand yields its last feeble flutter.
O, rapacious grave 1 yet another victim for thy
voiceless keeping! . What! no words of greet
ing from the household sleepers J No warm
welcome from a sister's loving lips ? No throb
of pleasure from the dear maternal bosom ? ;
Silent ' all ! O, if these broken limbs were
never gathered up! It beyond death's swell
ing flood there were no eternal shore ! If the
the struggling bark there were no port of
peace ! If athwart that lowering cloud sprang
no bright bow of promise! '
Alas for love .if this bo all,
And naught beyond on earth!
"iouTurci Neglect.-waiter bcott, in a
narrative of his personal history, gives the
following caution -to youth ;-"If it should
ever fall to the lot of youth - to peruse these
pages, let Buch readers remember that it is
with the deepest regret, that I recollect in my
manhood the opportunities of learning which
1 neglected in my youth ; that through every
part of my literary career I have felt - pinched
and hampered by mv ; own ignorance : and I
would this moment give half the reputation
have had the good fortune to acquire, if, . by
doing so, I could rest the remaining part upon
a sound foundation of learning aa4 science."
"Retribctive Justice. " We do not know
that we have seen the ides suggested, but was
there not something of retributive justice man
ifested in the elevation to supreme power, of
the present Emperor of th'e-Frenchrf And in
more ways than one.
Josephine was repudiated by the Great Na
poleon that he might, by an other alliance, se
cure an heir for his kingdom. He was disap
pointed in his calculations. Policy, the blind
est guide of all, then led even his vast purpo
ses astray. The throne to which his son could
gain no access, is now filled by her grandson,
whom he rejected. Josephine's degradation is
followed by the elevation of her descendant.
One would think he, at least, would endeavor
to heap her memory with honors, and erase, if
possible tho record of her wrongs.
; 'Hortense, the mother of Louis Napoleon,
was wedded to his father against the wishes
and the affections of both. The marriage was
broughht about by Josephine and the Emper
or, from motives of State, without the leastrc
gard to tho preferences or welfare of the par
ties immediately concerned thereby. They
neither of .them lived to see one of their line
age,' or name in power, while after so long a
time the son of the ill-starred union of which
they were the cause, has obtained tho royal
purple, and visited on terms of equality not
by the conquests of war, but in an alliance of
peace, the royal house of another nation.
And there has been humiliario'ss as well as
exaltation. England, which had heaped mill
ions and millions of debt upon her people, in a
blind hatred of the First Napoleon, and in op
position to the cause of freedom, of which he
was the exponent, has now to stoop to an alli
ance, offensive and defensive, with Napoleon
the Third, to consider no homage too exact
ing which bis position may demand, ad to find
her boasted superiority in arms, in govern
ment, in wealth, more than equalled by one
whom so little while ago she branded a usurp
er. The cause of aristocratic routine and oli
garch' of rank which she victoriously defend
ed in 1815, has proved her weakness, almost
her ruin in 1855.: With all tho manifold ex
cellcucies of her government, and all the hal
lowed associations of her pasfhistory, she forms
no exception to the universal fallibility of all
human powers, and her story none to that invi
olable law, both of time and cternity,tbat every
deviation from the path of justice and right,
loads to its natural and bitter consequences.
The Gravk or Franklin. In the North
west corner of Christ Church graveyard, Phil
adelphia, repose the ashes -of the Printer Phil
osopher, and those of his wife. No monument,
on which the Sculptor has lavished his art,
presses upon his now mouldered form; no chis
el traced either his fame or genius on the plain
slab almost level with the earth, save the sim
ple inscription
"Benjamin and Deborah Franklin."
Thousands of the busy throng daily pass with
in a few feet of the hallowed spot, without be
ing conscious of the fact, oi if aware of it, un
able to behold the grave of their illustrious
townsman, of whom they arc so proud. j
In a Philadelphia newspaper, published in
December, 1774, we find the following notice
of the death of Mrs. Franklin: -
On Monday, the 19th inst.. diod.inadvancod age,
Mrs. Deborah Franklin, wife of Dr. Benj. trank-
lin: and on Thursday following her remains were
interred in Christ-Chnrch Burying-Ground.
Mrs. Franklin was borne to her final resting
place without pomp or ostentation. Nay, in
as simple a manner as the slab with its in
scription appears to the beholder, and be
neath which sho now rests in peace by the
side of her beloved spouse.
Incivility is Church. Some years since,
hearing of the celebrity of Dr. Tying, I went
to hear him preach, while he was occupying
the chapel of the Univcrsiiy. I took a seat
with a friend by invitation. An aged female
soon entered, and being a stranger to rules,
passed down tho ai'sle, looking at the right
and left. But no one noticed the aged woman,
as I saw, but Dr. Tying. She got quite up to
the desk, and with a look of deep humility,
took her seat on a kind of a step under the
desk. I noticea tho look of the Dr. It was
stern, and called a flush to my cheek, and joy
to my heart. He appeared to consider a while,
then arose, gracefully gathered up his robes,
and with an expression I shall never forget,
descended the pulpit stairs, took the arm of the
poor old tottering female, led her to his own
pew, and placed her beside his wife, and re
turned to his pulpit and his duties.
I have loved that man ever since. But how
glad I felt at the time, that no part of rebuke,
so silently given, could attach to me.
Wife. There is no combination of letters in
the English language which . excites more
pleasing and interesting associations in the
mind of man. than the word wife. - There is a
magic in this little word. It presents to the
mind's eye a cheerful companion, a disinter
ested adviser, a nurse in sickness, a comforter
in misfortune, and a faithful and ever affec
tionate friend. It conjures us the image of a
lovely and confiding woman, who cheerfully
undertakes to make you happy, to partake
with yop the cup, whether of woal or woe
which destiny may oner, ine word wue is
synonymous with the greatest earthly blessing
and we pitty the unfortunate wight, who is
condemned by fate's severe decree to trudge
along thro' life's dull pilgrimage without one,
reared by the hand of man, standing with its
nign pinnacles in the distant plain the storm
beat upon it the God of nature hurled bis
thunders against it and yet it stood as firm as
adamant Revelry was in its hall the gay,
the happy, the young and beautiful were there.
I returned, bnt the" temple was' no more its
high walls lay in scattered ruins moss and .
wild-grass grew wildly there; and at the mid
night hour the owl's cry added to the desola
tion of the scene the young and gay who (
had reveled there had passed away. .
I saw the child rejoicing in bis youth, the
idol of his fatliffi- T iv. .k:u
r . . . .-i-t.. i.i.U .uu cuv
had became old. Tremblins" with weight of
years, he stood the last of his generation; a
stranger amid the dcsolationardund him. ;-
I saw the old oak stand in all its 'pride on-
the monntaln tho birds were earrolling on iti "
boughs. I returned the oak wasjeafless and
and sapless the winds were playing their past
time through the branches. -
Who is the destroyer V said I to my guar
dian angel. ,
It is time,' said he : when the moraine stars
sang together with joy over the new made
wprld, he commenced his course; and when
he shall have destroyed all that is beautiful on
earth plucked the sun from its sphere when
he shall roll the heavens and earth away as a
scroll, then shall an angel from the throne of
God come forth, and with one foot on sea and
one on land, lift up his head towards heaven's
Eternal, saying 'Time is time was and time
shall bo no longer. ' ' '
Statistics op Mtscclar PowerJ Man has
the power of imitating every motion but. that
of flight. To effect these he has, in maturity
and health, sixty bones in his head, sixty In
his thighs and legs, sixty-two in his arms and
hands, and sixty-seven In his trunk. He has
also four hundred and thirty -four muscles. ;
His heart makes sixty-four pulsations in a
minute; and therefore three thousand, eight
hundred and forty in an hour, ninety-two thou
sand ono hundred and sixty in a day. There
are also three complete circulations of hia
blood in the short space of an hour. In res
pect to the comparative speed of animated be
ings and of impelled bodies, it may be remark-
id that size and construction seem to have lit
tle influence, nor has comparative strength,
though one body giving any quantity of mo
tion to another is said to lose so much of its
own. The sloth is by no means a ' small ani
mal, and yet it can travel only fifty paces in a
day ; a worm crawls only five inches in fifty
seconds ; but a lady bird can' fiy twenty mil
lion times its own length in less than an hour.
An elk can run a mile and a half in seven
minutes; an antelope a mile In a minute; tho
wild mule of Tartary has a speed even greater
than that ; an eagle can fly eighteen leagues in
an hour ; and a Canary falcan can even reach
wo hundred and fifty leagues in the short
space of sixteen hours.
Frederick of Prvssia. It is well known
that Frederick the Second, King of Prussia,
rose remarkably early in the morning; and
generally allowed a very small part of his
time to sleep. Bnt as age and infirmities in
creased upon him, his rest was broken and dis
turbed; and when he fell asleep towards morn
ing, he frequently missed his early rising
hour. Tho loss of time, as he deemed it, he
bore very impatiently, and gave strict orders
to his attendants never to suffer him to sleep
longer than four o'clock in the morning, and
pay no attention to his unwillingness to rise.
One morning at the appointed time, the page
whose turn it was to attend him, and who had
not long been in the service, came to his bed
side and awoke him. '
" Let me sleep but a little longer," said tho
monarch, 44 1 am much fatigued."
44 Your majesty has given positive, orders I
should awake you early," replied the page. ,
44 But a quarter of an hour more," taid the
king. .... ..
"Not a minute' said the page; " it baa
struck four, and I am ordered to insist upon
your majesty's rising." .
44 Well," said the king, 44 you are a brave lad";
had you suffered mo to sleep on, you would
have fared ill for your neglect." . .....
What hope did. It stole on its pinions
of snow to the bed of disease ; and the suffer
er's frown became a smile, the emblem of
peace and endurance. It laid its head upon
the arm of the poor, which was stretched forth
at the command of unholy impulses, and saved
him from disgrace and ruin. It hovered
about the bead of the ' youth who had be
come the Ishmael of society ; and led him on
to works which even his enemies praised. It
snatched a maiden from the jaws of death and
went with an old man to heaven. ' No ; hope !
my good brother. Have it, reckon it on your
side. - Wrestle wjth it that it may not depart.
It may lessen your pains. Life is hard enough
at best; but Hope shall load yon "over its
mpuntains, and sustain you amid its billows.
Part with all besides but keep thy hope.
R7"Lord Broughamhopedto see the day when
every man in the United Kingdom could read
Bacon. "It would be much more to the pur
pose," said Cobbett, "if his lordship could
use his influence to see that every man in the
kingdom could ea bacon." . . ... , ?