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TREE GARLAND
—"With sweetmitflowergenrichtd ,
From various gardooscull'd with cora."
From “Tho Book of the Boudoir." for 1940
HOPE.
DT T. K. lIEIITZT.
look, into thy laughing eyes,—
As bright and blue as summer skies,—
And watch the thoughts that upward spring,
Like birds upon a painted wing;—
And to my soul st visioa steals
That just such smiling eyes reveals,
With bird like hopes to make them gay,—
'Till all the bright ones flow away!
I gaze upon thy rose-red lips—
How beautiful amid their dew!
As never o'er their bloom had passed
The breath of one adieu—
'Till other lips before me use,
With tones as sweetest bells,—
Until their music turned to sighs—
Like passing -belle,--and dew and dyes
Were withered by farewells!
I see within thy snowy breast
The tido of feeling sink and swell,
As storm bad never touched its rest,
But one bright noon had made it blessed
With never warning•spelli—
Has every wish that, Ike a boat,
Thy heart has launched on thatc,alm sea
Come brightly back, and only brought'
New treasure.stores to thee?
Oh, for the white and silken sails
That one young spirit ventured forth—
A heart whose hopes went every where,
East, west, and south, and north,
But ono was sunk, and one a wreck—
And now she watches, mournfully,
Where hope has not a single deck
On Fancy's silent seal
STANZAS.
TRZ LATZ.WM..I.IOOZTT.
If yon bright stirs which gem the night,
Be each a blissful dwelling sphere,
Where kindred spirits re-unite,
Whom death bath torn asunder here
How sweet it were et oneo to die,
And leave this blighted orb afar,
Mixt soul and soul to cleave the sky,
And soar away from star to star.
But oh, how dark, how drear and lone,
Would seem tho bright world of bliss,
If wandering• through each" radient one,
We fail to find the loved of this:'
If there no more the ties shall twine.
That death's cold hand alone could sever;
Ah, then those stare in mockery shame,
More hateful as . thoy shine forever.
It cannot be, each hope, each fear,
That lights the eye or clouds the brow,
Proclaims there is a happier sphere
Than this bleak world that holds us now
There is a voice which sorrow hears
When heaviest weighs life's galling chain,
'Tis heaven that whispers—dry thy tears,
The purein heaven shall meet again.
AND YET I LOVE.
BY MRS. C. BARON WILSON.
Upon my cheek Youth smiles no more;
No more with hope my pulses move;
For me, life's summer hours are o'er;
And yet—l love!
My brow is stamp'd with many a care,
Whose with'ring influence I prove;
Within my breast reigns cold Despair;
And yet—l love!
My heart is like a broken lute,
Whose strings no moro to rapture move;
The voice of joy in me is mute;
And yet—l love!
I have no witching skill to charm—
No spell a kindred flame . to move;
Powerless am I the heart to warm;
'' And yet—l love!
PM. DISAPPOINT ItlY WIFE.
A rich old man, who married a young bride,
This envious order in his will commands;
That his executors. at lowest tide,
Should throw his body tar beyond the sands.
pee seh'd him, why, when past hie mortal life,
Be *Wed to lie beneath the rolling wave?
Because, he said, his young and loving wife
Had sworn that she would danct non his grtvc.
ataaom%%asovoo. ,
THE BROKEN HEARTED.
ET O. D. PRENTICE.
I have seen the infant sinking down like
a stricken flower to the grave—the strong
man fiercely breathing out his soul upon the
field of battle—the miserable convict stand
ing upon the scaffold, with a deep curse up
on his lips/ I have viewed death in all its
forms of- darkness and vengeance with a
fearless eye ; but I never could look on wo
man, young and lovely woman, fading a.
way from the earth in beautiful and uncom
plaining melancholy, without feeling the
very fountains of life turned to tears and
dust. Death is always terrible ; but when
a form of angel beauty is passing off to the
silent land of sleepers, the heart feels that
something lovely is ceasing from existence,
and broods, with a sense of utter desolation,
over the lonely thoughts that come up like
spectres from . the grave to haunt our mid
night musings.
Two years ago, I took up my residence
for a few weeks in a country village in the
eastern part of New England. Soon after
my arrival, I became acquainted with a
lovely girl, apparently about 17 years of
age. She had lost the idol of her pure
heart's purest love, and the shadows of deep
and holy memories were resting, like the
wing of death, upon her brow- I first met
her in the presence of tke mirthful. She
was indeed a creature to be worshipped ;
her brow was garlanded by the young year's
sweetest flowers ; her yellow locks were
hanging beautifully and low upon her
bosom ; and she moved through the crowd
with such a floating unearthly grace, that
the bewildered gazer looked almost to see
her fade away in the air, like the creation
of some pleasant dream. She seemed
cheerful and even gay ; yet I saw that her
gaiety was but the mockery of her feelings.
She smiled, but there was something in her
smile which told that its mournful beauty
was but the bright reflection of a tear ; and
her eylids, at times, closed heavily down,
as if struggling to repress the tide of agony
that was bursting up from her heart's drn.
She looked as if she could have loft tho
scene of festivity, and gone out beneath the
quiet stars, and laid her forehead down up
on the fresh green earth, and poured out
her stricken soul, gush after gush, till it
mingled with the eternal fountain of life
and purity.
Days and weeks passed on, and that sweet
girl gave me her confidence, and 1 became
to her as a brother. The smile upon her
lip - was faint, the purple veins upon her
cheek grew visible, and the cadences of her
voice became daily more weak and tremu
lous co a quiet evening in June, 1 wan
dered ort with her in the open air. It was
then that she told me the tale of her passion.
and of the blight that bad come down like
mildew upon her life- Love had been a
portion of tier existence. Its tendrils bad
been twined around her heart in its earliest
years ; and when they were rent away. they
left a wound which flowed till all the springs
of her soul were blood. "I am passing a
way," said she, "and it should be so. The
winds have gone over my life, and the bright
bonds of hope, the sweet blossoms of pas
sion, are scattered down, and lie withering
in the dust. And yet I cannot go down a
mong the tombs without a tear. It is hard
to take leave of friends who love me; it is
very hard to bid farewell to those dear
scenes with which I have held communion
from childhood, and which, from day , to
day, have caught the color of my life, and,
sympathized with its joys and sorrows. The
little grove where I have so often strayed
with my buried love, and where, at times,
even now, the sweet tones of his voice seem
to come stealing around me, till the whole
air becomes one intense and mournful mei
odv; that pensive star in which my fancy
can still picture his form looking down up
on me n and beckoning me on to his own
bright home: every flower, and tree, and
rivulet, on which our eyes had bent. in mu
tual response, and bore witness to our early
seal, have become dear to me, and I can
not, without a sigh close my eyes upon
them forever."
*
I have lately heard the beautiful girl of
whom I have spoken is dead. The close
of her life was calm as the falling of a quiet
stream—gentle as the sinking of the breeze
that lingers for a time around a bed of with.
ered roses, and then dies as 'twere from
very sweetness.
It cannot be that earth is man's only abi
ding place. It cannot be that oar life is a
bubble, cast up by the ocean of eternity to
float a moment on the wave, and then sink
into deep darkness and nothingness. Else
Why is it that aspirations, which leap like
angels from the temples of our hearts, are
forever wandering about unsatisfie d
why is it that the rainbaw and clouds come
over us with a beauty that is not of earth,
and then leave us to muse upon their faded
loveliness ? Why is it that the stars which
hold their festival around the midnight
throne, are set so far above the'grasp of our
limited faculties—forezer mocking us with
their unapproachable glory ? And finally,
why is it that the bright forms of human
beauty are presented to our view, and then
taken from us, leaving the thousand streams
of our affbetions to flow hack in cold and
Alpine torrents upon our hearts 1 We are
born for a higher destiny, than that of earth.
There is a realm where the rainbow never
fades—where the stars will spread out be
fore us like the islands that slumber on the
ocean; and where the beautiful beings that
here pass before us like vistors, will stay in
our presence forever. Bright creature of
ellaWiNratarYo l 33o Vi l a() aitteciplazDart. 47430; 1 W 213 T age a $3411)c0
my dreams, in that realm I shall see thee I
again I Even now thy last image is with
me. in the mysterious silence of midnight,
when the streams aro glowing in the light
of the many stars, that image comes float.
ing upon the beam that lingers around my
pillow ; and stands before me in its pale dim
loveliness, till its own quiet spirit sinks like
a spell from Heaven upon my thoughts, and
the grief of years is turned to dreams of
blessedness and peace.
The above is the title of a most interesting es
say in the August Number of the Knickerbocker.
The following quiet, natural, happy, and pleasing
passagei,could scarcely have been "better told"
by Geoffrey Crayon himself:
A little way from my dwelling, is n deep
valley, through which, tumbling from tall
to fell, a clear stream pursues its way, mur-
muring fitfully, as the breezes swell and die
along its borders. ha banks are green for
a narrow space on each side, and the hills
which rise around are thickly wooded to
the top. There is one dark, deep pool,
where the water whirls around the twisted
roots of an old tree, which appears to be the
re: ezvous of all the piscatorial tribes that
navigate that way—a kind of stoppmg-place
—a haven of debate and consultation.—
Here sports the trout,,"bedropt with gold ;"
the "shiner," bright as a bar ofailver ; the
indolent "sucker," rolling from side to side,
with an easy motion ; the "flirt-fish,'' brist
ling like an angry dog.-;-.each intent upon
his own businass ; some putting out of part,
and some darting in, keeping continually a
busy excitement in the little community.
Hare 1 sit upon the fragrant grass, and
pursue my sports ; and 1 have become so
familiar with the spot and its inhabitants,
that I am grown to be quite a philosopher,
as well as angler.
Upon a. hill above me, day after day, an
easy, good natured cow, with a bell attach
ed to her neck, goes tink-tink tong ; tink
tink tong ; passing the whelif of her time in
the labor of eatiag. She has worn a wind
ing dath down to the brook—down which
she marches, with great gravity, for a little
refreshment. Sometimes, when the heat
is oppressive. she tarries awhile, and seems
quite pleased at my sports. She is a very
decent, well-behaved, well disposed animal,
of good character, and industrious habits.
A large frog, with a green surtout and
dark breeches, sits just opposite, looking
exceedingly malicious, and apparently swel
ling with rage. lie seems never to corral.
der himself quite secure on land, and stands
ready at any moment for a spring. "Jug.
gero—joggero I plump I" and away he goes.
This frog is the most distant and unsociable
of all my animal acquaintance. Every
time ho makes his appearance, he sits tuck
ed up in his own conceit swelled around
the neck like a corpulent pope ; gloomy,
taciturn and independent ; and he always
leaves me without taking leave, and in a
very impolite manner.
* *
But the whole wood is alive with birds.
They assemble in the cool depths of the
valley, where the air is tempered by the
running water, and sing together their thou
sand melodies. I have,watched them as
they came dashing along into their shelter,
and welcomed them, as a hermit a way -tra
veller.
There is the robin, with his breast of
gold, looking rather grave, and-singing
plaintively, with an air of concern about
him. Ho is troubled about many things,
but chiefly, where he shall build his nest;
and he flirts from tree to tree, followed by
his mate, curiously examing every crotch ;
and then, dashing to the earth, he trips a
long to see what timber there is at hand to
rear his mansion. He seems to have a fore
thought ; and being thus chastened down, is
devoid of all giddiness and folly. There
is something soft and touching in his mu
sic, as he sings in the twilight of the eve. ,
ntng,.,when the forest is still, and all around
the landscape fades into indistinctness.—
We all love the robin.
But the "fire-bird," or golden robin, a
gay relation of the red-breast, is a wild,
dashing fellow. &way he goes, blazing
through the trees ; perfectly reckless, hob
biog round with a jerk ; then back and off
the next moment in a tangent. He ap
pears to be the busiest mortal alive, but,
like some men who are always in a hurry,
he accomplishes but little. He cuts a great
figure with his fire-red suit,, and shows a
good truce in building a hanging-nest, where
he lies and swings as the breezes may blow
—taking his own comfort in hie o*n way.
I like the company of this little coquette
exceedingly.
Just opposite, a wood-pecker makes his
daily appearance upon the trunk ofan enor
moue tree, where ho hammers away for
four hours together- He is as white as
milk, with black stripes down his back, and
a head as red as blood. He is a most in
dustrious fellow. While all the birds a
round are intoxicated with joy, he keeps as
busy at his mechanical work as a tinker at
an old'kettle. There is no poetry in the
wood-pecker, lam sure. All seasons are
alike to him. lie is a practical body—a
regular "works ;"----a bird of bubstantial
parts ; but, above all, he is a very clever
fellow. He subsiias upon worms drawn
from decayed tree+, and leaves the food up
on the earth for the lazy and grovelling,
and unenterprising portions of his tribe.
But the owl is a dozy chap I There he
sits, on tho left—a knob of feathers—wink
ing at my fish line, and looking as wise is
a magistrate with a wig. What a dreary
life be passes l all the day in a brown study.
A venerable looking blockhead but a great
R. 13. PAZOIT, mnITOI% Arm rnorlarron,
"FEARLESS AND I'ItME.I;
—.glow—
“MY FISHING GROUND:9
coward, is the owl. In the morning and
evening twilight, he sallies out for his food,
when other birds of temperate habits are at
rest. A very gloomy and unsocial body ie
the 'melancholy owl."
Of all the birds that keep me company
in my excursions, commend me to the whip
poorwill. At the dusk of evening, he fills
the whole wood with his melody ; so plain
tive and tender—so soothing and solitary.
His very voice speaks a lonely language,
as it rings through the valley. It is a lan
guage familiar to all, and finds a responsive
chord iu every bosom ; and as he prolongs
his melodies late after night, he has the
whole inhabitable landscape around for lis
teners. He is a romantic little fellow—a
hermit, and revels in solitude—a poetical
bird, if such there be—a poet of the heart
rather than of the imagination; and he is
"popular," wherever he is known. Give
me the soothing voice of the whip-poor-will.
FATALITY OF FASII/ONS.
It is a startling fact, that human life is
shorter in this country now than it was fifty
years ago. There are diseases now which
were hardly known then—and which bring
thousands to a premature grave. What is
the cause of all this Has our climate es
sentially changed ? No : unless it be for
the better. The cause is to be found,
doubtless, in the corrupting fashions of the
times, which regulate the food and die es of
people, and which make idleness more re
spectable than sturdy industry. We depre.
sate these fashions ; they are rapidly lead
ing us, as a people, to those excesses which
have proved the ruin of other and earlier
nations. It is time this subject wero look
ed into with as much solicitude and care as
politicians look for the causes of civil liber
ty and public good.
In olden times—in the days of the revo
lution—when sons worked willingly in the
forests and the fields, and partook of the
simple blit substantial fare of their own
farms—when daughters wore thick shoes,
loose gowns, and labored at the spinning
wheel and loom, such discusses consump.
tion and dyspepsia were seldom or never
known Doctors were rare acquaintances
then. But now, if a youiig man would ap
pear respectable, he must carry a green bag
to court, rather than a bag to mill ; he must
wield a yard-stick rather than a hoe or sho
vel ; and, as for young ladies—alas I—their
shoes must be of kid, thin as wafers ; their
chests must he pent in corsets as closely as
a Chineese foot, and their times must be
spent in - spinning streetlam, thumbing the
pianoforte, or discoursing sentimental songs.
All these fashions are prejudicial to hu
man life. and health.-' Oh, that fashion
would ever take the right-direction, and go
upon the maxim of sanctioning nothing
which interferes with, the laws of health.—
Then would the hopes of our country bright
en, and individuals woullenjoy en amount
of comfort which is now , too willingly but
blindly sacrificed to false taste.
MARCH OF INTELLECT.
The 'rote eystem' in which charity chil
dren are educated, is admirably calculated
for Index)! obtuse intellect, as we will prove
by an anecdote which occurred at a certain
evangelical school. They are examined
and questioned in a particular order, and,
always standing in the same rank, have al
ways the same reply, whatever niay he the
question. No. 1, No. 2, No. 3, were ac
customed to reply to the question, 'ln
whom do you believe?' Thus, No. 1, 'ln
God the Father;' No. 2, 'ln God the Son,'
and No. 3, 'ln God the Holy Ghost. It
so chanced tbat, by accident, No. 2 placed
himself alter No. 3. The question was
asked, 'ln whom do you believe?' No. 1,
'ln God the Father;' No. 3, 'ln God the
Holy Ghost.' 'What?' said the examiner,
"you should say, 'ln God the Son."No,
Sir,' retorted the matter-of fact No. fl. 'I
believe in God the Holy Ghost; that 'ere
boy (pointing to the misplaced No. 2) be
lieves in atoll the Son.' 'You are a bright
particular star,' said the examiner; 'pray
have you been confirmed?' 'No,' was the
instant rejoinder, 'but I've been vaccinated.'
Thi• is pretty lair, to be sure; and it
serves to remind us of a little incident rela
ted to us a day or two since, of an old lady
who was in the habit of being confirmed
yearly. At length, the preacher thinking
it somewhat odd, enquired her reason for
this predilection for confirmation; the re
ply was, that she considered it good for the
rheu mat istal-:-Columbia Spy.
a9/0/Nente.—The following is an extract
from a speech delivered by a metnber of the
Indiana Legislature, on a bill to encourage
the killing of wolves, which in sublimity
has seldorb been surpassed:
"Mr. Speaker:—'`he wolf is the most
ferocious animal that prowls in mu western
prairies or Mils at large in the forests of
Indiana. He creeps [turn his lurking place
at the hour of midnight, when all nature is
locked in the silent embrace of Morpheupt
and ere the portals of the eat are unbarred,
or bright Phoebus rises in all his golden
majesty,whole litters ofpigs are destroyed:l
A gentleman, one Sunday morning, was
attracted to watch a young country girl.—
' What are you looking for, my girl?" ask
ed the gentleman, as the damsel continued
to pour along the dusty road. She answer.
ed gravely, I am looking to dee ifmy
master be gone to church.' Her master
had a wooden leg.
The Thermometer at Wotanleit, N. Y.
on Thum;lay, ran down to Mealy degreta be
low zero !
SLEIGHING TIME.
A MIMICAN COI7II7SH IP.
, .
This must be an everlasting fine country,
beyond all dqpbt, for the folks have nothing
to do but to ride about and talk politics. In
the winter, when the ground is covered
with snow, what grand times they have a
slayin over these here mashes with the
gals, or playin ball on the ice, or goin to
quiltin frolics of nice long winter evenings,
and then a driven home like mad by moon
light. Natur made that season on purpose
of courtin. A little tidy scroptous fookin
slay, a real clipper of a hiirse, a string of
bells as long as a string of inions round his
neck, and a sprig on his back, looking for
all the world like a bunch of apples broke
off at a gatherin time, and a sweetheart a;
longside all muffled 'up but her eyes and
lips—the one looking right into you, and
the other talkin right at you—is e'en amost
enough to drive one ravin, taring. distract
ed mad with pleasure, aint it 7 And then
the dear critters say the bells make such a
din, there's no hearin one's self speak ; so
so they put their pritty little mugs up close
to your; face, and talk, talk, talk, till one
can't helP llookin right at them instead of
the horses, and then whap you both go cap
sized into a snow-drift together, skins, cush
ions; and all. Aefftbein to see the little
critter shake herself when she gets up, like
a duck landin from a pond, chatterin away
all the time like a canary bird, and you a
haw.hawin with pleasure, is fun alive, you
may depend. In this way a feller gets led
on to offer himself as a lover afore be knows
where he bees.—Sam Slick.
William Tell Outdone !—Wae,Jearn,
through the Centreville (Md.) Sentinel, that
on Christmas day, a party of whites , and
blacks assembled at a shop or store about
two and a hall miles from Elkinton, where,
as is customary on such occasions, after pun
ishing the ardent for some time, they had a
trial of target•ahoottng. After this was o
ver, two of the best 'shots' among them, a
white man and a black man, declared that
they could shoot the hat from each other's
heads, without injury to their persona. Ac
cordingly they agreed to make the trial.—
It was settled that the black man should
shoot first, which he did, shooting the hat
from the white man's head without injur
ing hio person. It was now the white man's
turn to try hjs skill; and nth having taken
their stations, tie levelled his gun and blow
the brains out of his.inore skilful but unfor
tunate rival. There appears to have been
no malice between them to have_prompted
the deed, but it may be regarded no one of
the many excesses . committed by men when
under the infruence , ofintoxicating liquor.
.4THE IVIVS7iERIOUS APPEARANCE."
On Sunday
,night last, some six orl.sight
scientifici'gentlemen erour borough; agreed
to sit up until ths• witching hour arrived, in
order to hive a peep at the "mysterious up
pearance";" wlatek has for some time past
exeitedthe irlinde of the curious in the move
ments, of; theilleaveniy bodies. To make
tlielerminiition of their vigils as pleasant
' as possible, they also agreed to have a sup
per prepared precisely at twelve o'clock,
and accordingly ordered one of our landlords
to have it served up at that hour. 4.6 they
were by no means aelfish in the matter,they
further agreed to rouse up oar more sleepy
citizens as soon es the ignis fatuus made its
appearance, that they too might least their
eyes upon the movements of the celestial lu
minary. Ten o'clock struck—they lelt a
little drowsy. Eleven chimed—some were
asleep. Twelve came at last—they were
all snoring. Still cosign of the mysterious
visitor was announced even by the landlord,
who had been deputed (bolero all eyes were
closed in sleep) to keep a sharp look nut.
As supper was ready however, he rung the"
bell, and our astronomers were wide awake
in a moment, oceltnining, "Has the ghost
tome!" "No, devil a ghest have 1 laid my
eyes on," was his answer, "but the geese
and turkeys are sleeking en the table." In
a moment they were most savagely attack.
ed, but before any one had time to eat even
a rump, the cry was heard from the street,
"It has come—the ghiist has coiner They
were up and out in a moment, 'and sure
'enough there was the nightly visitor travel
ling through tho heavens in all the majesty
of light. They ran—they shouted aloud
—they thundered at the deers. Presently
were to be seen men without trowsers, wo
men without petticoats, and children with
out either, joining its the race to the head
of the town to have a full vim of the gor
geous spectacle. Breathless, they. arrived
at last, when 10l what was their disappoint.
meat at seeing nothing more nor lees than a
wag leisurely Walking to and Fro wtth two
lighted candles on a ten foot pole, Our as
tronomers swore most terribly, and hurried
back to their inn to wreak their vengeance
upon the goodly fare they had been obliged
to abandon. Hate again Was another dis
appointment, and, If possible, more trying
to their patience than the former. rite
smoking dishes had disappeated. A se
cond wag, who was In the secret of what
was transpiring out of doors, made a clear
sweep of the board, so that not even a ghost
of a foul remained to tell what had become
of the substance. And so ended their Vi
gils.— York Gazette.
When Wolves cross a riVisr, they follow
one another directly in a line, the second
balding the tail of the first in his mouth,
the third that of the second, and so of the
rest•
Expzatztace is the most elsquent of
preachers, but ehe never has a large con•
gregation.
7P.224)202 J1 4 0q, ZallQ
THE CORPORAL.
During the American revolution, an of•
ficor not habited in his military costume,
was passing by where a small company of
soldiers were at work,making some repairs
upon a small redoubt. The commander of
the little squad was giving orders relating to
a stick of timber, which they were ender'.
voting to raise to the top of the works. The
stick of timber went up hard, and on this
account the voice of the littlo great man
was often heard in its regular vociferation,
of "Heave away! There she goes! Heave
ho!" ect. The officer before spoke of stop
ped his horse when arrived at the place,
and eeeing the timber scarcely move, asked
the - commander why he did not take hold
and render a little aid. The latter appear
ing somewhat astounded, turning to the of&
car with the pomp of an emperor, said,
"Sir, I am a Corporal!" "You are not,
though, are you?" said the officer. "I
was not aware of if , and taking off his hat
and bowing, "I ask your pardon, Mr. Cor
porall" Upon this be dismounted his steed.
flung the bridle over the post, and lifted till
the sweat stood in drops upon his forehead.
When the timber was raised to its proper
station, turning to the man clothed in brief .
authority,--“Mr. Corporal Commander!"
said he, "when you have another such a job,
and have not men enough, send to your
Commander•in-Chief, and I will come and
help you the second time." , The Corporal
was thunderstruck. It was WASHING—
TON - I
A THRILLING ANECDOTE.
The following anecdote was related to a
writer to the Jerseyman of this week, is a
farm house in Virginia, during a night spent
there some six years ago:
'ln December, 17—, towards the close of
a dreary day, a woman and an infant child
were discovered half buried in the snow,by ,
a little Virginian,
seven years old. The
lad was returning from school, and hearing
the moans of some one in distress, threw
down his satchel of books end repaired to
the spot from whence the sound proceeded,
with a firmness becoming one ofriper years.
Raking the snow from the benumbed body
of the mother, and using means to awaken
her to a sense of her deplorable condition,
the noble youth succeeded in getting her
upon her feet; the infant, nestling on its
mother's breast, turned its eyes toward their
youthful preserver and smiled, as it seemed
in gratitude,'tor its preservation. With a
countenance filled with hope,
the gallant
youth cheered thd sufferer on, himself bear
ing within his tiny arms, the infant child.
while the mother leaned for support en the
shoulder of their little conductor. 'My
home is hard by,' would he exclaim, so oft
as her spirit tailed, and thus for three miles
did he cheer onward to a happy, haven the
mother and child, both of whom otherwise,
I must have perished, had it not been for the
humane feelings and preservance of this no
ble youth.
warm fire, and kind attention, soon
relieved the sufferer, who, it appears, was
in search of her husband an emigrant from
Now Hampshire, a recent purchaser of a
farm in the neighborhood of near
this place. Oilligent inquiry for several
days found him, and in five months oiler,
the identical house m which we are now
sitting, was erected, and received the hap
py family. The child grow up to manhood
—entered tho army -lost a limb at New
Orleans, but returned to end his days, a so
lace to the declining years of his aged pa
rents.'
Where are they now'?' I asked the nar
'Here,' exclaimed, the son. 1 1 am the
rescued one; there is my mother, and bore,
imprinted on my naked arm, is dmuatnu of
the noble youth, our preserved' 1 looked,
and read Winfield Scott 1'
Family Pride.—Notwithstanding the as.
semen made ofold—or, if not made, it shall
be now—that the man who has nothing but
his ancestors to boast of, is like a potato,the
the best part of him being underground )
still there are many who at, this day of in._
telligence are foolish enough to talk offa ,
roily) and boast of their pedigree, as if like
cattle they wore better for it. The English
family of Vere, Earls of Oxford, pretended
to deduce its pedigree from the Roman
Emperor ) Verus. Philip Dormer Stan
hope, Earl of Chesterfield, placed among
the portraits of his ancestors, two heads )
inscribed Adaiii de Stanhope and Eve de
Stanhope. The French family of the D uke
de Levis have a picture in their chateau ) in
which Noah is represented going into the .
ark, and carrying under his arm a small
trunk, on which is written, "Papers belong
ing to the Levis family."
THE LIGEIT.HOUSE:-
A p lain , but excellent father, had a son
much given to the toilet, who coming home
in a hew fashioned bang-up, with something
less than a sant of capon, was asked what
kind of thatching he had got on his should
ers. *Cape*, only capes, father!'
'So, do,' said the old man,passing Wetland
over them— Cape Hatteras,Cape Henlopen t
I suppose, and here.' clapping his hand on
his head, 'is the tight-house.'
Mr. Van Bur&s Meawge.—A gentle+
man who had cut his eyes over the inter•
minable Message lately sent to Coogrese s
by Mr. Van Buren, remarked, that It seem•
ed to be d tbeak infusion of bitter faro&
"No wonder the tea is weak," replied a by
stander; "for this is the thirddrawingfron
the same ingredients. However, it maker
up in quantity what it lack, in strength•"