POETRY. (F'rom the Boston Centinel THE WARNING BELL, On a dizzy crag at the set of Sun, "I'he night proclaimed man’s task was done, W hen the storm’'s dark clouds were gnth'ring near, And the Curlew’s scresm sounded shrill and drear, And the Thander rolled as the lightning fell, And played with the foam of old Ocean’s swell, I stood and gazed for I loved to hear, The deep sounding Knell Of the Warning Bell, As it came pealing o’er the billows drear, W hen the breeze with a mournful whistle sighed, "Through the Fisher's sails as he homeward hied, And the wreckers anxiously watched for prey, As in the deep clefts of the rocks they lay, And the storin had come, and the Ocean’s roar, Made the tall elifis treable that lined the shore, I gazed for I loved o’er the storin to hear, The deep sounding Knell, Of the Warning Bell, Tell the thoughtless cruw there was danger near. And when the winter of life draws near, And the world and its jovs grow doubly dear, Though the storm of death s howling around, And calls its vietims to sleep in the ground, May those who have wandered from virtues path Retarn lest they feel the Almighty’s wrath, W hen the warning voice of the Spirit riugs, Like the deep sounding Knell, Of the Warnimmg Bell, Bidding them come to the King of Kings. A MOTHER’S FAREWELL TO HER SON, ON HIS GOING FAR FRKOM HOME Farewell, my child!—May Heaven for ever shed Its brightest rays upon thy youthful head, O, I could weep to sce thee leave thy home, O’er this delusive, dasgerous woeld to roaun, But that T fondly hope theu has within T'hat which will guard thee from the power of sin. Thou canst no longer share a Mother’s care; Yet, O! thou canst a Mother’s anxious prayer; Where'er thou goest, where'er thy footsteps rove, "T'will plead for blessings on thee from above. Oft will mine eye rest on thy vacant place, Aud Memory oft the flueting past retrace, Oft shall 1 think to hear thine accents mild, Whose gentle kindness Sorrow's sell’ beguil'd; Ard oft forgetting thou art far awuy, Sti'l listen for thy step at close of day. Yet, though an anxions sigh may sometimes rise And busy tears, unbidden, fill mine eves; Though sometimes I may wish for thee to share An hour of joy, or soothe n passing care; Yet will bright hope be mingled with that sigh, And thoughts of peace the fulling tear-drop dry; The hope,— that thou art in the narrow way; | The thought,—thy Saviour’s eye is fixed on thee. | (From the New-Fngland Review THE DYING, Oh! bring me flowers—my dearest, And wreath them in my hair, The beautiful—the fairest ones— And let them wither there,— Wild-rose and fragile lily— The blossoms of a day, And twine them on the biow of one As perishing as they. I may not see them growing In wild-wood or in glen, I may not tread upon the green And fragrant earth aguaing Yet leave the casement open, That the blue and blessed shy, The tree-tops and the pleasnnt hills May greet my closing eye! And gather ye avound me,— The fiiends whom I have loved— The eves that ever shone with mine~ The heaits which T have proved In calm, unweeping sorrow,— Oh, let the loved draw near, And let each low, familiar toue, Fall on the dying ear. I know that death is near ma, And yet | fear it not— It is Lut shedding cunshine on The shadow of my lot-- A welcome from the spirits— Of the pure and sin-forgiven—- The lifting of the curtain-fold Which shadows Earth from Heaven! From the New England Review NOVEMBIER. It has been fashionable to stignmli'/.c‘ this month as “the saddest of the year,” a season of gloom and frost—a time for suicide and the blue-devils. "Tis a vil lanous abuse of one of the cleverest nymphs among the twelve sisters, True —Novemberhasnot the light, airy beauty of May, nor the softness and \'uluptuuus: charm of June—Dbut there is an honest and familiar frankness in her coming, which renders her, uncouth and rude as she may be—an agreeable wvisitant, She is like the buxom fair one of the by- gone times of our grandmothers—with her tresses unadorned and with a homely garb, but with a kindly spirit and a warm heart, November is after all a pleasant sea son.— What if the flowers are dying, one after another, asthe frost like a vegetable pestilence, passes over them? What if#j the leaves do wither, and wear for a time the yellow and sickly hue of decay, and’ then fall, with every breathing of the wind, like wearied birds stricken down from their resting-place? What if a change does come over the things which we have loved, when we know that it is this change—this shifting aspect of the seasons—this variety of Nature, which makes the world so beautiful and belov ed? If flower and leall and herbage, and all the glorious things of Summer are departing—there are other joys and other scenes in perspective. There are the gathering around the houschold fire —the long and pleasant evenings—the song—the merriment—the glad Thanks giving——the Christmas Ball!=="T'hen too, the long bright evenings of approaching Winter—when the earth is white with the beautiful vestment of snow——when ‘the whole Heaven is brilliant with stars —and the elear moonlight casts the still shadows of the skeleton trees upon the white lustre which surrounds them. Who, at such a time, does not love the sleigh ride—the merry, joyous sleigh ride 7==Who has not gazed until his eyes ached withthe magnificence of the scene, upon the frost work of Winter——when the fine, misty rain has become frozen upon every visible object? Summer has nothing to compare with the simple scen ery of winter, when “I'he frost performs its silent ministry Unhielped Iv_\" any wind,"’— . l when every blade of grass and every twig flashes like a living diamond-=when every tree rises like a tall column of silver, and the branches long, tapering and leafless glow like the jewelry which lightened onthe eye of Aladdin in the cave of the Enchanter. | The glory of the Summer has gone by--the beautiful greenness has become withered and dead. Were this all-- were there no associationsof moral deso lation—ot" faded hopes—of hearts with ering in the bosoms of the living—con nected with the decaying scenery around us, we would not indulge of a moment melancholy. The season of flowers will come again—the streams will flow grace fully and lightly as before—the streams will again toss thewr eumbrous load of greenness to the sun light—and by mos sy stone and winding rivalet, the young blossoms will start up, as at the bidding of their fairy guardians. But the human heart has no change like that of Nature, It has no second spring-time. Once Dlighted inits hour of freshness, it wears Horever after the mark of the spoiler, The dews of alfection may fall, and the gentle rainof sympathy be lavished up on it—Dbut the sere root of blighted feel ing will never again waken into life, nor the crushed flowers of hope blossom with their wonted beanty. From the Albany Daily Advertiser. ASKETCIHI. | * * » * ]hearda child call loud- Ay, “mother!” T listened, but no mother answered. I heard a young man say, “mother!” I hearkened, but a mother’s voice replicd not; I heard a husband’ call for his wile, but no voice of love an ' swered to his agonizing words, Where! - Oh! where can be the being who should ? answer these calls’>—llTas she left those loved ones and wandered forth on the world’s stage, widowed and childless? No. But she has obeyed the voice of Him, who said “let there be light, and there was light.” | - In another apartment [ heard weeping 1lnu(l lamentation, I entered the room, ‘and there was the wife and mother. Her eyves were open and glassy—Dbut they ‘ saw not, her lips had the appearance of one about to speak; but she uttered not “a word, for the soul that had inhabited that useless tenement of clay, had left its habitation and gone back to the God who ‘made it. The family were knecling a round the couch of the dead, as it they were unwilling to believe that she whom they all loved so well, was deaf to their mourning, and had become the bride of the “King of Terrors:” | ' The time came when the body must be laid in the cold and silent grave. The friends all assembled to pay the last tri bute of respect to one that in life they had known as a friend. The child gives away to its feelings, and sobs as though its youthful heart will break. The fa- ther and son try to hide their grief within their own hearts—but occas ionally a sob is heard, as though their heaits were too full. The pray fcr is offered up—the undertaker tells. the friends to take the last look of the deceased; and they walk slowly and cast a farewell look; some drop a tear, and some gaze upon the dead as though they believed it not. All had looked save the Dbereaved husband, he took his little daughter (who was still weep ing ) by the hand and approached the cof fin, he leaned over it and impressed a fervent kiss upon the marble brow; he raised the child up to the top of the cof fin, and the little thing seemed to be al most overcome with the sight, it wept more, and stopped not even when the father tried to hush it, ‘ | The procession moved on through the ’!cmwdrd ways of the city; few noticed, ‘*and those that did so, seemed to look only }from curiosity to see who was going to their last home. Thus itis with the chil-' \dren of this world; they sce their friends, . HERALD O TINE TIMENSN, their relations dying around them; they 'see the great and powerful all carried to ‘the tomb to make a rich banquet for the ‘worm, and yet they notice it not, but each one goes on with his accustomed pursuits, § l They reached the cemetry, and di-| rected their course towards two lofty pines, bencath whose gloomy shade were buried the parents of the deceased, The bell ceased tolling, and all gathered a ‘roand the open grave, which looked like ' hungry beast with open jaws ready to receive its victim. The body was plac ‘ed in its narrow house, and as the stones and dirt fell upon the coflin and sent back the hollow sonnd, it seemcd to speak to all. There was a deep groan Arom the husband, and the little gl :scremm-d out, lather! Father? sce they are putting the ground on mother’s ‘breast, and they wont let her come out ‘again, Oh! Father stop them, do! do stop them. Mother awake, dont sleep any longer, for if you do your own little girl cannot see you again.”” The child scemed to be overcome, and was unable to say more, but she looked ather father and wept, As they turned to leave the burying place, the widowed man took one last lingering look of the newly made grave which contained the wife of his bosom, the partner of his griefs and joys, the mother of his offspring, he for the first time gave way to his gricf. * ‘ The family had all assembled around the paternal hearth, where so often they had sat with the lost parent. The son left the sad assembly and wandered through the house as though he was secking some one, and when he reached her room and found her not, he could contain himself no longer, he exclaimed —“Where is my mother, who so often administered to my youthful wants, and who in riper years kept my feet from the snares of the wicked, and who comforted me when sickness had prostrated my youthful lmbs? Where art thou?” “And echo answered—where?” The little daughter seated herself on| her father’s lap, and casting her bright! eyeson s sad face said “shall we not, sce mother again in Heaven? Yes, I know we shall, for the bible that shctl gave mesaysso. ‘“Aye,my child,we shall see her again when the ‘last trump slmll; sound and the dead shall arise,” but not | till that time.” And as he spoke, he, brushed back her infant curls and kissed | her sweet lace, for she- resembled her mother. JANE. | ¢ SDLT PRESERVATION IS THE FIQST LAW O NA TURE.” Fl{().\l this day I shall attend strictly to the ] collection of my debts,—of every person who may become indebted to me by purchases made on the teris of credit subjoined, payment will be requested by e once—it refused, then by some one of the distinguished personages of the law. Terms or Creprr as follows, viz.—under five dollars, sixty days : from five to ten lollars, ninety days @ ten dollars and upwards, four months: and all running accounts to be settled every half year, with interest it not paid. JUSTICEK TO ALL. It is evident that purchasers who pay cash for Goods on delivery, pay two or three per cent more than they who take credit, (money being at six per cent,) therefore, in futare, a deduction will be made at my store, of three per cent on all sums a bove a dollar puid for goods sold for eash on deliv ery, except when sold at cost or to those who have open accounts—and a proportionate reduc tion when eredit is given and payment made he fore the time of credit expires. WM, JAMES TILLEY, i NOTIC K. I have a complete assortment of GOODS| ho't almost for a song, which shall be sold cheap, A mong them are fine cloths, flannels and circassians, with merino cloths and changeable silks. sept 29 “Y’l. Vl)o (,‘J‘ 'a l{, I{ ESPECTFULLY informs his Friends and the Public that he continues at his old stand, corner of Market-square and "T'hames-street, where he will manufacture Fire Buckets ina neat and du rable manner, and will also mend Gentlemen®s and Ladies® Boots and Shoes.—" The smallest favors thankfully received. 10—6 in I‘[ ILTON HALL, has jnst received from Boston, 50 flag bottom ~hairs, new pattern; 60 Windsy the Cutholicon, have become so numerous, as 10 preclude their insertion in any newspaper.— "The unrivalled and very extensive character which it has enjoyed, for the last six years, as a complete iro-nmnmr, and purifier of the blood and hwmours both in FHospitals and Private Practice, is a substantial basis for its future support. It has ob tained its present great distinetion by the extraor dinary suceesss which has attended it in the Heal ?ing Art, while every avenue and every track hav- Dbeen searched in vain for its parallel 5 its discov :N'y i one of the most sacred boons that ean be :nflin'(lo-d to the uwntortunate martyr of disease, and At is most sincerely hoped, that the sympathy of the publie will be aroused to the promulgation of nestimable merits, Proofs of the value of Pot ter's genuine Catholicon—its healing powers— ;ils usefulness as a general restorer of health, the city of Philadelphia alone could furnizh thousands of witnesses, to contradict the base and malicious fabrications which daily emanate from the jealous. ' What, we would ask, can be stronger proof of a great wtility, than its success in the PENNSY L VANIA HOSPITAL, PINLADELPHIA ALMS HOSUE, and the PHILADELPHIA and NFW YORIK PENITENTIARIES, and in other public Anstitutions alike serviceable, where the eminent skill which presides over them had been exhaust invain? “These faets speak trumpet tongued, —and cannot be gainsaid, It is much to be lam ented that there are so ‘many spurious mixtures manufactured in imitation of this invaluable medi cine, some assuming to possess equal virtues, and vended under the same title 3 others under difler ent titles—some have gone the daring extremity of refilling the old bottles with the labels on—whilst others, to fileh the publie, have published for their henefit the very eertificates which the proprictor of the genwine Catholicon had obtained from those who were cured by his medicine, of various distressing disenses, E Thus, has he been assailed in every form by Envy, Jealonsy, and Fraud 3 and thereby pre vented extending the usefulness of this great and long wished for remedy. Just received, diceet from the manufactory of the proprictor, a fres