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| A Journal of Political and General News—An Advocate of Equal Rights. V0L- vr~_BATH, MAINE, THUBSDAY MOMIHC, 1UNB 17. 1852. ^ @|fc? Ssivfaritt ©JMtrsis IS PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY MORNING BI GEO. E. NEWMAN. Office in North end of Piercb’s Block, third story, cor ner of Broad and Front Sts. TERMS.—One dollar and fifty cents per annum,if paic STRICTLY IN advance; one dollar *eventy-n\e cent; within six months ; two dollars, if payment is delayed tc the end of the year. » _ . . fr Any person who will send us five good subscribers, shall be entitled to a cepy of the paper for one year. HT No paper will be discontinued until allarrearaget art paid, unless at the option of the publisher. JZT All letters and communications to be addressed posr paid, to the Publisher, Bath, Me. U* Single copies, four cents—lor sale at the office, and at Stearns’ Periodical Depot, Centre St. Advertisements inserted at the usual rates. S. M. Pettengill «fc Co., Newspaper Advertising Agents, No. 10 Slate Street, and V. B. Palmer, Scollay’s Building, Court street, Boston, are Agents for this paper, and are authorized to receive Advertisements and Subscriptions for us at the same rates as required at this office. Their receipts are regarded as payments. • Gr E. B. Simonton, the General Newspaper Collect ing Agent for this StatP, is authorized to collect our bills. Office in Augusta, over the store of Messrs. CaldweH 6c Co., with A. R. Nichols, Esq.—residence at Brown’s Corner, Me. THE STORY TELLER. From the Drawing Room Companion. THE FATE OF THE SEA GULL, OR, A SAILOR’S COURAGE. CHAPTER I. THE PARTING LEYEE. 44 Mv berk is out upon the sea, The ino n’s above j Her light a presence seems to me, Like woman’s love. My native land 1 leave behind, Afar 1 roain j In or her lands few hearts I’ll lind, Like those at hone !” A rakish and staunch little schooner was the Sea-Gull; and, as she lay at anchor off C-, on a beautifully clear October night, her graceful bearing and saucy contour was cause for oft repealed remark and commendation from those who looked upon her from the shore, or * those who chanced to pas* her upon the wa ter. The atmosphere, on the occasion to which 'We'now ajlode, was singularly crisp and clear. A ligiht breeze from the southwest rippled the water, and in the tiny waves were reflected, in myriad shapes, the brilliant effulgence of the harvest-moon, which rode high in the heavens, •and shed a calm and beautiful light on the scerfe below. An occasional strain of music was heard amid the evening breezes, wafteJ away from the shore—at limes, soft and bewitching, anon, 'full and startling in tone and volume. The slender rigging of the schooner had been taut ened up, the hull and deck shone bright and clean, the tapering spars were admirably adap ted for beauty and utility to the narrow and sharp-prowed model of the 1m 11, and everything seemed in readiness for departure. But she now lay quietly at anchor, like a sleeping bird, on the bosom of the slightly raf fled waters. The Sea-Gull was shortly des dined to be upon the wing, however; and she but awaited the coming of certain parties on shore, to avail of the favoring wind and pul to sea. Within the brilliant halls of an old mansion, located scarcely a mile distant, there were gathered, at this moment, a gay party of Eng lish gentlemen and ladies; and among the company were a few foreigners of rank and distinction. Of . those first named was a young gentleman of modest and retiring ap pearance, genteely but simply attired, whose conversation and apparent general information had been cause for repeated remark during the night—now far spent. And as the com pany were ahout to retire, the desire seemed to be more and more eager to cultivate his ac quaintance, or to know exactly wh^ and what he was. ‘Lowden, Lowden?’ remarked a titled personage to a friend, the name of Lowden 1 have heard before, but I think it no common name.’ ‘ No,’ was the reply ; ‘and your lordship will also acknowledge that the yonng man who an swers to it, yonder, is oot a common youth, either.’ ‘ You are right, Weston—right. He is yonng—’ ‘ Scarely three and twenty, I should say, my lord—at furthest.’ ‘Well, lie is a very extraordinary person, surely. Did you mark, to night, in spite of his exceedingly modest demeanor, how he drew around him a circle of admirers?’ ‘ Certainly, my lord.’ ‘ Yes ; and those of the highest grade too.’ * 1 could”not but observe this.’ ‘ And was this all you noticed, Weston ?’ ‘ AH, my lord ; that is, all—all of general interest, i mean.’ * Exactly, so I suspected.’ ‘Suspected, my lord!—what did you—a— suppose—I mean, suspect?’ ‘ You observed among the admirers of Low den, the ladies were foremost?’ * Were they ?’ 1 Ha, ha! my young friend, come ! Let us understand each other.’ ‘ With all my heart. What do you suspect however, first—if you please?’ ‘ Well, then, Weston, I have been about the world a good deal, and old bachelor as I am, you know I am privileged to close observance of the conduct of the sexes whom 1 meet and desire to know. I will tell you what I sus pect—’ inj loro, Biiuuieu a sweei, uuuu;mu» *»u,c behind the two speakers, at this moment, ‘ my Lord Workley! 1 pray you rally our good friend Weston, here—and let us know what it is that has caused him to exhibit such a degree of ennui, to-night. Good Mr. Weston, praj tell us, have you lost a friend! Has anything occurred here that should so elongate that coun tenance!’ continued the fair speaker, archly, ai she seized upon the arm of the gentleman ad dressed—‘come, confess! Upon my word, never knew you so dull.’ Weston laughed, and apologised for hi seeming stupidity ; but he felt very little bette after it. He offered the lady his hand at one for the waltz, however; and, as gaily as h< could do it, he whirled away amid the maze o the dance, with his beautiful and lively vounj hostess, who, in common with the rest, hat not lost sight of his dullness. At each successive turn up and down th long and elegant parlor, -he encountered a fig nre upon which his gaze was riveted—ah, hov earnestly and continually ! He saw but tha form, he watched but that soft, sweet face, hi heard only that rich, ringing voice, as the mu sic of her laugh floated by him ! She was thi star of the evening, and Weston was madly it love with her—the graceful, joyous, bcautifu Bel Truffini. ‘ Bel Truffini!’ She was of Spanish origin it was said, but had been educated in Eng land. Her age might have been eighteen, o may be nineteen ; she was tall and majestic it farm, her raven black hair hung in a rich clu» ter of massive curls over her full white shoul ders ; and though her dress was simple, yet a magnificent diamond necklace clasped her throat, twin bracelets of the same costly jewels encircled her round arms, and a girdle of heavy pearls clasped her taper waist. Bel was the heiress in prospect to a large fortune, it was also hinted; and, of course, she was surround ed and petted by flatterers and the sycophants of fashion. The belle of the evening whirled down the saloon again, followed by the eyes of the whole assemblage. ‘ By Jove !’ exclaimed the blunt old bachelor, ‘she waltzes like a sylph !’ But Bel knew nought of all this admiration ; she had no ambition to excel in the dance, she entertained no jot or title of vanity in her com position. Nature bad made her what she wns, and, in heji guileless innocence, she never dreamed that she was beautiful; she never aim ed to captivate the hearts of the sterner sex, in order to gratify a pride of doubllul charac ter. Neverthless, she glided easily, gently, ma jestically through the figure, and Weston for got his partner, the occasion, himself—every body but the form of her who had thus bewil dered him. And who was he that bore the lovely being so gracefully along ? Whose arm was that which now clasped her delicate zone? Whose hand was it that rested at her side ? And whose were the eyes that gazed directly upon her glowing cheeks, as the handsome couple floated down the hall once more ? Weston wa3 giddy—confused —almost delirious. Poor fel low, he was, indeed, in love ! Half an hour afterwards this young gentle man stood beside the old bachelor again. ‘ As I was saying, Weston,’ continued the latter, ‘ it is plain that you fancy the young Spanish belle, yonder. And well you may I for, by my truth, I never saw her match. But, have a care, my flue fellow. I was a young man once, myself; and I am not so old now, even, but that there is a chance that I may be ensnared. So, have a care.’ * Is she not a lovely creature?’ ‘ You say right—she is; but she is not for you, Weston.’ * How then ?’ ‘ How P As plain as the nose on your fine ► face, my boy.’ * Explain, my lord.’ ‘ Cheerfully, will I. Do you note the youth we spoke of an hour since?’ ‘ He in citizen’s garb?’ ‘ The same. The women have rivalled each other constantly, to-night, to obtain a word or a smile from that same young man ; and a princely fellow he is, I'll warrant you.’ * And you think — that—the lady favors hiinP asked Weston, earnestly. ‘ Aot a doubt of it, my boy.’ ‘ Aod why should she ?’ * That is a question of your own asking. In reply, let me ask why has it occurred that that same youth has to-night drawn about him the most unequivocal and marked attention of all the older heads in the hall—the men as well as the softer sex?’ * ‘ Such is the fact, I know.’ ‘ Yes. Weston, I have never met the person yet, I say, who, at his age, was master of so many subjects, who talked so readily, and who appeared to such advantage. He is in com mand of the little schooner in the stream, and is hound off, anon, I learn. But hist! he’s coming this way.’ CHAPTER II. THE VOYAGE. As the two gentlemen moved aside, a well formed man, but little past his majority in years, apparently, approached them, in com pany with half a score of ladies and noblemen. His voice was pleasant in its tone, but heavy and rather masculine than otherwise. Ills movements were dignified and decorous, and upon coming nearer he proved to be very come ly in his features. He crossed the apartment, and was presented by his hostess to his lord ship and young Weston. ‘ Ah !’ thought the latter, as he took the stranger's hand, ‘ he is a noble fellow, to be sure.’ There was so much frankness, of unassum ing dignity, of mildness and generosity in his countenance, the first address of Charles Low den always caused a favorable impression, wherever he appeared. Weston forgave him in his heart, at the out set ; but he very deeply envied him his pros pective happiness, nevertheless. • I have just learned,’ said Weston, very glad notwithstanding his envy, to show the young officer that he didn't feel very badly ; ‘ I have just heard from hi» lordship, here, that you are in command of the pretty little craft in the stream.’ 4 \es 6ir, said Lowdei» ‘ and am bound off in the morning.* * 4 So soon V ‘ Yes’ wi,h lhe day]'ght if possible, should the wind favor us.’ : ‘ Your visit is a brief one,’ continued Wes ton, not at all sorry, by the way, that it was 1 1 so. j ‘ Yes. We sailors must make the most of t the favoring weather in these latitudes. Our : business here is nearly completed—in fact we s only await the pleasure and convenience of the i charming Lady Truffini, to spread our sails to f the breeze.’ ; ‘The Lady Truf—what—’stammered out 1 young Weston, hardly conscious of what he was saying. ; ' I allude to the beautiful belle, who has so - charmed us all here to night.’ r ‘ What are you to do—that is, what do you t mean to do—’ t ‘ Mean V Nothing—only that she is to be a passenger with us to the northward, that’s all: s and we now only await her pleasure to sail i hence.’ I ‘You don’t mean to say that the lady is go ing to leave us, surely !’ continued Weston, , exposing himself, momentarily, and causing his lordstiip a good hearty smile, for the mo - merit. ‘ O, yee ; that is the occasion of orir -visit here. We touched at this place for the ex press purpose of receiving this lady on board.’ ‘ I have never heard of this,' said Weston, warmly. ‘ Why should you?’ innocently asked the officer. At which sharp query, his lordship laughed outright, and Weston was deeply an noyed. ‘ Her ladyship is not a resident here,’ con tinued the youthful officer, ‘ as you are proba bly aware. This is her last visit, and on the morrow she will bid adieu to your hospitable shores.’ Weston immediately made himself as un comfortable as a love-stricken swain could well do; but the parting hour came at length, and the brilliant company separated. At sunrise next morning, a tiny little boat was drawn up at the gangway, into which the master of the Sea Gull stepped, attired in his best shore suit of Black ; and a brace of oars quickly glistened in the rays of the early sun, as the barge put away to the shure. The Lady Bell was already awaiting the arrival of the boat, and alighting from the carriage in which she had been borne to the landing, she courteously accepted tbe prof fered baud of Lowden, who assisted Iter to 0 seat in the stern of the barge. She was ac companied by two female attendants, who were also provided for ; and after an affec tionate leave taking of a few friends who came to see her depart, the order was given, and the boat vviili its choice burthen returned to the schooner. There were nlrendy on board three or four oilier passengers, bound tn the same destina tion with tier ladyship; and, in a sltori space of lime, the sails were set, and the Sea-Gull was dashing away befuie a singing breeze, homeward bound. Upon meeting at the table, subsequently, the passengers counted half a score—among whom were the Lady Truffioi and her two companions, a Frenchman anil his wife, and an Englishman. The French passenger was a querulous, excitable, and talkative fel low ; and the foremost of the English party was an oberbearing, • ill-bred personage who very often forgot himself and the company lie was in. Nothing seemed to afford him so much gratification as it did to teuse»and rally Ins Fiench neighbor, who, at times, became very spicy and personal in bis re torts. It was ilie fourth day nut, and tbe passen gers were anticipating tbe happiness ol reaching their destination within ihe next four atiil twenty hours. The passage had proved a very fortunate one, up In this time, lull during the morning of this day itie wind bad been unsteady, anil die at mosphere bail assumed n Imzy aspect by mid day. The little party met once more to dinj.— Some incidents tit the field of Waterloo bail been narrated, in bis own way, by the bully ing Englishman, and in Ins customary of fensive manner to which the French gentle man replied with unusual tartness, when the captain of the schooner, who presided at the Mile, cliei ked tbe speakers. The Englishman immediately suggested that Lowden bad no right to interfere. ‘ You are on board of my vessel,’ said the captain, firmly, but respectfully, ‘ami you are using language ill tbe presence of ladies, here, winch is ill-liined and annoying to them.’ ‘The insult was offered here, and here I resent it,’ exclaimed Mr. Dull, firing up and turning very red in the face. ‘Monsieur is a liar !’ ‘ Hold, sir !’ exclaimed Lowden, rising from Ins chair. Then quickly checking himself, lie turned to the Lady Trufiiiii and her com panions, who had finished their meal, and said— ‘ Ladies, by your leave.’ The three ladies immediately followed him to the after-cabin, where lie left them, and returned to tbe dining-room. Though be was absent but a single mo ment, when be came back loud words were passing between tbe antagonists; and ns Lowden approached them, the Englishman gave his French neighbor tbe lie, again, and followed it with a blow. The captain in stantly seized bis arm, and the beligerants were separated. A challenge followed this scene, and young Lowden meantime came in for a round share of abuse from bis English pas senger, who berated bint soundly lor step ping between him and Monsieur, at 90 criti cal a moment. ■ i our milliners luwnnis :viuiisiei.i f auiu the captain, calmly, ‘ were very offensive.— You have repeatedly annoyed him at the ta ble and elsewltere, and I regret to be obliged to add, that you have not respected, as you should Imve done—the presence of females, either, on Severn^ occasions. Let this scene he yottr lust, sir, on board lljis vessel!’ ‘ So yon defend that contemptible frogeater, do you?’ muttered Mr. Bull, savagely. ‘ 1 enter into none of your disputes, sir, nor can you make me quarrel with yon. But 1 wean w hat I say, I am master of this vessel, you must not repeat this offence.’ ‘You are master, here !’ responded Bull, ironically. should say so. You take the part of a puppy ; and thus stoop to his level, you are no better than he is.’ * I tell you—’ * ^r°u needn't tell me anything. You are i coward!’ * What, sir.’ ‘A coward,’ continued the Englishman snapping his lingers, spitefully. I will see tc your case when I get on shore.’ At this moment the second officer Tushed in to the cabin, and in an excited manner, said ‘Captain, quick—on deck!’ Lowden turned away and hastily ascended to the quarter-deck, where a most unexpectec scene awaited him. Within the previous hour, the atmosph^n had become completely blackened with heavt clouds, and now a fierce white squall was ad vancing from the south-west with a rapid pace Sail had already been shortened, but Lowdet instantly saw that a sharp blow was coming and every rag of canvas, save the closely reefed jib, was forthwith ordered to be taken in. And very quickly afterwards came' the crash. Far away to leeward, fo> a moment or two could be seen the sheet of whitened spray and foam, forced into a mass before the rush ing squall, as it struck the water, and then dashed on in its wild and resistless fury. The thunder followed, and peal after peal succeed ed, while torrents of rain gushed from the over charged clouds. The lightning quivered and crinkled down the deep black clouds with ter rible fierceness; and though the schooner had been for an hour previously in sight of the very harbor to which she was destined, this sudden storm had deeply alarmed both crew and officers. For an instant a deathlike stillness pervaded the air. 'I hen a frightful glare of light was seen from the edge of a dense cloud, and a peal of thunder clattered over their heads as if the whole of heaven's artillery had at once been discharged upon them. The staunch little schooner quivered from stem to stern for a mo ment, and then moved forward from the in creased action of wind and wave. ‘ Fire !’ was the first word that was distinct ly heard, after this shock; and ‘fire! fire! the schooner’s on fire!’ quickly passed from cabin to duck, and from mouth to mouth among the frightened crew. ‘ Helma-port!’ shouted the captain, through his trumpet, quickly. ‘Stand by, men ! Bear a band, and up with the mainsail!’ The Sea Gull was doomed. The lightning had struck and fired her ! Lowden saw that a desperate effort alone could save his vessel and passengers. Ills quick eye glanced shoreward, and in spite of the peril of the shift to which he resorted in his emergency, he resolved to put on sail—if the thing could be done—and run the schooner ashore. But it was impossible ! The willing men sprang to their stations at the word, but the gale raved with fury ; and scarcely had a yard of the mainsail been unfurled, ere it was stripped into shreds and scattered over the storm. A wild wail was heard, below, meantime, ai.d the passengers, deeply alarmed, demanded to see the captain. After being desired thrice to descend below, he left the quarter-deck, dqpnched to the skin, and hastily descended to the cabin, where he anticipated every inquiry at once. ‘ Ladies,’ he said, soothingly, ‘be of good cheer. Trust me, that under the fearful cir cumstances, I will do all that man can do.— Gentlemen, we are in a critical condition.— The vessel is on fire, and we are yet three miles from the shore, and the gale is increas ing. Be men, however, and present exam ples of courage to the crew. We must hope fur the best.’ With these brief words of consolation and advice, Lowden sprang up the companion-way, drew back the slide, and resumed his place near the wheel. CHAPTER III. THE SAILOR'S COURAGE. Jets of smoke were forcing their way np through the seams of the deck, and the fury of the squall was yet unabated. The sea ran so high that it was unsafe to be on deck, and Lowden deemed it prudent to secure the cabin door, lest the passengers should force their way up, and be washed uverboard. Signals of distress had been run up, but the gale tore them into shreds as fast as they appeared, and the schooner was now full three miles from the shore, with the fire increasing frightfully every succeeding moment! ‘Open, captain, open! for God’s sake!— We shall suffocate,’shrieked the terrified Eng lishman, hammering away al the cabin door. Open—open ze door, Monsieur Captain—o-pen Isay si vous plait! I shall smudder, Captain o-pen! ’ ‘Give ns air—help! What, ho! help!’ again bawled the whilom valiant Englishman, as he now pleaded for his liberty. But Low den knew they could not stand on deck; and for a moment he still detained his passenger prisoners below, for their own safety. Every possible exertion, under the trying circumstances, was resorted to by the officers and crew, to slay the progress of the fire, but without success. The weather had previously been excessively hot and dry, the schooner had ; just come out of a low latitude, and the de vouring element made rapid work ' in its de structive course below the decks. When the peril reached its height, and no further hope existed of stopping the fire, the cabin-door was opened, and the passengers sprang upon deck. The first movement of the brave English man, upon his release, was to curse the Cap tain for detaining him below; the next mo ment he found himself heels over head in the lee scupper, knocked flat by the schooner's lurch in the heavy sea. Pale as death and considerably bruised, he arose and clung to the rigging for a single moment; then, jumping astern, he seized an axe and commenced cut ting away the small boat which had been tem porarily secured there. Hold : crieu uapiain jjuwuen, nrmiy. ‘ We have but two miles to make, and I hope to reach shoal water before it is too late.’ But the Englishman persisted in his work. The flames had broken through the hatches in little forked streams, and it was plain that but a few minutes lunger would be allowed them to prepare for leaving the burning vessel.— Nevertheless, the youthful Captain felt that he could' manage things best in his own way, and so he continued : ‘ Hold, I say! Must I remind you again that I am master here? Another stroke with that axe, and as there is a God in heaven, you go over the side. I mean it!' The offender turned round, white as the spray which flashed around him in every direc tion, and believed what Lowden said. As he dropped the axe, thecaplain advanced and took her. ladyship's hand, as she stood trembling and clinging to the side of the companion-way, desperately alarmed, bot etioomplaining, atid i silent with her terror. ‘ Cheer op, madam,’ he said, ‘and tract in .— the good God, who may preserve us if He will.* A deafening shout arose at this moment from the men forward, who had collected in a group, waiting for further orders. Sail alter sail had been run up in one shape and another, until every rag had been destroyed—and the Sea Gull was now very near her end. The flames burst out from below, and half the crew plunged into the water, resolved to swim for it, rather than be burned to death. The order was at once given to stand by to lower away the boatq, two of which were manageable.— The remainder of the crew obeyed, and into the first one, as it rolled and pitched against the side, Captain Lowden, with his own hands passed the ladies and three of the crew. The other boat was quickly in readiness, and into this the Englishman and the others were placed—though Mr. Bull was very anx ious to be amongst the first who left the sink ing vessel. Twice was he driven back by the strong arm of the firm and brave captain, as he was forcing himself into the first boat, but dur ing which time, Lowden addressed him not one word, except, ‘hack, sir, wait your turn!’ When lie finally got on board, lie assured Low den that he would ‘settle his hash, for him, when he reached the shore.’ The wind still raved, and the sea ran furi ously high, as the two boats swung off from the burning schooner, which was very soon afterwards enveloped in flames, and sunk with in another hour. The brave sailors tugged away at the oars, and had got within half a mile of the landing, when a heavy wave struck the foremost boat, and instantly capsized her. Scarcely had its precious burthen reached the water, when Lowden grasped the bow nar of the boat ill which he sat, and cried: ‘give way, bov%! give way, and save them !’ In another moment, the rear boat reached the spot where the accident occurred, and where the lovely Bel was now sinking beneath the waves ! In the next instant, a plunge was heard, and the gallant captain ruse at the lady's side, supporting her with a strong arm, even amid those angry and lashing waters. Succor was at hand. The trouble had been noticed on shore, and already a life-boat had started to the rescue. The Frenchman clung to the overturned boat, and the ladies all were rescued. By the time the life-boat reached them, it* services were needed—but all were subsequently landed in safety. The Englishman got over his fancied offence, and acknowledged that Captain Lowden was not only a good sailor, but that he was also a really brave man. His epithet of ‘coward’ he retracted voluntarily, but the young captain only replied—‘you didn't know me, sir, or you wouldn’t have suffered yourself so to speak, I think.’ Bull was abashed, and was more careful in future, but his French friend never forgave him for his cutting criticisms on the action at (he field of Waterloo. But, asks the reader, what became of the captain and the beautiful La ly Bell, and the bachelor, and the love-sick Weston? Really —I can scarcely tell particulars! * * ***** The bachelor lord, and his young friend, who was so smitten with the fair stranger, at any rate, I never heard anything more of. The fussy little Frenchman declared that if ever he was fortunate enough to reach Boulogne, he would never try the West Indies again for his health. Mr. Bull went to Lun’nn to tell file story of his mishaps, and to enjoy his beef and ale more leisurely, subsequently. Two years after this incident, however, Cap tain Lowden retired from nautical life and set tled upon a beautiful farm in one of the south ern counties of England. This place was one of more than ordinary beauty, and had been occupied for ten years previously by a relative of one Bel Truffini. Notice was served upon the tenant in due form, and possession war yielded, one fine spring morning, to the origi nal owner and tenant that was to be. A bridal party drove up the smooth avenue to the wide old portal of the mansion, and, sur rounded by a half dozen intimate friends, this very Bel Truffini was welcomed there as fu ture mistress of the establishment. She was handed from the gay vehicle by that very Cap tain Lowden, and she introduced him, at unco, to the neighbors, as her husband ! They still occupy that farm, because its pur suit* Belter suit the taste of the brave sailor.— But they have means, in plenty otherwise, ant both Bel and her talented mate are as happy as wealth and true love for each other can possi bly make them. MISCELLANY. The Desert. Few European readers are, probably, abb lo form an adequate idea of the errors u such a situation us is here described. Tin following description may serve lo pnini U us the terrors of die desert, and the dunge ol perishing in it with thirst:—‘The ileser of Mesopotamia now presents to our eyes it: melancholy uniformity. It is u continuation and, as it were, a branch of the great Arnbi tin desert on the other side ol the river Eu pbrates. Saline plants cover, at large inter vals, the burning suud or the dry gypsum.— Wormwood spreads here, as the furze ii Europe, over immense tracts, from which i excludes every other plant. Agile herds o gazelles traverse those plains where man) wild asses formerly roved. The lion, con cealed in the rushes along the rivers, lies it wail for these unimals ; but when he is un able :o seize them; 10 appease bis hunger he sallies forth with fury, and Ins terriblt roaring rolls like thunder trom desert to des erl. The water of ihe desert is, for the mos part, biller and brackish. The atmospheri is, as usual in Arabia, pure aud dry : fre quently it is burning in the naked and sandy plains; the corrupi vapors of stagnant wa ters are diffused there; the exhalations o the sulphureous and salt lakes increase tin pestilential matier. Whenever any inter ruption of the equilibrium sets a column u: such infected air into rapid motion, that poi sonous wind arises which ia called ‘sainutu, or ‘aamyel,’ which it dreaded less in the Ulterior of Arabia than on ibe frontiers, am especially in Syria and Meaopotainia. At soon ae the dangerous wind arises, ihe ait immediately loses its purity ; -tbe sun Is cov ered with' a bloody veil, all animal* fail alarmed 10 the earth, to avoid I Ins burning blast, which Btifles every living being that is bold enough to expose itself tt> it. The car avans, which convey goods backwards and Ibrwatds front Aleppo to Bagdad, and have to traverse these deserts, pay a tribute to the Arabs, who consider themselves as masters of these solitudes. They have also to dread the suffocating wind, the swarms of locusts, and the want of water, ns soon ns they leave the Euphrates. A French traveler affirms that he was wit ness to a scene, occasioned by the want of water, the most terrible that can be imag ined lor a man ol fee ing. It was between Anah and Dryjeh. Tlie locusls, alter they tiad devoured everything, at last perished.— The immense numbers ol dead locusis, cor rupted tlie pools from which, for wnnl of springs, they were obliged to draw water.— The traveler observed a Turk, who, with de spair in bis countenance, run down a lull, and came inwards him. ‘1 am,’ cried he, 'the most imlbriunaie man in the world. I have purchased, at a prodigious expense, two liun | .ired girls, llie mosi beautiful ul Greece aud Georgia. 1 have educated them w nil cure; and, now that they are rnarriageble, I am taking them iu Bagdad, lo sell them toad vantage. Alt, they perish m tins desert lot thirst; bill 1 fuel greater tortures than they.’ The traveler ascended immediately the lull; a dreadful spectacle here presented it self lo him. Iii the midst of twelve eunuchs and about a hundred camels, be saw these beautilul girls, of llie age ol twelve to fifteen, stretched upon (lie ground, exposed to the torments of a burning thirst and inevitable death. Some were already buried in a pit, which liiui just been made; a greater num ber bail dropped down dead by the side of lheir leaders, who had no more strength lo bury them. On a.I sides were heard ilie sighs of llie dying; and the cries of those j who, having still some hreatlf remaining, de manded in vain a drop uf water. Tlie French traveler hastened io o; en Ins liintem ! buttle, in which iliere was stiil a little water, : He was going to present ii lo one ol these | unhappy victims. 'Madman !’ cried his Ara bian guide, ‘wouldst thou have us die from iliirsi?’ He immediately killed the girl with [ uii arrow, seized llie l.otile, mill threatened I in kill any one who should venture io touch it. lie advised the slave merchant to go to Dryjeh, where lie would find waiter. ‘No,’ j replied the Turk, ‘ai Dryjeli llie robbers would lakeuway all my slaves.’ The Arab dragged llie traveler .away. The moment ’they were retiring, these unhappy victims seeing llie Inst ray ol hope vanish, raised u . dreadlul cry. The Arab was moved with : compassion ; lie look one ul them, poured a drop ol water on her burning lips, and set her on Ins camel, with the intention of mak i mg his wile a present oT her. The poor girl fainted several times, when she passed the bodies of her companions, who had fullen down-dead on the way. Our traveler’s small ! stock of water was nearly exhausted, when they found a fine well of fresh mid pure wu ter; hill the rope was so short, that the pail wonM not reach the surface of the water.— They cut llieir cloaks in strips, lied them to gether, and drew up lint tillle water at a time, because they trembled at the idea of breaking llieir weak rope, and leaving llieir : (Mill in me well. A Bor such it. ag,-ie, they at lusl arrived ai llie first station iii Syria.— Dr. Burdcr's Oriental Customs. i__ The Ladder of Boses. The beautiful Angel of sleep folded its wings over the eat ill, and ull became silent, j The flowers drooped ilieir lair heads, closed their satin leaves and fellusleep teneuih the kind rays of the slurs. No sound was beard, .sate the voice ol ihe evening breeze, wliis penng to Hie leaves. The tiioonlie.tins stole over ihe earth, and kissed ihe sleeping flow ers genily, that iliey might not waken them; then solily glided through Ihe open lattice ol the poor man's home. The beautiful beams shed their silvery light upon the couch of a young girl, win slept sweetly upon her humble bed alter the wearisome toil ol the day was over. Wliat was the maiden dreaming about ? Ah, she heard in her dreams, suit, low music, such as shu never heard m waking hours; she thought she was in a beautiful gaiden, from the midst ol which arose n ladder that reached even to the skies, and was lost in the snowy clouds above. Anil lo ! it was u Ladder of Roses, of beuulilul tints, twined with each oilier ; and its the wind wuverl them lo and fro, there came forth from the leaves this heavenly music. A voice called to bet from above ; nnd as she looked up, she beheld, sitiinliiig among the clouds, an angel form trutiscendantly beautiful, which beckoned and sung to her, ‘Come up here, thou Earth-child ! come up through the loses to this beautiful cloud home.’ The maiden hesiinied a moment, then sprang up the ladder, nnd (he roses waved and sent lortii perlume and silvery music.— i Up, up, went the maiden, longing lo he 1 clasped ill (he arms of the Angel nlwive ; but ’ hidden thorns beneath the rose leaves, | wounded her feet and she could go no fur | iher. Then the Angel wept, and us her | tears lell upon the roses, they changed to pearl-drops and rolled away. The girl saw the tears and was re assured, and up, up, she went, forcing her way i through the thorns and ruses. Still sang the I voice, and the ray ot golden sunshine tell among the roses. Hal! way up the beatut j fill ladder, the maiden slopped and looked ! back, and lo! amid the flowers at t lie bottom ! ol the ladder, there knelt aaoilier Angel with clasped hands, whose tearful eyes besought < the maiden to go still higher. Tlie gill was about to ascend once more, but the thorns pric ked her leet, nnd an invis ible hand held forth a golden cup, while a : voice whispered, ‘Drink, and thy pains are i over.’ The maiden reached out her ItnnJ, but she saw that the Angel above smiled no i more, and her sweet voice was hushed.— The music ol the leaves was sad and seemed to he far off. She looked below; the second Angel hud turned away, iiud stood sorrowful ly with her white wing, drooping. Joy ! joy ! She pushed aside the cup Irotn her lips, and heedless of the thorns, still clam bered. The clear music of the leaves sang forth joyously ; the Angel below smiled and wevecl her snowy wings. Exhausted, but happy, ■ lie Earth-child slept in iis Cloud home upon the kind bosom of its guardian Angel. X Ilt3 gin BWUSC, anu 111" inns "It sunbeams were stealing through the lattice upon the sanded floor. She arose and dressed herself, and commenced her daily toil. A wearisome day would it have been, but for the thought of her beautiful dream, and the perfume of flowers, and the golden sunshine that stole in beside her as she toiled away. At noon the maiden carried her lather's dinner into the field, and as she sal down beside him, beneath a shady tree, she told him her dream* When she had finished, the old msn wiped his wrinkled brow, and a tear stood in his eye as he said: ' Mina, my child, tby dreams are beauti ful ; the Ladder of Roses if tbo pathway to happiness; but beneath lbs flowers that send forth thsir perfumed music, lie thorns —the cares and suffering of tbit Ufa—which makes us afraid 10 do our duty. The first ingel in the clouds is Faith, Who lure* M 00} vhtle Hope kneels below 10 encourage ns, IUI Temptation offers her golden cap Of ’(ensure, to which we too often torn to seek orgelfulness of our woes. Then Hop* urns away, and Faith weeps for us } btn if we push back Temptation’s cap and fare* our way through ihe difficulties, (bat sur round «s, then the beautiful sunbeams of Hope fall kindly on us, Faith smiles again, and amid sunshine and flowers, oor souls ascend to that beautiful Cloud-home, from which we are nerer more to part, but to be come holy Angels to watch over the loved ones below.’ The young girl wept and was silent} the old matt kissed her brow and said: ' Mina, in thy dreams thou didst win this heavenly peace. May it be so in reality,— Heed 11m the thorns that sOrrotind thee, but think only on the Roses of Happiness, and they will guide tliee in the end to thy last and best resting-place — Heaven.—Arthur'! Home Gazette. Affection and Passion. Affection is the fire, confined and guarded yet cnrelully cherished—which gives its cheerful warmth to ihe household. Through the darkness and gloom of grief, it sheds us rays of brightness ami iis influences of cheer over ihe circle. Amid the intense rigors of adversity, it still may make the lile within doors peaceful ami genial. It goes into the drawing-room, with its costly turoishings} into the library, with its ranged books and mups; into the pleasant familiar place of rest and cunverse ; and it makes iltem all cheerful. It goes up into the nursery, and folds the little ones.in the influence of its power. It makes all more glatl to come home from 1 he world, and to gather in groups totiiid the family hearth. It is the clteerer, enlight ener ami comforter of life} a serviceable friend, ns well ns a brilliant and beautiful companion; and without it the world would be desolate and cold. Passion is tbe same Gre, broket) loose from restraint and devastating life. The choicest powers are swept belore it. The Guest or naments of culm 1 e and taste, are despoiled in its hot grasp. The most delightful circles are broken up ami destroyed, The home of intelligence and happiness becomes a black ened and charred heap. Who then will say that God does not wisely in giving the re straints of his truth and Ins law, the guardi anship ol his Providence, the admonitions of the conscience, the warnings of penalty, ths example of his Sou to hold affection within his limits ? In guarding it while he also en kindled and cherished, by the glow of his word and Ilia breath of his spirit — in guard ing it so violently,front this desolating spread. '1'ake away these restraints and the wotld it self would he wrapped in the fury of univer sal passion, l.et each man fur hitnself hold it firmly iu the control of Gotl-guided^will. Common Sense vs. Nonsense. Dr. F. Tuthill delivered an address, the other tluy, before the Agricultural Society of Suffolk County, N. Y., and in the course of his remarks he touched upon the 1 false shame of labor,’ in lh£lollowing rt anner 1— The day has already come in our cities (hut if a mail, stout us Milo of old, lias 11 load of wood brought to Ins door, and he really aches fur Ihe pleasure uf handling it, yet he must hire u mail to pitch it into Ihe cel lar, while he stands idly by, nor su much as touch a Slick uf 11, on pain of losing caste.— It a stout and vigorous citizen, whose mus cles swell with an excess of strength, has a load of wood lying on the sidewalk, he may as well hang lntnsell at once as he foolish enough to save a dollar and saw it up him | self; yet it the man has pucheJ it in, and tlie I grate is down so that he shall not be seen, we ate nut sure but he may saw on till doomsday, and no mail esteem him less a man and a gentleman. If he curry and itick le his own horse, or lend him tu the stable when lie has done with him, lie isunpnrdon ably vulgur. He would no sooner be caught I carrying a trunk the length of a block to an omnibus, than stealing a body from a grave yard ; yet ho will boast among his friends of the enormous weight he carries iu ihe gym nasium, having pint! a fee of iluriy dollars a year lur tlie privilege. And his friends ap plaud his gymnastic expenditures as wise mid exceedingly judicious, ■ tor sure,’ they say, ‘how can 11 mail live without exercise?’ iu short, labor thill promotes the ends of economy, is an abominable thing—(lint w hich advertises their imbecility is a source of pride. These solt-handed gentry may be our sons and brothers, hut fancy they must at limes felt ashamed of their common parent, old Ad tun, who farmed it in Paradise. A True Stop.t. A lady from die ‘far, far, we«i,’ with her husband, was awakened on 1 lie niglu of their arrival in the ciiy of P enr.. by an alarm of fire, and the yells of several companies of firemen, as they dashed along ■ lie Bireels. ‘ .Husband ! husband!’ she cried, shaking her worser half iuio consciousness, ‘only hear the Injuns! Why, this heals all the scalp dances I ever heard !’ ‘Nonsense! growled the gentleman, com posing himself to sleep—‘There are no In dians in Philadelphia.’ ‘No Injuns indeed !’she replied,‘ns if I didn't know a war-hoop when 1 heard one." The next morning, on descending to break fast, they were saluted with the enquiry ol: ‘ Did you hear the engines lust nigh, what a noise they made ?’ Turning to her husband with an ai: or tri umph the lady exe'aimed— ‘ There ! 1 told, you they were Injuns' Questions for Collf.ge Students. If 20 grains make a scruple, how many will make a doubt f Il'7 days make one week, how mnny will make one strong7 If three miles make a league, how many will make a confederacy ? If 5 1-2 feel make one Flemish Ell, how many feet will make an English Q P If one hornet can make a horse run, how many would it luke to make a horsefly ? It is useless to look forward to a future stale of prosperity, if the present he noi occupied towards laving the foundation of it. Many cling to a distant hope, aud reject a progres sive certainty. Some vegetables ol rapid growth are hol low where they should he most sound ; end some men of rank prosperity nre monstrous ly bloated with self-consequence where ihey should he ntodesi, tliaukful and benev olent. An elderly lady, telling her age. remarked that she was born on the 22d nt April. Hel husband, who was present, observed — * 1 always thought you were born on the lsi of April.’ . • People might well judge so, responded tho matron, * in ike choice 1 made for a hus band.’ If the demon of gaming shal! enter tisa same breast where honor, courage, wit, wis dom reside, such a mind la like a motley suit of cards, Where kings, queens and knaves are packed togerher, and mnke up the gams with temporary good fellowship, but then it is a bundled to one that tl e knave will bent out of doom in the eml.— Cumberland. It is one of the singular facts of the pres ent state of society, that the qualities which in theory we hold to be most lovely and- de sirable, sre precisely those which in prac tice we treat with the greatest contumely aod disgrace. To Wabh Mousseune be Laire. Boil a pound of rice fn fire quarts of water, and when cool enough, wash in this, using the rice tor soap. Have soother quantity reedy1; but etrain the rice from this aod nse tr ie war® water, beeping the riee strained tff for the third washing, which at the asms ^