" "" " "" LS ... ' . . - ' ' ; - - - ;. -. v-J. --. t ; - I .-',' Iff I PHIBCIPW3 POIXI WAY ; THEY CEASE TO LEAD, WE CEASE 10 EOLXOW." T VOLUME IX. THE IfEW POST. Alexander Smith, a young man not more than tentj-one year9 cf ago, a native of Glasgow, has bad ta2 fortune, in a single bound, to attain c. place among the living poets of Great Britain, on a level with the highest. "Poenn by lex nndsr Smith." was the unviting title of his vol ume. Bat it has been greeted with praise al most unqualified, from one end of the kingdom to th3 other. We have not yet seen the book ; cat from the numberles extracts in the Euro pean periodicals, we conclude that no modern poet, in his first voluraa, ever gave such unmis takcable evidences of poetic power. lie is pro digal of Lis wealth. Hi3 verses teem with ideas end fancies, expressed with such force and feli city, that the reader pauses, every few lines, in that silent esstasy which the lovers of poetry experience in reading mastcrpieces.for the first time. Here are a few lines for poets only : Poesy! Poesy! I'd give to thee. As passionately, my rich-laden years, My' liable pleasures, and my awful joys. As Haro gave her trembling sighs to find Delicious death on wet Leander's lip. Bare, bald, and tardry, as a fingered moth. I3 my poor life, but with one smile thou can'st ClctLe mo with kingdoms. Nothing could be finer than the expression "tret Leander." It hints the whole story of Leandcr and Hero, and vivifies the picture stri king'y. Still apostrophizing poetry, he asks : Wilt ni me die for thee! O fair and cold ! As well may some wild maiden waste her love Upon the calm front of a marble Jove. I cannot draw regard of thy great eyes. I love theo. Poesy ! Thou art a rock, I, a weak wave, would break on thee and lie. Here is another pa snge, which every young pott wi'.l feel the full meaning of : There is a deadlier pan thai tint which beads With cfciily death -drops the o'er tortured brow, When one has a bis heart and f eblehnnds A heart to hew his nsmo out upon time As on a rock, then in ira mortal r.pa3 To stand on tlma as on a pedestal : Tweak. When hearts beat to this tun?, nnd hands are We find ocr aspirations quenrhd in tears. The tsar3 cf impotence and self contempt, Thr.t loatbsom? weed, up-springins in the heart Like nightshade 'mong the ruins of a shrine. In the same strain, a few lines further on, he adds: T!s net for me, ye heavens ?' tia not for me To Slag & poem like a comet out. Far-splendouring the sleepy realms of night. I cannot give men glimpses no divin-, As when, upon a racking niarht, the wine Draws the pale curtains of the vapory clouns, And shows those wonderful mysterious voids, Throbbing with etars like pulses. There is a fine thought in the following 1 cea : Alone he dwelt, solitary as a stir Unsphered Mid exiled, 3'et he knew no scorn. Dace did he say, "For me, I'd rather live With this weak human heart and yearning blood. Lonely as God, than mate with barren souls: Mvre brave, mora beautiful than myself must be The man whom truly I enn call my Friend ; He must be an Inspiror, who enn draw To higher heights of B-inar. and ever stand O'er cue in unreached beauty, like the moon." vhat lines, too, are these, which conclude the Poet's address to Mature ! Yon quarry shattered by the bnrstin.se fire, And disembowelled by the bitinz pick. Kind Nature ! thou hast taken to thyself ; Thy weeding Aprils nnd soft-blowing Miys. Thy blossom-buried Junes, have smoothed its soars. And Lid its wounds and trenches deep in flowers. JSo t ike my worn nnd passion-wnrtrl heart, Maternal Nature ! Take it to thyself. Efface the scars of scorn, the rents of hate, The wounds of alien eyes, visit my brain Kith thy deep peace, fill with ' thy calm my heart. And the quick courses of my human blood. And these, which mark the moment, so to creak, cf the Poet's regeneration : My life wa a long dream ; when T awoke, Duty stood like an nngel in my path, And seemed so terrible, I could linve turned Into my yesterdays, and wandered back To distant childhood, nnd cone out to God By the gate of birth, not death. Again in the same grand, inspiring passage, the emancipated Poet speaks thus : Great duties are before me and ereatsoners. And whether crowned or crownlees, when I fall It matters not. so ns God's work is done. I've learned to prize the quite lisrhtened-deed, Not the applauding thunder at its heels, Vhich men call fame. Oar scissors yearn to clip other pnssages whirh lie invitingly before us: but in a few days the volume will be republished here, nnd accessible to ail our readers. If Alexnnier Smith were to die this hour, he would live in the hearts of men for many n year. Our only fear for him is. that the "applauding thunder" with which his ap pearance has been hailed, mav alarm his muse. But we hope better things. There seems to be a 6pir"n n his writings, far above that lust of glory -which baa weakened nnd embittered so many of our modern poets. From certain pas eagest we infer that the new poet is a poor man. tnis be so we should like to ask the Earl of Aberdeen which wore wisest which were best for literature, that Mr. Smith should be pension ed now, when a pension wonli give him that in estimable gift of leisure which only the hirh and great are fit to be entrusted with, and which th.y can so nobly use, or twenty years hence, when his mind has been worn with th struggle for existence, and when his mne had already achieved her highest flight? Home Journal. A Blacksmith was lately summoned to a country couit as a witness in a dispute between two of his workmen. The judge after hearing the testimony, asked him why he did not advise them to settle, ns the costs had already amounted to three times the disputed sum. lie replied: "I told the fools to settle: for I said the clerks would take their coats, the lawyers their shirts; and if they got into your honor's court you'd ekin 'em!" ' " " " " mnniTriTiTTTk !L " ' " - . .- . . ? -7 Jvjyt THE AILIN3 WJilAil. A 3IOCIINFUI. ACCOUNT OV HER. AILING FAMILY. . BY WILLIAM O. EATOX. Sorao people are always ailing. At any rate, they think thov are, and sy so, screwing up h ir mouths, and whining out their grievances, real or imaginary, us if they w.ere animated with a strong compound tincture of the sou's of Joh aa I Jeremiah hmieutntioiV Uineiltafion "and complaint, being fna continued employment of their doleful tongues. Mr. Betsey Beeswax was one of this stamp, I called on Betsey one day. ' I call her familiar ly 'Betsey,' because she confi lcd in me a. I her troubles, making me thoroughly familiar with j herself and :11 her complaints. It was a cold, sloppy winter's day. Mrs. B. was sitting close to the rr:ite. in a large, old-fashioned eas3 chair, almost ns big as a chaise. She was bending forward, with her shoulders hunch- el u place. and her head nearly into the fire- 'Ah, dear, is it you ?' said she, as I entered h r ancient face wearing the usul lachrymose expression of hopeless misery. 'Yes, ma'am,' said I, 'and how do you do to day V 'O, miserably, miserably ! I am enjoying dreadfal poor health. There is no telling hovt much I suffer. I ache all over and don't relish any vittks.' I suggested that the bad weather might be the cause of her depression of spirits. 'No, no,' she moaned, 'it isu't that, though the weather is bad enough to be sure. Maria bus goue out without her ruboers, aud ahe'K be V... i:i .. . I' , v . . .... ! tilt J.Iillif -M tl.Pv hrin in the wet all over the houc aud whenever the door shuts, itseciuito s.iy, tichouj- inj-C'Jit.gh, whoopinj coayh! browti-crttars, rhsu- matiz." 'What is your principal complaint !' O, everything. The doctor says he don't know what he can do for me, aud I kuow no body can. I'm dretful fidgety aud nervous all the time, and then the children, they make such a racket. Sometimes I think I've got the hip complaint, aud then I feel us if my lungs were out of order, and then I have a twinge in tho side, and then a shooting pain in the head, and thtrn my eyes ache! Aud then I'm so sensitive to the cold ! It wou.d make your hair stand on end, I kuow, to see the goose-ficsh on me some times ! I expressed a deep sympathy for her suffer- r i 1 v.,fiti, ..ri.r,T.l i.lo., ie ' in she felt cold, she hud better try to keep warm. 'Ah, yea, dear ; but the young folks will keep leaving th door open! and then fuel is so high, and you don't know what a monstrous draught there is in our chimneys. The heat all goes up the chimney , and then I've got such extrava gant help! They are the most extravagant help I ever see! You would think they were g ling to ro'iat an ox. sometimes, to see the fire they built iu the kitchen.' 'But won't they obey your directions? Wlry don't you turn them away and get others?' 'It is a dretful difficult thing to get good help, I suppose I've had as many help in my days as any body iu the city, and I know it's a dretful dilficu't'thing to get good help, dretful difficult. The first one I turned away, always burnt the broad, without fail; tho next one was. so lazy that she could hardly put one foot before the other; the next one was very sassy: the next cue set her impudent cap for Maria's first beau.' 'And got him?' 'And got him! The next one was so sluttish excuse me for the expression that I couldu't a-bear her in my fdght; the next one had such poor health that I had to keep doctoring of her all the time, and when she got well she run off with the ?poons !' What ingratitude !' Worse than that, dear. She Sent another girl worse than she wit's. She had a sweet. Smooth face, and you'd tho't butter wouldn't melt in her mouth ; but shecut up the awfullest capers with the boys, aud when she went away, I found she had stolen auut Billy's silver watch the largest I ever see a beautiful counterpane, covered all over with roses ; a loaf of sugar and sugar tong3 to match ; a beautijul tortoise shell siiutf-box aud. three new pillow-cases ! O-ow!' Good heavens! Mrs. Beeswax, what's the matter?' O, dear, dear, dear, deary me! A twinge right through the liver. I believe my liver'll be the death of me, after all.' I am sory, verry sorry, Mrs. Beeswax, that Providence has singled you out as the subject of so misny afflictions. But all's for the best. I dont want to be wicked,' 6he replied, 'but I don't believe it is ! There's Maria, she's Sub ject to the new-rology, an old complaint of hers : George he's ricketty ; Sam, the last I saw of him before he went to the west, said he knew he should die of fever and ague; Mary, she says she can't eat without its distressing her ; and Laura's almost sucr she's going to have the scrofula; and theu the two children are com plaining of the chilblains all the time. As for me, I feed mostly upon medicine, the more I take, the more it don't seem to do me any good. But J don't complain, I never say a word to any body, fori hate people that's complaining all the time. But if ever there was an afflicted family, this is one ; and if ever there was an afflicted woman, she's me.' But can't you ascertain what your disease is ? Don't your physician give you any idea ?' No, no he only gives me medicine.' Pills.' What kind of pills? What kind dear ? Why, massy sakes, I nev er ask him. I never studied medicine ? I don't want to know the names. My neighbors are pestering mo all the time with new names, and I never can remember them. That's a sign' that my memory is gone, and sometimes I think I'm getting a little luny. O! if ever I should have to go to the hospital. O ! if I should. 'Were any of your family ever iusane ? I in quired. I don't know, but I think it's as like as not. My poor, dear, dead old Mr. Beeswax used to have symptoms of it, and I lived so long with him, perhaps 1 may have ketched it of him ! why, he used to be so crazy, sometimes, he would actilly say that nothing was the matter with me, and that I complained only because I wanted to MMMMUL Till IiSHiT ' . II iVR If? 1852 hear myself talk ! Oace I took the broomstick to him on that veray account. But, O O! what is it to be ailing, ailing all the time, and to n.ive no coinrort, ani nothing to uo you any ffoud I'm a poor, feeble creature.' Crash ! Crash ! -jingle jingle crash ! was the sound that followed these words, evidently from the broking of crockery below stairs. 'Them careless hussies !' exclaimed Mrs. Beeswax in a rage, starting from the easy chair, with a vigor and quickness? quite extraordinary for an 'invalid.' 4 " ' ' " "- ;-v.. "Like a tigress, she bolted from the room,' and the frightened echoes of her loud, shrill voice in the kitchen immediately after, and the screams of tl e servant girls, admonished me to make a precipitate departure. A Littla Child Shall Lead Ilim. Here is something pretty abiut the power and might of little children, from the pen of some gentle-hearted lady uuknown: "One cold win ter morning I looked into a milliner's shop, and there I saw a hale, hearty, aud well-browned young fellow from the country, with his long c art whip, and a lion shag coat holding up some little matter, and turning it about in his great fist. And what do you suppose it was t A baby's bonnet ! A little, soft, blue satin hood, with a swan's down border, white ns the frill of rich blond around the edge. By his- side stood a very pretty woman, holding, with no small pride, the baby, for evidently it was the baby. And one could read the fact in every glance, ns they looked at each other, and at the little hood, and then at the large, blue, unconscious eye, and fat, dimpled cheeks of the little one. It was evident that neither of them had ever seen a baby like that before ! 'But really, Mary. said tl,e yu2 , is not three uol ars very high V Mary very prudently Said ucthing, but taking the hood, tied it on the little head, aud held up the baby. The man looked and grinned, and without another word.. down went the three dol lars, (all the-last week's butter came to.) and, as they walked out of the shop it is hard to say which looked the most delighted with the bar gain. 'Ah,' Jhought I, a little child shall lead them.'Ah, these children ! little witches ! pretty even in ail their thoughts iud absurdi ties ! winning even in their sins and iniqui ties! Sec, for example, yonder little fallow in a naughty fit ; he has shaken his long curls over his deep blue eyes, the fair brow is bent in a frown, the rose leaf is pushed upin infantinede fini c , and the white shoulder thrust naughtily Iwrwtt.ru- ttU " . ?, , ,O0K o pretty even ui its uuughtiness J Then comes the in stant change ; flashiug smiles and tears as tho good comes back all in a rush, and you are overwhelmed with protestations, promises and kisses. They are irreatible. too, these little ones. They pull away the tcholar's pen ; tumble about his papers ; make somersets over his books; and what can he do? They tear up newspapers; litter the carpets; break, pull, and upset, nnd then jabber - their unintelligible English in self-defence ; aud what can you do for yourself ? 'If had a child, says the pre cise man, 'you shall see!' He does have a child ; and his child tears up his papers, tumbles over his things, and pulls his nose, like all children ; and what has the precise man to say for himself? Nothing. He is like everybody else : a little child shall lead him ." Poor little children, they bring and teach us, human beings, more good than fiey et in return. How often does the ii.i f.mt, with its soft cheek and helplesi hand, awakeu a mother from worldliness and egotism to a whole world of new and higher feeling. How cftcn does the mother repay this by doing her best to wipe off, even before the time, the dew and fresh simplicity of childhood, and make her daughter too soon a woman of the world, as she has been. The hardened heart of the world ly man is touched by the guileless tones and sim ple caresses of his son, but he repays it in time, by imparting to bis boy all the crooked tricks and hard ways, and callous maxims, which have undoue himself. Go to the jail the penitenti ary and find there the wretched, most sullen, brutal, and hardened. Then look at your in fant sou ; such to some mother was this man. That hard hand was soft and delicate ; that rough voice was tender and lisping ; fond eyes followed as he played ; and he was rocked as something holy. There was a time when his heart, soft and unknown, might have been open ed to questions of his Maker, and been scaled With the seal of heaven. But harsh hands seized it, and all is over with him for ever. So of the tender, weeping child he is made the callous, heartless man ; of the sneering sceptic of the beautiful and modest, the Shameless and abandoned and this is what the world does for the little. There was a lUne when the Di vine One stood upon the earth, and little chil dren sought to draw near him. But harsh hu man beings stood between him and them, forbid ding their approach. Ah, has it always been so t Do not even we, with our hard and unsub dued feeling, our worldly and, unscriptural hab its and maxims, stand like a dark scretr between our child and its Saviour, and keep, even from the choice bud of our heart, the raliame which might unfold it for paradise ? 'Suffer little childen to come unto me, and forbid them not,' is Btill the voice of the Son of God ; but the cold world.still closes around and forbids. When of old disciples would question their Lord of the higher mysteries of his kingdom, be took a child and set him in the midst as a sign of him who would be greatest in the kingdom of heaven. That gentle teacher still acts the little child in the midst of us ! Wouldst thou know, O parent, what is that faith which unlocks heaven ? Go not to wrangling polemics or creeds, or forms of theology but draw to thy bosom thy little one. read in that clear and trusting eye the les son of eternal life. Ba only to thy God as thy child is to thee, and all is done. Blessed shalt thou be indeed 'a lit tie child shall lead thee."' A Witty Repartee. While loitering in the Art Union Gallery, we were much amused at an encounter of wit between three artists, who were discussing and satirizing each other's styles. Two of them, a wood engraver, and a marine painter, conjoined to depreciate the work of a third, a portrait painter, who at last, pro voked beyond forbearance, silenced the twain, and set the listeners in a roar saying.: "What can you possibly know about the philosophy of the art, who are but the hewers of : wood and drawers of water of the profession ?"' Washington and Jackson. Mr. Bancroft, the historian, relates the follow ing anecdote of the Father of his Country: "Once, while in New Jersey, coming out to mount his horse, he found a child beside it, at tracted by the trappings. He placed the child upon the horse's back, and led it around the yard, with Us youthful joyance. It was to Wash ington's honor, that, although Heaven did not biess him witn offspring, he hud n. bn-t to UUiW2n.iake them to his Koaam. . . - . unarein, with equal justice and proprie ty, rel.-itcs an interesting aneodote of the revered Jackson; the man whose iron will prompted him to "tike tha responsibility," when duty c died him to do it, anl before whose inflexible deter mination all obstacles surmountable by human effort were forced to give way. After the battle cf the Great Horse Shoe, in which nearly a thousand Indians were killed, and two hundred and fifty prisoners were taken, all women and children, the men having been exterminated, the following incident occurred: The grim General who presided over the bloody scene, which seemed to carry u? back to the early Indian wars of New England, had still a tender spot in his heart. Moved by the wail of an Indian infant, picked up from the field, whose mother hd perished during the battle, Jackson strove to iuduce some nursing women amonr the prisoners to suckle it. "Its mother is dead," was the cold answer, "let the child die too." The General, himself a childless man. turned nurse himself. Some brown sugar formed a part of his private stores, and with this he cau sed the child to be fed. He even took it . home with him and reared it op in hi3 0wn family. The re-publicatioa of the above has reminded us of an account given up. some yeir3 since, by a highly respectable gentleman, wh" was pre sent, with others, when Gen. Jackson was the occupant of the Presidential mansion at Wash ington. When breakfast was Announced, the venerable patriot, with his guests, entered the room at one door, when Mrs. Donaldson with her two children entered another at the opposite ena. immediately on seeing him, they ran to him to receive the morning kiss. Extending his arms, and bending his yet graceful form, he caught up first one, and then another, caressing them with all the fondness of a doating parent. They returned to their mother, and all were soon seated at the table. . Bowing his head, with the humility of a dependent suppliant, conscious of the rectitude of his intentions, and yet feeling tne need ot a higher Wisdom than his own to enlighten and d'rect the judgment, he devoutly invoked the blessing of God. The scene was deeply affecting, and drew tears from eyes unu sed to weeping. Such was Andrew Jackson at home. When called upon to defend his country, on the battle field, op to preside over her coun cils in seasons of peril, he wus decided, resolute and irresistible. His mind, wonderfully intui tive, comprehending at a glance that which those of inferior intellectual powers could only reach and comprehend by a laborious process of inves tigation, was "a law unto itself." He wa9 ac cused of rashness, when be should have been praised for superior wisdom. But, while iu manner he was the accomplished gentleman, his true m mhoo l was most conspicuously displayed in the sphere of th-j social and domestic affec tions. While embalmed in the admiration of his friends, he will be immortalized by the blind vindictiveness of his enemies. Heroism and Cruelty. A most touching instance of heroism, and one of the most atrocious acts of cruelty, the truth of which is vouched for by the most respectable authority, occurred during the Columbian strug gle for independence. The Spanish General. Morrilld, tho most blood-thirsty and treacherous tool of the Spanish King, who was created Count of Carthagenia and Marquis do la Pueria, for services which rather entitled him to the dis tinction of butcher or hangman, while seated in his tent one day during the campaign of Carrac cas, saw a boy before him drowned in tears. The chief demanded of him for what purpose he was there. The child replied that he had come to beg the life of his father, then a prisoner in Morillo's camp. "What can you do to save your father ?" ask ed the general. "I can do but little, but what I can shall be done. Morillo seized the little fellow's ear and said, "would you suffer 3-our ear to betaken off to procure your father's liberty ?" "I certainly would," was the undaunted re ply. A soldier was accordingly called and ordered to cut off the ear with a single stroke of tho knife. The boy wept, but did not resist while this barbarous order was executed. "Would you lose your other ear rather than fail of your purpose ?" was the next ques tion. "I have suffered much, but for my - father I can suffer still!" was the herio answer of the boy. The other ear was taken off by piecemeal, with out flinching on the part of the noble child. "And now go!'' exclaimed Morillo, untouched by his sublime courage, "the -father of such a son must die!" In the presence of his agonized and vainly suffering son, the patriot father was executed. Never did a life picture exhibit such truthful lights and shades in national character, such deep, treacherous villainy ; such lofty, enthusi astic heroism. A Picture. A fair young girl is leaning pen sively on the casement, gazing, with thoughtful brow upon the scene below. The bloom of fif teen summers tints her soft cheeks, the sweets of a thousand flowers are gathered upon her round full lips, the curls cling to a spotless brow, and fall upon a neck of perfect grace, the soft swimming eye seems lighted by the tenderest fire of poetry, and beauty hovers over her, as her own most favored child. What are her thoughts ? Love cannot stir a bosom so young, sorrow cannot yet have touched a spirit so pure. Innocence itself seems to have chosen her for its own. Alas! has disappointment touched that youthful heart ? Yet it must ba so ; but hist! she starts her bosom heaves her eyes bright en her lips part she speaks listen "Jim, you nasty fool, quit scratching that pig" 1 back, or 1 will tell mar." Origin of the Tlapuhlic cf San Karino. We cannot conclude our sketch of "small be ginnings" without speaking of a certain singu lar little Republic which has some claim to be remembered under such a beading, though its biatory 13 no modern instance, and will leud u3 some fourteen or fif.een hundred years into the shadows of tho past. It is only befitting the an tiquity of tho tale, to say that, onca upon a time, there existed a certain peasant of Dalmatia, na med Marino, who was by trade a mason, a worthy, honest, industrious man, and devout according to the light vouchsafed to him. This artisan wa employed in the reparation of the town of Rimini; and when his task was ended,' he retreated to a neighboring mountain, built for himself a cell, and embraced the life of a hermit. After a time, his sanctity and charity wer,e rmore 1 abroad ; and the lady of the land, the Princess of Rimini visited his hermitage, was charmed by his piety and intelligence and bestowed on him as a gift the high and cra-y mountam tvhere he had fixedhis Lome: no veS great bounty, if we consider that its anmmiiJ usually veiled in clouds. -was covered nal snow; but Marino, or a, he was now sty led, St. Marion, turael the barren land to good ao- He invited all whom he deemed worthy of sha I "S k'f ohtude-manj a lowly anJ homeless Dnosed m-fthj '"J1"" monastic lire on them Or. contrary, he assisted and directed their labor in the construction of a town, and in th-JcuUivatioc of such parts of the mountain as were capable of being rendered productive. A more useful s tint never lived ! . As there was neither spring nor fount: i 1 on the hill, he taught them to con struct huge cisterns and reservoirs, which they fi .led with snow-water, or left for the reception of ram. They planted vineyards on the mountain-sides, which produced excellent wine, and became, in a brief space, a flourishing colony. San Marino give them wise and just laws; lived to see his poor brethren prosperous and happy, and dying became their tutelary saint, had a church dedicated is fcis tame, aad a stat ue, erected to his honor. The miniature Republic of San Marino exist ed for centuries, free and unchanged, amidst all the mutations of the governments of Italy ; and Addison, in his TraveU, give9 us a pretty pic ture of this tiniest of independent States ; to which there was but one road, a severe law pro hibiting its people from miking a new way up the mountain where the chief officers of 6tate were two capitanos, (answering to the old Roman Consuls, but chosen every six months.) a com missary or lawyer, a physician and a schoolmas ter, -where everybody "had some tincture of learning," and the ambassador of which, when sent to a foreign State, "was allowed out of the treasury ore shilling a diy.r' where the people j., - . .. - r possessed the simplicity and v.rtues of the gold- ( xuuv- wanierer seeking a precarious crust-to dwell with him in thi3agle's Trie. .Nor did he. as might have been sanno-ed nrnh,. oie. en age, ana revered for centuries tho memory of j joches. He was perfectly white, and only twen the peasant who had given their forefathers a ty months old. The hind wheels of the wagon home, and bequeathed to them an inheritance of J were taken off, when the animal walked off of freedom and contentment. Chambers' Edinburgh j hii owa accori on Doard the boat, and laid down The Disputed Valley More Trouble with Mexico. The annexed letter says the National Intel- i ngencer is of sermus import. It is from the intelligent and generally well informed corres pondent of the Journal of Commerce; and we know that its statements are substantially cor rect so far as they relate to Gen. Garland's de parture for the Upper Kio Grande, and the strong force of all arms that will be there under his orders. Yet we entertain a hope that the wri ter is mistaken in supposing that the dispute which has arisen about the patch in the Mesilla valley is to be settled by an abrupt chock cf arms. Washington', June 1. Gen. Garland, who had been here, en route for New Mexico, has left for his important com mand. He arrived here in much less time than was expected, after he had been summoned to this place. He has received his instructions, and I conjecture that they embrace both diplo matic and military powers. He is undoubtedly to proceed forihwith to New Mexico, and to march into tho Mesilla valley with a force that will enable him to encounter Gov. Trias, who is there before him, and who is prepared to expel him or any other American intruder. It may be that Gov. Trias will retire before Gen. Gar laud, and that Santa Anna will suffer the United States to take and keep possession of that dis puted territory. But such is not the apparent intention of the Mexicans. Our Executive Government have dcciiled that the disputed terrrilory belongs to us under the treaty, and would be ours, supposing the boun dary line to be run from "a point immediately north of El Paso" westward. It is of no use now to go into the merits of this controversy. I say ngain that our Execu tive has decided tho question, and it is to the results of that decision that we aro to look. It is t) be hoped that this dispute will be allowed to be settled in the manner contemplated in the treaty of Guadalupe, by running the lice over again, or, in case of a final disagreement, to refer the dispute to the arbitration of some third party. But arms are now introduced by both parties in the dispute, and both parties indicate a resolute intention to bettle tho ques tion by arms. Gov. Trias may give way, but he has not occupied tho Mesilla for the purpose of yielding it. He has not gone there with a force of a thousand men for the mere purpose of giving up the territory to Gen. Garland. With a smaller escort he could do that. We have seen the first Mexican war, and know its origin, and its immedite provoca tion. The circumstances of the present case aro similar to those of the former. The advance on Corpus Christi and upon Matamoras kindled the first war. and the seconl may be occasion ed by the movement upon tho Mcsiila valley. Egy'Do you believe in second love, Misthcr McQuade ?' 'Do I believe in second love ? Humph, if a man buys a pound of. sugar isn't it sweet? and when its gone don't he . want an other pound? and isn't that pound sweet too? Troth, Murphy, I believe in second lov. ESJ-Maj. Gen. Riely, of the U. 8. Army, is dangerously ill, and not likely to recover. NUMBER 34. Growth of Hew York. The Brooklyn Circular has the following gra phic picture of the growth cf thig Emporium aad its chief suburb, Brooklyn : "FoBTr-six Years Ago." As wc took oor seat in one of the South Ferry boits, a few even ings ago, an elderly gentleman in a social mood seated himself beside us, and commenced to re mark upon the contrast that the present conve. niences for erasing the river presented with those of forty or fifty years ago. "Forty-sir years ago," he said, "we had ti cress this ferry by means of a horse-boat. We were then an hour in crossing, and the fare was twenty-five cents. Now we cross in five minutes, aad the fare is five cents. Brooklyn," he continued, "was only a little village, and the population of New York was only 75.000." Now the city of Broaklyn numbers 100,000, and that cf New Yors about 603.000 inhabitants. "Steamboats, railroads, the telegraph and gas were things an thought of then." Each of these had come into use and effected a revolution since he was a young man. He witnessed the btarting of tho first steamboat that ever made a trip up the North River. The foot of Fulton street, New York, (the present site of tho Fulton forry build ings, but then a sand bank, with no buildings in the vicinity,) was tho point of departure of Ful ton's strange little craft on its trial trip. A tem porary staging was erected along the sloping shore of sand, upon which was assembled the gazing multitude that both cheered and booted the advent of 6t?am as it made its first cuccess-. ful debut before the people of New Yoak Citv. Our informant further told us that in a newepa per printed at the time it was stated that as tho boat moved up the river, puffing, 6moking and snorting against the tile, it so frightened some of the sailors on the other vessels, that they fell on their knees, praying to be delivered from the Evil One! The first steamboat that was evr applied to any practical purpose was built by Robert Fulton, in New York, in 1S07, and was earned the North River. Her engine was 18 horse power, and she was S3 hours in making the passage between New York and Albany. The same passage by Etc&rabcat is now made in. from six to nine hours, and by railroad UX four hours. Sha World's Fair. It will gratify those interested in the cause of American art to see the following announcement of a new contribution to the exhibition of tho Industry of All Nations, to be held in New York in the c'o 4rse of time. Wc quote from the Mii waukie Sentinel: . "A monster hog, weighing eleven hundred and nine pounds, was lately shipped on board the steamer Arctic, on his way to the World's Fair at New York. He was purchased by Messrs. R. Bugg & R. Stewart, of Niagara county, N. Y., for $200, from Mr. H. B. Thayer, of Troy, Walworth county, Wisconsin. His actual meas urement was as follows : Girth behind the shoul- . mm 1. a 1 ..ilk O AaV 1 inches : height to ton of the back. 3 foet 10 making him weigh eighteen hundred pounds, when fattened, live weight. This is one of the specimens Wisconsin sends to the World's Fair; it wju he hard to beat." This important work (of Art or Iudustry, which is it ?) enables us to bring up our Cata logue of the Exhibition as follows: 1. A White Monkey, from the Arctic Re gions. 2. Four fine fat Seals, from Greenland- 3. A living Alligator, from Louisiana, 4. A Striped Bear, from California. 5. A White Bear, " 6. A Tiger, " ' 7. A Leopard, " S. A Cayoia, " " 9. Some peculiar Quails, " " 10. A Horned Toad, 11. no!s. 12. 13. ein. A White Ox, weight 3500 lbs. from Illl- A five-legged cow. A Hog, weight 1109 lbs, from "Wiscoa- JBgBelow is the maiden speech of a young California lawyer. It was in the celebrated "Bob Waterman Case," captain of the ship Chal lenge. It's rich ! "See this Herculean mate ike a horrid demon, take this dcfeucelcss boy and hurl him rudely into the ice board scruppers, where with his monster boots he tramples on the prostrate frame; then, taking him to the rautiins, and rigging of that horrid ship, he ties him by his poor emaci ated arms iu tho howling blast his dripping and tattered garments hanging loosely on Lis atten uated frame, while the ragged icicles rattle in the winter's blast. The ship is hauled clo60 up to the wind, which is blowing on the starboard quarter, aud then this poor emaciated frame drawn down to the skin and bones by the dys entery, which noxious disease, geutlemea of the jury, will suddenly bring down the strongest man. This poor frame, I 6ay, if left to hang till nature could hardly hold together long, and then he is taken down to his, lonely apartmeut, or bunk, a living picture of horrid despair." Oh, gentlemen of the Jury, could his ghost now rise up before 30U, his attenuated frame could speak to you more eloquently than I havo done !" A Charge as is a Charge'. Judge Jonah Joies recently delivered the fol lowing charge to the jury, ia the case ofElim Crunch for stealing : "Jury, you kin go out, and don't show your ugly mugs here till you find a verdict if you cau't find one of your own, git the one the last jury used. The jury retired, and after an absence cf fif teen minutes, returned with a verdict of "Sui cide in the ninth degree and'fourth verse.' Then Judge Jonah Joles pronounced upon Elim Crunch thi sentence ; "EUm Crunch etao up, and face the music. You are found guilty of 6uicide for stealing. Now this court sentence you to pay a fine of two shillings, to shave your bead with a bagganet, in the barracks, and If you try to cave in the heads of any of the jury, you'll catch thunder, that's all. Your fate will be a warning to others ; and in conclusion; may the Lord have mercy on your soul. Sheriff, get me a pint of red-eye. I'm awful thirsty. t- t 4 1 ' K : r . .1 i 1 : ' t t 1 L ir :.! , !. ' j i