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Old Memories! Old Menories!
What precioae thing they ere!
How dose they cling aroenii our heart,
How dearly cherished there!
How often wo will cast aside
The cop of promised bliss;
And gladly turn as to tho pt, m
So fraofht with happiness.
Let others boast of coming joys,
Aud trll how brightly shiuo
Tbeir hopes of future happiness
Be memory" pleasure mine.
I would not lose the consciousness
Of one good action done.
To weave the brightest web of bliss
That Taney ever spun.
Old Memories! Old Memories!
Oh! how they stir the heart!
How oft a smile will part the lips, .
How oft a tear will start.
As memory, faithful to her trust,
Brings other scenes again,
la all their very truthfulness
Of pleasure or of pals! .
Oh! who would lose the memory,
Of Childhood's early day;
Would wipe a mother's tenderness,
A father's care away;
A dear, dear d rot her 's earnest love,
A gentle sister's smile.
The joyous friend of early years,
When life was glad the while.
Oh! who would roll the Lethean wave,
Above the early youth.
When earthly light seemed all nndimmed
Aud all uusulUed truth!
Nay, nay, amid life's latter scenes.
Ami J its cares and tears.
There are green spots to which w (urn.
Through ail our after years.
There's many a light from bygone days,
Around our pathway cast,
There's mauy a treasare garnered la
The unforgotten past.
Than let m seek to dwell
Trom present scenes apart.
And glean for memory's treasure house,
A lecKon for the heart!
1 kc arariiiiM r Josephine a h1 Nsssless
Rumors bad for some time been reaching
Josephine of the doom which was impend
ing over her. Agitated with the most terri
ble fears, and again clinging to trembling
hope, the unhappy empress passed several
weeks in the agony of suspense. Both were
under great restraint, and each hardly ven
tured to look, at the other. I he contem
plated divorce was noised abroad; and Jo
sephine read in the averted looks of her for
mer h lends, the indications of her approach
ing disgrace. Napoleon and Josephine had
been a:cus:omed to live upon terms of the
most Mtectionaie intimacy, and in their pri
vats hours, fiee from the restraints of
coin?, she would loiter in his cabinet, and
he would steal in, an ever-welcome visitor,
upon the secresy of her boudoir. Now, re
serve end restraint marked every word and
movement. The private access between
their apartments was closed. Napoleon no
' lomrer entered her boudoir, but, when he
wished to speak to her, respectfully knock-
mar at the door, would wait her approach,
Whenever Josephine heard the sound of
bis approaching footsteps, the fear that he
was coming with the terrible announce-
m . t a
ment of separation, immediately caused
such violent palpitations of the heart, that it
was with the utmost difficulty she could tot
ter across the floor, even when supporting
herself by leaning agamt the walls, and
the articles of furniture. They had many
private interviews before Napoleon ventur
ed to announce directlv his determination,
in which he hinted at the necessity of the
measure. From all these interviews Jo
sephine returned with her eyes so swollen
with weeping a? to give her attendants the
erroneous impression that personal violence
was used to compel her to consent.
The fatal day for the announcement at
length arrived. Josephine appears to have
had some presentiment that her doom was
sealed, for all the day she had been in her
private apartment weeping bitterly. As
the dinner-hour approached, to conceal her
weeping and swollen eyes, she wore a head
dres with a deep front, which shaded the
whole of the upper part of her face. They
dined alone. Napoleon entered the room
in the deepest embarrassment. He uttered
not a word, but mechanically struck the
edge of his glass with his knife, as if to di
vert his thoughts. Josephine could not con
ceal the convulsive agitations of her frame
They sat together during the whole meal in
silence. The vaiious courses were brought
in, and removed untouched by either. Say
Josephine, "We dined together as usual. I
struggled with my loars, which, notwith
standing every effort, overflowed my eyes.
I uttered not a worn during that solitary
meal; and he broke silence but once, to
ask an attendant about the weather. My
sunshine, I saw, had passed away; the
storm burst quickly." Immediately after
this sorrowful repast. Napoleon requested
the attendants to leave the room. 1 he hnv
pcror closing the door after them with his
own hand, approached Josephine who was
trembling in every neive. 1 he struggle in
the soul of Napoleon was fearful. ' His
whole frame trembled. His countenance
assumed the expression of the firm resolve
which nerved him to this unpardonable
wrong. He took the hand of the empress,
pressed it to his heart, gazed lor a moment,
speechless, upon those features which had
wen his youthful love, and then with a voice
tremulous with the storm which shook both
soul and body, said; "Josephine, my good
Josephine, you know howl have loved you;
it is to you alone, that I owe the few mo
ments of happiness I have known in the
world. Josephine, my destiny is more pow
erful than my will. My dearest a flections
must yield to the interests of France."
'Say r.o more," exclaimed the empress in
mortal anguish; "I expected litis. 1 under
stand and feel for you; but the stroke is not
the less mortal." And with a piercing
ahnek, she tell lileless upon the floor. Na
poleon hastily opened the door and called
for help. His physician. Dr. Corviaart,
was at hand, and, entering with other at
tendants, they raised die unconscious Jo
sephine from the floor, who, in a delirium of
agony, was exclaiming, "Oh no! you can
not, you cannot do it! you would not kill
me." Napoleon supported the limbs of
Josephine, while another bore her body, and
thus they conveyed her to her bed room.
Placing the insensible empress upon the
bed. Napoleon again dismissed the attend
ants and rang for her women, who, on en
tering, found him bending over her lifeless
form with an expression of the deepest anx
iety and anguish. Napoleon slept not La.t
night, but paced his room in silence and
solitude, probably lashed by an aVnrig'
conscience. Ho frequently, duringthe
night, returned to Josephine's room to in
quire concerning her situation, Iwt each
time the sound of bis footstep and of his
voice almost threw the agonised empress in
to convulsions. -No! no!" says Josephine,
-l cannot describe the horror of my situa
tion during that night! Even the interest
which he affected to take in my sufferings,
eemed to me additional cruelty. 0! how
justly had I reason to dxe&d becoming an
empress!" f , . ,
At length the dav arrived for tV. w,M,.
snnounceaient of tie divorce. Ths imperial I
council of stale was convened in the Tuil
crics, and all the members of the imperial
family arid all the prominent oihceis of the
empire were present. Napoleon, with his
nale and care-worn features, but ill-conceal
ed by the drooping plumes which were ar.
ranged to overshadow them, sacrificing
strong love to still stronger ambition, with a
voice made firm by the very struggle with
which he was agitated, in the following
terms assigned to the world his reasons for
this cruel separation:
"Ihe political interests oi my monarchy,
the wishes of my people, which have con
stantly guided my actions, require that I
should leave behind me, to heirs of my love
for nay people, the throne on which Provi-
dence has placed me. For many years 1
have lost all hopes of having children by
ny beloved spouse, the empress Josephine.
That it is. mat induces me to sacrifice the
iweetest affections of my heart, to consider
only the good of my subjects, and desire the
dissolution of our marriage. Arrived at the
age cf forty years, 1 may indulge a reason
able hope of living long enough to rear, in
the spirit of my own thoughts and disposi
tion, the children with which it may pleate
Providence to bless me. bod knows what
such a determination has cost my heart; but
mere is no sacrince which is above my cour
age, when it is proved to be for the inteiest
of France. Far from having any cause tf
complaint, 1 have nothing to say but in
praise oi the attachment and tenderness of
my beloved wife. She has embellished fif
teen years of my life; the remembrance of
them shall be forever engraven on my heart
She was crowned by my hand; she shall
retain always the rank and title of an em
press. But, above all, let her never doubt
my feelings, or regard me but as her best
and deai est friend."
Josephine, with a faltering voice, and
with her eyes suffused with tears, replied,
respond to all the sen;iments of the emperor
in consenting to the dissolution of a mar
riage w hich henceforth is an obstacle to the
happiness of France, by depriving it of the
blessing of being one day governed by the
descendants of that i;rcat man, evidently
raised up by Providence to efface the evils
of a terrible revolution, and restore the al
tar, the throne, and social order. But his
marriage will in no rwpect change the sen
timenta of my heart; the emperor will ever
hnd m me his best inend. 1 know what
this act, commanded by policy and exalted
interest has cost his heart; but we both glo
ry in the sacrifices which we make to the
good of our country. I feel elevated by
giving the greatest proof of attachment that
was ever given upon eerth.
Such were the sentiments, replete with
dignity and gtandeur, which were uttered in
public; but Josephine returned from this
dreadful effort to her chamber of the dark
est woe, and so violent and so protracted
was her anguish, that for six months she
wept so incessantly as to be nearly blinded
with grief. The next day afier the public
announcement to the imperial council of
state ol the intended separation, the whole
imperial lamilv were assembled in the gran
saioon oi me i uiienea tor the legal con
summation of the divorce. It was the 16ih
of December, 1610. Napoleon was there
in all his robes of state, yet care-worn and
wretched. With his arms folded across his
breast, he leaned against a pillar as motion.
less as a statue, uttering not a word to any
one, and apparently insensible of the trage
dy enacting around him, of which lie was
the sole author, and eventually the mo3t nit
iable victim, The members of the Bona
parte family, who were jealous of the al
most boundless influenco which Josephine
had exerted over their imperial brother, M ere
all there, secretly reioicir ft in her disgrace
In the centre of the apartment there was a
small table, and upon it a writing apparatus
oi gold. An arm chair was placed before
the table. A silence, as of death, perva
t i .i . it .
uea me room. Ail eyes were nxed upon
that chair and table, as though they were
the instruments of a dreadful execution. A
side door opened, and Josephine entered
supported by her daughter, Uortense, who
not possessing the fortitude of her mother.
burst into tears as she entered the apartment
and continued sobbing as though her heart
would break. AH immediately arose upon
me appearance oi Josephine, fche wore
simple dress of white muslin, unadorned by
a single ornament. With that peculiar
grace lor which she was ever distinguished,
she moved slowly and silently to the seat
prepared for her. Leaning her elbow up
on the table, and supporting her pallid brow
with her hand, she struggled to repress the
anguioii oi ner soul as she listened to the
reading of the act of separation. The
voice of the reader was interrupted only by
the convulsive sobbings of Uortense, who
stood behind her mother's chair. Eugene
also stood behind his mother in that dread
ful hour, pale, and trembling like an aspen
leaf. Josephine sat with tears silently trick-
ling down her cheeks, in the mute compo
sure oi aespair.
At the close of this painful duty, Joseph
ine ior a moment pressed her handkerchie
to her weeping eyes; but, instantly regain,
ing her composure, arose, and with her voice
of ineffable sweetness, in clear and distinct
tones, pronounced the oath of acceptance
Again he sat down, and with a trembling
I J..t..l .. . o
nana, toon me pen and placed her signature
to the deed, which forever separated her
from the object of her dearest affections and
from her most cherished hopes. Scarcely
had she laid down her pen, when Eugene
dropped lifeless upon the- floor, and was
borne to his chamber in a state of insensi
bility, as his mother and sister retired.
But tliere still remained another scene of
anguish in this day of woe. Josephine sat
in her chamber in solitude and speechless,
ness, till Napoleon's usual hour for ret'uing
to rest naa arnvea. in silence and in
wretchedness, Napoleon had iust nlared
himself in the bed from which he had eiect-
ed the wife of his youth, and his servant w as
waiting only to receive orders to retire,
when suddenly the private door to his cham.
ber opened, and Josephine appeared with
swollen eyes and dishevelled hair, and all
the dishabille of unutterable agony. With
trembling steps she tottered into the room.
approached the bed, and then irresolutely
stopped, and burst into an agony of tears.
ueiicacy a ieeline as if she now had no
right to be dure seemed af first to have
arrested her progress: but. forireLiinir evurv.
icing in me iuuness oi ner grief, she threw
herself upon the bed; clasped her husband's
neck, and sobbed as if her heart had bn
breaking. Napoleon also wept, while he
endeavored to console her. and thev re
mained for some time locked in each other's
arms, silently mingling their tears together.
The attendant was dismissed, and. for an
hour, they remained together in this last pri
vate interview, ana men, Josephine parted
u.cver irom me nusDand she had no lono-
so fondly, and so faithfully loved. : As Jo
sephine retired the attendant again entered,
and found Napoleon so buried in the bed
clothes as to be invisible. And when he
arose in the morning, his tale and ha trtrnr1
features gare attestation of the sufferings of
sleepless night. . ; . . : : I
,At eleven o'clock the next day, Josephine
wns to leav the scene of all her earthly
preuliiess, and to depart from the Tuileries
oi ever. The whole household were assem
bled sn the stairs and in the vestibule, in
order to obtain a last look of a mistress
whom they had loved, and who, to use an
expression of one present, 'carried with her
into exile the hearts or all who had enjoyed
the happiness of access to her presence.'
Jotwphine appeared, leaning upon the arm
of one of her ladies, and veiled from head to
foot. She held a handkerchief to her eyes,
and moved forward Bmid silence, at first un
interrupted, but to which immediately suc
ceeded a universal burst of grief. Josephine,
though not insensible to this proof of attach,
ment, spoke not; but instantly entering a
lose carnage, with six horses, drove rapidly
way, without casting one look backward
on the scene of past greatness and departed
happiness. 1 he palace of Malmaison was
assigned to Josephine for her future resi
dence, and a jointure of about six hundted
thousand dollars a year settled upon her.
Here, alter many months ot tears, she grad
ually regained composure, as time healed
the wound which had been inflicted upon her
leart. It was soon evident that theie was
no surer way of securing the favor of Na
poleon ;han by paying marked attention to
Josephi.ie. She was consequently treated
with the utmost deference by all ths ambas
sadors of foreign courts, and all the crowned
hcad.1 ol Luroj e.
One of the ladies who had been attached
to the brilliant court of Josephine, upon the
fall of her mistress, was anxious to abandon
her, and to revolve as a satellite around the
new luminary, Maria Louisa. To the ap
plication. Napoleon replied in an angry
tone, 'No! no! she shall not. Although
am charged with ingratitude towards Jose
phine, 1 will have no imitators, especially
among the persons whom she has honored
with her confidence and loaded with her fa
Josepiine gives ihe following account of
a subsequent inteiview with Napoleon, at
Malqmuon. '1 was one day painting a vi
olet, a flower which recalled to my memory
my more happy days, w hen one of my wo
men ran towards me and made a sign by
placing her finger uiwn her lips. The next
moment 1 was overpowered. I beheld Na
poleou. He threw himself with transport
into the arms of his old friend. O! then
was convinced that he could still love me
for that man really loved ine. It seemed
impossible for him to cease gazing upon me
and his look was that of the most tender af.
feclion. At length, in a tone of the deep
est compassion and love, he said, 'My dear
Josephine! I have always loved you 1 love
you-suit. Do you anil love me, excellent
and good Josephine? Ho you still love me
in spiti ol the relations I have contracted
and whicli have separated me from you?
But they have not banished you from my
memory. 'Sire, said I 'Call me Bona
parte,' i J he; 'speak to me, my beloved
with the same freedom, the same familiarity
as ever.' Bonaparte soon disappeared, and
I hewd only the sound of his rearing fool
steps. 0! how quickly does everything
take place upon earth. I had once more
felt the pleasure of being loved.'
The repudiation of Josephine, strong a
were the political motives which led to it, is
me earnest siain upon tne cnaracier oi a
poleou. And, like all wrong-doing, how
ever ieeruingly prosperous for a time, it pro
moled final disaster and woe. A pique,
originating in his second marriage, aliena
ted Ale lander of Kussia from the I rene
emperor, and hence, the campaign of Mos
cow, and the imprisonment of Napoleon
upon tins rock of St. Helena. Kins and
Tare t sksswa INiwrr f Frl.
in tho norliern para of Siberia mercury
is sometimes frozen, and the frost must there
reach a point represented by 40 degrees be
low Aero of r ahrenhcit k thermometer
Yv ere such a destructive agent to operate
during one ol our winters, bn gland would
become a desert, trees and shrubs perish
and the ensuing spring cad in vain for in
return of flowers and foliage. But there are
elements in rature which could prodjee,
t it f
were Uiey allowed to com Dine, a lar more
destructive cold than that which reduces th
liquid quicksilver to a hard block of metal
The prewr.it arrangements of the Creator
prevent the union of such powers, but them
ists have produced an artificial combination
of natural agents, from which has ensued a
cold 91 degrees below Zero, and 131 de
grees below the freezing point. J his fata
degree cf cold is caused by a union of two
parts of sulphuric acid with one part of
snow; now, elements are around us, which
could, therefore, make a winter capable of
destroying all animal life in a month. A
frost equal to 10 degrees below Zero pene
trates about two hundred yards into the
ground; but cold of 91 degrees below the
same point must penetrate to a far greater
depth, turning the whole crurt of the earth
into a frozen mass. The consequences of
such a degree of cold on the human body
can scarcely be imagined; but some notion
may be gaiued from the fact, that no metal
ic substance can be touched by the hand,
when the thermometer is 40 degrees below
Zero, without producing a burn like that
caused by grasping a hot poker, so similar
are the effects of extreme heat and extreme
cold. To produce a disorganization in our
globe there is but needed a fresh distribution
of die tcids stored up in nature, but which
are kept in their present safe arrangement
by the agency of an all-wise God. The
cold doc, indeed, sometimes increase to the
very highest point of safety, but it never
quite passes this line, being held, like the
ocean, within its appointed limits, and ex
hibiting, through many seasons, a uniformi
ty which attests the control of some invisi
ble power. Thus in the severest winters in
our latitude the frost docs not penetrate into
ball that depth, as may be proved by placing
a thermometer in the ground during a sharp
frost. The waters of the sens around these
islands tend to preserve it from the highest
rigors of cold, for the temperature of the
British Channel is, even in the winter, not
below fifty degrees, and that of the German
Ocean seldom lower than forty-two degrees
of Fahrenheit. The vast stratum of air
around Great Brittun Is, therefore, warmed
by the ocean in winter, and thus the cold is
continually checked in its intensity.
' ( bharpe t Magazine.
ike Sadism dUetr"'
One of the first settlers in Western New
York, wait Judgo W , who cslabliuhcd
himself at Whitestnwn jbout four miles
from Uticu. He brought his family with
am, among whom was a widowed daugh
ter with an only child a fine boy about
lour years bid. You wiH lecollect, the
country around was an unbroken forest,
and this was the domain of the savage
Judge W saw the necessity of keep-
ng on good ttirms with the Indians, for as
re was alone he was completely at their
mercy. Accordingly he took every oppor
tunity to assure them of his kindly feelings,
and to secure their good will in return.
Several of the chiefs came to see him, and
all appeared pacific But (here was one
thing that troubled him; an aged chief of
the Oneida tribe, and one of great influence,
who resided at the distance of a dozen
miles, had not yet been to see him, nor
could he ascertain tho views and feelings of
the sachem in respect to his settlement in
that region. At last he sent him a message,
and the answer was that the chief would
visit him on the morrow.
True to his appointment the sachem
came; Judge W received him with
marks of respect, and introduced his wife,
his daughter and little boy. ihe interview,
lhat followed was interesting. Upon its re
suit the Judge was convinced his security
might depend, and he was therefore exceed
ingly anxious of making a favorable im
pression upon-the distinguished chief. He
expressed his desire to settle in the country,
to live on terms of amity arid good fellow
ship with the Indians, und to be useful to
them by introducing among them the arts of
The chief heard him out, and then said
'Brother, you ask much and you promise
much. What pledge can you give of your
faith? The white man's word may be good
to the white man, yet it is wind when spok
en to the Indian.
1 have put my life in your hands," said
tho Judge, 'is not that an evidence of my
good intention? I have placed confidence
in the Indian and will not believe that he
will abuse and betray the trust lhat is thus
So much is well,' replied the chief, 'the
Indian will repay confidence with confi
dence, if you will trust, he will trust you.
Let the boy go with me to my wigwam I
will bring him back in three days with my
If an arrow had pierced the bosom of the
mother, site could not have felt a deeper
pang than went to her heart, as the Indian
made this proposal. She sprang forward,
and running to the boy, who stood at the
iide of the Sachem, looking into his face
with pleased wonder and admiration, she en
circled him iu her arms, and pressing him
to her bosom, she was about to fly from the
room. A gloomy and ominous frown came
over the Sachem's brow, but he did not
But not so with Judge W . lie
knew that the success of their entei prise,
the lives of his family, depended on a de
cision of a moment.
Stay, stay, my daughter,' he said. 'Bring
back the boy, 1 beseech you. He is not
more to you than to me. 1 would not risk
a hair of his head. But my child, he must
go with the Chief. Cod will watch over
him! He will be as safe iu the Sachem's
wigwam, as beneath our own roof.'
The agonised mother hesitated for a mo
ment; she then slowly returned, placing the
boy on the knee of the Chief, and kneeling
at his feet, burst into a flood of tears. The
gloom passed from the Sachem's brow,
but he said not a word. He arose and de
parted. I hall not attempt to describe the agony
of the mother for the ensuing days. She
was agitated by contending hopes and fears,
In the night she awoke from her sleep,
seeming to hear the screams of her child
calling on its mother for help. But the
time slowly wore away and the third day
came. How slowly did the hours pass.
The morning waned away, noon arrived;
yet the Sachem came not. There was a
gloom over die whole household. The
mother was pale and silent. Judge IV
walked the floor to and fro, going every
few minutes to the door, and looking thro'
the opening in the forest towards the Sa
At last the rays of the setting sun were
thrown upon the tops of the trees around,
the eagle feathers of the Chief were seen
dancing above the bashes in the distance.
He advanced rapidly aud the little boy
was at his side. He was gaily attired as a
young chief his feet being dressed in moc
casins, a fine beaver skin on his shoulders,
and eagle feathers were stuck in his hair.
He was in excellent spirits, and so proud,
was he of his honors, that he seemed two
inches taller than he was before. He was
soon In his mother's arms, and in that brief
minute she seemed to pass from dca;h to
life. It was a happy meeting too happy
for me to describe.
The white man has conquered!' said the
Sachem; 'hereafter let us be friends. You
have trusted an Indian; he will repay you
with confidence and friendship.'
He was as good as his word; and Judge
W lived for many years in peace
with the Indian tribes, and succeeded in
Conceit is the most contemptible and one
of tho mostodi jos qualities in the world. It
is vanity driven from all other shifts, and
forced to appeal to itself for admiration.
An author, whose play has been damnA
over-night, feels a paroxysm of conceit the
next morning. Conceit may be defined a
restless, overweening, petty: obtrusive me-
chanical delight in our own qualifications,
without any referenco to their real value, or
to the approbation of others, merely because
they are ours, and for no other reason what
ever, it is the extreme of selfishness
folly, 'HazliU, . : -i i ; ittc,
A Prrtlawa Ascrat.
As looked backward Horn the first prom
ontory which turned us iiilo the sen, I sttw (he
Hoop scatteied along the btacb, and the last
baggage camels pacing out from among the
bushes about our camp, sometimes in the
bays we had to go slowly over fieldj of
sand; sometimes to cross the promontories
by steep paths or shelves in the rocks; and
oftener, to cross the water, guiding our cam
els as usual; for the water was clear as the
air. At last we were brought to a stop,
when we agreed that there were two roads,
any. The promontory before us jutted
out too far to make it prudent to take the
water without guidance: and there was be
sides only a stony wadee which looked as if
nobody ever passed through it, or ever would.
So we made our camels kneel, and waited
on our saddles. Others who came up did
the same, till we were a curious kneeling
party. Bishara passed us at length, and led
the way up the stony wtidee. We little
knew what we were entei ing upon; and if
any one had told us that it was the pass to
Wadee Negabad, the words would have
conveyed to us no more thnn they probably
now do to my readers, i he ascending wadee
narrowed to a pass of ste?per ascent, and
the pass to a mere narrow road, and then
the road to a staircase, a zigzag staircase o(
eteep, irregular steps, so completely without
pause that the great anxiety of everybody
was to keep his camel going, because every
one behind was in euspennion, hanging be
tween two steps, so that any stoppage would
be worse than inconvenient. Many would
have been glad to dismount, but they must
not stop even for that moment. The way
was also too narrow for alighting safely.
Une lady jumped off, and then was in a great
agony because her camel resisted being pul
led forward, and there was not room for her
to pass behind to drive it. The next in the
3tring applied his stick to good purpose, so
lhat we were relieved horn our hanging at
titude. During the minute I could glance
behind me, and most striking was the pic
ture of the sandy and stony areas below,
with the long-drawn caravan winding far
beneath and up the steep. Our position
nusthave looked tern he to the hindmost
At the top we found ourselves on a pinna
cle, a mere point, whence the way down
looked more threatening than that we had
passed. I could not allow myself a single
moment here, for the camels were still tai
to nose all the way down, and in the same
way must they descend the tremendous zig
zag before me. Most of the gentlemen con
trived to slip off here, but there was no room
or time for me, in the precise spot 1 occupied
to do so, so I set myself firm in my stirrum
and determined to leave it to my camel how
to accomplish the break-neck descent. On
ly two besides myself rode down the whole
way; and 1 believe we were all surprised
that every one arrived at the bottom in safe
ty. There were a few slips and falls, but
no harm done. 1 ho ridge of a camel is a
great height from which to look down on,
not only the steepest turns of sharp zigzag
on me side ol a precipice, but long slippery
stone steps, in quick succession. I depend
ed altogether upon my stirrups; a pair hung
short over the front peg of the saddle, which
saved the necessity of resting one's foot on
the camel's neck in any steep descent, and
were a great help in keeping one steady.
do not think such a pass as this could be ac
complished without them. Miss Marti
iteau's Eastern Travel.
laying the foundation of a flourishing and
prosperous community. W. Tracy.
"They thai Keek Me Early shall Fia4 He,'
ar w. o. claii x.
of thy years are
Come, while the blossoms
Thou youthful wanderer in a flowery maze
Come, while the rustless heart is bounding light
est, And joy's pure sunbeam trembles in thy
while sweet thoughts, like summer bods
Waken rich feelings la ths careless breast
While yet thy hand the ephemeral wreath is
Come and secure Interminable rest.
Soon will the freshness of thy days be over,
And toy rree buoyancy or soul be flown
Pleasure will fold her winrs and friend and
Will to the embmeee of the worm have foue!
Those who aow love thee will have passed for
Their looks and kindness will be lost to
Thou wilt need a balm to heal thy spirit's fever,
as my sick Heart broods over years to be.
Come while the morning of thy life Is glow
Ere the dim phantoms thou art chasing die
Ere the gay spell which earth is round thee
Fades like ths crimson from a sunset sky.
Life is botshadows, nave a promise given,
I hat lights the future with a fadeless ray
Come touch the sceptre win a hope of Heav
en, Come, torn thy spirit from this world away.
Then will the shadows of this brief existence
Keem airy nothings to thine anient soul '
Aid shining brightly in the-forward distance.
Will, of tire patiant race, appear the goal
Home of tbs weary where ia bliss reposing,
The spirit lingers ia unclouded bliss
Though o'er the dust the curtained grave is clo
ning, . . t
'' Whs would not E41I.T choose a lot like this.
Uriah las llaalla la I rr 1m a Si.
The proptmsity for intoxication among
the people had been remarked from the ear-
best times, hit W . Fettv, who wrote in th
year 1GS'2, when Dublin contained but 6,025
houses, statea 1,200 of them were public
houses, where intoxicating liquors were sold.
In 1793, in Thomas street, nearly every
third house w is a public house. The street
contained 190 houses, and of these fifty-two
were licensed to sell spirits. Among the
upper classes the great consumption was
claret, and so extensive was its importation,
that, in the year 1793, it amounted lo 8,000
tuns, and the bottles alone were estimated
at th. value cf JL'67,000. This fact is de
tailed by honest Butty, the Quaker histori
. f . I . r t i i i
an ui uie couniy oi JJuDiin. uch were
the convivial habits of the day, and so ab
sorbed were Lie people in the indulgence,
that the doctor recommended that port should
be substituted in its place, 'because,' said he,
with quaint simplicity, it would not admi
so long a sitting, a great advantage to wise
men in saving a great deal of their precious
time. In fact, the great end and aim of
lite in the upper classes seemed to be con
vivial indulgence to excess. The rure of
drinking was, that r.o man was allowed to
leave the company till he was unable to
stand, and then he might depart if he coul
"No ovation sly
Nor sober shift, was to the puking wretch
If on any occasion a guest left the room,
biis of paper were dropped into his glass,
intimating the number of rounds the bottle
had gone, and on his return he was obliged
to swallow a glass for each, under the pen
allies of so many glasses of salt and water.
It was the practice of some to have decan
ters with round bottoms, like a modern soda-water
bottle, the only contrivance in
which they could stand being at the head of
the table, before the hoft. Stopping the
bottle -was thus rendered impossible, and
every one was obliged to fill lis glass at
once, and pass the bottle to his neighbor,
on peril of upsetting the contents on the ta
ble. A still more common practice- was to
knock the steins off the glasses with a knife,
so that they must be emptied as fa3t as they
were filled, as they could not stand.
Sketches of Inland Sixty Years Ago.
An Irish Kevel Maty Vrars Aga.
An elderly clergyman of our acquain
tance, on leaving home to enter college,
slopped, on his way, at the hospitable man
sion of a friend of h'13 father for a few days.
The whole time he was engaged with drink
ing parties every night, and assiduously plied
with bumpers, till he sank under the table.
In the morning he was, of course, deadly
sick, but hi3 host prescribed 'a hair of the
old dog.' that is, a glass of raw spirit. On
one night he contrived to ateal through a
back window. As soon as he was missed,
the cry of Stole away,' was raised, and he
was pursued, but effected his escape into the
park. Here he found an Italian artist, who
had also been of the company, but, unused
to such scenes, had likewise fled from the
orgies. : They concealed themselves by ly
ing down among the deer, and so passed the
night. Towards morning they returned to
the house, and were witnesses of an extra
ordinary procession. Such of the company
as were still able to walk had procured a
Hat-backed car, on which they heaped the
bodies pf those who were insensible; then,
throwing a sheet over them, and illumina
ti.ag them with candles, like an Irish wake.
some taking the shafts of the car before, and
others pushing behind, and all setting up the
f L L MI 1 f. . I
irisn cry, inc senswie survivors leu meir de
parted insensible friends at their respective
homes. The consequences of this debauch
were several duels ' between the active and
passive performers on the following day J
, lieMsaaltsj tMsalresl Uartltr.
fl was not an age of peculiar eemestnes,
this limine and Walpole age- but no one
ran be in earnest himself without in some
degree- aircttins oth w. 'I reit.r mber a p.ts-
ioge in the Xicar-of Waktfitld' said John-
son, a lew years alter lis autnor a ceam,
which Goldsmith was afterwards fool enough
to expunge. do not tore a man who is
talous for noUtmg. 1 he words were iit-
e, since the feeling was retained; for the
ery basis of the little tale was a sincerity
and zeal for many tilings. This, indeed, it
was, which, while all the woild was admir-
ng it for its mirth and sweetness, its bright
and happy pictures, its simultaneous move
ment ol ihe springs of laughter and tears
gave it a rarer value to a more select audi
ence, and connected it with not the least
memorable anecdote of modern literary his
tory. It had been published little more than
four years, when two Germans, whose names
became afterwards world-famous, one a stu
dent, at lhat lime in his twentieth, the other
a graduate, in his twenty-fifth year, met in
the city of fciraaburg. I he younger, Johann
VV olfgang Goethe, a law-scholar of the uni
versity, with a passion for literature, sought
knowledge from 'the elder, Johann uott-
neq Ileider, for the course on which be was
noved to enter. Herder, a severe and mas
terly, though somewhat cynical critic, laugh
ed at the likings of the young aspirant, and
roused him to other aspirations, i'roducmg
a German translation of the V icar of II ake
field, he read it out aloud to Goethe in I
manner which was peculiar to him; and, as
the incidents of the little story came foith in
his serious, simple voice, in one unmoved,
unaltering tone, ('just as if nothing of it
was present before him, but ail was only
historical; as if the shadows of this poetic
creation did not affect him In a life-lik
manner, but only glided gently by,) a new
deal of letters and of life arose in the
mind of the listerer. Years passed on; and
while that younger student raised up and re
established the literature of his country, and
came at last, in bis prime and in his age, to
be acknowledged for the wisest of modern
men, he never ceased throughout to confess
what he owed to those old evenings at btras-
burg. The strength which can conquer cir
cumstance; the happy wisdom ot irony
which elevates itself above eveiy object
above fortune and misfortune, good and evil,
death and life, and attains to the possession
of a poetical woild, first visited Goethe in the
tone with which Goldsmith s tale is told.
The fiction became to him life's first reality;
in country clergymen of Drusenheitn there
started up Vicars of Wakefield; for Olivias
and Sophias of Alsac, first love fluttered at
his heart; and at every stage ot his ulustn
ous after-career its impression still vividly
recurred to him. He remembered it when
at the height of his worldly honor and sue
cess, he made his written Life ('Wahreit
und Dichtung ) record what a blessmar
had been to him; he had not forgotten it,
when, some seventeen years ago, standing,
at the age of eighty -one, on the very brink
of the grave, he told a friend lhat in the de
cisive moment of mental development the
V icar of akefield had formed his educa
lion, and lhat he had lately, with unabated
delight, 'read the charming book again from
beginning to end, not a little affected by
the lively recollection' how much he had
been indebted to the author seventy years
before. torslert Life of Ulirer Gold
hours ol Iassuule an.1 soirow I,0ur V5
the 'fretful tir i nprofiiHMe' of ,'";'
ai lu.il world Iiaa Luiur !... . r,: i
D I Oil II i. "
ihe light breakio- mny fro... , .
ee of faroff distance. n.
nd leading the fancy afi. r
into Llysium, or rural groups, ,eveIs
tyrs, or clouds, or face ofpuSvS v V '
serene saint, has arrested the troVl ' i 1 0r
of thought nped.1.
certain pictures which it would be a , i
ure to see commemorated, but wli, h
idental visitor can enter into .1 t-
express to you, said a i,m,t ,t:: . .nr't
statesman of the oresent dav. as J, T'd
the midst of his beaniif.,! . 3 '
,,, j.iLiures, q
uk ficn ju j my leetinjs of
IT. oi resmrafirtr ml. ...i i
i Vi - ' 1" 11,tn' an kv.
val ftf harrav.irr- 1 '
round me here
the slow, quiet
turned his eyes
-And while he
one oi a
w a loresl su tr, , r
rlnpi nni trniart j t, F - "
v. s..v ,k lur a minute or '
silence a silence I was careful not m K .
as il us cool dewy verdure, iu Cr. '
siou, its transparent waters stes,!; -
the glade, bad sent refreshment into 1
Picture Galleries of London.
tm I art's . .,.
Beranger, ihe idol of ihe set.! - ..
been called the only poet inex V,
married. To his Dinnant I
roguun smiie ana ragged pttuu.. i ,
long rejoiced the pays t i
,1. "I. .. .. .
cian grace have charmed for T UVx.,Z
the safonj of our aristocratic hub -V
the fair English girl, who rar. ..' ,
next door to him, and livoS a l:fe i
sion, Cf ntent to wa!( h him in if..? ,.. -
breathe the air wiiith his pre.,. '
redolent of poetry ' N0 t0 lton.. .
he has bestowed his hand ar ,1 hi
so long sought, both so len- cv.-rj ,v'
of the fairest and most diTii -i i( ',
land, upon Mad Hi Jud i.h. L;a V
and cook. Jjondcn Aths.
A Fraltr la Daalia Nisi YrarsiS,
On the, 29th of July, 1784, six bucks
were returning home, after dining with the
Attorney-General, Fiugibbon. As they pas
sed the house of a publican, named Flatte
ry, on Ormond-quay, fhey determined to
amuse themselves by aweaani him, i. e
making him give up all bis fire-arms. They
entered the bouse and began the enterti
ment bj 'pinking the waiter. Mrs. Flat
tery, presuming on the protection that would
be afforded by ber sex, came down to pact
fy them, but one of the party, more heated
with wine than the rest, assaulted and began
to take indecent liberties with her. H
husband, who had at first kept himself con
cealcd, in the hope that his tormentors could
be got quietly out of the house, roused by
the insult to his wife, rushed out and knock
ed the assailant down. The bucks dre
their swords. Flattery armed himself with
a gun, and, aided by the people in the house
and some who came to his assistance from
the street, succeeded in driving them out on
the quay. The bucks, who happened to hold
high military rank, unfortunately met with
some soldiers, whom they ordered to follow
them, and returned to Flattery's house, vow
ing vengeance uu ait me inmates. A mes
sage had been sent to the sheriff. Smith, to
come and keep the peace, but he was able
to collect only five men at the main guard,
and when they reached the scene of the riot,
ii was so violent mat tneir assistance was
quite useless. The spree would probably
have ended in the total sacking of 1- lattery's
house, only for the accidental arriving of
some gentlemen dispersing irom a volunteer
meeting, who wdhngly assisted the sherifi
The 'bucks, however, escaped being arrest
ed. One of them was a noble lord, two
were colonels in ihe army, and the others of
high rank, and aides-de-camps to the Lord-
Lieutenant, the Duke of Kutland. The lat
ter interested himself on their behalf; and
such was the influence of their rank lhat the
matter was hushed up, and th gentlemen
engaged in this atrocious outrage, though all
well known, escaped unpunished. Sketch
es of inland iStxty iears Ago.
Now as to politeness, many have attempt
ed its dcnmtiotw i believe it is best to be
known by description; definition not being
able to comprise it. I would, however,
venture to call it benevolence in trifles, or
the preference of others to ourselves, in lit
tle daily, hourly occurrences in the com
merce of daily fife. A better place, a more
commodious scat, priority in being helped
al table; what is it but sacrificing ourselves
in such trifles to the convenience and pleas
ures of others? And this constitutes true po
liteness. It is a perpetual attention (by
habit it grows easy and natural to us) to Chj
little wants of those we are with, by which
we either prevent or remove them. Bowing
ceremonies, formal compliments, stiff civili
ties, will never be politeness; that must be
easy, natural, unstudied, manly, noble.
And what will give this but a mind benevo
lent, and perpetually attentive to exert that
amiable disposition in trifles towards all you
converse and live with. Benevolence in
great matters takes a higher name, and is
the queen of virtue. Lord Chatham.
Traasjallaslsis; Csjret af 1ctar.
Every good picture, by which I mean
every picture lhat has something good in it,
is not mere surface and color; it has a
countenance, like the countenance of a friend
or lover, of which extent certain expressions
are revealed only to certain eyes at certain
moments. . Then, there are the associations
of long: acquaintance; accidental gleams of
lamp or sunshine have lighted up tho shad
owy nooks, and startled die eye with revela-
?-n"3 ofdden beauty and meaning; or in I
V IV' f :
Abas .Htak( Daar.
ritv m. waish j T,,n,
What lilllflit 1 J. III! if TOMl
Vi hat xl'noU4 J.ii,t ijiv .trt..
Wmilii thy (i n it r;
la love tiulrikjhl.
Aii'l ft-aj-e their H;a l .
Oppression's ea it Dii.;U be m1
With lir..liingdir.1n,f .,,,,',,;
And kiioa lo.'c .u, '
From sho, e to f
Lifjh. on the eye of iuru:l. ;.
All alavrry, warfare, .1:1,; r,
All va-e and cruie in.nt j-;
And nil!' a id t .r.i.
To each man b-.fi,
Be fr- aiwaiTnfi in u
The meanest wretch thai r er "
The deeiwvt sunk in e"il- a-! 1
Might tai j er.it,
In s-lf-resH t.
An J t-haretheteeanin,si.rl
What iriiijht be lon Tl. ra r-e.
Ami tirre than th . mv -utf, ria l,ro
More than the tcn-w.
E'er Mid 01 une.
If men were vw an.l jove-1 f..h .
iinpt rcep. r.
The Meraasl Hina af lb Iksm.
They evidently pass through one, it" r.oi
more stages of existence, prepar:orv -d
their becoming perfect wirgd insect.-..' l:.
the summer, towards evening, it is cir-nui
to see on ihe trunks of the tre. ittc.-. u
any upright thing, a heavy. looking. Li..:,.-.',
backed, brown beetle, an itch-anJ-fi-L.:
long, with a scaly coat; clawed, foUicr-i k?
legs, and a somewhat dirty a?pett, n .5
easily accounted for, when at t ie loot t!':;e
tree a little hole is visible in the turr,
he haj lately crept. I hav MMueiimt cu.j
fully carried these home, and wa:tiitJ v.i.
great interest the poor locust 'shu!i'e
mortal", or rather earthly coil, and i:r.c:.v
into a new wotld. The first syirp:0.u .
the opening of a small silt which . ?
the back of his coat, between t..e
through which, as it slowly gapes 1
fale, soft, silky-looking tejture is -.i b-.
ow, throbbing and heaving backwciil. scj
forwards. Presently, a fire Mj'inre l.-sJ.
with two light red eyes, Las d!ser.i;?:rj
sell, and in process of tune. (ir tl.e
lormation goes on almost
I a ...
this is toi lowed ry the liberation ot p. il
ly body and a conclusion: after vi.'., h :
brown leggings are pulled o:f I ke t J.
and a pale, cream-colored, weak, sou . j
tare very slowly and tenderly walks s.t
from his former self, which rcma:r.s Stirl
ing entire, like the coat of ntnil .fa .3tiU
of old, ready to be encased in tie calx:.:!
of the curious; the shelly plaies of :i.e .
lhat are gone looking after the lost c ':
with a sad lack of speculation' '" iheiii.
On the back of the new-born cieaiur lie t j
small bits of membrane doubled ai d crum
pled up in a thousand puckers l.ke a Lim
erick glove in a walnut shell. Thr-e U i n
to unfold themselves, and gradually spiesd
smoothly out into two larzts beautlii.l cpai
colored wings, which, by the fol'uwir
morning, have become clearly traiia.ti.
whilst ihe body kis acquired iu proper co.t-
aistency and da'tk color; and when pl-icd
on a gum-trele happy thing scon rxi'u
its whirring, creak ing, chirruping sonj, v w h
continues, with little intermission, as loi
as its happy, banale-a life. Mrs. .Vrrf
dith's Aerr South Walts.
New liaas Wfrrrrs. Iaae Arrival 4i s
nisaisMsarltv Caatstreaf" a ftlater.
Intelligence has been received at the
fice of ihe American Missianary A'soclauu
of the safe arrival at Sierra Leone, of Kev.
Geo. Thompson, and Anson J. Carter, n.i?
sionarie on lWtr way to Haw MeiIi.
They sailed from this city in the baik Mj
rio, Captain Brown, April 8, and reachfu
the coast of Africa, May in good Leti!:h.
At Sierra Leone they got tieir first view
of the horrors of the slave tiaJe. A captu
red slaver was brought in while they (
there, and they went on boaid of ter.
There were 500 slaves on board; ten bad
died after her capture: Mr, TluiDpoft
says: "Of all lie sights I ever witnessed,
this is the worst. The deck ta literally
covered with men and women and c hi Lire n,
some lying down, some killing, some stand
ing. Many of them were quite wuall bo
and girls many of thein were mothers, aid
all quite naked. Below were crowded tua
or three hundred, between floors not exceed
ing 2 1-2 feet apart. Men fitting flat on
the fioor, cannot sit up straight, and tLeie
they are crowded in as close as they ran te
jammed; the first row sitting on the flcor
wita their backs against the side or end of
the vessel, then another row sitting in the
same way crowded close in between their
legs, and so on as many as they cin crowd
in. There they sit, week after week, in all
their filth and stench,' and aicknesa and
death!! When I think of mv countrvrotn
engaged in such an infernal traffic, and of
their sending their ship-loads l rum, rxc.
to help on the woik cf degradation ana
death, I know not what to say."
Mr. Thompson and Mr. Carter expected
to proceed immediately to Haw !endi.
Their latest inulliscnce from the uias.oa