Newspaper Page Text
. H - 1 .. I- . r , I 1 I 1 t I . F I J 1 -v . t. J I a K tj f -1 . r 1 . . . .1 -4 13 .t' .14 Jt : Vt;l 11 II II . J - .' A.1 IT II 1
' i .r"" . ' ":"-Vm LipBKTABim patkia.1- ticero. whor liberty dwells, tbeie U mr'CoiiBtry. - ., .,
1 . . I . f . 1 - 1 - a- I . . ' ... . . . - ... . i ' - . .. ' , - . . I t
,' - f rom th Conkel. , f , :
" YesI've fcov'd Uii '' 1vng and Nearly..
Yet, rviW'd lh:ioh ud dearly, . .
i -, - . Thrarfli 'tli lormi of gtlof nnd oe; ( .' - ,
But the heart that (nt ilnccraly, '''
i 1 ''Breaka enea'tii lu'aiiguish now, ; ' 1 - . ' j '
AH the imllea that rairth conWwaken,' ''-: '"'
sieiA a ahadowa cold to me,
a-. Qirs me back the' bower forsakenj :' ' "
?WW y l slnt lit to-thee; enr 'w , '
' ' other lover'a. prayers miymove tboe, .., ( , , ,
'Other eyet inay 'llghl to" bliaiV ', . , ,
But, tan oher boioroa love thee, ' , f '
I -tih More ilnceftljf warm Wan thlif ,' "' ' ,
r !' Other hahdi Hiay yet cares thee, ' ';
till Othe-rgria iaa Wefld whh ihtnej- .' : '!.
tAi Butiv-Wheh cthor oma fum 4hee, ' -4 Wt Jr
;. . ;...tbln1t.o.r ifrSt irdne'
"' Vrii sot Wealth J nor fame, nor eplendor,,' ,
''" 1' "That can wean my heart, from thee; .,,;. (
' "Tb Hot glances warm and tender, ' , " (
J ':That can change the truth In me. ' .
No ithe heart once rudely broken ', '
V 'By lbs 'Masts of grief and pain,' ( ' '
r ' iHiottgh ths tips of Joy have ipoken, ''' ''
Cannot throb with life agalm" r '
Let me go to my home that Is far distant west, .
Ta the scenes of my youth that I lore the best, V;
Where th tall cedars are, and the bright waters flow, '
Where my parents will greet ma white man let me go,
Let me go to the spot where the cataract plays, ' '
Where so oft I hare sported In my boyish days;
And there's my poor mother whose heart will o'erfiW,
At the sight of her child, to her iet me go.. - : i
Let me go to the hills and the' ralleys so fair, ,
Where so oft I have breathed my own mountain air,
And there tnrough the forest with quirer and bow,
I hare chased the wild deer 0 there let me go. .
Let me go to my father by whose valiant side, , ",
So oft I havo sported in the helghth of my prltle. ; ;
And exulted to conquer the insolent foe;
To my father that Chieftain white man let me go. '
-' ' . : u " , : .' ' . ' ' "
And Olil let me go to my dark ey'd maid, : '
Who iaught me to lore beneath the willow shade; . : .
WhosPhrarl's like the fawns, and as pure as the snow -And
she loves her. dear Indian, to her let me go.
And Oh! let me gs to my fair forest home, ' ' .'
And never again will I wisft to roam;
And there let my body in ashes lie low, " '
To that scene In the forest white man let me go. " - i
.....( - From the Lady's Book. ,
-. i- PI T, S. ARTHUR." ' ' . ''
" Didn't sea y oil walking up the street wi h s yonng
lady yesterday, William?' said Anns Enfield to her
brother, Vhs had but a few days before returned from
N. York; after an absence of soma months . .
'Perhips you did; I. was in company with a young
lady in the allernson,' replied the brother. ;, .
Well, whd'wa'i she t I did not soo you until after
you li td j:ised the store 1 was in, and then I could not
sea her Ikce,' ' . ' ."'.
It Wu Oirolin9 Murry; ynu know her, I suppose
'Carolina Slurry r; VVhy, brother ! what were , you
doing' In her Rompanyl'. and Anna's luce expressed tin
feignd astouisliinept. ' . . if -
'Why, reilly, you surprise me, sister I hope there
i no blemish oti her character. . But what is . the mat.
ter 1 I fel concerned te know,' , ,
"There's nothing much the mailer, brother; but,then
C iroline Murry is not ganteol. We . don't think of
kexping her company.' , ' .' - ,
''Indeed ! and Vou don't associate with her . because
she a poft gentoel, . Well, if am any judge of (fen til
ity, Anna, Caroline Murry is about as genteel and lady,
liken any girl I know'.-al ways exceping of course,
my own dear sister. ... ',:.( '. i - ;'
'Why brotheri how you talk I You don't cert ainly
pretend to cmnptre her widi Ernestine Eherly and Ze-
plierine Eitzwilljams, whom yuu have seen here sev -
ewl times Y. j : ..' -. ,; -..- .',' ' rV;'
'No, I do not,' replied the Jirotlier. cmnlialically. v
'Well, they're what I call genioelj and Caroline, itfiir
ry wouldn't be tolerttfld in lle society where they visit.
And wliy notj sjs'tert', A r,,',' V . :
'ilnvii't I told you C because she hot considered
gonieeli that is the reason.'. f'e ( ,, , ,,?.,,'(, ,, z
'But I don't understand what you' consider genteel,
Anna. . If I knnw what gonlility means, Caroline, as
fur as that is eoncerned, is in every way superior to
Ernestine Eberly and Zepherine Ifilzwilliama.' ...
'Nnw, William, that is too bad 1 If any ptherman
h id mid aii to mo, I would never have spoken to him
sgairt as long as Hed.'.' ' ,,,U , . ' , .
. 'Out serloly Anna, what do yot moan by gentili.
ty tasked the brother. , " . ', ', . - - "
'Tlini-s a question, more easily asked than answered,-;
but you know as well as I do, whs is meant 'b7 Sen"
liliiyV ,'verj bod knows. , , ., .
'J krio W what I mean by it, A n na. , Bui i t seems ttiat, ,
we diin'l agree ori the snhjeci; fof, I cal Caroline Mur
ry gonWel and you don't,1 so , you'" see ' that different
things may be called by, tho same name. ', Now, what
I wjsh to know is, what precise, moaning you attach to
the Word 1 or, why you do not think Caroline genteell'.
VVhy, in the first place, she don't, go .into , gentse'
t eorhpatiy. People of the first rank .won't associate
withher,',, .v.l i ':..T
Here ensued a pause, and the brother saidt . s''! i'
X ',Welt, wljy won't they associate with her, Anpa li I
hope she has not beon guilty of improper conduct,'! ":(.:'
4J?rr'0 ,1 ooihing c(fthat.. I never heard the slightest
I reflsc'ion on her charaoter,' replied ' the sister. !But,'
thee, genteel youog la'd.ioi doo't work in the kitchen,
like hired servants, and she does, , And, besidei- this 1
calf pn dor Jvheh yosVwilJ,. and she is always. doing
wmething.- rAVf Iatn told that; h"e ,has even been:
seen a the oliamberwiodows,;' -fronting Ue publio
' street, jwith ljerheadjled upij sweeping and making'
he beds., ;. And tjariiss opigier ;ays lharshe raw nr-
once with the parlor windows open,' sweeping and due;
tin like 4 sortapt 1 ...Nobody is going to asiociato, or
! N E W r U 1 L AD E lPU I A , 0 I O... jj U U RS D A Y E V K N I N
be seen inlhtf strent with any one whii rinsn't tlm apirir--tij.be
afiove,:he conditinn-of a liirolini;, .And; beiiide'.
Ilji, whenever ho was invitnd to lialln or partie',"she
never would slay, later Oian.tu or'leven'0'clntik,whV!li'
every one k hows, to be vulgur,'.;.. Stimobody lud. to ..jrfv
home with her, efcoorjiei cd the ebotoest ban In ;1he ";,
company waf almost sure .to have his'gund nulure and '
: his politeness ted for (bia pnrposo. f Onc I huard her
i say that she consiiiered jhe thontre" an unlit -place' for
any young lady she onendad'the "-wWole oompany.and
has never.been invited to a party among jjenleel people .
since.'t '-j f. . iu -''y '..'
.'And ia that all I,', saidi Wm. Enfield, tuklng etenj,
breath, ,. -V"ff i- i! - ' 'H"i
: JYes, and I-should think that wes.enough, in air con-'
. soieiico,' reulied the sister. , ( , - . '
'Bo should I,, Anns ;(o mnke.ne respect htt.f ; '
' ; !: Why William (li 'LW. Wfe-r-V
rWhyn,!', ..", ,':,, ,'.r.vv2:?)?i -;
Hut seriously, William, you cannot be in earnest 1' i
'And seriously Anna, are you in earnest t' .1 v.. ;
'Of oourse I am,! . , . :.. ; ,;-.Ki. ' -iv
Well eiater, I'm afraid my old fashioned notions, for
; such I suppose you will call them, and your new fan-'
gled notions, for suoh I must call them; will not chime
well together. . All thatl bave heard you allege a'
; gainst Caroline Murry,raiiee instead of towering horin'
my estimation. So far aa a gentle, and truly' lady. like
deportment is concerned, I think her greatly ' superior,
to the two friends you have named as pinks of gentility ;
Anna looked into the face of her brother for some
moments, her countenance exhibiting a mingled1 ex
pression of surprise and disappointment. '
'But you are not going to walk with her in the street '
any more, I hope,' she at length (aid. -
'And why not Annat' ". ' ' -
. 'Because, as I hove aaid before, she is not gen '
'Genteel, you were going to say. But that allegation'
' you perceive, Anna, has no weight wilh me; I do not
onsider it a true one.' '
'Well , we won' t talk any more about it just now,
for it would be no use,' said the sister, changing her
voice and manner ; 'and so I will change tlm subject.
I want yon to make a call or two with me this mur.
ning.'.. , j
'On whom t , , , . . . -, . .
'Un M iss Eberly and Miss Fitzwilliams.
.'It wouldn't be right for me to do so, would it t You
know I don't consider thorn genteel,' aaid the brother
with affected gravity. , ; ;
0 nonBehse, brother 1 why will you trifle sol'
'But, seriously, Anna, I do not consider that those
young ladies have any very strong claims to gontility;
and like you, I hare no wish to associate wilh those
who are not genteel.' . .
. 'If you talk in that way, William, I shall get angry
with you. I cannot hear my most intimate friends spo
ken of so lightly; and, t the same time, accused of . a
want of gentility. You must remember that you are re
fleeting upon your sister's associates. , .
. ,'You must not, and I know you will not, get angry,
with me, sister, for speaking plainly; and you must do
me the justice to believe that in speaking as I do I am
inearneM. , And, you must also remember, that in say
ing what you did or Caroline Murry, you spoke of one
with whom your brother has, associated, and with
whom he is still willing to asaocintn.' .'
' Anna looked very serums at this, nor could she
frame in her own mind a reply that was satisfactory to
her. At last she said ' '
'But, seriously, Brother Wlham, won't you call on
those young ladies with me1'
j 'Yes, on one condition.'. .
, 'Well, what is that f .
'Why, on condition tint you will, afterwards, call
with me, and see Caroline Murry.' ,
'I cannot do that, William.' she replied, in a posi
'And why not, Anna V . '
'I have already told you.'
' '1 cannot perceive the force of that reason, Anns.
Butifyouwillnolgowilh me, I must decline going
wilh you. The society of Miss Murry cannot be more
repulsive to yon, than is '.hut ot the Mimes Eberly and
Fitzwill'ami to me, ' ' ' "
' 'You don't know what yuu are talking about, Wil
liam. . . ' ' ." "-j'"?. " 1 ' ' ' : ' .
'That ia my own impression about yon. Cut cmi:e
now sister, let in both be rational to ench other'. I am
willing to go with you, if you will go with me.
. 'Yes, but William, you don't reflect, that in doing as
yon desire rf.o, I will be in danger of losing my present
position in society, Caroline Murry is not esteemed
gonteel in Ihecirole in which I more, and if it should be
known that I visit her, I will be considered on a lovl
with her. 1 would do any thing to oblige you, but, in
deed, I would "be risking too much here.'
'You would only be breaking loose,' replied the broth
er, 'from the slavery you are no w in to false notions of
what is truly genteel." If any one esteems you less for
being kind, attentive, and courteous, ' to ' one against
whom aU'picion has never dared to breathe a word,
whose life is a bright example of the pure end high'
toned principles "that govern her, that one U worthy tpf
your regard.'1 True gentility does not exist, ' my sister, '
merely in a studied and artificial elegance of behaviour,
eutln inward purity 'and true sense of wl it is right,
all exhibiting themselves in their natural external ' ex
pression. The real lady judges of others from what
they are, and neglocts none but the wilfully depraved.
Trde', Iher'e are distinctions in society, and there are
lines of social demarcation and all this is right. But
We should be careful into what social sphere we aro
drawn, and how we ruffer ourselves to T be" influenced
by the false notions of real worth which prevail in
dome circles that profess a high degree of gentility.'' I
hold lliat every bne;' no mailer what may be 1 his' , eonr
dition in life, fails to acta true part if not 'engaged, in '
doing fomething that is useful;' Letmp put it to your
natural good sense, which do you thiiik the most dosor.
ving of praise, Caroline Murry, who spends her time In
"doing somellnng' useful to her whole; family; or your
ftiends, Iho Misses Eborly and fitzwilliams, and those ,
constituting their particolar circle',' who expect tervice
frorh Olheri, but nover think of rendering any,and who
carry their prejudices so far as to despise those who
woA A..-.; (v;:j. ;:
; Anha'did hbt rtplsnd hejliroiher said ." j
4 '1 ant ir) earnest, iatef,'whon 1'iay, lha'tvdue cannot 1
conferjli grealur favor eryft four brother, than i to go
with him to see Carnlin) Murry. Caniiutl induce you
tu'cnmply with my WlsseaT' " ; 'i"''"'-' '
l will gt? she rtilieJ ti this appeal, and thnn hnr- '
.r ed Viryvyi.Ii;ntfy np tit.e disurbed in lior feeling's;
V 1i(, (ntf an Imdf ah? wai ready, and lakir.g her broth
er's arm was soon pn ttil way ti Miss Ernestine Eb
erly'a residenco. That V Jufls lady received thdm with
all the f races arid' ia-i)noiilil airs she could assume,and -
entertained them witli'thi idle gossip of the day, inter
spetsenV j((iUVah'nccasif)nn sftite of envious and ill-natured
remark-,"'Knowin thnf her lirother was a close
disctimin.ilor, and that hi was by no means prenos-
i gossed iit her friend's favol Anrlj herself observed her '
more narrewiv, ann as u re w"n ins eyes, it
i ed.to her tWat Miss JEberlj'ievefVjs so unin ten
more narrewly, and ai it U'ere with hit eyes.' It secm-
;"plienna Fitzwilliams came next in turn. Scanning her
also with other eyes than her own, ylnna was disap
. pointed in her very dear friend. She looked through
: her," and was pained to see that there was a hollow
nesa and want of any thing like "true strength or excel
. lence of character about her.' Particularly was she d!s
pleHsod at a gratuitous sneer thrown but at tho expense
of Caroline Murry. ' ' ' ' . ' .
And now with a reluctance whichhe could not b
yerenme. Anna turned with her brother, towurds the
residence of the young lady who had lost caste, because
i she had good sense and was industrious.
I know my sister's lady-like character will prompt
her to right action, in our next call,' 'said . the brotheri
looking into Anna's face with an encouraging smile.
She did not reply, yet she felt somehow or. other
; pleased with the remark, A few minutes' walk bro't
- them to tho door, and they wore presently ushered
into a, neat parlor in which was the joung lady they
were seeking. She sat near a window, and was sew
ing. She was plainly dressed in comparison with the
young ladies just called upon; but in neatness, and in
all that constitutes the lady in air and appearance,
in every way their superior.
'1 believe you know my sister,' aaid Enfield, on pre
sen ting Anna, .
We have met a few times,' she replied, with a
ploasant unembarrassed smile, extending at the same
time her hand. j
Miss Enfield took the ofiered hand wilh less reluc
tance than she had imagined she could, but a few houra
before. Somehow or other. Caroline seemed to her ,to
be very much changed for the better in manner and ip
pearance. And she could not help, during all the visit,
druwing conttnsts betwoen her and the two very dear
friends she had just called upon: and the contrast was
in no way favorable to the latter. The conversation
was on topics of ordinary interest, but did not once de
generate into frivolity or cenaoriutisness. Good sense
manifested itself in almost every sentence (hat Caroline
uttered, and this waa so apparent to Anna, that she
could not help frequently noticing and involuntary ap
proving it. 'What a pity,' Anna once or twice re
marked to lie'sel!; 'that she will oe so singular-'
The call was but a brief one. Anna, parted with
Caroline under a different impression of I er character
than she had ever, before entertained. A Her her return'
with her brother, ho a.ked her thiit abrupt question.
Which of the young ladies, Anna, of the three we
called upon this litis morning, would you prefer tu call
your sinter 1' ,
Anna looked up, bewildered and surprised, inlo (he
face of her brother, for a few momenta, and tlien said:
"I don't understand you, brother William.
'Why, I thought I asked a very plain question. But
I will make it plainer. Which one of the three young
ladies we called upon this morning, would you advise
me to marry t' - .;. ,,' . ., ..
' Neither,' replied Anna, promptly.
, 'Tlml is on'y jumping the queaUou,' he naid, smiling.
Rut to corner you imi that there can be no escape, I wiH
confess that I linvo innilo up my mind to marry one of
thetliree. Now te' me which yuu would ruther il
wou'd be.' , . . j
? 'Caroline Murry,' said Anna emphatically, while her
cheeks burned, and her eyes became slightly suffined.
: William Eiifiel.t did lint reply to tie hoped for, though
rnlher unexpected udmission, but stuoping down, he
kiiHod her g'owinjrclinek, and whinpnre l in her ear,
: 'Then she yha'l be your sister, and I know you wi"
love one. another.'. ' -i
He said truly. In a few months ho claimed Caroline
Murry as his bride, and her good sense and winning
gentleness of oliarni'ter, influenced Ann, and effectually
counteracted the fa'so no'ions which were beginning to
corrupt a good heart and tu overshadow a sound judg
ment. . It svw not hing before slm was fully seireiblo of
the real difference which there was between die char
acters of her two friends; and that of her brother's wife:
and also between true and false gentility. Although
Carotiro Murry had been proscribed by a certain circle
ir. which fu'se pride, instead of principle was the gov
erning motive, she' had sit" oeen esteemed among those
who know how to look beyond the surface. , As the
wife of Enfield, she at once took a position . in circles
whore those who had passed her by us unworthy would
have sought in vain for admission, and in those circles
she shone as 1 bright particular slur. ' .
, "My dear, you uo too much butter on your bread,"
said ljdy who had been married late in life, to her:
husband; they will not niako butter ' (or less than 25
cents a pound nnw-a-days." '. ' " ' '
- 'I do not know what iheymaAe' it for,'. .answered
he, ''but liuy it to est upon my bread.' , ,
; : REWARDING BRAVERY. ; ; ;
: It would often be better not to attempt lo reward a
brave aolion than to reward it ill. ' A soldier 1 had his
two arms carried off at his wrists by shot. His 'Colo
nel offered him a dollar, "ft was not my gloves but
my hands that I lost, Colonel,' aaid the poor soldier re-,
proaohfully. r ' ' ' -
A fair txpeelatton.'"l am instructed ta inform you '
that Air. Brown expeots the money to-morrowl". said
a messenger from an impatient creditor, to-A, dilatory
debtor.. ''-": v . ;' ' ,' ' -i' '.,-,'"
"Well, if he don't get it, tell, him to 7(Cf'e? eayec- '
ting'.'.' ,vu thb cool reply ',' i t ,f-v t ,.
Aiublitnttruth, his impossible for aV additional
blade of corn to sprinff from the earth, tor a new nrn.
duct to be created by industry, JV a new fact to be dis j
resulting through tho whole ehaift f etoil'zed onhoxV
O J Urt E I?! I84i;'f L.'-- .
THE IDIQT AND THE BEAUTY.
From a review, in Tail's Magazine, of Mr. Combe's.
Notes on the United Starel, We quote, an inlere'ling
p-issHge descriptive of the iiiickomng effects produced
on an idiot's mind. by his. hnbita of daily intercourse
Willi a beautiful young girl. . V!-'..
"In the courso of converMtion, a case was mention
ed to mo as having ocdur red in Ilia experience of a
highly respectable physician, and which wa so hilly
auihenlieated that I entertained no doubt of its truth.
The physician alluded to had S patient, a young uau,
who was almost idiotic from the suppression of all his
faculties. ' He never spoke, and never moved volunta
rily, but sat habitually with his hand shading his eyes.
The physician sent him to walk as a remedial measure.
In the neighborhood beautiful young girl of sixteen liv
ed wilh her parents & used to see the young .nan in hii
walks, aud speak kind to him. . For some time he took
no police of hot, but,, after meeting her for sey"iK
months, he began toJotk for W, and to- feel dii.j;.
pointed if she did not appear. 'He become so much jn-'
terestcd that he directed his steps voluntarily loiter
father's collage, and gave her bouquets of flowers. Uy
degrees he conversed wilh her through the window
His mental faculties were aroused; the dawn of conval
escence appeared. The girl, was virtuous, intelligent
and lovely, and encouraged his visits when she was
told that she was benefiting his mental health. She
wrote some lines to him to induce him to learn, lb is
had the desired effect. He applied himself . to study,
and soon wrote good and sensible lettlers to ber. Ho
recovered his reason. She was married to a young
man from the neighboring city. Great fears were en
tertained that ibis event would undo the good she had
accomplished. The young patient sustained a severe
shock, but his mind did not sink under it. He acqui
esced in the propriety of her choice; continued to im
prove, and at last was restored to his family cured.
She had a child, and wastoon afterward brought tn
the same hospital perfectly insane. Die young man
heard ofthis event, and was exceedingly- enxious to
see her, but an interview was denied to him; both on
her account and his own. She died. lie continued
well, and becamo an active member of society. What
a beautiful romance might be founded on this narrative!
. THE SEXES, .
The finger of God himself has marked out the line
which seperates the impulses, the habits, the character
of the two sexes: Man has vigorwoman refinemont;
man has the power of abstraction wo:nan rarely pos
sesses it; man is the creature of calculation woman of
impulse; man is oapahle of deep research, lie proceeds
slowly and cautiously, measuring every distance, and
counting every atep of his progress woman bounds a
long with rapid foot, observing the most prominent ob
ject in her path, and from them forms conclusions of
ten erroneous, but al wiys ingenious. The intellectual
faculty in man is usually concentrated in woman it is
diffused; men of genius commonly devote- themselves
to some one favorite pursuit women ofgenius are re
markable for their versalality. Man has the more eors
rect judgment woman the more correct feelings. He
has a knowledge of right which be ollen forgets she a
consciousness of it which never forsakes her, even
in the midst of crime; man possesses the stronger pas-. -sions
woman the stronger affections; man has bold
ness woman fortitude; man can perform heroic deeds
woman can endure the extreme of atifferinu: man has
the more physical daring womah the more moral ceur
age: man controls others by the force of Ins churaclei
woman influences by the gentleness of hers. In a word,
the relative position of the sexea is fixer! beyond all
change; their respective duties are well defined. Man
has been given the weapons of moral and ineuta! war
fare, that he may go nut into the world, jikI do battle
with and for his fellows while on woman is bestowed
that skill in moral and mental culture which en.ibles
her to improve the field of duty at home. '
, . EMPLOYMENT.
Men when driven and oerplexed by the labors and
cares of a busy lilt-, often long for rmn employment and
ease aud think if they could only attain tnsuch astute
they should certainly find happiue. But this is a
great mistake in any man who indulges the idea. ''I
have lived," said the indefatigab'e Or. Clark, "to know
tint Ihe igrent secret of human happiness is this; never
snll'er your energies to stagnate. The old adne of 'too
many irons in the fire,' conveys an abominable false
hood. You cannot have too niany--p hnr, tongs, and
all-keep them all xgoing, nnd you will be the happier.
. A CANDID ADMISSION.
'T am not an Irishman myself,' said a stump orator
recently, while haranguing o political meeting in the
West, where the majority of hearers were Irishmen, I
urn nut an Irii-hman .nysalf, I say, but I can safely as
srt that my ancestors, on 'joth the paternal and mater
nal side, were extremely partial to the Irish character.
Indeed, I ran go so fur as to say that had an aunt who
teas extremely fond qf Irish potatoes, (cheers.)
Good Advice." Consider no man capable of insulting
vu who is mean enough to attempt it. In this you
have the decided advantage, for whilst, by the insult,
he acknowledged yon worthy of It its notice, you by
your neglect pove him unworthy ofyours.
Orig'W op "Turncoat1" The puke of
Savoy look inrliflerenily sometimes the "part
of France and sometimes (hat of Spain. For
ilii purpose he had a clone coat, while on
one side and scarlet on the other; no t net
when he meant to declare himself for France,
he wo e the white outside, and when for
Spain, he turned it end wore the red. This
ie the oriein of ihe phrase "turncoat-" . v
Breach- op Pp.0MlSE.--The .. 0, Picayune
in noticing a breach of marriage promise ense,
has the following very appropriate remark)-;
Thee breaches of marriage promises are
vile humbugs wc say it with all proper rever
enc for womankind. She whose broken and
bleeding heart can bo mended by an applica
tion of copper, can bo no great shakes-,
Them's our sentiments, exactly. c ; , y ;..
Exquisite.. In Hungeiford market, a. lady;
laying her hand on a joint of veal, said (o
the butcher , 'I think Mr. S. this veal is not
aa white as usual." 4,Put'on your glove, ma,,
dam', replied the pottle dealer, "and you'll .
think differently." ' .r .
'Tcan't paint, but I can draw," as the
Spanish fly said to the artist;' ' ' " i :
; ' ' '- -. y;-':,:-:.-S.
We like to aee younr men and eirls starinir"
at each other in church, it bIiows a disposition :
ii udj. mo. vuuuuoim -.iei us iovb one anoihef.
"'Tissaid that absence conquers love, but
I believe it not," as the tokfer saidwlien look-
iog into an empty turn jug.
CoNNUftDBui..-Wuy i a side-saddle like a
four quart raeasurel BBansB-ir---,-
i6L.2 0"2i; WHOLE NO' 'it
u ST2IB KBOICEN HEAIXT.
BY G. D, PBE5TIC1. - ,X
1 have seen the infant sinking down, like ft "t'..,. '
stricken flowHr to the grave the strong 1 man '
fiercely bre"thing out his'soul'on'the field f "
battle the miserable convict standing, udou
the scufToid wiih a dead curse quivering oil 1 r i
his lips,1' I liave yiewed death in all- it forms)
of darkness i nil vengeance, with a i ' tearless '
eye- but I never could look' oil'' woroatn',ajX'
ding away from ihe earth in beautiful and jtV----j .-vj p
romplatinng melancholy, 'without feeling 'IbB'jt- i
very fountains of life turned Clears and dtist, . ;
Death is always terrible buf when a form of ' " ' ' f
aii!e1 beauty ie nasaine off to Uio' silent land . ' t.
of sleepersj.lh'e heart vfeeW thaf Tionietblngt if.
(OTBiy IS CBI41H(4 II O DJIOICIHir, llliu "UivnillbBl, , j,
with a sene of utter desolation, '.oer the, '
lonely thoughts that come 7up ' like, ;pec Ires"' ; J-
fro n the graves tohaunt our micjiitgM musings (
; Two yffars tgo I took up tny residence in a, . f
country village in the eastern , par of, JVew.. f
England. Soon afier my arrival y toeame ;.v ' , 'f
acquainted with a lovely giri, apparently 'j
bout seventeen years of age. She had lost.lhe , (;
idol of her purest love, and the shadow Of deep ,
sod holy memories rested like, the wing, ef-u I
death upon her brow, 1 first met her tn; the,
presence ofthe mirthful she was iudeed a '
creature to be worshiped her brow was gar
landed by the young year's sweetest, flowers
nor yellow locks were hanging beautifully
and low upon her besom, and she moved ,
through the crowd with such a floating .un- .
earthly grace, that the bewildered gazer look
ed almost to see her faint away in the air, like
the creation of some pleasant dream She
seemed cheerful and even gay, but I saw that
her gaiety was hut the mockery of her feeling".
She smiled, but there was something in thet'
smile which told that its mournful beauty we
but the bright reflection of a .tear and her
eyelids at times closed heavily down, as v
struggling to repress the tide of agony thai
wasbursing up from her httart's secret - tirn.
She looked as if che could have left the scene
of festivity and gone out beneath the quiei
stars, Bnd laid her forehead down upon th
fresh green earth, and poured out her stricken
soul gush after gush, till it ming'ed 'With the
eternal fountains of t'o and purity. '. -; .
Days Bud weeks passed op, and that-swert
girl gave me her confidence,, and 1 became t v
her as a brother. The smile upon ber ' Deck
grew visible, ai d the cadence of her, voice be-. ,
came daily more weak and tremulous.. On s ,
quiet evening in June, 1 wundeied out with brr
in the open air. It was then that She firft told
me of ilio lale of her pacsion, end ofthe blight,
thai came down Ifke a mildew upon her. life, .
love had been a portion other exiateDce.'
lie tendrls had been t wined r'.'und her heat.t ;
in its carli'M yeer : and when they were away ,:
it left a wound which flowed till all the springs
if hnr soul were blood. "I am passing away "
xaid bhe, "and it should be . so- The winds
have passed over my lifa, and'the bright bud
of hope and the sweet uloaaOm of passion, are 1 '
scattered down and tie withering in the dust,- '
And yet I cannot go down among the tombs -
without a tear. It is hard to take leave of
friends who love me; il is very hard to bid fare-' '
well to those 3ear scenes with which I have
held communion from childhood, and which '
from day to' day have caught Ihe color of my
life, and sympathized with its joys and . sot
rows The little grave, where I bave so often
strayod wilh my buried love, and where, at ,y
times, even now, the sweetest tones of bis
voice seem to come stealing around . me, till ' ,
the whole air becomes ; one intense and
mournful melody; the pensive star in which I
can siill picture bis form looking down upon
roe, beckoning me on (o his own bright home
every flower and rjvulet, 0B which ur early
love has set bis undying seal,-, have, become
dear tome, and I cannot without a sigh .close
my eyes upon them forever ;
I have lately heard that the. beautiful girl .
of whom I have spoken, is dead. t The close
of her life, was as the -falling of , a quiet . .
siream gentle as the sinking of the breeze
that lingers for a time around a bed ofwilh- ;
eting roses, and then, dies as it were from
very sweetness. - .,
' It cannot be that earth is. man's enly abid'-
ing place. It cannot be that our life is a bub- i
bie cast up by the ocean of eternity to float
a moment upon the wave, and then sink into , ,
darkness and nothingness., Else why is H that ,
the aspirations which leap like angels fiora tho
temple , of our hearts are forever wandeiiog
abroad unsatisfied. Why is it that. the stars .; r.
which hold their festivity arouod .the midnight .- u
throne are set so far above the? reach of out , ,
limited faculties forever mocking us by tbeut'i'i'i
unapproachable1 glory? And .finally. wh is it '"
, that bright forms of htimaii beeuiy are presenW
ed to our view and then taken, fromus,,! lear'l "
.ing the thousand streams of ( our affection Oim'4 .
flow'back cold and alpine torrents , upon i OUH.nsi t
, hearts?., . We are born for a higher; .destiny smt V
than that of earth, - There isit,. realm - whersttj.Jt
the rainbow never fades-y-where the lands that ta
slumber is the pceap and where the heauiifuAi;,V;,
beings thathero pass before us . like ,rviBion8t::i9 j
stay in pur presence , forever. Bright cre n
ture ofmy dresms.' in that realm 1 shalL eej.tia
thipe again. - Even now thy lost image is some-
vtirnes wi(h me.." In the mysterious silence of-,' v'
of, midnight when the streams ire gjowin'g'in '
,the light of the many stare, thy image combs
.floating upon the dreams that I'mgor-1 erduril -''
my pillow, and stands before ma in 1 its-1 pala ''9
dim loveliosss, till itsOiet spirit sinks lito1 ! u
' t spell from heaven upon my tbou-hta.nncl tho n
Srtei Of Veara la tnrnnrl In Hr.nm. f l,U."-
cess and peace.
0 t ' .... I J Miviii.iV VI VlVf