VOL. 5--NO. 42.]
.14verdi eists.
rottittir Z:ate.
WILL be sell at public pule, on the
prernhtesio4 Monday the 20th
at 12 o'cleck 31._
The one-third of 54 Acres of
Unpatented Land,
Situate iii Franklin township, Adams coun
ty, adjoining lands of flui) Scott, William
M'Clellan and others--to be sold as the Es
tate of ISAAC Nom.Es,decensed. The
provements on said property are
a one and a half story
sill! if.. ..
LOG 1 1 101LISIE,
Stable, &c. with water quite convenient.—
Terms made known on day of sale, and at
tendance given by
JOSIAH FERREE, Adm'r.
January 6, 1H35. is*-40
t. •
- ....-Übttr ate*
pursuance of an order of the Orphans'
JEL Court of Adams county, to me directed,
1 will expose to public sale, at the Court
house, in the Borough of Gettysburg, on
Tuesday the 27th day of January inst. at
1 o'clock r. N., a certain
TRACT OF LAND,
Containing io Acres, more or less, adjoin
ing land of James M'Allieter, Peter Frey,
and others—on which are erected a two.
• story WEATHER-BOARDED
Eir ® V l S E
Log Stable, two springs of water, and an
excellent orchard—late the Estate of JoHN
W. HALEY ; deceased.
WILLIAM LAUB, Adm'r.
Janunry 6, 1835. is-40
4GARIEIIEtNi sEntm.
Blood Beet, ‘'t . bite Head Lettuce,
Sugar do. Early curled do. do.
White Onion, Specled do. do.
Yellow do. Long Scarlet Radish,
Red do. Savoy Cabbage,
Orange Carrot, Early York do.
Early Horn do. Cayenne Pepper,
Red do. Double Peppergrass,
Lung Cucumber, Summer Savory,
Early Washington Peas.
Fur sale at the Drug store of
Dr. J. GILBERT, Gettysburg.
January 6, 1835. tf-40
Estate of Thothas Griest, dec'd.
ALL persons indebted to the Estate of
THOMAS GRIEST, late of Lati.
more township, Adams county, deceased,
will make payment to the subscribers without
delay. And all persons having claims or
demands against the Estate of said deceased,
are hereby notified to make known the same
to the subscribers without delay.
The Executors both reside in Latimore
township,Adams county.
ISAAC TODOR,
Erirs.
GIDEON GRIEST, S
- -
December 16, 1834.
NOTICE.
ALL persons indebted .to the Estate of
PETER MARSHALL, late of Ber
wick *township, Adams county, deceased,
will make payment to the subscriber with
out delay. And all persons having claims
or demands against the Estate of said de
ceased, are hereby notified to make known
the same to the subscriber, without delay.
The Administrator resides in Conowago
township, Adams County, Pa.
JOHN MARSHALL, Adm'r.
flee. 0, 1834. 6t-39
ROWAND'S TONIC MIXTURE,
OR N'EGETABLE FEBRIFUGE.
A Cure for the Fever and Ague.
rimits article is of by the proprietor
J R- as a certain and lasting cure fur the
Fever and Ague, having been thoroughly
tested in the cure of that harassing disease.
It contains neither Arsenic, Barks, or Mer
cury, or any article unfriendly to the human
constitution. It acts as a gentle laxative,
useful also in cases of debility of stomach
and bowels, dtc. For further particulars
see bills and certificates accompanying each
bottle.
For sale at the Drug Store of
Dr. J. GILBERT.
Gettysburg, Nov. 25, 1934. 4t-34
SW AI NI'S PANACEA—For the cure of
serofulu, or king's evil, syphilitic and
mercurial diseases, rheumatism, ulcerous
sores, white swelling s, diseases of the liver
and skin, general debility, &c. Also,
SWAIM'S VEItIVIIFUGE—an excellent
article for worms. For sale at the Drug
store of
DR. J. GILBERT, Gettysburg.
December 0, 1834. tf-36
-"AL
OlL.—Rowland's Maces.
-"AL sar Oil to beautify and promote the
growth of the hair. For Rale at the Drug
Store of Dr. J. GILBERT.
Gettyebtirg, Dec. 9, 1834. tf—:36
WORM TEA—For sale at the Mug
v storo of DR. J. GILBERT.
Gettysburg, Dec. 9, 1834. tr-36
tERATUS—A large quantity re.!
" cnived and for sale at the Drug store ul
DR. J. GILBERT, Gettysburg.
December % 1834. tf-36
c34)2.0 .45 ) 22tOti . 2teMlit
Expeditiously executed at the Star Office.-
Tlt t: CI ARLAND.
sweetest flowers enrich'd,
From carious gardens cull'd with cure."
The fiillowing lines, from the pen of Mrs. Sigourney,
arc eminently beautiful. The "toil worn mind" of
some portions of the cornmunity,may,at this season,
"refit for time's voyage,"—but the poor wight who
is doomed to an Editor's desk, must go the whole
voyage, calm or stormy, without calculating upon
time to retit,or scarcely even to heave the lead.—
Itead these lines, however—catch the ideas of the
charininc poetess, and enjoy the scenes upon which
she so beautifully touches
•
WINTER.
"Deem thee not unlovely—though thou com'st
With a stern visage. To the tuneless bird—
The tender floweret— the rejoicing stream,
Thy discipline is harsh. But unto mail,
Methinks thou..hast a kindlier ministry—
Thy lengthen'd eye is full of fire-side joys
And deathless linking of warm heart to heart;
So that the hoarse stream parses by unheard.
Earth, rob'd in white, a peaceful sabbath holds
And keepeth silence at her Maker's feet,
She ceaseth from the harrowing of the plough
And from the harvest shouting.
"Man should rest
Thus from his revered passious—and exhale
The unbreathed earben of his festering thought,
And drink in holy health. As the toss'd bark
Doth seek the shelter of some quiet bay,
To trim its shattered cordage, and repair
Its riven sails—so should the toil-worn mind
Refit for time's rough voyage. Man, perchance,
Soiled by the world's sharp commerce, or impaired
By the wild wanderings of his summer way,
Turns like a truant scholar toward his home,
And yields his nature to sweet influences
That purify and save.
"The ruddy boy
Comes with his shouting school-mates from their sport
On the smooth frozen lake, as the first star
Hangs pure and cold, its silver cresset forth—
And, throws off his skates, with boisterous glee,
Hastes to his mother's side. Her tender hand
Doth shake the snow-flakes from his glossy curls,
And draw him nearer, and with gentle voice
Asks of his lessons—while her lifted heart
Solicits silently the Sire of Heaven
To bless the lad.
"The timid infant learns
Better to love its father—longer sits
Upon his knee, and with a velvet lip
Prints on his brow such language as tongue
Hath never spoken.
"Come thou to life's feast,
With dote-eyed meekness and bland charity—
And thou shalt find even winter's rugged blast
The minstrel-teacher of the well-tuned 'soul •
And, when the last drop of its cup is drained,
Arising with a song of praise, go up
To the eternal banquet."
A POPULAR TALE.
0: 82- 1 1 :)tPITeaihilil')IS , 'Jir-4likefi;.1.-A
FOLTIsiDED ON FACTS.
Two YOUNG OFFICERS belonging to the same
regiment, aspired to the hand of the same young
lady. We will conceal their real names under
those of Albert and Horace. Two youths more
noble never saw the untarnished colors of their
country wave over their heads, or took more un.
daunted hearts into the field,or purer forma, or a
more polished address, into the drawing room.
Yet there was a marked difference in their cha.
racters, and each wore his virtues so becomingly,
and one of them at least concealed his vices so be
comingly also,that the maiden,who saw them both
was puzzled where to give the preference; and
stood,as it were, between two flowers of very op
posite colors & perfumes,& each of equal beauty.
Horace,who was the superior officer, was more
commanding in his figure than,but not so beauti
ful in his features than, Albert. Horace was the
more vivacious, but Albert spoke with more elo
quence upon all subjects. If Horace made the most
agreeable companion, Albert made the better
friend. Horace did not claim the praise being sen
timental,nor Albert the fame of being jovial. Ho
race laughed the more with loss wit, and Albert
was the most witty with less laughter. Horace
was the more nobly born,yet Albert had the better
fortune, the mind that could acquire, and the cir
cumspection that could preserve one.
Whom of the two did Matilda prefer? Yes, she
had a secret,and undefined preforence,yet did her
inclination walk so sisterly hand in hand with her
duties,that her spotless mind could not divide them
from each other. She talked the more of Horace,
yet thought the more of Albert. As yet,noither of
the aspirants had declared themselves. Sir Oliver
Matilda's father, soon put the matter at rest. He
lied his private and family reason for wishing Ho.
race to be the favored lover; but,as he by no means
wished to lose to himself and to his daughter the
valued friendship of a man of probity and of hon.
or, he took a delicate method ofletting Albert un.
derStand that every thing that he possessed, his
grounds, his house, and all that belonged to him
were et his service. He excepted only his
daughter.
When the two soldiers called, and they were in
the habit of making their visits together, Sir Oli
ver had always some improvement to show Albert,
some dog for him to admire, or some horse for
him to try; and even to wet weather, there was
never wanting a manuscript for him to decipher,
so that ho was sure to take him out of the room,or
out of the house,and leave Horace alone with his
daughter, uttering some disparaging remark in a
jocular tore s to the effect that Horace was fit only
to dance attendance upon tho ladies.
Albert understood all this, and submitted. He
did not strive to violate the rights of hospitality,to
seduce the affections of the daughter,and outrage
the feelings of the father. He was not one of those
who would enter the temple of beauty, and under
pretence of worshipping at the shrine, destroy it.
A common.pluce lover might have done eo, but
Albert had no common-place mind. But did he
nut suffer? 0! that he suffered,and suffered acute
ly,his altered looks,his heroic silence,and,at times
his forced gaiety,too plainly testified.
He kept his flame in the inmost recess of his
heart,like a lamp in a sepulchre,and which light.
od up the ruins of his happiness alone.
To his daughter Sir Oliver spoke more explicit.
ly. Her affections had not bean engaged and the
slight preference that she began to feel stealing
into her heart for Albert, had its nature changed
at nnco. When she found that he could not ap
prove her as a loveroffielbund to apt ing up for hint
in her bosom a regard as sisterly, and as ardent,
as if the same cradle had rooked them both. She
felt,and her father knew,thet Albert's was a cha•
rector that must be loved,if not as a husband,as a
brother.
6t-37
The only point upon which Matilda differed
with hor father, was as to the degree of encour
agement that ought to be given to Horace.
"Let us,my dear father," she would entreating.
ly say, "be iree,at least fur one year. Let us E tbr
that period, stand committed by no engagement:
we ar.. both young, ruyselfextromely so. • A peas.
ant maiden would lay a longer probation upon her
swain. Do but ask Albert WI 8111 not right."
Tho appeal that she made to Albert, which
ought to have assured her father of the purity of
her sentimente,frightened him into a suspicion of
a lurking affection having crept into her bosom.
Affair's wore at this crisis when Napoleon re
turnest from Elba,and burst like the demon of war
from a thunder cloud, upon the plains of France;
and all - the warlike and the valorous arose and
walled hor in with their veteran breasts. The re
turned hero lifted up his red right hand, and the
137 ROBERT WRITE MIDIDIMTOII, MIDITOR, 1 5 1:1132.11CIZZIP. .ANN) PROMIZITOR.
" I WISH NO OTHER HERALD, NO OTHER SPEAKER OF NY LIVING ACTIONS, TO KEEP MINE HONOR FROM CORRUPTION."-SHARS.
watwwavaitoetast i , ZPcA evatazocicar. cataapupartah aazz.
that oven the insulted Matilda was softened and
shod tears over hie blighted hopes. And hereove
must do Horace the justice Lonny, that the minis,
tura was merely left in the hands of the winner,
he being a stranger, as a deposit until the next
morning, but which the next morning did not
low him to redeem, though •it rent from him a
limb, and left him as' one dead upon the battle
field. Had he not gamed, his miniature would
not have been lost to a sharper, the summons to
March would have found him at his quarters, his
harassed steed would not have failed him in the
united force of France rushed with him to the bat.-
tie. The regiment of our rivals was ordered to
Belgium After many entreaties from her father,
1 Matilda at length consented to sit for her minia
ture to an eminent artist; but upon the express
etipulation,when it should be given to Horac,o,that
they were still to hold themselves free. The min
iature was finished,the resemblance excellent,and
the exultation and rapture of Horace complete.—
He looked upon the possession of it, notwithstand
leg Matilda's stipulation, as an earnest aids hap
piness. He had the picture sot most ostentatious.
ly in the finest jewels, and constantly wore it on
his person; and his enemies Say,that lie showed tt
with more freedom than the delicacy of his situ°.
tion,with respect to Matilda,should have warrant
ed. Albert mode no complaint. He acknowledg
ed the merit °fide rival eagerly,the more eagerly
an the rivalship was suspected. .
The scone must now change. The action at
Quatro Bras has taken place. The principal body
of the British troops are at Brussels,and the news
of the rapid advance of the French is brought to
Wellington; and the forces are, before the break
of' day, moving forward. But whore is Horace?
The column oftroop to which ho belongs is on the
line of march,but Albert,and not he,is at its head.
The enemy are in sight. Glory's sunbrlght face
gleams in the front, whilst dishonor and infamy
scowl in the rear. Tho orders to charged are giv
en,and at the very moment that the battle is about
to join, the foaming, jaded, breathless courser of I
Horace,atrains forward as if with a last effort,and
seems to have but enough strength to wheel with
his rider into his station. A faint huzza from the
troop welcomed their leader. On, ye brave, on!
The edges of the battle join. The scream—the
ahem—the groan,und the volleying thunder °far.
tilleryoningle in one deafening roar. The smoke
clears away—the charge is over—the whirlwind
has passed. Horace and Albert are both down,and
the blood wells away from their wounds, and is
drunk up by the thirsty soil.
But a few days after the eventful battle of Water
loo,Matilda and Sir Oliver were alone in the draw
ing-room. Sir Oliver had read to his daughter,
who was sitting in breathless agitation,the details
of the battle, and was now reading down slowly
and silently the list of the dead and the maimed.
"Can you, my dear girl," said he tremulously,
"bear to hear very bad news?"
She could reply in no other way than by laying
her head on her father's shoulder,and sobbing out
the almost inaudible word—"read."
"Horace is mentioned as having been seen ear•
ly in the action badly wounded, and is returned
missing."
"Horrible!" exclaimed the shuddering girl, and
embraced her father more closely.
"And our poor friend Albert, is dangerously
wounded too," said the father.
Matilda made no reply, but as a mass of snow
slips down from its supporting bank--as silently,
as pure, and almost as cold, fell Matilda from her
lather's arms insensible upon the floor. Sir Oli
ver was not surprised, but much puzzled. He
thought that she had felt quite enough for her lov
er, but too much for her friend.
A few days after, a Belgian officer was intro.
duced by a mutual friend, and was pressed to dine
by Sir Oliver. As he had been present at the bat
tle, Matilda would not permit her grief ta prevent
her meeting him at her father's table. Iminedi
, utely she entered the room the officer started, and
took every opportunity of gazing upon her intent.
ly, when ho thought himself unobserved. At last
he did so, so incautiously, and in a manner so par.
ticular, that when the servants had withdrawn,
Sir Oliver asked him ifhe had ever seen hisdaug h
ter before.
"Assuredly not, but most assuredly her resem
blance," said he, and he immediately produced
the miniature that Horace had obtained . from his
mistress.
The first impression of both father and daugh
ter was, that, Horace was no more, and that the
token had been entrusted to the hands of the offi.
car, by the dying lover; but he quiskly undeceiv.
od them, by informing them that he was lying
desperately, but not dangerously, wounded at a
farm house on the continent, and that in fact he
had suffered a severe amputation.
"Then, in the name of all that is honorable, how
crime you by the miniature?" exclaimed Sir
Oliver.
"0, he had lost it to a notorious sharper, at a
gaming house at Brussels, on the ovo oftho battle,
which sharper offered it to me, as be said that he
supposed the
,gentleman from whom he won it
would never come to repay the large sum of mo
ney for which it was lelt in pledge.. Though I
had no personal knowledge of Colonel Horace,yet,
as I admired the painting, and saw that the jewels
wore worth more than the rascal asked for them,
I purchased it, really with the hope of returning
it to its proprietor; if he should feel any value for
it, either as a family picture, or as tiotno pledge of
affection; but I have not yet had an opportunity
of meeting with him."
"What an insult!" thought Sir Oliver.
"What an escape!" exclaimed Matilda, when
the officer had finished his relation.
I need not say that Sir Oliver immediately re
purchased the picture, and that he had no further
thoughts of marrying his daughter to a gamester.
"Talking of nimiatures," resumed the officer,
"a very extraordinary occurrence has just taken
place. A miniature has actually saved the life of
a gallant young officer of the same regiment as
Horaco's, as fine a fellow as ever betrodo a charg-
"His name?" exclaimed Matilda and Sir Oliver
together.
"Is Albert, and is the second in command; a
high follow that same Albert."
"Pray, sir, do me the favor to relate the particle.
lars," said Sir Oliver; and Matilda looked grate.
fully at her father for the request.
"0, I do not know them minutely," said he "but
I believe it was simply that the picture served his
bosom as a sort of breastplate, and broke the
force of a musket ball, but did not, however, pre
vent him from receiving a ye' y smart wound.—
The thing was much talked of for a day or two,
and some joking took place on the subject;, but
when it was seen that these railleriea gave him
more pain than the wound, the subject was drop
ped, and soon seemed to have been forgotten."
Shortly after the officer took his leave.
The reflections of Matilda wore bitter. Her
miniature had been infamously lost, whilst the
mistress of Albert, of that Albert whom she felt
might, but for family pride, have been her lover,
was, even in effigy, the guardian angel of a life she
loved too well.
Months elapsed, and Horace did not appear.—
Sir Oliver wrote to him an indignant letter, and
bade .him consider all intercourse broken off for
the future. fie returned a melancholy anewer,in
which ho pleaded guilty to the charge—spoke of
the madness of intoxication, confessed, that he
was so humble, so desponding, and so dispirited
charge, and, in all probability, his limbs would
have boon saved,and his love have boon preserved.
A year had now elapsed, and at length Albert
was announced. He had heard that all intimacy
had been broken off between Horace and Matilda,
but nothing more. The story of the lost minia
ture was confined to the few wham it concerned,
and those few wished all memory of it to be burjed
in oblivion. Something like a hope had returned
to Albert's bosom. He was graciously received
by tho father, and diffidently, by Matilda. She
remembered "the broken miniature," and sup.
potted him to have boon long and ardently attach
ed to another.
It was on a summer's evening, there was no
other company, the sun was setting in glorious
eplontlour. After dinner, Nlatilda had retired on
ly to the window to enjoy, she said, that prospect
that the drawing-room could not afford. She
spoke truly, for Albert was not there. Her eyes
were upon the declining sun; but her soul was
still in the dining-room.
At length Sir Oliver and Albert arose from
the table, and came and seated themselves near
Matilda.
"Como, Albert, the story of the miniature," said
Sir Oliver.
"What? fldly, truly, and unreservedly," said
Albert, looking anxiously at Matilda.
"Of course."
"Offenco, or no ofibnce," said Albert, with a
look of arch moaning.
"Whom could the tale possibly offend," said Sir
Oliver.
"That lam yet to Imam Listen."
As far as regarded Matilda, the last word was
wholly superfluous. She seemed to have lost eve
ry faculty but hearing. Albert in a low, yet hur
ried tone, commenced thus.
"I loved, but was not loved. I had a rival that
was seductive. I saw that ho was preferred by
the father, and not indifferent to the daughter.—
My love I could not—l would not attempt to con.
quer: but my actions, honor bade mo control; and
I obeyed. The friend was admitted where the
lover would have been banished. My successful
rival obtained the miniature of his mistress. 0,
then, then I envied, and, impelled by unconquera
ble passion, I obtained clandestinely from the ar
tist a facsimile of that which I so much envied
him. It was my heart's silent companion, and,
when at last, duty called mo away from the origi
nal, not often did I venture to gaze upon the re
semblance. To prevent my secret being discov
ered by accident, I had the precious token enclos
ed in a double locket of gold, which opened by a
secret spring, known only to myself and the ma
ker.
"I gazed on tho lovely features on the dawn of
the battle day. I minified it to its testing place,
and my heartthrobbed proudly under its pressure.
I was conscious that there I bud a, talisman, and,
if over I felt as heroes feel, it was then—it was
then.
"On, on I dashed through the roaring stream
of slaughter. Sahros flashod over and around me
—what cared I? I had this on my heart, and a
bravo man's sword in my hand—and come the
worst, better I could not have died than on that
noble field... The showers of tilted balls hissed a
round me. What cared 1? I looked around—to
my fellow soldiers I trusted for victory, and my
soul I entrusted to God, and—shall I own it? for a
'few tears to my memory I trusted to the original
of this, my bosom companion."
"She must have had a heart of ice, had she re
fused them," said Matilda, in a voice almost in
audible from emotion.
Albert bowed low and gratefully, and thus con
tinued. "Whilst I was thus borno forward Into
the very centre of the struggle, a ball struck at
my heurt—but the guardian angel was there, and
it was protected: the miniature, the double case,
even my flesh were penetrated, and my blood soil
ed the image of that beauty, for whose protection
it would have enjoyed to flow. The shatteted
case, the broken, the blood stained miniature, are
now dearer to me than ever, and so will remain
until life shall desert me."
"May I look upon those happy features that in.
spired and preserved a heart so noble?" said Ma:.
tilde, in a low distinct voice, that seemed unnatu
ral to her from the excess of emotion.
Albert dropped upon ono knee before hor,touch.
ed the spring, and placed the miniature in the
trembling hand of Matilda. In an instant she
recognised her own resemblance. She was above
the affectation of a false modesty—her eyes filled
with grateful tears—she kissed the encrimsoned
painting, and sobbed aloud—" Albert, this shall
never leave my bosom. 0, my well—my long
beloved:"
In a momont she was in the arms of the happy
soldier, whilst ono hung over thorn with unspeak
able rapture, bovtowing that host boon upon a
daughter's---"A lathor's heart-folt blessing!"
THE REPOSITORY.
CLOSET THOUGHTS.
What a paradise might this world be, if
man were but disposed, and women too, to
make it so; and yet for the want of that dis
position, what a waste of thorns and briars
it is. A traveller is wending his way thro'
a romantic country, where mountains sepa
rate %allies, and vallies alternate with moan
tams—ascending oue ho looks down with
delight and extacy upon the rich, varied,
peaceful prospect presented to his view in
the other:--"Here," he exclaims, "here,
shut out from the noisy, bustling, deceitful
world, must be the abode of peace, joy, coin.
-fort and happiness: and here too, in this se
cluded spot, is a village, inhabited no doubt,
by a pure and unsophisticated people, who
neither know the cares, feel the anxieties,nor
covet the wealth and honors ofthe rich, am
bitious and restless sons of the world—whp
live in harmony and concord with each oth
er; who harbor no feelings of envy, pride
and uncharitableness and who are ever em
ployed either in useful or healthful labor,
acts of benevolence and piety, or indulging
in innocent recreations and social converse
and gaiety, with friends and neighbors."
Charmed with the placid picturesque
beauty of the little village as it lies like a
slumbering child beneath him, the traveller
descends into the valley, resolved on spend
ing the remainder of his life, now arrived at
that point from whence 'tis said,
"Cool age advances, soberly wise,"
'in this beautiful valley, and, among its hap
py pemantry. Here,- thought he, secure
from the strife, and turmoil and bustle of the
world, 1 can "sit under my own vine and fl.
tree, with none to molest or make afraid,"
and "from the loop holes of my retreat," look
upon the world as upon a cosmoramic scene.
He took up his abode in the happy valley,
and for a time fancies he had at length dis
covered a very Eden, into which the tempter
has never yet found his way, and whose in.
habitants have never been corrupted by his
poisonous infusions. Alas ! his pleasing'de
fusion soon vanishes, and gives place to the
sad conviction that ho who in an evil hour
found his way into the peaceful abode otour
first parents, though guarded by angels, has
also left a foot-print here. To his regret
and mortification, he perceives that instead
of peace, contentment, piety, and concord
reigning in the village, and in the breasts of
the inhabitants, he finds them constantly
engaged in petty strifes and ridiculous rival
ries; prone to tattle, Slander and misrepre
sent; great devotees in religion, and ostenta
tiously observant of its forms, though totally
destitute of the genuine spirit of ch ristianity;
scrupulously observant of the niggardly
maxim that "charity begins at home," and_
carrying it one step further, and allowin g it
to end where it begirs. Disappointed in his
anticipations, disgusted by the grovelling
and sordid feelings, and tired of the discon
tents, repinings and impertinent curiosity of
a people whom he hoped to find contented,
pious and happy, the traveller again resumes
hisjourney, and wends his way through the
world, regretting that "but for wan, man
might be happy."
LOVE'S mum.
It is the native dialect of love to reveal its
complacence by gifts. The child presents
its favorite teacher with a fresh flower. It
hastens to its mother with the first, best rose,
from it, little garden; and in the kiss to its
father, with which it resigns itself to sleep,
gives away its whole heart. The wife
trusts to her chosen protector, "her nil of
earth—perchance her all of heaven." Why
should a mother give with such bitter repin
ing her infant to her God?
Does she say it was unsullied and beauti
ful? Love delights in yielding the best gifts
to the beloved. Would she prefer to have
withheld it till it had become less lovely?—
till, warped by the deceit of the world, the
way of darkness chosen, and salvation thro'
Christ unsought? it would be an unfit offer
ing for a Being of purity.
Love rejoices its object in the most eligi
ble situations. "Being evil we yet 'know
how to give good gifts to our children."—
We are pleased to see them in the pursuit
of knowledge, in the path of virtue, in pos
session of the esteem of the great and good.
In sending them from home, we seek to se.
cure for them the advantages of refined so
ciety, the superintendence of friends of wis
dom and piety. If a nobleman were to a
dopt
them, if they were to have a mansion
with princes, should we not be . grateful for
the honor? Why, then, with such unspeaka
ble reluctance, do we see them go to be an
gels among angels, and to dwell gloriously
in the presence of "God, the Judge of all,
and the spirits ofjust men made perfect?"—'
Mrs. Sigourney.
Memory.—Yes, memory! thou art in
deed a blessing and a curse! Sweet is it,
when the wings of evening brood over the
drowsy hearth, to hear thy gentle whisper,
as thou zomest on velvet foot, telling of day.l
of by-gone pleasure, and scenes, whose little .
roughness.have all been softened down . by
the nice touch of distance; but bitter, bitter
as the sick man's draught, yet full as whole
some—to hear that whisper changed to the
harsh voice of upbraiding, when thou charg
est us with deeds whose harshness time's
finger cannot smoothe---Vcremy Levis.
Piety.—We look upon the Piety of old
age as something in ordinary course.—
Strange were it indeed, if when the passions
that stand between him and his maker are
all removed, and the sources of enjoyment
in this world chocked up with the draught
of time, man should not strike the tent of his
wanderings, and make ready for his Hight
across the desert to where a greener spot is
promised him, and springs of over running
water.
But it is not so with youth! while the
passions flutter on their rainbow colored
wings between his eyes and heaven, and the
fountain of pleasure still bubbles sparkling
to the brim, hard is it for man to turn his
thoughts to a distant land, of whose beauty
he can form no fancy, and whose springs he
cannot think are sweeter than his own—
hard is it for him to believe as he courses
gaily from one green , spot to another, and
sees many still before, that all these resting
places must soon fail him—that soon every
blade of grass will be withered, and every
running stream exhausted. It is only when
his last-resource of enjoyment fails, and the
fe:nf perishing assails him, and he casts
his - eye abroad upon the desert, and sees
nought before him but endless desolation, it
is only then that the promise of a brighter
country sounds joyful to the ear.
In youth, religion is so rare that our ad.
miration is involuntary.—[./bitl.
Loves—Love', real love, is that ono pas.
sion within wias.e vortex all others of the
heart ore swallowedthese may rule with
divided power, or alternately : but love, the
moment it enthrones itself in the soul, treads
all other feelings in the dust, and sways us
with a tyrants sceptre—the source of virtue
or of crime, love raises us above our nature
or sinks us below the brutes. It is a fire
which if it be not quenched, at once con.
sumes every thing within its reach, and
burn until the fuel that maintained it, be
exhausted, when nothing is left, save the
dead ashes, to mark the spot where it once
raged.—Ub.
"Liberty and Learning, lean on each oth
er for support," is a truth which kas long
been known to the wise, and of which 1%/3
[WHOLE N0..2504--'.7.
are all becoming convinced by tearful expo..
rienee. It has been the ignoranceirtlii
I people which has so long enabled tyrants to
hold the world in chains; and they have &v.%
er failed to burst them asunder whenever
light has broken in strongly upon theiti.—..
But if they are permitted_to relapse intoig •
norance and its natural attendant,groiebeg
vice, tyrants will rise again, under the name
of patriots, and we shall see the world re.
plunged into Gothic darkness and despotism.
It is not in the nature of things, that a popu.
lar government can long subsist, except a
mong an enlightened and virtuous people;
nothing else can shield them tigainstthe de;
signs of wicked and intriguing politicians,
who always come in the name and garb of
patriotism, and, calling themselves friends of
the people, cheat them to their ruin Every
effort, therefore, to enlighten the people, de-
serves the zealous support of every genuine
friend of liberty. WM. WIRT.
QUALIFICATIONS OF A WIVE.-- f/OSIP
are set forth in the Worcester Jourtud,l7ol,
to the following effect:—
Great good nature and prudent genet.
osity.
A lively look, and proper spirit, and a
cheerful disposition.
A good person, but not perfectly hand
some—a moderate height—complexion net
quite fair, but a little brown.
Young by all means—old by no means.
A decent share of common sense, just
seasoned with a little repartee—a small
modicum of wit, but no learning, I say again
and again (either ancient or modern) upon
any consideration whatever.
In spelling, a little becoming deficiency;
and in the doctrine of punctuation [or what
is generally called stopping} by no means
conversant.
A proper knowledge ofaccounts and arith
metic; but no sort of skill in fractions. .
A more than tolerable good. voice, anda
little ear for music—a capability of singing
[in company,] but no peculiar and intimate
acquaintance with minima, crotchets, qua
vers, &c.
Ready at her needle, but more devoted
to plain work than to fine—no enemy to
knitting.
Not altvays in the parlour, but sometimes
in the kitchen—yet more skilled in the theo
ry than in the practice of cookery.
Fonder of country dances than minuets.
.An acquaintance with domestic news,but,
no acquaintance with foreign.
Not entirely fond of quadrille, but a little
given to whist.
In conversation a little of the lisp, bat not
of the stammer.
VARIOUS MATTERS.
Outo.— 'he total number of acres offend,
in Ohio, returned by the county Auditors,
subject to taxation, is 15,708,314.
Valued at 8.53,467,801
Do. of town and personal pro
perty, Merchants' capital
dac. 22,125,511
Making a total valuation of $75,593,312
The Dayton Herald furnished the follow.
ing items relative to the single county or
Montgomery: Total amount of tastable pro
perty $2,273,379; total amount of taxes •
814,592,23; amount of canal and state tax
84,520,61; amount of county and school tax
89,014,22; amount of township tax $779,-
ille Record.
A countryman reading a newspaper in
Randolph, (term.) was asked why he did
not subscribe for it, as it was a good paPer,
"Why yes," replied the countryman, "I like
it, its right fine, but I think it's a lsttle too,
coati:Pe. "Ilia is a new name for a news.
paper.
The herb commonly .known by the name
of "Life everlasting," of which our fields
are very prolific, we understand has been
used by some of our citizens as a substitute
for Hops in raising bread; and that it is toned
to answer the purpose remarkably well. We
had heard before that the herb possessed
this quality.
A physician attending a Lady several
times had received a couple of guineas each
visit; at last, when he was taking his depar
ture for the last time, she gave him but one,
at which he was surprised, and looking on
the floor, as if in search of something, she
asked him what he looked for? "I believe,
Madam," said he,"l have dropped a guinea;" ,
"No, Sir," replied the Lady, "It is 1 that
have dropped it."
SIGN OP A ESTricH Minwrrz.—At a small
village called Bergen ad Zoon,is the follow ,
ing.musieal sign: It is a tree bearing fruit,
and the bianches filled with little naked ur..
chins, seemingly just ripened into Kelmd
crying for succor; beneath a woman holds
up her apron, looking wishfully at the chil.
dren, as if entreating there to jump into her
lap. it belongs to the house of a morn
midwife, and has this inscription: "Vang
my, ik zal zoos zyn." In English, "Catch
me, I'll be a sweet boy."
A Parisian author had translated Shakes.
pearo's line "Out brief,eandle," into the
French thus: "Get out you short cosine'
"1 always think," said a reverend gUalt,
"that a certain quiuttity of wine doer a OM
no harm after dinner•" "Oh no, Hr,"
plied the host, "it is the Uncertain quatitity
that does the mischief."
NEE