VOL. 7--NO. 12.] 4 .2Zu.W @&.311613JD0 -"With sweetest flowers curich'd, From various gardens cull'd with care." IsITA1112" TO THE 1103 LY Sinuir. In thehour arm , distress, When temptations Me oppress, And when I my gins confess, Sweet SPIRIT, comfort 1131 C. Whenl Ile 'within my bed, Sick at heart, and sick in head. And with doubts aliscomforted, Sweet SPIRIT, comfort mo. Wherrthe house (loth sigh and weep, And the world is drown 'd in sleep, Yet mine eyes the watch do keep, Sweet Semi; comfort When the passing-bell cloth toll, And the furies in a shoal, Come to fright a parting soul. Sweet SPIRIT, comfort MO. When the falters now burn blue, And the comforters are few, And that amber more than true; Sweet Smarr, comfort me When the priest his last !lath pray'd, And 1 nod to what is said, ' Because my speech is now ikeny'd, Sweet Smarr, comfort me. When the tempter me pursteth, :With the sins clan my youth, And half damns me with untruth, Sweet SPIRIT, comfort me. When the flames and hellish cries, Fright mine ears, and fright mine eyes, And all terrors inn surprise, Sweet SPIRIT, comfort me. When the judgment hi rcvcal'd, ..And that open'd which was . seard. Whelk to THEE I have appeal'd. Sweet SPIRIT, comfort me THE POLISH LOVERS. For his only monument shall he the dry wood o the gibbett; his only glory shall be the tears of wo men and the long conversations of his countrymen. ICKIEWICZ. Orq the beautiful links of the Dnester, in Podo lia, stands the ruins of an ancient castle. The re. mains of its grandeur remind us of former days of happiness and glory, and its ruins of mit-for tunes, and of war. Two years since it was still inhabited, but it stands now, a lone and deserted monument. The dugs howl at its once hospitable doors, and no sound echoes through its desolate halls but the screamif the owl. Ono morning the sun rose brightly. enlighten. mg once more the old mansion, and painting with the golden colours the alloys of the garden. The birds were awake on the trees, praising, in a low voice, the glory of their Maker: but in a summer house t at a yet gentler and lovelier bird, the sweet Melina of the castle. liar voice harmonized not with the merry notes of the birds around hor, it was more tender and sorrowful. Ili A UNA'S SONG. To-morrow shall spargle the glorious star And to-morrow toy love will be on to the war, His dark eye will brighten to meet with the foe, • But he leaves may lone heart in the darkness of wo. And to-morrow, perhaps, he will rest in the grave, And no one will weep o'er the tomb of the brave; Ohl this sad heart shall bleed for the doom of my love, But never from the grave can his ashes remove. Perchance on that banner the last gift of mine, Ills la , t sigh shall linger, his last glance shall shine, When he sleeps in the tomb o'er his ashes 'twill wave A relict of love, on the tomb of the brave. And yet ho will perish, and perish for thee, • Oh! Poland! my mother, that thou may'st be free, 1 Iva' conquer my sorrows and think but of thine; And my loVe and my life I lay on they shrine. As she finished, she hung her guitar on a rose bush, saying: "Alas! my songs float away with out an echo, his sweet voice will never more am company me." She heard a rustling among the loaves, and turning quickly round, she beheld the figure ocher lover, a youth dressed in the uniform ore Polish lancer. "'Po-morrow," said he, "I go: it is tho day up. pointed for our insurrection. Dearest, we shall meet no more; but, romember your Casimir, who loft you, only for his country."• "Farewell, my beloved," said Define, as site gave hint a banner, "tako this and fight under its shadow: it is a gift to Poland, from her unhappy daughter." • she sighed deeply,but she wept not. Although she sacrificed to her country, her Cashnir, her ideal, her world, sho wept not—she was a Pole. "This flag," replied ho, "the work of thy gentle fingers, shall be my avenging angel in the day of battle. And when I return it shall be dyed.with the blood of the Russians. Ohl 1 will never be unworthy of the gift." "And lot it be, also, your guardian angel, for in Its embroidery are enchained many drops of aly soul, many tears. They will guard you in the hour of danger. May the blood attic enemy,not thine, dye this flag, and,iit thy return,l will crown thee with laurels. But it thou shouldst perish The words died upon her lips, and the burning ti3nra rolled down her angelic face. And now,she wilm n woman Again he embraced hermid binding the blessed flag to his lance, disappeared like a vision. Hall. un gazed after him, till the faithful flog, only visi. ble, seemed waving its last farewell to its sweet mistress. Again it was morning. But the air was chilly and dark; clouds overhung the old mansion like messengers of ill; rain poured heavily down, as it even the heavens were weeping. Halina thought ful and weary, was again in the summer•houae, Gar,what was storm or sunshine to her without her beloved? And so calm and holy an air pervaded that spot, that she sought it daily. The balsam of love seemed still to linger in the air she had breath. ed with Casimir; the trees seemed still to echo the adieu he had once uttered beneath their shade.— )n the hayear that had elapsed in his absence, flt' .. : - . - St - '_,.': . '' . • , _,it-;:' , ..-'*ittietillOfft . 44*..-. - •••••:11$:;i.*****':: alas! to say again, farewell. I will depart on a pilgrimage, rather than bow my proud heart to the despot. Yes, wo will wander through the world, and Invoke justice and vongoance. Let the na. tions of Europe see the projects of tyrants; and tremble from our evimple. Adieu! yetogain wo shall meet in happier days. The hope is not gone." "But echounsvvered in a.sopulchral tone,"gone." "And will you leave mo again?" said sho. "Oh! weep not, my Haling, that I go, what will be our life without freedom?" "•' They convorsed yot awhile. That which they spoke I will not repeat; I will not intrude into that. sanctuary of the heart—not violate that mass of the feelings. How many thoughts they had to communicate In ono hour—that hoot of farewell. (feline, at length, dried her tears, dispelled the gloom from her brow, and smiled once more on her lover. With those lips it seemed that 1 heaven opened on his view, something unearthly glowed in her eyes; ho forgot the world, life, and Poland herself, in that moment of ecstacy. He took her in his arms,kissed hor till his soul seemed stump ed in that last embrace; he kissed her once more, and once more, again and again. But the sound of farewell struck on her ear,and IC was gone! Our patriots, though exiled, still nourished the hope of delivering their native country. Their project was to commence a war, similar to the Guerrilas in Spain, to. be a prelude to the general insurrection, and, at least, to preserve, always,the spirit of 'evolution and freedom in the country, and to show the nations of Europe, that the Poles could never be wholly enchained. This was call ed the war of the Partisans. Their numbor,how. over, was too small, though their sacrifices were so great. They were obliged to hide themselves in tho woods, or to fight but very small detach ments of the Russian troops, Nicholas, to defeat their projects, and deprive them of the sympathy orEuropo.proclaimod theta as rebbers, and punished them as such. The gib bet was, and is, alas! until this time, the recom pense of the Polish patriots. A small detachment of Partisans attacked tho city of Jozefaw, in the palatinate of Lublin. They know cot tho state of tho enomy,till the lightnings of the firing revealed their numbers. They con tinued, however, slowly to retreat, constantly and tearlessly firing. The Russians fell in great num bers,and three only of the Partisans,wore missing. They, being wounded, fell into the hands of the enemy. "Ha! we have some of those hird.catchere• at last," said they, as they advanced to the prostrate forms of those who had fallen, content to revenge the death ofso many of their companions on those. But two wore already- dead of their wounds,and in the third, the romaine oforiganic life still lingered, but his brow was pale and spectre like; no soul beamed from his eye. Ho seemed like tho magic lantern, with no light within. And this was Casimir; but, alas! how changed! "And what shall wo do with this fellow:" said the Cossack; "his last hour seems near, and yet the Poles are the very devils, ho may yet revive and murder us." "God and St. Nicholas preserve um from rt;" cried the other, and addressing the captain: "it is better to kill him; ono blow of my lance will suffice." "But the order of his Majesty is that they shall he hung. We will build here a gibbet, and show the people of Arefew how our emperor can pun. ish the rebels." At en early hour the next morning, the multi• tude had assembled to witness the death of a pa• trlot. But they came not from curiosity,not even willingly, to witness that horrible spectacle, but by the stern orders of the despot. No tumult was heard, a solemn and mysterious silence reigned over the crowd. • All thoughts dwelt on the glorious remembrances of two years before; and they looked at the hero as a holy offer ing, a sacrifice on the altar of freedom. Sad, hor rible offering! the offering of blood and life! The deed was done; and he, so young,so proud, so beautiful, iad died the ignominious death oldie gibbet. Well for him, that with his weakened frame, he knew not of his dreadful death. Proud spirit! with plumes so light; soarin s gs so high; and thoughts so pure! Thou wart destined to other climes. The crowd was yet silently struggling to hide their emotions,though for soine,sigh wore heard, and from some, tears, burning tears, scorning the commands of .the despot, rolled free end unsub. dued to the urn of national sorrow and distress. But one loud voico was beard from the crowd; it was a long, piorcing,sorrowful cry—a woman's crv; from whose breast it may bo imagined. On the evening of the same day, the body of the •Bird•catchers—the name given by the Russians to the Polish rulers. all had changed but the summer-houso, and the I soul that dreamed within. Hope had ceased to I linger in Poland; the land of Kosciusko was in Ibondage. Tho revolution passed away liko the I visions of a young dreaming soul. 1 Again liana wept bitterly, but her tears were I boly,they toll on the altar of patriotism—she wept for her native country—she war a Pole. And yet when she thought. ofone bravo defend. or of that country, and of his uncertain fate,tears of passton may have mingled with those of ritriet ism—she wee a woman. At this motnont a stranger appeared among the WTI!. Ha heart, the watch or her soot, that seemed to toll of the approaching hour of happi ness, beat stronger and stronger as ho approached with torn garment and a pilgrim's staff in his Lend. "Oh, my Casimir—they have not enchained my Casimir—but why is ho in this garb?" "It is the dross ola Polish pilgrim—not so fair as the warrior's, but not the less honorable, Our swords are brokon,but our hoods aro not. I have come, my Hallos, to behold you once more—but, In* ROBERT .177ZITE MIDDLETON, EDITOR., PtraLIEJIIER. AND PROPRIETOR,. "I WISH NO OTHER HERALD, NO . OTHER SPEAKER OF MY LIVING ACTIONS, TO KEEP MINE HONOR FROM CORRUPTION."-BHARS DEM' in the bosom of a southern forest, there grew a beautiful flower; the sweetest flower in that lonely region. Its loaves wore of the ?urost white, for the first timo'unfolding to the world around, and revealing, as they did so, the fine and delicate droppings of violet and purple, which before, like so much hidden wealth, had lain in its bosom. Its odor was fresh and exquisite, and no flower in all that forest, could come near it for sweetness or for beauty. In excellence, as in condition, it was equally alone. But it was not destined to be alone always.— There came to it one morning in May, a golden butterfly—a rover among the flowers—an ancient robber of their sweets. Gayly ho plied his flight throughout the torest, now here and now there, sporting about in a sort oferrant unconsciousness. It was not long before he inhaled the odor—it was not long before he saw the pure white leaves, and looked down with an anxious eye, upon the rich droppi'ngs of purple and violet,which nestled in the bosom of the flower. Flying around in mazy, but still contracting circles, he gazed upon the loneliness of the Hower, and grow more and more enamored at each rrio. merit ot his survey. "Surely," ho thought, "this is a flower by itself—love's own flower—dwelling in secret—blooming only, and budding for his oyes, and denied to all beside. It was my good fortune to have found it—l will drink—l will nes. tle in its bosom—l will enjoy its charms as I have enjoyed a thousand Others." etavwxamunief. Qxtraossoaz o utboxela so. a warrior was buried under his gibbet. The minis. ters of tied offered no prayers for his soul; no sa. We plumes waved over his corm; 'no martial mu. sic; the muffled drum and the tolling boll,bounded not his dirge; warriors bore him not to his last rest. But prayers arose from the grave of the hero, though the priest offered them not; and tears fell , upon his dust,though warriors shed them not. A beautiful form knelt there—the form of his belov ed; a beautiful spirit sighed there--the spirit of his beloved. The pale moon rose and set,and still she knelt on his grave. At morning some peasantry came to look at the grave of the Partisan; she was yet kneeling, but prlo and cold. The beautiful flower of Podolia was blighted and dead, like the spectre of a rose on the grave ofa warrior; but her spirit, free and light, had already joined the strong soul of Casi. mir. Such was the fate of rho Polish Lovers. Childhood—.9' Domestic Scale. DY W. D. GALLAGHER. The day was well nigh o'er, The sun, near the horizon, dimly shone; And the long shadows of the door-yard trees, Athwart the yard were thrown. Before our humble door, Upon the soft, cool grass, With bosom open to the evening breeze Which now and then did pass, Musing,and dreaming of the spirit's birth, And its relations to this beautiful earth, lay alone . Borne on Imagination's airy pinions, Far from the world's turmoil, and sordid man's do minions. Eve came on gently: and herlitep was seen Stirring the blossoms on the velvet green, And warning home the laden bee, Yet labouring busily. The while, her soft And delicate fingers plucked the loaves aloft. And whirl'd them round and round In eddies to the ground. Where I, an humble PAN, with many a wreath was crown'd. Presently on my ear, Hang full and deep, Joyous, and musical, and clear, A sound, which made my father-heart to leap, And sent the warm blond to my cheek and brow, Which with the recollection warm e'cu now. It ceased, that thrilling tone: And with it passed my bright but dreamy train Of thought—and I was but u man again, Earthly, and weak, and lone. 'So slight a tou:h can jar the spirit's springs— And e'en a word, or toue,or look, clip Fancy's wings Once more—once more, it rang upon my ear— But blent with other sounds, as clear - And musical as it: A childish jest—and then a shout, From one, or two, or three, rang out, Full, free and wild— And then a fit Of childish laughter rent the dewy air! And now my eye a glimpse caught of the fair And lovely oNr.: It was my own dear child! She and her little friends, hard at their play, Upon the grassy slope, that softly stretch'd away. Again—again— From the descending plain, Up rise those gleeful notes: but chief that. voice Which first broke on my car, And made my heart rejoice, Ascends, full, strong, and clear— Approaching nigh, and nigher, As the strain grows high, and higher; Then, like a water-circle,flowing Away to every point, an growing Fainter, and fainter, till the last tones die— Lost, as far -journeying birds fade in the purple sky Bonnets were in the air, And bonnet- ribands scattered on the ground; Small shoes and - pantalettes lay thick around, And tiny feet were bare: And frocks were soil'd and aprons rent; But still they kept their frolic mood, And langh'd and romp'il; and when I went And closer by them stood, How hard each little elf did try To win the most of my regard; And striving still more herds The spirit, so it aeem'd to me, The same in the great world we see. Spurring the warrior on to victory. And urging on the bard: Each had success as much at heart, At he who plays in war or politics his part. "My child!—my child!" She comes to me: Her cheeks are flushed, her hair is wild, Her pulse is bounding free. With laugh and shout she comes—but see! Half way she stops, as still as death; Her look is sad—she hardly draws a breath. "My child! my own dear child! Tell me what aileth thee?" "Father!"—she pointed to the moon, 011 the horizon's shatter'd bound— 'Twas rising, full and round, "Father! I'm coming soon." Her other hand now pointed to the West, Where the dim sun was sinking to his rest. "Father! are those the eyes of God Looking upon us here?" Her knee bent slowly to the dewy sod— And then came tear on tear: t gush of mingled feeling—wonderond joy,and fear FROM TUE JACKSONVILLE COURIER. ISOLATED ArrECTION. IIY w. a. 91311118 "True love,still born of heaven,is blessed with wings, And tired of eat th, it plumes them back again, And thus we lose it." Evou with tho thought came the quick resolu tion,and another moment found him lying—lying close and pressed upon the bosom of the flower.— There was a slight effort to escape from the em. braces of the intruder—the flower murmured its dissent, but murmur died away into a sigh, was inhaled, as so much honey, by the pressing lips of the butterfly. He sung to the flower a story of his love—and, oh! saddest of all, the young flower be. lioved him: And day after day ho came to the stolen em brace, and day after day, more fondly than ever, the lovely flower looked to receive him. Sho sur rendered her very soul to his keeping, and her pure white leaves grow tinged with his golden ringlets, while his kisses stained with yellow the otherwise delicate loveliness of her lipa. But she heeded not this, so long as the embrace was still fervent—the kiss still warm—the return of the butterfly still certain. But when was love cortain?—not often, where the lover is a butterfly. There came a change over the habits of the butterfly. Ho gradually fell off in his attentions. His passion grow cool, and the ease of his conquest led him to undervalue its acquisition. Bach day ho came later and later, and his stay with the lovely flower grew more and more shortened on each return. Her feelings perceived the estrangement long borer© her tea. son had taught her to think upon or understand it. At length she murmured her reproaches—and the griovaßco must bo great when love will Von lure so far. "Wherefore," alio said, "Oh, where. fore bast thou lingered away so long? Why deal thou not now, us before, vie with the sunlight in thy advances? I have looked for thee from the dawning, yet I have looked for thee in vain. The yellow beetle has been all the morning buzzing about me, but I frowned upon his approachea.— The green grasshopper had a song under my bush, and told me a dull story of the love which ho had for me in his bosom; and more than once, the glittering humming-bird has sought my embra. cos, but I shut my leaves against him. Thou hest been slow to souk mo—thou whom 1 have looked to see." Gaily then the butterfly replied to these re. preaches, nor, as ho spoke, heeded the increasing paleness of the flower, "Over a thousand forests I've been flying, each as beautiful as this: on a thousand flowers I have been tending—none less lovely to the sight than thou. How couldat thou dream that, with a golden ringlet, broad and free and beautiful, like mine, in a single spot I still should linger, of the world unknowing aught? No, np—mine is an excursive spirit, for a thousand free WTl:tzarina made: wouldst thou have me, like groping spiders, working still to girdle in myself?" It was a murmuring and sad reply of the now isolated flower,and lived not long after it had made it. "Ali, now I know mine error—having no wings myself to mate with the lover who had.— Alas! that I have loved so fondly and foolishly; for while thou hast gone over a thousand forests, seeing a thousand flowers, I have only known,only looked, only lived, for a single butterfly." Tho false ono was away, after this, to another forest; for his ear loved not rept oaehes, and he had sense, if not feeling enough, to see that they were uttered justly. The flower noted its departure, and its last sigh was an audible warning to the young bud which it left behind it. The wood. spirit heard the sigh and the warning—and when the bud began to expand in the pleasant sunshine, he persuaded the bluck•browed spider to spin his web, and frame his nest, in the thick bushes that hung around II; and many were the wanton but terflies, after this, who, coming to prey upon the innocent affection, became entangled, and justly perished in the guardian network thus raised up to protect It. Med of the Toddin...an affecting story of an From the interesting letters of Espriella, just published by Dearborn, we make this extract:— A long time ago there was in time parts a poor idiot, who, being quite !.armless was, permitted to wander whither lie would and receive charity at every house in his regular rounds. His name was Ned of the Toddin, and I have just he s ard a tale which has thrilled every nerve in mol from head to foot. Ho lived with hie mnther,and there was no other in the family: it is remarked that idiots aro always particularly beloved by their mothers, doubtless because they always continue in a state as helpless and dependent as infancy This poor follow, in return, was equally fond of his mother: love towards her was the only feeling which he was capable of, and that feeling was proportionately strong. Tho mother fell sick and died: of death, poor wretch, lie know nothing; and it was in vain to hope to make him compre hend it. He would not suffer them to bury her, and they were obliged to put her into the coffin unknown to him, and carry her to the grave when, as they imagined, he bad been decoyed away toe distance. Nod of the Toddin, however, suspected that something was designed, watched them secretly; and as soon as it was dark, opened, the grave, took out the body and carried it home.— Some of the neighbors compassionately went into the cottage to look-after him: they found the dead body seated in her own place in tho chimney cor. ner, a largo fire blazing, which he had made to warm her, and the idiot son with a large dish of pap offering to feed her. "Eat mother!" he was saying,"you used to like it!" Presently wonder. ing at her silence, ho looked at the face of the corpse, took the dead hand to feel it, and said, "Why d'yo look so pale, mother? why be you so cold?" LoNosvirr ow Fisirss.--Fishes are among the most long lived animals. A pike was taken ►n 1754, at Kaiserslautem,, which had a ring fasten. ed to the gill covers, from which it appears to have Veon put in the pond of,that castle, by order of Frederick 11, in 1487, a period of 267 years.— It is described as being 19 feet long and weighed 350 lbs. Eternity. I take whatever I can conceive most long and durable. I heap imagination on imagination,and Iconjecture. First, I consider those long lives, which all wish, and few obtain. I observe those 1 old men, who live for four or five generations, and who alone make the history of an age. I do more; I turn to ancient chroniclos, I-go back to the pa. triarchal ago, and consider life as extending thro' a thousand years; and I say to myself, all this is not oternity—all this is but a point compared with eternity. Having represented to myself real objects, I form ideas of imaginary ones. I go from our ago to the time of publishing the Goa. poi, from thence to the publication of the law— from the law to the flood—from the flood to the creation—F join this epoch - to the - present time, and imagine Adam still living. Had Adam lived till now, had ho passed all this time in fire on a reek, what idea must we form of his condition? At what price would wo agree to expose ourselves to misery so grant? What imperial glory would appear glorious wore it to be followed by so much wo? Yet this is , not eternity, all this id nothing compared with eternity? Igo farther still. I proceed from imagination to imagination—from ono supposition to another. I take the greatest number of years that can be imegliloct. ITorm of all theseone fixed numbor and stay my imagination. Atter this, I suppose God to create a world like this which we inhabit; I suppose him creating it by forming one • atom after another and employing in the production of each atom the time fixed in calculation just now mentioned, What numberless ages would the creation of such a,wo-id, in such a manner re. quire? Then, I suppose tho Creator to arrange these atoms, and to pursue the same pran in arranging them as in creating them. What numberless ages would such an arrangement require! Finally, I suppose him to dissolve and annihilate the whole, and observo the same moth od in this dissolution, as ho observed in tho crew. lion and disposition of the whole. What an im. month) duration would be consumed. Yet this is but a speck compared to eternity. Rules for Conversation. 1. In stating prudential rules for our < govorn. mont in society, I must not omit the Important one of never entering into argument with anothor. 2. I never saw an instance of one or two die. putants convincing the other by argument. I have seen many of thorn getting warm, become rude, and shooting one another. 3. Convincing is the offeot of our own dispas. sionato reasoning, either in solitude or weighing within ourselves, dispassionately what we hear from others, standing uncommitted in argument ourselves. 4. It was one all) rules which abovo all others made Dr. Franklin the most amiable of mon in society, "never to contradict any body." If he was urged to announce an opinion, ho did It rather by asking questions, as'for Information, or by sug. gaging doubts. 5. When I hoar another express an opinion whiCh is not mine, I say to myself; he has a right to his opinion, as i to mine; why should I (loca tion it? His error dues me no injury, and shall I become a Dnn Quixotte,to bring all men by force ofargument to an opinion? 6. It a fact be mis-stated, it is probable he is gratified by a belief of it. and I have no right to deprive him of the gratification. 7. If he wantu information, he will ask it, and then I will give it in measured terms. 8. It he still believes his own story, and shows a desire to dispute the fact with me, I hear him, and say nothing. It is his affair, not mine, if ho prefers an error. 9. There are two classes of disputants most fre. quently to be .net with among. us. Tho first is of young students just entered the threshold of sci ence; with first views of its outlines,not yet filled up with the details and modifications which a fur ther p:ogross would bring to their knowledge. 10. Tho other consists of the ill tempered and rude men in society,who have taken up a passion for politics. 11. Good humor and politeness never introduce into mixed society a question on which they fore see there will be a difference of opinion. Catching a Flea. An English lady who lived in the country, and was about to have a large dinner party, was am bitious of making as great a display as her hug. band's establishment, a tolerably largo one, could furnish; so, that there might seem no lack of ser vants, a groat lad, who had boon employed only in farm work, was trimmed and ordered to take his stand behind his mistress's chair, with strict injunctions not to stir from the place, nor do any thing unless she directed him; the lady well know. ing that, although no footman could make a better appearance as a piece of still life, some awkard. ness would be Inevitable if ho were put in motion. Accordingly, Thomas, having thus been duly drilled and repeatedly enjoined took his post at the head of the table behind his mistress: and for a while ho found sufficient amusement in looking at ther grand sot out, and staring at the guests.-- When ho was weary of this, and °fan inaction to which ho Was so little used, his eyes began to pry about nearer objects. It was at a time when our ladies followed the French fashion of having the back and shoulders, under the nameof the neck, uncovered much lower titan accords either with the English climate or with old English notions; a time when, as Lander expressed it the usurped dominion of neck, had extended from the ear downwards,almost to where mermaids become fish. This lady was In the height of lowness in that fashion; and between her shoulder-blades, in the hollow of the back,and not fa from the confines where nakedness and clothing mat, Thomas espied what Pasquirer bad seen upon'the neck of Mademoiselle des Roches. [WHOLE _NO. 324. The guests were too much engaged with the non and courtesies of the table, to see whinnied. have been worth seeing, the transfiguration pro. duced in Thomas's countenance boy delight., when he saw ao fine an opportunity of showing hintsidt attentive, and making himself useful). The ladi was too much occupied with her company to feel the flea; but to her horror aho felt the great finger and thumb of Thome. upon her back, and to her greater horror heard him. exclaim In exultatloloy f. to' the still greater amusement of the party•-•.* vlea, a vies! my lady; egod, cautch'enT ' • anecdote .—The Archbishop of Dublin tells us of a horseman, who haling . lost his way, made a.' complete circle; when the first round was finisbed o -, , , seeing the marks of a horse's hoof, and newer dreaming that they were those alms own beast, ho rejoiced, and said—" This at least shown me j, that I am in some track;" when the second cult was finished, the signs oftrarel were doubled, - and ho said—" Now, surely 1 am In a beaten way and with the conclusion ofevery round the marks increased, till ho was certain he must bola soma well known thoroughfare, and approaching a populous town; but ha was all the while riding - after his horso'e tail, and deceived by the track of his own error. anecdote of Napoleon. When Napoleon returned to his palace, Immo. diately after his defeat at Waterloo, he oontinned . • many hours without taking any refreshm ent.- - - One of the gems of the chambir ventured to serve up Homo coffee, in his cabinet, by the bands of a child, whom Napoleon had occasionally din tinguishod by his notice. The emperor .at motionless, with his hand spread over his eyes.-- The page stood patiently, before him, gazing with - infantino curiosity on an image which presented • so strong a contrast to his own figure of simplici. ty and peace; at least the little attendant preeent. od his tray, exclaiming, in the familiarity of an / ago which knows so little dietinctions, "Eat • • it will do you good." • , The emperor looked at him, and asked, "to you not belong to Oonessel" (a village n ear: Paris.) "No, sire, I come from Pierrefite." "Where your parents have a cottage'and some acres of land?" • "Yes, sire." "There is true happiuess," replied that extraor dinary being, who was still emperor 'of France, and king of Italy. MATTER AND NO MATTEL TWO metaphysicians debated the question whether the soul laahattsr-or no matter. "I will prove to you," said one "that it is matter. Suppose you were to knock ont my !manta" "That," said tho other, "certainly would be no matter." • EFFECTS OF LEAP YEAR.—Encouragement to unmarried Ladies. Joined in the "holy bonds" of matrimony on Thursday evening last in this city, by the Rev. Mr. La Clause, the Rev. Asher Gilbert of Troy, aged 80 yeara,.to Mrs: Mary Comstock &Putnam county, aged 75years, late widow of Daniel Comatock, deceinerlonaking the fourth time Mrs. Comstock has been led to the hy menial altar.—Barnatable Jour. Unwise .7flen. The angry man—who sets hie own house on fire in order that he may burn that of his neigh. bour. The envious man—who cannot enjoy life because others do. The robber—who for the con. sidoration of n few dollars, gives the world liberty to hang him. The hypochondriac— , whose high. est happiness consists in rendering himself miser.. able. The jealous man—who poisons his own ' ' r„'` banquet, and then eats of it. The miser—Who2.lk starves htmselfto death, in order that his heir may feast. The slanderer—who tells tales for thanks of giving his enemy en opportunity hine .. to prove - a liar. EPITAPHS. ON A BLACKSMITH. My sledge and hammer lie declined, My bellows too have lost their wind, My fire's extinct, my forge decay'd, My vice is in t h e dust all laid, My coal is spent, my iron gone. My nails aro drove, my work is done, My fire dried corps lies hero at res.., My soul, smoke like, soars to behest. ON A STAY MAKER. Alive unnumber'd stays he made. (He work'd industrious night and day); E'n dead ho still pursues his trade, For hero his -bones will make a stay. ON Euzsturru Ketrr. Elizabeth Kent whou her glass was spen t She kick'd up her heels and away she went. Quoth Tom to Bet, "I've thump'd my brain An hour and above, And for my lite I cannot find A aimilo for love." "La! what a dolt! sir, love is like The measles, or being hung; Folks never have it twice, you know, And always catch it young." "0 mother," said -a very little child, "Mr does love aunt Luoy—he sits by her—he Ishii. pets to her—and ho hugs het." "Why Mural, your aunt does not suffer that, does she?" "Writ it, yea mother, she loves it." _ , , In the vory warm weather,a gentleman obastlr ed to a friend, who paid him a morning visit, '!It : is so hot that ono is quite melted." "Trtia,"fiant his frien§l, "so that 30 Paying you a visit, I liatr i - literally dropped in." An Irishmen going to be hanged, begged the rope might be tied under his Stan sibelister `•.ci round his throat, "For." said Pat, "I me q“'ie - nw markably ticklish in the throat, that sr tied th• Cat, I'll certainly kill myself with lsughter,” t- 4
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