Huntingdon journal. (Huntingdon, Pa.) 1843-1859, September 11, 1849, Image 1

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    J ~"' !
From the New York Aths
The following beautiful poefn—and
we hesitate not to say that it possesses
merits equal to those of any poem that
has graced the pages of English litera
ture, since the introduction of pririting--
originally appeared in Blackwood'fillag
azine. It is from the pen of an anony
writer, who is known to the rea
ders of that celebrated magazine, by
the signature of 'Delta.'
The poem is illustrative of the priva
tions and sorrows that were endured by
the Scotch CoVenanter's, in the early
days of their existence, as a religious
sect; when hunted like wolves, they
fixed their homes and their temples, in
which they sought to worship the only
true and living God, among the crags
and cliffs, and glens of Scotland,
Although it be true, it has been just
ly remarked by a late historical writer,
that the Covenanters. both in their
preachings from the pulpit, and their
teachings by example, frequently pro
ceeded more in the spirit of fanaticism,
titan of sober, religious feeling, and that
in their antagonistic ardor, they did not
hesitate to carry the persecutions of
which they themselve so justly com
plained, into the camp of the adversary
—sacrificing in their mistaken zeal,
even the ennobling arts of architecture,
sculpture and painting, ns adjuncts of
idol worship--still it is to be remem
bered, that the aggression emanated not
from them ; and that the rights they
contended for were the most sacred and
invaluable that man can possess—the
freedom of worshipping Cod according
to dictates of conscience. They sincere
ly believed that the principles which
they maintained were right ; nod their
adherence to these with unalterable con
stancy through good report and through
bad report—in the hour of privation,
and suffering, and death—in the silence
of the prison cell, not less than in the
excitement of the battle field—by the
blood stained hearth, on the scaffold, and
at the stake—foams a noble chapter in
they history of the human mind—of man
as an accountable creature.
It should be recollected that these
religious persecutions were not mere
things of a day, but were continued
through at least three entire genera•
flank: They continued from the acres•
bion of James VI. to the English throne,
down to the revolution of 1638, almost
a century, during which many thousands
- •• •
In reference to the following stanzas,
it should be rem , ~ tiered that, during
the holding of their conventicles--which
frequent y in the more troublesome
times took place amid mountain soli
tudes, and during the nights—a semi
nel eras stationed on some commanding
height, in the neighborhood, to give war
ning of the approach df danger:
Ho .! placid watcher of the hill,
What of the night I—what of the night ?
Whe winds ere low, the Woods are still;
. The countless stars are sparkling bright;
from out this heathery moorland glen,
By the shy wild-fowl only trod,
.We raise our hymn, unheard of men; ,
To Thee an omnipresent God I
Jehovah ! though no sin appear:,
Through earth our aimless path to lead,
We know, we feel Thee ever near;
A present help in time of need—
Near as when pointing out the way.
Forever in thy people's sight,
A pillared wreath of smoke by day,
Which turned to fiery flame at night!
Whence came the summons forth to go ?
From thee awoke the warning sound,
~ O ut to your tents, 0, Israel ! Lo!
The heathen's warfare girds the round.
Plans of the faithful! up--away !
The lamb must ofthe wolf beware;
The falcon seeks the dove for prey ;
The fowler spreads his cunning snare!"
Day set in gold ; 'twas peace around
'Twas seeming peace by field and flood ;
We woke, and on our lintels found
The cross of wrath—the mark of blood.
Lord ! in thy cause we mocked at fears,
We scorned the ungodly's threat'ning words,
Seat out our pruning-hooks to spears,
Aid turned our ploughshares into swords !
Degenerate Scotland I days have been,
Thy soil when only freedom trod—
When mountain crag and valley green
Poured forth the loud acclaim of God 1
The fire which liberty imparts
Refulgent in each patriot eyo,
Anl• graven on the nations heart,
The Wono r —for which we stand or die 1
Unholy change ! The scorners chair
Is now the seat of those who rule ;
Tortures, arid bonds, and death, the share
Of ad except the tyrant's tool.
That faith in which our father's breathed,
And had their life—for which they died—
That priceless heirloom they bequeathed
Their sons—our impious foes deride !
So we beim left our homes behind,
And we have belted on the sword,
And we in solemn league have joined,
Tea ! covenanted with the Lord,
Never to seek those hornet •neriin,
Never to give the sward rte
Until our right of faith remain
Unfettered as the air we breathe
~l ~
O thdu who rulest above the sky,
Begirt about with etarry thrones,
Cast from the Heaven of Heavens thine eye,
Down on our wives and little ones;—
From Hallelujahs surging round,
Oh, for a moment turn thine eat,
The widow prostrate on the ground,
The famished orphans' cries to hear
And thou wilt hear ! it cannot be,
That thou wilt list the raven's brood,
When from their nest they scream to Thee,
Asd in due season send them food ;
It cannot be that thou wilt weave
The lilly such sbuerb array,
And yet soled, unsheltered, leave
Thy children—asking less than they.
We have no hearth—the ashes lie
In blackness where they brightly shone;
We have no homes—the desert sky
Our covering—earth our conch alone ;
We have no herritage—depriven
Of these, we ask not much on earth ;
Our hearts are sealed ; we seek in heaven
For heritage, and home, mid hearth !
O Salem, city of the saint,
And holy men made perfect! we
Pant for thy gates, our spirits faint
Thy glorious golden streets to see;
To mark the rapture that inspires
The ransomed, and redeemed by grace ;
To listen to the seraphs' lyres,
. And meet the angels face to face i
Father in Heaven ! -we turn not back,
Tho' briers and thorns choke up the path ;
Rather the torture of the rack,
Than tread the wineprehu Of thy wrath.
Let thunders crash; let torrents shower,
• Let whirlwinds churn the howling seni
What is the turmoil of nn hour,
To an eternal calm with Thee !
Another Letter from Major
Mason and Dixon's side of Salt River. (.
AUPUST 11, 1849. $
MY DgAR MR. RITCHIE :—You don't
know how glad I be to see how you have
spunked up since my last. letter to you.
You are raly giving it to the "corrupt
and imbecile administration" pell-mell.
I should think that every 'dolt,' and ev
ery 'butcher,' and every 'Nero' among
'em must have a bunged eye by
this time. You do give it to 'em right
and left about right. Uncle Joshua says
you are the 'rem Hyer of our party, you
can whip any body the Feds can bring
into the ring. But 30W I begin to feel
uneasy for fear you'll overdo yourself
and break down, and then we shunt have
nobody to take care of us. Don't you
remember the story of the tame elephant.
that was used to launch vesselsi One
time they put him to launch a vessel
that was too heavy for him. After he
tried once or twice and couldn't start it,
the keeper called out, 'take away this
lazy beast and bring another.' At that
the poor elephant roused up and put his
head to the vessel again, and pushed and
strained himself so hard that he fell
down and died. Now I don't want you
to do so. When I writ that letter to
you two or three weeks, ago, to rouse
you up a little, 1 didn t mean to make
you so furious that you should run your
bead agin the admiuistration so hard as
to break your neck; or strain yourself so
much ns to fall down dead: Nor I didn't
mean that you should kill off all the ad
ministration, smack smooth, and dead
as herrings, in two months. I Meant to
give you two or three years to do it
Any time before the next election would
do. If you should kilt 'em all right off
before we haVe time to choose any body
to take their places, you would have all
the Government on your own shoulders,
and I'm afraid it would be too much for
you: So I think you had better try to
cool down a little; it dint prudence to
keep so hot all the time. 'that is, I mean
on your own account, for fear you should
overdo yourself and break down. And
then, again, there is Stith ti thing as
drawing too long a bow to hit the thing
you shoot at. Major Longbow used to
be quite unlucky in that way. You can
make folks believe a middlin' sized fish
story, if you tell it well ; but if you try
to back it up with a tarnal cockand-bull
story, they'll go right back again and
swear they don't believe the fish story.
It's dangerous loading guns too heavy,
fot then there's no knowing which will
get the worst.of it, him that stands be
fore the muzzle, or him that stands be
hind the britch. Sol hope you'll try to
cool down a little, for I am satisfied
since my last letter ; ydu are firing away
your amunition too fast. And, besides,
I don't think it's right for you at your
time of life to be fiffhting so hard.—Nor
I don't think its necessary nother, for
things is brightening up all over the
country. Our party is all coming up
together again, and going to carry all
before 'em. Its true the flocks and herds
of our party has been dreadfully broke
up and scattered about. The oxen didn't
know their owners, and the sheep hadn't
no stiepheids, and the Taylor wolves
has been prowlin' about the country
and carried off a great many of 'em:--
But from what I hear all over the coun
try now, I am satisfied they are all dom
ing together lig,mn, and on t new plat
i form; and that platform is Mason and
Dixon's side of Salt River. 'Mr. John
Van Buren is shoo-shooing all over the
Noithe'rn States, and driven of 'ern up;
and headin' of 'em all as fast as he can
towards Mason and Dixon's side of Salt
River. Mr. Calhoun, in the Southern
Slates, is whislin' round his springy
rattan, making the hair and skin fly,
heading 'em all up toward Mason and
Dixon's side of Salt River. And Col.
Benton is cracking his long whip all
ever, the great Western country, and
headin' em all across the prairies to
wards Mason and Dixon's side of Salt
River. And Gineral Cass stands, you
know, where he always has stoodi on
Mason and Dixon's side of Salt River,
with a handful of salt in one hand, and
a nub of corn in 'tother, and looking all
round and calling of 'em to come to him
and he'll feed 'em. So you see wi have
every thing to encourage us. Things
look bright ahead. It won't be long be•
fore all the scattered flocks and herds of
our party tvill be got tngether on this
platform on Mason and Dixon's side of
Salt River and then we will have things
all our own Way; and Gineral Taylor
and the Wilmot proviso'may go to grass.
Mistakes of the Bich.
The Egytian King who, swollen with
grandeur, ordered a collossal staircase
built to his palace, discovered to his
chagrin when it was completed, that he
required a ladder to get from one step
to another; He had forgotten that a
king's legs after all were as short as a
lv,ggar's. Agrandize as we may, the
limits of our sexes cheplc us miserably
at every moment. You call yourself
proprietor! House and pictures outlive
you, and after taking your will of them
for a short time you are carried out of
your own door, feet foremost, never
again to enter it. 'Proprietor,' you
were perhaps of farms and castles, es
tates and mountains—but now you own
(nothing but a little hole in the ground,
-six feet by two.
The artist who visits your gallery
while you live and own it, enjoys it
more than you. You are rich enough
to dine twenty-four times a day, but you
must sparingly enjoy dining even once.
Your cellar is full of exquisite wines,
but you can only drink one bottle your
self, and, to help to use your store, you
are obliged to call around friends, rela
tives, parasites—a little world can live
upon your substance, and who instead
of geatitude, are likelier to make you a
a return in envy. You have thirty hor
ses in the stable you can mount but
one—ride after but two or four.
To be truly rich, one should have a 1
stomach in proportion to the number of
dinners he can afford, senses exclude,
according to the stock in bank, sextuple
vigor and sensibility to concentrate and
return all the love he could propriate
with gift. At the close of his life the
richest man has hardly spent more upon
his own enjoyment than the poor man.
He has eaten twice a day, slept in a bed
alone or with one wife, and the poor
man can do as much, and the proprietor
scarcely more:
Uothschild is forced to dontent
self with the same sky as the poor news
paper writer ; and the great banker can.;
not add One ray td the magnificence of
night— the same kind of blood fills his
veins. Each one possesses, really, only
his own thoughts and his own senses.—
Soul and body—these are all the proper
ty which a man completely owns.
All that is valuable in this world is to
be had for nothing. Genius, beauty
and love are hot bought and sold. You
may buy a rich bracelet, but not a well
turned arm on which to wear it—a pearl
necklace, but not a pearly throat with
which it shall vie. The richest banker
on earth would vainly offer his fortune
to be able to Write tt verse like Byron.
One comes into the world naked, and
goes out naked. 'the difference in the
fineness of a bit of linen for a shroud is
not much. Man is a handful of clay
which turns quickly back again into
dust, and which is compelled nightly to
relapse into the nothingness of sleep, to
get strength to commence life again on
the morrow.
In this life; so partaken by annibilaz
tion, what is there that ,is real 1 is it
our sleeping or waking—our dreaming
or our thoughtsl Do we arise to more
valuable life, when we go to bed or when
we arise? No—man is no proprietor !
Or he owns but the breath as it traver-
ses his lips, and the idea as it flits across
his mind. And even the idea often be-
longs to another.—Home Journal.
BROW R.—This term was originally
applied to those Whose business it was
to break packages and sell by the piece
or loss quantity ; it afterwards came to
designate an agent employed by both
buyer and seller, and is thus , defined by
the learned Trollope is one who
steppeth in between two men making a
bargain and plundereth both:'---,Lift for
the Lazy,
The Phantom of Vice.
it was the last night of the year and
from his lattice, an old man gazed with
a look of despair, upwards to the bright
and blue heaven, and downwards upon
the tranquil, white-mantled earth, on
which no human being was so joyless
and sleepless as he.
His grave seemed to stand near him,
covered not with the green of youth, but
With the snow of age. Nothing htid he
brought with him out of his whole life
—nothing save his sins, follies, and dis
ease, a wasted body , tt desolate soul, a
heart filled with poison, and an old age
of remorse and wretchedness.
And noW, like spectres of the past ; the
beautiful days of his youth, passed in
review defore him, and saddened mem
ory timS there; and drew him buck again
to' that bright Morning when his father
first placed him at the opening paths of
life, which, on the right, led by the sun-
illumined track of virtue, into a pure
and peaceful land l full of angels, and
harmony, of recompense and light—and
on the left descended by the darkling
mole, ways of vice, into a black cav3rn
dropping poison, full of deadly serpents
and of gloomy sultry vapors.
These serpents aro already coiled a
' bout his breast—the poison was on his
tongue, and he knew now where he was!
Fairy meteors derided before him, extin
guishing themselves in the churchyard,
and he knew them to be the days of his
He saw a star fly from heaven, and
fall dial and dissolving to the earth.
"Thati" said he, "is myself," and the
serpent fangs of remorse pierced still
more deeply his bleeding heart.
His excited fancy now showed him
sleep-walkers gliding away from house
tops, and the arms of a giant windmill
threatened to destroy him. He turned
—he tried to escape—but a mass from
the neighboring charnel house lay before
him, and gradually assumed his own
While in this paroxysm, the music
of the opening year flowed down from
the steeples, falling upon his ear like
distant anthems. H is troubled soul was
soothed with gentler emotions. He
looked at the horizon, and then abroad
on the wide world, and he thought on
the friends of his youth, who, better and
more blessed than himself, were now
teachers on the earth, parents of famil
ies, and happy men !
In this dreamy retrospect of the days
of his youth the fantastic features of the
mask seemed to change ; it raised itself
up in the charnel house—and his weep
ing spirit beheld his former blooming
figure placed thus in bitter mockery
before .him.
endure tt tiO longer. He
Covered his eyes—a floc]. of scalding
tears streamed Into the show—his bos
om was relieved, and he sighed softly,
unconciously, inconsolably, "Only come
again, youth—come only once again !
And it came again ! For he had only
dreamed So fearfully on that New Year's
night. He was still a youth. His error
alone had been no dream, and he thank.;
ed God that while yet youtigi he &did
turn from thd foul paths of vice into the
Sun-track which conducts to the pure
land of blessedness and peace.
APOLOGY.—When John Clark
(Lord Eldon) was at the bar, he Was re•
markable for the sang iroid with which
he treated the Judges. On one occasion,
a junior counsel, on hearing their Lord.:
ships give judgment against his client,
exclaimed that "lie was surprised at
such a decision!" This was construed
into contempt of Court, and he was or
dered to attend at the bar next mornind;
Fearful of the consequences, he consult
ed his friend John Cldrk, who told him
to be perfectly at ease, for lib would
apologise for him in a way that would
avert any unpleasant result.
Accordingly, when the name of the
delinquent was called, John rose and
coolly addressed the assembled tribu
nal: "I am very sorry, my Lords, that
my young friend has so far forgot him
self, as to treat your honorable bench
With disrespect ; ho is extremely peni
tent, and you will kindly ascribe his
unintentional insult to his ignorance.—
You must see at once that it did origi-
nate in flint. He said he was surprised
at the decision of your Lordships! Now
if he had not been very ignorant of what
takes place in this Court every day--
had he knowii you but half so long ns•l
have done, he would not be surprised at
any thing you did !"
INNOCENCE.-A captain of the old
school being at a ball had been accepted
by a beautiful partneri a lady of rank,
who in the most delicate manner pos.
Bible, hinted to him the propriety of
putting on a pair of gloves. 'oh,' was
the elegant reply, 'never mind me,
ma'am •; I shall wash my hands when
I've done dancing !'
4 4 *
“Two in a lied.”
The following laughable occurrence,
which bears the recommendation of be
ing no fiction, %Vila related to us some
time ago, and as'we have never seen it
in print, we tell the tale to our readers
as it was told to us.
Ned and Charley were room-mates,
but they occupied different beds. Ned's
steeping apparatus was so? si:tuated that
he could get into either fit? 6=4 hat is
to say, there were two foresides to his
bed, and no back side—which Ned
found very convenient on certain occa
One night Ned and Charley had been
out, anti on returning, which they did
near morning, both were considerably
elevated. However they walled up to
their room with an air which seemed to
say, 'Not so very darned drunk after
all,' and sought long and patiently for
matches and a lamp. After knocking
the pitcher off the wash-stand, and
smashing the looking glass, they final.
ly gave up the search ann went to bed.
Went to bed—yes, that's the word—
but owing to the darkness, and the con
fusion of their senses, they made a slight
mistake. In short, Ned's bed had the
honor of receiving the two friends—
Charley getting in on one side, and his
companion rolling in on the other.
say, Ned,' cried Charley, touching
somebody's calf, 'there's a fellow in my
'Wonderful coincidence!' exclaimed
Ned, feeling a strange elbow in the re ,
gion of the tibs, 'there's a fellow in my
bed, too.'
'ls there though; cried Challik,
kick 'em out.' „
'Agreed,' said Ned: ,
Accordingly the two friends began to
hick. In about a minute and a half Ned
was sprawling on the floor, and Charley
was left in possession of the bed. For
a moment alter the fall all was silent.
'I say, Ned,' cried Charley.
4 What V asked Ned sulkily.
'l've kicked my fellow out: . . .
'You nre a devilish sight more luckier
than I am, then,' said Ned, 'for mine has
kicked me into the middle 'of the next
two weeks.
“A Sunny Spirit.”
How beautiful it is ! A coirit of cheer
fulness and readiness to enjoy, of gen
eral humor, or warmth and gentleness
and hopefulness of feeling ; of charity
and kindncss,of peaceful faithof bright
ness of fancy and clearness of thought
and the joyful appreciation of all that is
beautiful !—Wliut n charm such a spirit
sheds about its pdsiessdr ! Hew trait.'
quil and how happy are the faintly cit..
eles amid which it pervails ! How does
it make the common words of the soul
which it prevades as musical in their
flow as brooks in June 1 Flow sweetly
does it retain its Serenity against the
strong impulse of opposition 1 HoW
does it enlighten that portion of life
which is overhung 'and shadowed by
sorrow or by peril ! How does it imbue.
with beauty the literature or the art of
the Mind that is its dwelling! How
does it convert even the infirmities of old
age, which it cannot dissipate . ; into dem. '
sions of pleasant remembrance and plea.
Banter anticipations; as the sun at even
ing lines the thickest clouds with pearl
and silver, and edges their masses with
golden sheetn ! And how does such a
spirit, as the evidence and the result of
faith in Christ, and of delightful trust id
the Divine Father; correspond with all
that is sublime in holiness, and grand
in self-devotion, and powerful and uplift
ing in belief of the truth ! How does it
find its natural consummation, after
life's day is done, amid the rest and
peace of heaveii
Who would not have h.a sunny spiria'
—that charming effluence of Christiani
ty 1 that sweetener of life I that beauti
ful essence, perVading ohm thoughts;
that fruit of gentle submission to the
Divine wisdom ; the shadow of God's
home, as Plato said the light was of His
holy body '1 No felicity of arganization
no effort of the will, no friendly guidan
ce and education alone can give it ; can
render it perfect, or make it permanent:
But in Christ Jesus, through faith in
Him and the reception of His Spirit, and
joyful trust in His redemption, we may
all find it:—/tttlependent:
SHE BEARS.—The prin.;ipal of an
Acncle'my, in an advertisement, men
tioned his feyriaie assistant; and the
"reputation for teaching which she
bears ;" but the printer—careless fellow
—left out the "which"--so the adver
tisement went forth, commending the
lady's reputation for 'teaching she bears I'
HonsE-Pownn.—The power of a horse
is understood to be that which will ele
rater( weight of thirty-three thousand
pounds, the bight of one foot in a mm
uto of time, equal to nbout ninety pounds
at the rate of four miles an hour.
zer, late professer of Modern Languages
in the Uniuersity of Virginia, is belie=
ering a series of lectures in Boston, on
Oar in Hungary, of which that excel
lent paper, the Boston Traveller, is pub
lishing well prepared extracts. From
a report in that
,journal of a recent lec
tor., we learn that the Magyars number
4,800,000, theca are 4,200,000 Sclavo
vians ; of Croarians 2,200,000; Ger
mans aboot 1,200,000; Bulgarians; ii
kind of Sclaionidn's, M,OOO ; Jews 244;
000 ; French 6,000 ; Greeks 6,000 ; and
Arinians 3,000 to 4000—making a grand
total of 12,800,000. Of this'number 6,-
000,000 are Catholics, 2,600,000 belong
ing to the Greek church; who obey the
patriarchs of Constantinople. The Mag.
yars are the representatives of the na
,l tion. What is technically called Gal;
vanitic, is their religion, and it may be
called the Magyars religion.
SAM SLICK'S LAST.—Judge HalliUur
ton, the witty author of Sam Slick, was
holding a Court the other day, and in
the commencement of the proceedings,
it became necessary to etnpannel rt Ju
ry; One worthcy burgher upon being
called, requested of the Court to excuse
him, on the ground that be was afflicted
with the itch, dt the same time holding
out his hands to the Judge, and display
ing the titsible evidence of his cutaneous
affliction. The Judge, after closely in
specting the hands of the juror, direct
ed the clerk as follows:
'The Court decides that the juror's
excuse is a valid one, and therefore di
rects thdt he be s-c-r-a-t-c-h-e-d
A tremendous rotir of laughter signi
fied the unanimous verdict of the audi
ence that his honor was guilty of a puii.
Ass.--Considerable amusement is caus
ed by nn anecdote which is going the
rounds, and of which President Bona
parte is the hero. He went to review
the troops at Troyes. When the car
containing the President and suit stop
ped; an old man, a laborer, came up;
and in a voice which made the very
echoes tremble, cried, "Ilvrrah for Na:
I)olebii 1" A smile df thanks already
played round the lips of the executive
power, when the old man resumed, as if
to complete his thought :—"Thur,f_ah far
Napoleon—who is dead!" Thffenpon
the bell rangi and the train continued'
its ttiatb..
—The Boston transcript of Monday
says that a gentleman of that city was
assaulted in the street on Saturddy night
last, by two women, who threatened to
hold on to him and disgrace him if be
did not give them money. The miser
able creatures succeeded in tearing his
coat from his back, when he handed
them over to the watchman, and they
were lodged in jail."
was cbaritiedi' says Lord Oxford ;
'with the answer of a poor man in Bed
lam, who was insulted by ati apprentice,
because he would not tell till he was
confined, 'the ulthrippy creature at last
said, 'Because God Almighty deprived
me of a blessing which you never had.'
An old offender was lately brought
before a learned Justice of the Peace.—
The constable, as a preliminary, inforin
ed his worship that be had in custody
John Simmons, alias Jones, alias Smith.
'Very well,' said the magistrate, will
try the two women first; bring in
He who betrays another's secrets be.:
cause he has quarrelled with him, was
never worthy of the sacred name of
friend ; a breach of kindness on one
side will not justify a breach of trust On
the other.
A FEmith 111SRCHANT.—The Princes
of Orange owns eleven steamers, with
Which she trades•to different ports in
Europe, going occasionally with her
own ienttires as supet-cdrgo.
even tears in Childhoods sport and plifyi ~i
Seven years in school from day to day, 14
Seven years at a trade or a college life 21
Seven years to find a place and a vviie, 2$
Seven years to pleasure's follies given, 35
Seven years to business hardly driven, 42
Seven years for fame a wild goose chase, 45
Seven years for wealth a bootless race, 6 . 6
Seven years in hoarding for your heit; 63
Seven years in weakness spent and care, 70
Theis die and go—you know not where.
A DEAR CoLou.---EverY Pound weight
of eochineal contains seventy thousand
insects boiled to death ; so that the an
nual sacrificed insectile life, to procure
our scarlet slid crimson dyes, amounts
to about forty-nine millions of these
small members of the creation.