VOL. 18.
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POETICAL.
From Poems by Elizabeth Barrett.
COWPER'S GRAVE.
It is a place where poets crowned
May feel the heart's decaying—
It is a place whore happy saints
May weep anmid their praying—
Yet let the grief and humbleness,
Ae low as silence, languish;
Earth surely now may give her calm
To whom she gave her anguish.
0 poets ! from a maniac's tongue
Wan poured the deathless singing!
0 Christians Z at your cross of hope
A hopeless band was clinging !
0 men ! this man in botherhood,
Your weary paths beguiling,
Groaned only while lie taught you peace,
And died while yet smiling !
And now, what time ye all may read
Through dimming tears his story—
How discord on the music fell,
And darkness on the glory—
And how, when one by one, sweet sounds
And wandering lightsdeparted,
He wore no less a lowing face,
Beeanse broken-hearted—
Ile shall be strong to sanctify
The poet's high vocation,
And bowed the meekest Criatian down
In meeker adoration;
Nor ever shall he be in praise,
By wise or good forsaken;
Named softly, as the household name
Of one whom God hath taken !
With sadness that is calm, not gloom,
I learn to think upon him;
With meekness that is gratefulness,
On God whose heaven Lath won him—
Who suffered once the madness cloud,
Toward His love to blind him;
But gently led the blind along
Where breath and bird could find him;
And wrought within his shattered brain,
Such quick poetic senses,
As hills have language, for, and stars,
Harmonious influences;
The pulse of dew upon the grass,
His own calmly number;
And silent shadow from the trees
Fell o'er him like a slumber.
The very world, by God's constraint,
From falsehood's chill removing,
Its woman and its men became
Beside him, true and loving !
And timid hares were drawn from woods
To share his home caresses,
Uplooking to his human eyes
With sylvan tendernesses.
But while in blindness he remained
Unconscious of the guilding,
And things provided came without
The sweet sense of providing,
Ile testified this solemn truth,
Though frenzy desolated—
Nor man, nor nature satisfy,
When only God created !
Lit, a sick child that knoweth not
liis mother while she blesses,
And dropped% on his burning brow
The coolness of her kisses,
That turns his fevered eves around—
"My mother ! where's my mother?"
And ~ f such tender words and looks
Could come from any other!
The:fever gone, with leaps of heart
Ile sees her bending o'er him;
Iler face all pale from watchful love,
The unweary love she bore him
Thus, woke the poet from the dream
His life's long fever gave hint,
Beneath those deep pathetic eyes
Which closed in death to save him!
Thus ! oh, not thus ! no type of earth
Could image that awaking
Wherein he scarcely heard the client
Of seraphs, round him breaking—
Or felt the now inimortal throb
Of soul from body parted,
Hut felt those eyes alone, and knew
"My Saviour ! not deserted !"
Deserted! who Loth dreamt that, when
The cross in darkness rested,
Upon the Victint's hidden face,
No love was manifested ?
What frantic hands outstretched have e'er
The stoning drops averted—
What tears have washed thorn from tiro soul—
Thnt ono should be deserted?
Deserted ! God could separate
From his own essence rather;
And Adam's sins have swept between
The righteous Son and Father—
Yea ! once, Immanuel's orphaned cry,
His universe bath shaken—
It went up single, echoless,
"My God, / am forsaken !"
It went up from the Holy's lips
Amidst his lost creation,
That of the lost, no son should use
Those words of desolation;
That earth's worst frenzies, marring hope,
Should mar not hope's fr uition;
And I, Of, Cowper's grave should see
Hos reserve inn vision!
ilu
a I SEB NI
MISCELLANEOI
The Graves of Shelley
RY ITILLIAM PORTER 111
The Protestant Cemetery nt I
out of the noise and tumult of du
northern e;tremity of theTnnei,
grass-overgrown heaps of whose
the lovely resting-place of those w
without the pale of the "Mother Cl
nes bloom here the winter long, an
shaped trees, which are scattere
. , . .............
there about it, preserve their darkl
foliage throughout the entire year.
warm, sunny, and delicious envelop
spot, broken only . by the drowsy hi
and the fitful strains of ./Eolian musi
passing breezes wake in the bough
presses.
The' division of the cemetery in .
, icli Kea - is
is buried is surrounded by a deep nd broad
excavation, perfectly . impassable ex pt at one
point, which is defended by a strong, igh gate.
Why such precautions have been t. en to se
clude the "heroic dust" of a few P testants,
one is at a loss to imagine. A "cust e," resi
ding near the place, removes, for a sli lit remu
neration, the only remaining obstacl to your
ingress, and you enter upon a leve pint of
ground containing a few squarer s. The
first object that attracts your Went ii, from
its proximity to the gateway, is the .ve of
Kent, which is marked by a simple marble
slab of extreme diminutiveness, and o not re
markable beauty. It contains, rudel sculp
tured in bas-relief, a harp with three strings,
the remainder are broken and wanting; an em
blem of the half-strong song and unfinished
career of the poet. Beneath the harp is chis
eled the following inscription—
" This grave
Contains all flat was mortal
of*
Youxo ENGLISH POET,
who
in the hittermcs of his heart
at the malicious touter of his enemies
I
de red
these words to be gn en on his tombstone :
"11 e lies one
whose name sr writ in water."
Feb. 2 , 1821."
The grave lies quit alone, and is evidently
mud: neglected; for ff. re is no inclosure around
it, and no flowers are bout it; nor does even a
mound of earth any nger define its outlines,
10
for the, winter's I • and the gacrilerrious
feet of travelers have beaten and trampled it
down to the original evel of the ground, and
instead of "daisies gro "ng o'er" his dust, waves
1\
the tall, lank grass, relied in the burning
heat, and filled with u.,, • weeds.
And perhaps it is we that Keats sleeps thus
disregarded. His is n memory to be kept
alive by a pile of nut le and a pompous in
scription. He had ne e but enemies in life;
why should they come t visit the resting-place
of his ashes ? He spranc from the lowest grade
of society; why should tl perfumed nobility of
his native land care for 1: grave of an hostler's
son? Neglected and pe secuted while alive,
what claim has he in deli on the honor and
adoration of mankind? remature his birth,
premature his death, unf ished his song, and
Incomplete his fame; is it of in harmony with
his life and his death, th he slumbers thus
neglected? His incolieret mnrmcrings, mnsi•
eel as the morning song Memnon, will not
these embalm his memory, d transmit it from
heart to heart down the , iterations of men,
transmuting the cold realiti of life into 'things
of beauty,' and forming the into "joys forev
er?"
The part of the cemetery 'n which Keats is
buried has never been fulq copied, and is no
longer used as a place of into ent. The graves
in it number perhaps fifty, . d are scattered
about without the least regal rity, as are also
the few cypresses it contains. Two tombs, near
\
those of the poets, have hedge of huge cactus•
es around them, and present a ost unique and
striking appearance. Near le centre, and
beneath a cluster of trees, is he tomb of an
American from Massachusett which is the
most beautiful, and with two three excep
tions, is the only work of art deserving the
name of a monument which the enclosure con
tains. At the extreme margin f the ground,
and at a considerable distance m the grave
of Keats, is that of a child of telley. It is
covered by a plain brown stone, I ing, flat upon
the earth, and contains a • simple
, nscription to
the effect, that here lies buried a Rd of Percy
Bysshe and Mary Walstonecraft elley. This
grave is just beneath the pyrai 'd of Caius
Cestius, which towers high over it spot
" Like flame transformed to rhle."
The part of the cemetery in wl eh Shelley
is buried, lies at a considerable di tance from
that which contains the dust of K , ts, and is
both naturally and artificially of exceeding
beauty. It rises gradually front th entrance
up to the ancient wall of Home, a d is filled
with lofty musical cypresses, benead which are
clustered, to the number of severe• hundred,
the graves of foreign Protestants, no ly adorn
ed with magnificent marble monume ts. The
greater proportion of those who here
"Have pitched in Heaven's smile thei camp of
death,"
are the countrymen of him whose 1. b fur
nishes the principal attraction of the s ot.
The grave of Shelley lies at the extre c mar
gin of the inclosure, and is overshado •cd by
one of the half-ruined towers of the and nt city
wall. If is covered by a stone of dar slate,
lying upon the ground, a little inclined in the
direction of the slope of the hill, and rontains
the following brief and beautiful epitaph:
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Cor cordittm.
Natus 4 Aug., 1792.
Obiit 8 July, 1822.
" Nothing of him that cloth fade,
But cloth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich anti strange."
...- ,
Around the grave is n rim of box-plants, and
within this stands a row of rose-bushis, which
have muttered to a considerable degree 'ron: the
numberless "souvenirs" they have bee' forced
to furnish. Several tall cypresses en rele it,
and against ono of which rests a corne of the
tombstone. It is cared for with the reatest
attention, and seems to be very much `visitedt
indeed, quite a path is trodden from th gate
way billow, among the thickly clustered menu,
meats.
Standing on the top of this sunny slpc by
the grave of Shelley, a seena of beauty p ‘senU
itself, which the world cannot rival. age
you lies the "Eternal City," high above those
convent-crowned hills towers the mighty 11eme
of St. Peter's. At a short distance rises Mount
Aventine, green with luxuriant vineyards, and
gay with the fragments of crumbling arches, i
At your right hand is spread out the silent, en,
nest "eampagna," clothed with an atmosphere
which is ever turning l'rOtll 1 - .ne to another of
all the brilliant tints of the rilintiow„and all the
various depths and thintnesses of shade and
tinge, waving and changing in exhaustless, ev•
or.varying combinations, till with gazing the
senses become intoxicated with delight, enrnv.
isbed with A range dream•shrolows iluncertnin,
tantingbon arall L.
STAR ABOVE THE HORIZON, PROMISING LIGHT TO GUIDE as, BUT TUE INTELLIGENT, PATRIOTIC, UNITED WHIG PARTY OF TIM UNITED STATES."---E WEBSTER,
HUNTINGDON, PA., WEDNESDAY, MAY 11, 1853.
undefined splendors. No artist lens ever imi
tated, nor can human lang,tinge describe, Ric
harmonious confusion of hues and shades in
this magic aurora-borealittn panorama of light.
which is shifting, and deepening, and fading
before you. Now defining the minutest lines
of the Apennines against the white lucid sky
beyond, now pouring ont :in inundation of li
quid glow over the level waste of the desert
campagna, till it lies befOre you like a gorgeous
mirage, radiant and sparkling, out of which rise
cities, villages, villas, ruins, and temples, that
in a moment vanish, and melt into a million
hued chaos of colors, out of which is formed the
next instant a still more enchanting scene of
wonder and beauty.
It was on a silent sunny April afternoon that
I visited, for the last time, the Protestant cem
etery. I found myself entirely alone; not a hu
man being was in sight, and not a sound broke
the dead silence, save the tinkling of bells from
a herd of goats, which were feeding on the piles
of ruins around me, and an occasional strain of
music from the shepherd's pipe, behind a vol
canic hill. Evening at length drew near, and
the cypresses, waking at the voice of the rising
breene from their day-long sleep, began to sing
a dirge over the dead beneath their shade...,
An eminence, surmounted by a solitary cross,
rose at no great distance from me; I climbed
up to its summit, and sat down by the cross.—
At this moment the mighty chime of St. Pe
ter's begun to fling volumes of sound into the
balmy air, and hunereds of sweet-voiced bells ,
poured their music into the anthem of vesper
prayer that was rising to the throne of the Vir
gin. One by one the bells were hushed, and
silence again resumed its death-like repose.—
Piles of fiery crimson clouds reflected up the
light of the sun from behind the horizon, and
lit with a glow of divine beauty the last smile
of day. Wrapped in a veil of golden haze lay,
naked and barren, the Etruscan hills, where
aloq' verdant slopes were spread luxurious ci
ties, rich in all the arts of civilized life, before
architect had planned the metropolis of the ,
world, whose flower-clad heaps of ruins strewed
the plain below me. Coiling like a huge ser
pent around volcanic hills, and crawling thro'gh
sunken marshes, the "golden Tiber" opened its
mouth and thrust its forked tongue into the
evening sea.* Triumphant fleets, laden with
the spoils of the earth, were but yesterday ri
ding on its bosom, and marble cities lined its
fertile shores. Scarcely seen in the gray dis
tance towered up the "Monte Circello," silent
and alone among the waves of the Mediterra
nean. In the days of Homer dwelt upon its
rocky peak, Circe, the fair enchantress, who
entertained at her fatal banquets, Ulysses, and
his shipwrecked mariners. Farther round rose
the cone-shaped "Monte Cari," where Juno,
surrounded by the anxious gods, saw t,c, final
triumph of Roman valor. A convent, Abed
with speechless monks, now crowns its summit.
The Sabine mountains formed the last arc of
the circle; bending, like a crescent moon,
around the dark plain below; villages and ivied
castles, robed in lucid twilight, were scattered
gray and thick along their slopes and crags.
As the circle of vision gradually grew nar
rower, and these scenes inched into the purple
dusk of evening, I turned to take a final gaze
at the spot where our poets rest. Is it not fit
ter, said Ito myself, that they should sleep
here in the warm maternal bosom of the earth,
beneath such a radiant sky, and surrounded by ,
such scenes of undying beauty, than that their
remains should be mouldering in the damp
vaults of a gloomy cathedral, and their features
be caricattired by . stupid stone-cutters, on mar
ble
monuments in the niches above? Yes,
more proudly are they sepultured, those fiery
i hearted children of neglect and misfortune, '
than England's most worshipped poets beneath
Westminster Abbey.
Keats,
ane lies far
:own, at the
IE city, the
ins encircle
o have died
ireb." Ro
i the plan-le
-1 here and
ever-green
A silence
the whole
of flies,
which the
of the ey..
*The Tiber flows into the Mediterranean
through a double channel, on the one of which
lie the ruins of Ostia, and on the other is the
little village of Fiumicino, at present the no
called, "Port of Rome." Between the two
mouths is a narrow prong•shaped tongue of
sand extending into the sea.
Death Warrant of Jesus Christ.
Of the many interesting relics and fragments
of antiquity which have been brought to light
by the persevering researches of modern philo
sophers, none could have been more interesting
to the philanthropist and believer than the one
we publish below. "Chance," says the Courier
des Etats Unis, "has just put into our hands
the most imposing and interesting judicial doc
ument to all Christians that ever has been re
corded in human annals"—that is, the identi
cal death warrant of our Lord Jesus Christ.—
The document was faithfully transcribed by the
editor, in these words
Sentence rendered by Pontius Pilate, acting
Governor of Lower Galilee, stating that Je
sus of Nazareth shall suffer death on the
cross.
In the year seventeen of the Emperor Tibe
rius Cwsar, and the 27th day of March, the ci
ty of the holy Jerusalem—Anna and Caiphas
being priests, sacrifiscators of the people of
God—Pontius Pilate, governor of Lower Gali
lee, sitting in the presidential chair of the
prmtory, condemns Jesus of Nazareth to die
on the cross between two thieves—the great
and notorious evidence of the people saying :
I. Jesus is a seducer.
2. He is seditious.
3. He is the enemy of the law.
4. He calls himself falsely the Son of God.
S. He calls himself falsely the Kingof Ism]. ,
6. He entered into the temple, followed by a
multitude bearing palm branches in theirhands.
Orders the first centurion, Quilius Cornelius,
to lead him to the place of execution.
Forbids any person whomsoever, either poor
or rich to oppose the depth of Jesus Christ.
The witnesses who signed the condemnation
of Jesus, are—
1. Daniel Robani, a Pharisee.
2. Joannus Robani.
3. Raphael Robani.
4. Capet, a citizen.
Jesus shall go out of the city of Jerusalem
by the gate of Struenus.
The above sentence is engraved on a copper
plate; on one side are written these words :
"A similar plate Is sent to each tribe." It was
found in an antique vase of white marble,
while excavating in the ancient city of Aquilla,
in the kingdom of Naples, in the year 1810,
and was discovered by the commissioners of
arts of the French armies. At the expedition
of Naples it was enclosed in a box of ebony, as
the sacrisity of the Charton. The French trans
lation was made by the Cotnniiisioner of Arts.
The original is in the Ilebrew language.
TIGHT SCREWTNO.—Po you support General
Taylor ?'
'No.'
•
'1)o you support (ien. Cass?'
'No.
'What! do von support Van Buren?"
'No sir-ecif support Betsy and the children,
lad it's mighty tight screwing to get along nt
lint with roe!) only twenty cents a bushel.'
Better than Diamonds. ANECDOTE OP FREDERICK THE
I was standing in the broad crowded street GREAT.
of a large city. It was it cold winter's day.— In one of the great reviews held a few years
There had been rain; and although the sun was, before the Bavarian succession war in Silesia,
shining briehtly, yet the long icicles hung from a new and important cavalry manoeuvre de
the eaves o?the houses, and the wheels rumbled vised by Frederick the Great was to be perform
loudly as they passed over the ground. There ed. Eight regiments, partly heavy, and partly
was a cold bracing feeling in the air, and a light cavalry, were drawn out, and a hussar re
keen, north-west wind, which quickened every gimont which had gained the highest renown
step. Just then a little child - came running for intrepidity on all occasions formed the left
along—a poor ill-clad child; her clothes were Wing
scant and threadbare; she had no cloak, and The plan of the king was that all these reei
no shawl; and her little hare feet looked red ments should pass close to him in divisions, in
and suffering. She could not have been more an oblique direction, at a sharp trot, haat pre
than eight Years old. She carried a bundle in rise distances, to a certain point, where they
her hand. Poor little shivering ehild I I, even were to form with the utmost dispatch for the
who could do nothing else, pitied her. As attack.
she passed me, her foot slipped upon the ice The manoeuvre commenced, but one of the
and she fell, with a cry of pain; but she fell, first regiments fell into disorder; the divisions
with a cry of pain; but she held the bundle became confused, the proper distances were lost,
tightly nigher hand, and jumping up, although and all the efforts of the officers to restore order
she limped sadly, endeavored to run as before. ' were nnavailing.
'Stop, little girl, stop,' said a sweet voice; I As a natural consequece, the confusion was,
and a beautiful woman, wrapt in a large shall, communicated in greater or less degree to the
and with furs all around her, came out of a regiments which followed; and of course that
jeweler's 'store close by. 'Poor little child,' on the left wing, the gallant regiment of NV—
she said, 'are you hurt? Sit down on this step, I hussars, which was the last, passed the king in
and tell me.' How I loved her, and how beau- a way that he could not approve. The last di.
tiful she looked ! 'Oh, I cannot,' said the vision of this regiment was headed by lieuten
child, cannot wait—T am in such a hurry.— ant M., an officer of the highest merit, who by
I have been to the shoemaker's, and mother his distinguished bravery and good conduct
must finish this work to-night. or she will nev- had risen from a private to first lieutenant.
er get any more shoes to bind.' To-night said Frederick had expressedextreme displeasure
the beautiful woman—`to-night I 'Yes.' said at the scne of the confusion, and his anger now
the child—for the stranger's kind manner had concentrated itself against the gallant Bruton.
made her bold— , yes, for the great ball to- ant at the bean of the last division. Venting
night; and these satin slippers must be span- his indignation in the severest terms and with
Bled, and'—The beautiful woman took the bun- uplifted erutehstick. he galloped towards the of.
dle from the child's hand, and unrolled it.— firer, who to avoid any further explosions of
You did not know why her face flushed, and the king's rage, immediately turned and dash
then turned pale: but I, yes I, looked into the ed along the line, pursued by the king, whose
bundle, and on the inside of a slipper I saw a passion was inflamed to the highest degree. It
name—a lady's name—written; but—l shall is possible that the violent exercise of this
not tell it. I fruitless chase contributed tomitigate the vela°.
'-
`And where does your mother live, little ! mence of Ids anger.
girl 7' So the child told her where, and then He became more composed. The regiments
she told her that her father was dead, and that had meanwhile drawn up in the best manner
her little baby brother was sick. and that her they could; and at the king's command, a sec
mother bound shoes' that they might have ' rood attempt was to be mode to execute the
bread; but that sometimes they were very cold; mimmuvre,• but this time the troops were to
and that her mother FlCnnetiffM, cried, because wheel to the left, so that the hussar regiment
she had no money to buy milk for her little composing the left wing would be the first to
sick brother. And then I saw that the lady's move. The manoeuvre was now performed in
eyes were full of tears; and she rolled up the capital style, and the king loudly expressed his
bundle quickly, and gave it back to the little ; satisfaction.
girl—but she gave her nothing else; no, not No sooner had the hussars returned to their
even one sixpence; and turning away, went ; quarters than lieutenant M---called upon
back into the store from which she had just i his commander, the guises General
come out. As she went away I saw the glitter "Well, my dear M ," said the general,
of a diamond pin. Presently she came back, "What brings you hither?"
and stepping. into a handsome carriage, rolled "I am only come to solicit my dismission."
off. The little girl looked after her for a mo- The general looked at him in amazement.
mein, and then, with her little bare feet colder "To solicit your dismission ! that is a request
than they were before, ran quickly away. I which I cannot possibly grant, since I have des
went with the little girl, mid I saw her go to a tined you to by - adjutant to my regiment; you
narrow, damp street, and into a small, dark know that post is vacant."
room; and I saw her mother—her sad faded "I thank yon for your confidence, but still I
moniker, but with a face so sweet, so patient, must beg for my dismission, and request you,
hushing and soothing a sick baby. And the sir, to support my petition to his majesty."
babe slept; and the, mother laid it on her own "Consider, my sou, you have no property; a
lap, and the bundle unrollfd, and a dim can. good civil appointment is not to be met with
die helped her with her work, for though it was every day; how will you live?"
not night, vet her room was very dark. Then "That is a point about which I hare no eon-
after a while, she kissed her little girl, end cern. I ask for m y dismission. I have good rea•
bade her warm her poor little frozen feet over sons for urging this request, which I should
the scanty fire in the grate, and gave her a otherwise not have made."
link piece of bread, for she had no more; and "And what may those reasons be ?"
then she heard her say her evening prayer, and "One of them is quite sufficient—the king
folding her tenderly to her bosom, blessed her, , would have struck me, to-day, with his crutch
and told her that the angels would take care of stick. I narrowly escaped treatment that would
her. And the little child slept, and dreamed have forever disgraced me. The reigment wit-
—oh, such pleasant deems l—of warm stock- nessed the scene; I cannot find fault with any
ings and new shoes; hut the mother sewed on, officer who refuses to serve any longer with me.
alone. And as the bright spangles glittered I should be forced into quarrels every day, and
on the satin slipper, came there no repining in. that I should not like."
to the heart? When she thought of her little "Well, then, let me make a request in my
child's bare, cold feet, and of the scant morsel turn," said the general giving his hand to the
of dry bread, which had not satisfied he hun- lieutenant. "Be not too hasty. Defer your pe
ger, came there no visions of a bright room and tition till to-mmorrow."
gorgeous clothing, and a table loiided with all I The lieutenant promised to follow his advice,
that was good and nice, one little portion of once more requested the general to assist him
which spared to her would send warmth and in obtaining his wish withdrew.
comfort to her humble dowelling? The king had that day a large company to din.
If such thoughts came, and others—of a ncr. General W—, a favorite of his was
pleasant cottage, and of one who had dearly of the party and eat opposite to his majesty.—
loved her, and whose strong arm had kept The conversation turned on the manmuvre.—
want and trouble from her and her babes, but Fredrick ascribed the success of the second ex•
who could never come back—if these thoughts periment to the admirable direction which the
did come, repingly, there came also another; general's regiment had given to the whole, and
and the widow's hands were clasped, and her bestowed the highest praise both upon it and its
head bowed low in deep contrition, as I heard commander. The general was of course high
her say, "Father forgive me; for thou doest all ly graified, but observed with his usual fear.
things well, and I will trust thee." Just then lessness,
the door opened softly, and some one entered. "That capital manteuvre deprives my regi-
Was it an angel? Her dress was of spotless meat of its best officer."
white, and she moved with a noiseless step.— "How so ?" asked the king, eagerly.
She went to the bed where the sleeping child "Lieutenant M—, whom your majesty
lay, and covered it with soft, warm blankets. promoted from private hussar to officer on the
Then presently a fire sparkled and blazed there, j field of battle, after the afinir of Burkersdorf,
such as the old grate had never known before. solicits his dismission."
Then a huge loaf was upon the table, and fresh The general paused. Frederick was silent
milk for the sick babe. Then she passed gent- for some moments.
ly before the mother, and drawing the unfinish- "Is the lieutenant really such an excollen of
ed slipper from her hand, placedsthere a purse fiver?" inquired Frederick.
of gold, and said, in a voice like music, "I know not one who surpasses him."
"Bless thy God, who is the God of the father- "Why does he desire his dismission ?"
less and the widow—and she was gone; only, The general explained the cause in the most
as she went out I hear her say—" Letter luau unreservedmanner. Theking said no more, and
diamonds!—Letter than diamonds !" What n now subject of conversation was presently
could she mean? I looked at the mother.— started.
With clasped hand and streaching eyes, she The troops were to manoeuvre again on the
blessed her God, who had sent an angel to following meriting. The regiments were drawn
comfort her. So I went away too; and I went up by 14—, who was in front of his divi.
to a bright room, where there was music and aeon when the king approached.
dancing, and sweet flowers; and I saw young "Is not your name 31—," inquired Fred.
happy faces, and beautiful women richly dress. crick.
ed, and sparkling with jewels, but none that I The lieutenant replied in the affirmative.
knew; until one passed me, whose dress was of "Hark you, my son," resumed the king, with
simple white, with only a rosebud on her bo his peculiar benignity, "you are captain. I
nom, and whose voice was like the sweet sound would have told you yesterday, but could not
of a silver lute. No spongier glittered upon overtake you. You ride like the very d—l.
her foot; but she moved as one that trcadeth With these words he passed on, and M
. .
upon the air, and the divine beauty of holiness relinquished all thoughts of applying for his dis
had so glorified her face, that I felt, as I gazed mission.—Fracrick the Great and his Tintea,
upon her, that she was indeed ns an angel of _ ------........a........._. -
God.
PRESENCE OF MIND.-It is recorded of Lord
Barkley, that he was suddenly awakened at
night is his carriage by a highwayman, who
thrusting a pistol through the window and pre
smiting it close to his lordship's breast, de
manded his money, exclaiming at the same
time that he had heard that his lordshiq had
boasted that he never would be robbed by a
single highwayman, but that he should be
taught the contrary. His lordship, putting his
hand in his pocket, replied—" Neither would I
be robbed, were it not for that fellow who is
looking over your shoulder." The highway
man turned round his head, when his lordship,
who had drawn a pistol from his pocket, in
stead of his purse, instantly shot him on the
spot.
oar A meteor recently fell on the tower of
London Cathedral, England, and set fire to one
of the pinnacles during a violent snow storm.
A ball of fire descended upon the centre tower
of the cathedral, and burst with a loud explo
sion, entitling beautiful rose-colored Names
and accompanied by it Flash like light sing.—
No other signs of electricity in the air either
preceded or succeeded the appearanca of the
meteor.
siir A young dandy'almt starting on a sea
voyage, went to a store to purchase a life pre.
serves. "Oh, you will not need it," suggested
the clerk, "bags of wind wont sink I"
.):Ny LIND OLDSCIIMIDT.—In a letter writ
ten from Dresden, 10th February, by Jenny to
Mr. Zachrison, the Sweedish Consul in N. York
city—a letter of business, and haying no direct
bearing upon domestic affairs—there occurs
the following passage, as we find it in the New
York Musical World
"We are, God be thanked! quite well. Otto
is very good and kind. He labors always, is at
home always, is kind always, is the same faith.
ful friend always, thinks only of my welfare
and my happiness, and maintains a calm, still
courage in all circumstances."
Bea-ROOM SCENE.—"Did I understand you
to say, stranger, you was from Chicago?"
"I said so."
"Well, I've a brother there—Peleg Jones—
a lawyer—know him, hey ?"
"Y., I know Peleg Jones, lawyer."
"Do you?" (much animated) "how's he ao.
ing, precisely? Right unmet, ? Keen fel
low! What do you think he will make if ho
keeps on ?"
"I think, if he don't have any serious
pull
barks, he'll make it regular built—jackass:
(Exit Inquirer.)
A Doo STORY,—.Husband.—Well, my love, I
have sold Carlo.
Wife, (*ho abhors dogs.—Now, Charles,
that's kind in you. The dirty, nasty brute, yon
ought to have done it long ago I
Husband.—Yes, my hve, got fifty dollars ;
el trade; ill in prpanl Z :t piece)
The Blue Bird.
We extract the following beautiful descrip
tion of the blue bird from "Wilson's American
Ornithology." Its appearance in latitude is
from a week to ten days later than the time .
mentioned in the article.. It is a universal fa
vorite, and our readers will be pleased to learn
something of its habits t
The pleasing, manners and sociable disposi
tion of this little bird, entitle him to particular
notice. As one of the first messengers of
Spring. bringing. the charming tidings to our
very doors, he losses his own recommendation
always along with ltim,and meets with a hearty
welcome from every body.
Though generally seimunterl r bird of pas
sage, yet, so early as the middle of Febrnary,if
the weather be open. he usually snakes his ap.
pearanee about his old haunts, the barn, or.
chord and fence posts.
Storms and deep snows sometimes sureeell•
ing, he disappears for a time ; but about the
middle of March is again seen, accompanied
by his mate, visiting the garden, or the hole in
the old apple tree, the cradle of some genera.
lions of his ancestors. "When he first begins
his ninnurs," says n curious and correct obser
ver, "it is pleasing to behold his courtship, his
solicitude to please and to secure the favor of
his beloved female. He uses the tenderest ex.
pressions. sits by her, caresses and sings to her
most endearing warbling'. When seated to.
gether, if he espies an insect delicious to her
taste, he takes it up, flies with it to her, and
puts it in her mouth." If a rival makes his
appearance, (for they are ardent in their loves,)
he quiets her in a moment, attacks and pm ,
MI, the intruder ns lie shifts about, in tones
that bespeak the jealousy of his affection, con•
duets him, with many reproofs, beyond the ex.
tremity of his territory, and returns to warble
out his transports of trinniph,beside hisbeloved
mate. Tho preliminaries being thus settled,
and the spot fixed on, they begin to clean out
the old nest, and the rubbish of the former
year, and to prepare for the reception of their
- future offspring. Soon after this, another so.
einble little pilgrim, ( motadlla donvitt lett, house
wren,) arrives from the south, and finding such
a snug berth . pre.occupied, shows his spite., by
watching a convenient opportunity, and, in the
absenee of the owner, popping in and pulling
out sticks; but takes special care to make off as
fast as possible.
The usual spring and summer song of the
blue bird is a soft, agreeable, and oft repeated
warble. uttered with open quivering wings, and
general character, he has great resemblance to
the robbin redbreast of Beta.; nail. had he
the brown olive of that bird, instead of his own
blue, could scarcely he distinguished front him.
Like him, he is known to almost every child;
and shows as much confidence in man by 11.1,
(dating with him in summer, as the other by
his familiarity in winter. He is also of a mild
and peaceful disposition, seldom fighting or
quarrelling with other birds. His soeiety is
courted by the inhabitants of the country,—few
farmers neglect to provide for him, in some
suitable place, a snug little summer house
ready fitted and rent free. For this he more
than sufficiently repays them by the cheerful.
ness of his songs,rind the multitude of injurious
insects which he daily destoyed. Towards fall,
that is in the month of October, his song chats.
ges to a single plaintive note, as he passes over
the yellow many colored woods; and its melan
choly air recalls to our minds the approaching
decay of the face of nature. Even after the
trees are tipped of their leaves, lie still lingers
over his native fields, no if loth to leave them.
About the middle or end of November, few or
none of them are seen; but with every return of
mild or open weather, we hear his plaintive
note amidst the fields, or in the the air, seem
ing to deplore the devastations of winter. In
deed, he appears scarcely ever totally to for.
sake us; but to follow fair weather through all
its journeys, till the return of Spring.
[From the New York Christian Inquirer.
A. Scholar's Death-Bed.
We have lately received from Berlin a beaiti•
fol tribute to the memory of Auzustus Neander.
The pamphlet, in itself a remarkable specimen
of printing, contains a sketch of the theologi•
an's last hours, by one of his students, under
the title of Neander's Heim:mg, or G oi n Amy,
which is followed by the addresses made at the
house, the grave, and afterwards at the
city, by Drs. Strauss, Krummacher and Nit
Taken together, these various papers &line
Neander's position and character admirably,
and bring near our hearts a man who has always
commanded our admiration.
He was one of the most catholic spirits among
the leading theologinns of our time, and gave
himself without reserve to the pursuit of Chris
tian truth. In the sphere of Church History,
he was the elect minister of reconciliation. A
like by his personal experience and his turn of
mind, he seems to have been especially called
to fulfil this office. In his own experience he
passed through the three great stages of frith in
his historical development. First a Tow,then a
philosophical spiritualist, at last it Christian,
his was an epitome of the ages of human pro.
gress, and begining with Moses, he payed thro'
the school of Socrates and Plato to the feet of
Christ. Divine Providence thus taught him to
reconcile the lessons of ages, and to teach men
that Hebrew law and Greek philosophy were
but heralds of the Christian gospel, to lead the
mind to Him who is the perfect Righteousness,
and the true Light.
The circumstances of his death were very ex.
prssive and affecting. The incidents, which we
have never before sects in print, we learned from
the publication that hos just conic from Berlin.
His 'health had been failing for some time, and
he was so feeble that he was led to his lecture
room by his sister or noise friend. In the mid.
dle of the week before his death, his voice fail.
ed hint at the University—yet on reaching home
he insisted on following his usual work, and in
the afternoon dictated for three hours to his
amanuensis. Only by the gentle constraint of
his sister '
who since his mother's death had
charge of his house, could he be Induced to
give up work and resign himself to what was
now apparently' inevitable. Almost (hinting
upon his bed, he still talked of topics dearest to
him, and insisted on seeing a theological stu
dent who was going to a very distant post.
Saturday evening he desired to go into his
library once more, this pleasant sunny room
where for so many years he had inhered among
treasures to him dearer than gold. The physi
cian seeing that resistance might only disturb
him more, flavored his humor, and the theologi.
an looked upon his books again, and to the Nur.
prise of all, rose from the cushions and began
a lecture on the New Testament—then spoke
of his plans fur the next term. especially of his
lectures upon the Gospel of St. John, that din.
ciple whose absorbing love for Christhemodeep
ly shared. Lastly, .he passed to his Church his
tory, and with mind perfecly clear, began die.
Wing at the exact passage whore ho beftire
left oft; and spoke with his usual liberality of
the worthy elements in the mystics of the latter
Church. Overcome, he asked the hour, and tirtid
"I am tired. I must go to sleep." Supported
by his friends to his bed, he breathed out gent.
ly his "Good night," and sank Into a sleep
which soon became death.
It wa Sunday then, and the Christian.; 'of
7 I,
~•
• 'FS.r
r
NO. I°9.
that city thought with solornn joy that the man,
whose learning, piety And charity had l.teert
their treasure, passed from the world on tAi
day hallowed by the Snyilir'a resurrection.
Thus , passed away a man in himself a wit•
aces of 'God, stud an interpreter of the, great.,
company of witnesses of every age. `Such Men
our century, with all the pressure of its mater
nal interest, possesses, and their voices we are
to hear more reyerently that any of the voices
of the world. They ore clutinpionsof progress,
upward as well as onwartl, , representativesofthe
Diem g ov, rn men t which pre CCM earthly things,
and winch must rule when then, pass away.—
God given them to no and blesses no ih the gift.
The scholar may be a hero, and his death
bed May be se heroic as-the soldier's,. and no
bler by . far. Honor to the man whose life and
death alike prove his- devotion to Christ and
the Church.
Is Religion Beautiful l
Abysm! In the child, the maiden, the wife,
the mother, religion shines with a holy, benig
nant beauty of its own, which nothing of earth
can mar, Never yet was the female diameter
perfect without the steady filth of piety. Reap
ty, intellect, wealth: 6,1 arc like pit falls, ditrk
in the brightest day, the divine light, un
less rligion throw her soft beams around them,
to purify and exalt. making twice glorious that
which seemed all loveliness before.
Religion is very beautiful—in health or gel,
nest, in wealth. or poverty. We neverentertkc
sick chamber of the good, but soft music seems
to float on the air, and the burden of their song
" Lo l peace is here."
Could we look into thousand, of fitmilie§ 153".?
day, when diseuittent. tins fighting sullenly with
life, we should fad the chief muse of unhappy
nes,, tftnne of religion in 71 , i7r0n.
And in felons' cells—in pinees of ',rime, mit
cry destitution, ignorance—we should behold
in all its most horrible deformity; the fruit of
irreligion in woman.
Oh, religion! benignant majesty. high on thy
throne thou sittest, glorious and - exulted. ,Not
above the clouds, for earth-clouds come never
betwem thee and the trimly pious soul—not
beneath the clouds, for above thee is heaveno
peningthrongh abroad vista ofexceeding 1 matity.
Its gates in the splendor of jasper and preci.
ous stones, white with dewy light that neiher
flashes nor blazes, bat Motility prymedeth from
the throne of God. Its towers bathed in rein!.
gent glory thou times the britrhtnes; of ten
thousand suns, vet soft, ondazzling to the eye.
And there religion points. Art thou weary?
it whispers, "rest—sap there—forever." Art
thou sorrowing? "eternal joy." Art thou weigh
ed down with unmerited ignominy? "kings and
priests in that holy home." Art thou poor?
"the very street before thy mansion shall he
gold." Art thou friendless? 'the angels shall
be thy companions, and God thy friend and
Father."
Is Higion beautiful? We ahmwer, all is deso
lation and defori&ty where religion is not.
American Free Schools.
If there is anything which is peculiarly the
pride and glory of American citizens, aside
from their political freedom, it is their Common
Pre Schools. in Massachusetts, New York,
Ohio, Indiana, and many other States, their
organization and practical working, are more
or less perfected, and receive very general act,
miration and support at the hands of the citi
zens at large. We nay rosy general, bermur
not mtircrsal. The Bible known as King
James' translation, without note or comment,
is a very general text hook, though not univer
sally so. In our State, their origin was coeval
with her territorial forntation an well as 'erec
tion into a State. For the celebrated ordi
nance pasted by Congress, July, 1787, organi
zing the northwest territory, of : "that re.
ligion, morality, and knowledge; being neces
nary to good government, and the happiness of
mankind, schools and the means of education
shall forever be eneottraged." And the same
sentiments, in nearly the same language, were
retained in the late Constitution of our State:
and in the fill of Rights forming part of the
new Constitution, (See. 7.) words very similar
are used to assert the same principle. We
have, fir these reasons, watched with no
little anxiety, the effect of the resistance offer
ed in certain places, first, to the.use of the Bi
ble tts a text book, and finally to the whole
common school system, by Roman Catholic
clergy. This has been particularly the ease in
New York, Philadelphia, Cincinnati and De.
troit, though to some extent it is coexistent
with the spread of the Roman Catholic religion,
We had, as it now seems, vainly hoped that
this mittanee would be short lived, and that
sooner or later, we could all give Common.
Free Schools a cordial, hearty, united, and.
,
generous support.
We go for the perpetual continuance of the
largest possible liberty in matters of religions
belief. Nor would we offer any violations of
conscience.
But we do think the Roman Catholic clergy
are laboring under mistaken notions in their
opposition to Common Schools in the United
States. Mistaken, we say, in regard to the 'ul
timate results to be apprehended from a con
tinuance in their present hostile attitude to
FREE SCHOOLS in FREE AMERICA. Our rea
sons for thinking they are mistaken, are as fol.
lows :
1. Their church acknowledges n foreign
head, who ia temporal sovereign over the Stated
of the church in iudy.
Examinatiiiolittorneys.
The following racy examination of a candi•
date for admission to the bar, is taken from a
Western law journal, and Is decidedly a good
hit. The examiner commences with ; -
"Do von smoke?"
"I do sir."
"flare you a spare cigar?"
"Yes sir' (extending a short six.)
"Now sir, what is the first duty of a lawyer?"
"To collect his rovi.n
"Right. What is the second ?"
"To increase the number of his clients."
"When does your position towards your cli
ent change ?"
"When snaking a hill of costs."
"Explain ?"
"When they oeeupy the antagonistic position;
I assume the character of plaintiff and defend.
"A sun t eenled, how do you stand with the
lawyer conducting the other side 4"
"Cheek by jowl."
"Enough sir, you promise to become an or•
nament to Mar profesoon, and and I wish you
suneess. Now aro you aware of the duty you
owe me?"
"I am Air."
"besori; it?"
"It is to invite. you to drink."
"But suppose 1 detainer
(Candidate ucratching his head.) "Thera is
no instance of the kind on record on the books!"
I cannot answer the question, •:. •
"You are right; and the confidence with
which you make an assertion, shows that you
have read the law' attentively, 'Let's take a
drink and I will sign your certificate."
Spo Alt jag of t 1;
one of our exchangre
mnriesble pc:we:mem
down to within*, fvw r