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Sunday dispatch. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1845-1854, October 31, 1847, Image 1

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VOLUME 2. NO. 48.
®l)c Sunhay Shspatd),
IS PUBLISHED EVERY SUNDAY MORNING,
AT NO. 41 ANN STREET, NEW YORK,
By Williamson & Burns.
And delivered to subscribers in the City, Brooklyn.
Williamsburgh and Jersey City, at the rate of one shil
ling per month, by regular and laithiul carriers. Per
sons who wish to receive the paper regularly should
send their names to the office. Those who depend upon
newsboys are apt to be especially
stormy weather.
The Sunday Dispatch will be sent by mail to any part
of the World at the rate of $2,00 per annum, payable in
all cases in advance.
TO ADVERTISERS.
A limited amount of advertisements will be inserted,
upon the following terms :
ONE SQUARE (OF SIXTEEN LINES,)
One Time, - - ■ - SI 00! Three Months. • - - $5 00
One Month, - - - • 200 Six Months, - - - - 901
Two Months, - - - 3So I One Year, KOO
Longer or shorter advertisements at the same rates.
All orders must be addressed, post paid and enclosing
amount of subscription, to the Publishers
A. J. WILLIAMSON,^ p ... ,
WILLIAM BURNS. > Publishers.
[Original.]
THE GAMES OF LIFE.
The little Miss, at three years old,
Plays with her doll and prattles;
The little Master, stout and bold,
Plays with his drums and rattles.
The Boy, by-casting musty books,
Loves romping with the lasses;
And Miss, grown older, studies looks.
And plays with looking-glasses.
The jolly Toper, fond of fun,
Plays with his friend at drinking;
The Sportsman plays with dog and gun;
And Wise Men play at thinking.
The Lover, sad, and woeful wan,
Plays day and night at fretting;
Whilst, laughing at the silly man,
His Delia sports coquetting.
The Beauty, full of haughty airs,
When young, plays at tormenting;
But, wrinkled, turns to other cares,
Her sports, at last, repenting.
To play at dosing, Doctors know—
A lengthy case is cheering;
And those who would to Congress go
Play at electioneering.
With ledger busied, Merchants take
A game at calculation;
And Congressmen too often make
A plaything of the nation.
By speaking much, and doing nought,
By bustling, threatening, raving,
Congress the nation have not taught
That they have played at saving.
With looks profound, and thoughtful mind
Projectors play at scheming,
Till worn with care, at last they find
They’ve all along been dreaming.
Cowards, while none but cowards nigh,
Are fond of gasconading,.
And Statesmen fawn, and cringe, and lie,
And play at masquerading.
At setting types the Printers play,
And sometimes with their quills—
But Patrons do not play, they say,
At paying off' their bills I
The Player plays for wealth and fame;
And thus all play together,
Till Death, at last, disturbs the game,
And stops their play for ever !
©l)c Jtoss.
John Y. Mason, Secretary of the Navy, in an
able and beautiful address, delivered before the
lurnni Association of the University of North
Jiirolina, remarked—
“ But the most striking' displays of the activ
ii/ and power (of the press) are only to be wit
fl sised in the field of journalism, where it more
th tn equals France in energy, and knows no
other rival throughout the world. It printed
tns first newspaper in America in the year
17J4; in 1828 it had gained an additional num
ber of 85H, and at this day it acts upon the po
pular mind through the teeming columns of
more than 10,000 journals. Showing as well
a, stimulating the progressive spirit of the age,
it advances into the wilderness with our hardy
pioneers; keeps company with our commerce
among the islands of the sea ; and contends for
supremacy with the sword upon every battle
,i Id which is won by our victorious arms. Al
jeidy it sends us shipping lists from the Sand
.vhic h Islands, chronicles the news of the day
ia Vera Cruz, and echoes back the thunders of
«ar cannon from the shores of the tar Pacific.”
While the march of our army into the Mexi
can territory will be thrown out into bold relief
anon the page of history,by the brightest color
ings of civilization and Christianity, as display
s'! in the orders of the Government and the
oanduct of the soldiery, nothing is more remark
able, or more indicative of the intelligence and
education of our people, than the fact that
newspapers have been established in every
tawn of importance which has been captured
frrrn the enemy. At Matamoros, at Monterey,
*t Vera Cruz, at Jalapa, at Puebla, American
journals have been busy in imparting informa
tion, in combating crime, in inculcating virtue,
in fostering all the attributes of humanity in
the bosoms of the American soldiery, and in
striving to extend over the benighted territory
conquered by our arms, the ameliorating influ
ences of our civilization. It might almost be
said (and it would be no fancy sketch) that one
day our army lay before a fortified city, pouring
out her volumes of flame and smoke upon it,
and on the next morning a paper published
within her walls by American hands, an
nounced the fact that the star-spangled ban
ner was triumphantly waving from her battle
ments.
Does not the fact that so many papers are
sustained in the bosom of an enemy’s country,
l»y an army, which, in comparison with those
of the eluer world, is but a handful of men,
speak volumes for the intelligence of our sol
diery I Is not this of itself a sufficient contra
diction of all the charges which have been
make in America and in Europe, in the city of
Mexico and in the city of London, of a spirit
of rapacious barbarity on the part of our ar
my.’
It is undoubtedly true that war has been the
greatintroducer of civilization ; but in what age
and in the case of wnat conquering nation has
the latter, followed so closely upon the footsteps
of the former, as in the instance of our war
with Mexico .’ When and where has the con
quered people received such immediate and un
equivocal benefits .’ Already in Tampico and
Vera Cruz large establishments have been open
ed, at which all of the necessaries, of life can
be procured by the Mexicans in the greatest
abundance, and at prices so moderate as to fill
them with amazement.
Their own commodities are bought from them
at the highest prices—the severest punishments
being invariably inflicted upon the American
who endeavors to take an undue advantage of
them. Their personal rights are secured to
them with as much certainty as if they lived
upon our own happy soil, and above all, with
its humanizing effect, overlooking all with its
civilized vision, not. fostering in the conquer
or’s bosom a spirit of malice, revenge or cruelty ;
but, on the other hand, instilling-the high moral
feeling which belongs to the individual Ameri
can character, is the Press, the child as well as
the fruitful mother of civilization. We argue
that the history of the world has presented
nothing like to this before.
We point with pride, not only to the splen
did achievements of our gallantry in the field,
but to the effects of our civilization, even now
perceptible, which shall spread, like the rings
upon the surface of the agitated waters, until
they embrace the entire Mexican people in
their ameliorating influence. It was said that
Rome conquered Athens by her physical, and
Athens Rome, by her intellectual might; both
of these stupendous powers are contending
with us, and while the one may reluctantly
shed the blood of Mexico, the other will as sure
ly subdue her besotted ignorance and exalt her
degraded condition.
Thought, beautifully ex
pressed.—The Washingtonian, after men
tioning the deaths in this city by delirium tre
mens and intemperance, last week, has these
remarks:
“ Who shall say what noble spirits there
were here wrecked .’ Perhaps some one with a
mind which, it developed, might have equalled
a Newton in discoveries, or a Locke in reason
ing. Perhaps some one who might have stood
forth a very Demosthenes in our public assem
blies, the power of whose eloquence might
have shoek the strongholds of vice, and the
flashes of whose genius might have electrified
the world.”
Bill is always talking politics, and you can
never party he belpngs to— 1 all talk
' ‘ . ' ' ■ J" <. ' ; . ’■ .
fi ®
IRANISTAN;
AN ORIENTAL, VILLA, NEAR BRIDGEPORT, CONNECTICUT.
The Country Seat of P. T. BARNUH, Esq.,
PROPRIETOR OF THE AMERICAN MUSEUM, NEW YORK.
This magnificent Oriental Villa, recently
erected by P. T. Barnum, Esq., the enterpri
sing proprietor of the American Museum, is
pleasantly situated on the north shore of Long
Island Sound, in the western suburbs of the
city of Bridgeport, and about sixty miles from
the city of New York. The estate consists of
seventeen acres of fertile soil, laid out in plea
sure grounds, and embellished with a great va
riety of ornamental and fruit trees, shrubbery,
plants, and flowers, with a fine stream of water,
fish-pond and fountains. The whole grounds
are surrounded with a drive,planted with shade
trees, and enclosed by an iron fence of the
same elaborate and ornamental style of archi
tecture, as the Villa itself. The grand en
trance to the grounds is by two gateways which
open upon a circular avenue, leading to the
front of the mansion, the central portion of
which turns around a grass plot, with a foun
tain and statuary.
The Villa is a splendid and unique structure,
of a composite oriental order, having in it the
most striking characteristics of the Byzaptine,
Moorish, and Turkish styles of palace archi
tecture. The entire front of the Villa is 124
feet, the wings being thrown off irregularly,
with domed conservatories at each extremity.
The main building is of three stories,each story
having broad piazzas, supported by collonades
of graceful pillars, reaching the whole height
of the walls, and surmounted by tapering min
arets, of the most elegant appearance. These
pillars are ornamented with rich sculptures,
and connected by carved trellis work, thrown
into the graceful arches, of the Moorish and
Arabic style, which differs from any other in
the horse-shoe shape of the arch. The appear
ance of this ornate and elaborate mass of sculp
tured work upon the front, is light and plea
sing, from the beautiful forms into which it is
thrown, and is rendered more chaste, from the
color being that of the reddish brown sand
stone.
This ornate style absolutely requires to be
surmounted in a graceful and picturesque man
ner. Hence, the pillars run up into tapering
minarets, while each portion of the roof springs
into Turkish domes, in the midst of which the
grand central dome is thrown up into the sky,
to the height of ninety feet, and with its perfect
combination of the Chinese and Moorish out
lines, finishes the beautiful, and purely oriental
aspect of the edifice.
The rustic villa, summer houses, stables, etc.,
are all of varied, but corresponding styles.
Some are in the form of Turkish kiosques,
others of Chinese pavillions, and these oriental
forms are carried out, in the laying out of the
gardens and pleasure grounds, the plots of
which, cut into Arabesques, expand in size
with the increasing distance.
One of the beauties of this style consists in
its seeming variety. With most buildings
there is but a single view, the only alteration
being in the lines of perspective, but this villa
alters in its appearance at every point of view,
the domes and minarets constantly changing
their relative positions, and forming new and
picturesque combinations. •
But however unique and picturesque the ex
ternal appearance of this villa, the interior is
still more worthy of attention, and its combi
nation of comfort and magnificence shows that
good taste has every where presided over la
vish expenditure. Thus the broad piazzas, so
finely shaded, and so delightfully cool in sum
mer, are in winter enclosed with glazed lattice
work. The great hall runs through the centre
of the mansion, with corresponding doors, sur
rounded by lights of stained cut glass, opening
upon the front and rear piazzas. I
Gambling.
CARDS, AND CARD PLAYING.
We notice by the Eastern papers that the
playing card factory of Crehoresat Milton, has
been destroyed by fire, loss $25,000 It was an
old establishment, and one that has done much
mischief, in a quiet way, while, at the same,
it has enriched its proprietors. The name of
“ T. Crehore” is as familiar as a psalm book to
to every man in this country who knows the
jack-of-clubs from the Lord’s prayer. The es
tablishment just destroyed was the only one of
.the kind in New’England. Veteran card players
will weep over its ashes !
Speaking of card playing, it may be well to
state that a novel case in relation to it has just
been decided in Boston—William White vs.
Asaph A. Ruggs. It was a demand for $240,
money lent; and it appeared that the money
was. borrowed at a card table, while the parties
were engaged in playing. Under instructions
of the court, the jury returneda special verdict
for the defendant, upon the ground that the
money was lent as stated above.
In connection with this subject the following
extract may not be ill-timed : the Mr. Colton
spoken of resided some weeks, in eog. in Bos
ton, after he left England. He made but few
acquaintances, and those were principally liter
ary men:
Almost all nations have practised it, civilised
and uncivilised, and amongst rude people it has
been carried to extraordinary length. The
ancient Germans would stake their own bodies,
and the loser would cheerfully go into volun
tary slavery, permitting the winner to dispose
of his body for any consideration he could real
ize. The same thing has been, and is done
in modern times, amongst some of the Atri
can tribes or nations; while North American
Indians, or apparently impassive Chinese, will
stake whatever they possess in rhe world “ on
the hazard of the die.” Nay, even fingers and
thumbs are lost and won in this absorbing vice;
while, in what are reckoned civilised and
polished countries, too often, has the gambler
rushed from the “ hell” where he had lost his
entire earthly possessions, and with his owu
hand added to his earthly loss by flinging his
soul down the dark gulf of eternity !
An awful instance of this occurred in the case
of Caleb Colton, the author, amongst other
things, of the celebrated collection called “ La
con, or Many Things in Few Words.” In that
book, Colton said, “ The Gamester, if he dies
a martyr in his profession, is doubly ruined.—
He adds his soul to every other loss ; and by
the act of suicide renounces earth to forfeit
heaven.” Yet the man who wrote that awful
sentence was himself a gamester. Though a
beneficed clergyman, and a man of acute and
cultivated mind, he spent his time in gambling
“ hells” of London, untill he fled, in order to
avoid his creditors; afterwards he became a
regular frequenter of the gambling houses of
Paris, often winning large sums of money. But
being on a visit to a friend at Fontainbleau, the
wearied, wasted, forlorn wretch blew out his
From the centre of the hall springs a noble
winding staircase, with carved balustrade of
black walnut, which, gradually contracting,
winds to the observatory of the central dome.
The niches of the staircase are embellished with
marble statuary, imported by Mr. Barnum from
Florence. The principal figures are the Venus
Coming from the Bath, and the Two Dancing
Nymphs of Canova and a Hebe, two-thirds the
size of life.
Opposite the base of the staircase, large slid
ing doors open into a very beautiful drawing
room. The walls of this room are covered with
a rich fresco paper, the principal pannels of
which represent the four seasons. The ceiling
is of rich' arabesque mouldings of white and
gold. The mantels are of the-purest .Italian
statuary marble, conforming in their style to
the architecture of the bulding. The carpet
is Royal Wilton, a gorgeous pattern ; the furni
ture of rose wood, and the curtains, statuary,
clock, and mantle ornaments of well matched
elegance and splendor, while the pier glasses at
each end, and the large folding doors opening
into the hall and dining room, of plate mirror
pannels, on each side, multiply infinitely, this
beautiful apartment.
Throwing open the mirrored doors, you enter
the dining room, a striking contrast to the
drawingroom. It is perfectly square. Thewalls
are covered with a paper of dark English ®ak,
the rich pannels of which represent the three
fine arts, music, painting and poetry. The man
tel is of fine Sieana marble, the carpet rich
and dark, the ceiling of gilded mouldings, and
the furniture of black walnut and mahogany.
The mantel clock is a group of Cupid and
Psyche in or-molu. The China cabinet is filled
with the richest and rarest porcelain, of Sevres,
among which is the famous Harlequin dessert
set, every piece of different pattern ; and every
article is lettered with the initials “ P. T. B.”
Indeed, the house is filled with a profusion of
porcelain vases and other ornaments, purchased
by Mr. Barnum, during his residence in Paris
The dining room, intended for forty persons,
opens upon a rich conservatory, domed with
stained glass, and is of convenient access to the
kitchen and pantries.
Opposite the drawing-room is the Chinese
library. This apartment is truly “ celestial.”
The walls are covered with Chinese landscapes
in oil, done expressly for the measure of this
room by one of the best artists in Paris. The
book-case and furniture are Chinese, with one
exception, asuperb marquetrie cabinet of brass
and tortoise-shell, a monument of the elaborate
arts of the middle ages. Contiguous to
the library are the family apartments, bed
rooms, dressing-rooms, and conservatory.
Thesecond story is occupied with sumptuously
furnished chambers, a picture-room, filled with
rare and beautiful paintings and engravings,
and especially with every thing connected with
Napoleon, and forming a passage to the bijou
apartment of the villa, the private study of the
proprietor, the walls and ceiling of which are
hung with the richest orange satin, with cur
tains and furniture of corresponding richness
and elegance. Adjoining this is a bathing
room, with plunge and shower-bath, and fur
nished like all tlie chambers with hot and cold
water.
The principal room in the third story is one
which is intended for a billiard-room, but which
will answer either as a music saloon or a ball
room. This opens upon the upper front bal
cony, from which there is a delightful view of
the grounds, the city of Bridgeport, and Long
Island Sound.
Ascending by the spiral stair-case, we now
reach the interior of the central Turkish dome
Idea of Mexican Wealth,
The traveller'affirms that the riches of Mex
ico are infinitely superior to those of Peru. I
know of no Peruvian family, says he, in the post
session of a fixed and certain revenue of 130,-
000 francs,§(s36,ooo) —but in Mexico there are
individuals who possess no mines, and whose
revenue amounts to a million of francs ($200,-
000.) The family of the Count de la Valencia
no possesses alone, on the ridge of the Andes, a
property worth 25,000,000 of francs, $5,000,-
000, without including the mine of Valenciano,
which yields one year with another, a net reve
nue of 1,500,000 livres, ($240,000.)
The Count de Regia built at his own ex
pense two vessels of the largest size, worth
$600,000, and presented them to the King of
Spain.
The family of Fagoaga, well known for its
beneficence and zeal for the public good, exhi
bited the example of the greatest wealth that
was ever derived from a mine. One vein which
the marquis of Tagoaga possessed in the dis
trict of Sombredath, and left in five or six
months, all charges deducted, a nett profit of
$4,000,000. /
The American reader will be still more asto
nished, when I inform him of the extraordina
ry fact, that this family lent about the year
1800, a sum of more than three millions and a
half of francs, ($700,000) without interest, to a
friend whose fortune they believed would be
made by it in a solid manner.
bl. B. We know a man who would have
thought the one-seventh of that sum a fortune
within itself.
The mines (says Humboldt) have undoubtedly
been the chief sources of the greatest fortunes
of Mexico; but there is also a considerable
number of rich families who have never had
the working of any mines. Such are the des
cendants of Cortez, the conqueror of Mexico.
—The duke of Monteion, the head of that fa-
superb estates in the province
of Oaxaca. They would yield him an annual
revenue of $300,000, but residing in Naples,
the greater part of this sum is pocketed by col
lectors.
To complete the view of the immense wealth
centered in the hands of a few individuals in
Mexico, (continues Humboldt,)! will add exact
establishments of the revenue of some of the
Mexican clergy, a vast number of whom suffer
extreme poverty, while others possess reve
nues which surpass those of many of the sove
reign princes of Germany. For example :
The Archbishop of Mexico receives annual
ly $130,000
The Bishop of Puebla 110,000
“ Valladolid .... 100,000
“ Guadalaxara . . . 90,000
“ Durango .... 35,000
“ Monterey . . . . 30,000
“ Yucatan...... 20,000
“ Oaxcaca 18,000
“ Sonora 6,000
Making the enormous sum of $539,000 an
nually divided among eight clergymen! A sum
almost sufficient to defray the expences of the
civil government of the United States.
But it is in Mexico, as everywhere else, the
inordinate wealth of a few makes the inordinate
poverty of the man. The great body of people
(says Humboldt) are suffering for necessaries,
while the nobles and great clergy are wallow-
NEW YORK, SUNDAY MORNING, OCTOBER 31, 1847,
which forms the observatory. This is a circular
room, 20 feet diameter, furnished with a contin
uous divan, and pierced with acomplete circle of
diamond-shaped lights, filled with stained glass
of every shade. The view from this point is very
extensive, reaching over Long Island, and each
way on the Sound to the horizon. The effect
of the different colored glasses upon the land
scape is very curious. Looking through one,
earth and sky have the warmth of the tropics,
while another makes the whole summer land
scape look like the dead of winter, covering
every object with frost and snow.
In all the arrangements of this superb villa,
Mr. Barnum is extremely fortunate. The city
of Bridgeport is one of the most delightful
places in New England, both from its situation
.and tile character of its population. It can be
reached from New York by the “ Nimrod” and
“ Mountaineer” steamers, in from three to five
hours, it is the southern depot of the Housato
nic railroad, intersecting with all the New
England lines ; and the great air-line road from
New York to Boston, passing through Bridge
port, will reduce the time of travel between
that city and New York to about one hour and
a haff.
In other respects, fortune has favored
Barnum. He happened to be in Paris, when
the courts ordered the sale of the personal
effects of a rich and eccentric Russian Prince.
At this sale, notwithstanding the competition,
Mr. Barnum purchased the gold and silver
plate, porcelain, articles of vertu, and bijou
terie of every description ; so that few palaces
in Europe, and certainly no mansion in Amer
ica can compare with this, in the variety and
sumptuousness of its adornments.
Among the plate, is one tea-set, of gold
plated on silver, of great value in material and
exquisite beauty of workmanship ; and to guard
this and other property, Mr Barnum ha» adopted
Tomlinson’s new patent safeguard against bur
glars and fire, by which the slightest movement
of a dosr or window alarms the house, and calls
its forces and fire-arms into requisition. In
other respects the arrangements are equally
perfect. The warming is by hot air furnaces,
and the entire lighting by gas, made on the
premises.
The whole establishment costs, complete,
the sum of $150,090, a large portion of which
has been paid out in the city of Bridgeport,
giving employment to some five hundred arti
zans, and laborers.
It is but but justice to render proper credit
to some of the various establishments, artists,
and artizans who have carried out the munifi
cent designs of the proprietor. The architect
under whose superintendence the villa and its
appendages have been erected, is Thomas P.
Dixon, Esq , of Stamford, Conn. ; the uphol
stery, papering, curtains, hangings,pier glasses,
&c. were imported and manufactured by Messrs.
Solomon & Hart, the fashionable upholsters,
No. 243 Broadway, the Wilton and Brus
sels carpets, imported bv William Sloan, No.
245 Broadway; Chinese furniture by Julius
Dessoir, 499 Broadway; Marble mantels, by
Lenghi, ISth st.; the iron fence by Lorian Free
man, of New York; and the very handsome
carriage, which bears upon its pannels the pro
prietor’s coat of arms, with his motto “ Love
Gob, and de Me&X,” was made from his
own plans, by Messrs. Haight & Co., of Bridge
port.
Such is Ihanistan, the Oriental Villa of
P.T. Barnum; a favorite of fortune, as the
world calls him, but who has merited all her
favors, by industty, enterprize, tact, and perse
vering energy ; which, under any circumstances
must have commanded success.
alone, a city which contains 160,000 inhabi
tants, you may see twenty thousand poor
wretches, like tne lazaroni of Naples, sleeping
in the open air, and depending for their bread
upon the bounty of the passenger.— St. Louis
Enq.
Haker of Wealth and his Heir.
Consider, further, the difference between the
first and second owner of property. Every
species of property is preyed on by its own ene
mies, as iron by rust, timber by rot, cloth by
moths, provisions by mould, putridity, or ver
min ; money by thieves, an orchard by insects,
a planted field by weeds or the inroads of cat
tle, a stock of cattle by hunger, a road by rain
and frost, a bridge by freshets. And whoever
takes any of these things into his possession,
takes the charge of defending them from this
troop of enemies, or of keeping them in repair.
A man who supplies his own wants, and builds
a boat to go a fishing, finds it easy to caulk
it, or to put in a throle pin, or to mend the
rudder. What he gets only as fast as he wants
for his own ends, does not embarrass him, or
take away his sleep with looking after. But.
when he comes to give all the goods he has year
after year collected, in one estate to his son,
house, orchard, barh, ploughed land, cattle,
bridges, hardware, wooden ware, carpets,
cloths, provisions, books, money, and cannot
give him the skill and experience which made
and collected these, and the method and place
they have in his own life, the son finds his
hands full, not to use these things, but to look
idler them, and defend them from their natural
enemies. To him they are not means but mas
ters. Their will, not remit: rust,
mould, vermin, rain, sun, freshet, fire—all
seize their own, fill him with vexation, and he
is converted from the owner into a watchman
or watch-dog to this magazine of old and new
chattels. Instead of the masterly good humor,
and sense of power, and fertility of resource in
itself; instead of those strong and learned
hands, those piercing and learned eyes, that su
ple body, and that mighty and prevailing heart,
which the father had, whom nature loved and
feared, whom snow and rain, water and land,
beast and fish seemed all to know and to serve,
we have now a puny, protected person, guard
ed by walls and curtains, stoves and down beds,
coaches and men servants and women servants,
from the earth and the sky, and who, bred to
depend on all these, is made anxious by all that
endangers those possessions, and is forced to
spend so much time in guarding them, that he
has quite lost sight of their use, namely to his
ends, to the prosecution of his love, to the help
ing of his friends, to the worship of his God, to
the enlargement of his knowledge, to the ser
ving of his country, to the indulgence of his
sentiment; and he is now what is called a rich
man—the menial and runner of his riches.—
It. W. Emerson.
A Christian Deed, well performed.—
At Bangor, Me., a few days since,a lady closely
veiled, called at the house of the Secretary of
the Female Orphan Asylum, and handed to the
Secretary a neat note, and then departed. The.
letter contained two one hundred dollar bills,
and a single line announcing the fact that the
OLD HICKS, THE GUIDE;
OR,
Adventisres in the Camanche Country in search of a Gold Mine.
Entered accordin’ to the Act of Congress in the year 1317, by WiLUAirnoN & Burns and Charles W
WerbS“Tn th“clerlS’l)ffiS of the District Court of tie Southern District of New York.
Quite a little settlement of buffalo-robe huts
had now grown up—for the wounded warriors
of both tribes, had as well to be provided with
shelter as ourselves.
Close beneath the foot of bluff facing our po
sition I found the same cold, clear mountain
stream, to pass, which I have mentioned, as
running through the yard of the Rancho. It
had at first been hidden from my view by the
small grove of intervening trees.
So soon as we were able to use our limbs, the
different members of this primitive hospital—
for we numbered nearly a hundred in all,
wounded in the late desperate fights—would be
seen slowly hobbling towards this stream for
their daily, and sometimes, as in my own case,
more frequent baths
It seems that the highest truths in many de
partments of human investigation, are recog
nised and acted upon intuitively in the savage
or elementary forms of the social state, which
it has taken our complex civilization many cen
turies. to arrive at or approach.
The Savant travelsjan enormously circuitous
rout of precident, through books and musty
parchments, w ithin the walls of the cell or stu
dio, and after all the weary way has only pick
ed up, amidst the ashes and bones of centuries,
a fragmentary particle or two, glittering with
the deathless light of nature’s truth—the sa
vage lives in her immediate embrace —and the
old mother smiles always benignaptly upon her
simple children. Thus they grow strong upon
the giant’s food, drawn from her own warm bo
som, and act the prophecies of science
live in the real of its bright though sickly vi
sions.
The great’geniuses, are, and have been, es
sentially savages, in all but the breech-clout.
They arrive at truth by much the same pro
cesses—they equally scorn all shackles, but
those of the God-imposed senses, and with like
self reliance, rule all precedents by the gospel
as revealed within themselves!
It would be a disquisition filled with highest
interest, to the true philosopher, and pregnant
of rebuke to the scientific pedant, which would
treat knowingly of the many facts in the daily
life of the savages of this continent, shew them
to have unconsciously anticipated by centuries
the slow and turgid revelations of science as
taught in our schools of civilization. ‘
To say that they are far enough ahead of our
philosophers in the knowledge of the laws of
physical life, and the proceses of inductive rea
son, would sound like a monstrous assumption:
but it is nevertheless true
The genuine savage is a living demonstration
of simple mathematics, such as the styles or
type, has never yet perpetuated to the dreary
confusion of smoke dried, pale victims, of “ the
midnight lamp.”
Within the wide range of his excursions, he
is a better naturalist than any of them all from
Audubon to Aristotle and Pliny, or even—if we
may make the assertion without impiety?—than
the Brahmins of the sacred Vedas, or Moses
himself.
The habits of these creatures, wild and sim
ple as themselves, are familiar to them from
childhood, as those of their own mates in their
own tribe.
They know intimately all their ingoings and
outcomings—what changes the revolutions of
the sun, moon and seasons produce in these, or
upon their passions and affections, their upri
sings, and lyings down.
They are equally familiar with all the
changes in size, plumage, pelage, &c, produced
by age and the seasons.
In a word, though jhoy cannot with Cuvier,
read you the Natural History of an antediluvian
world, with its fossil remains for a text—yet
they can within the limits of their own excur
sions furnish you with more accurate details
of the world as it is, than Cuvier, and all this
peers.
They can puzzle the profoundest optician by
their powers of vision, and set at nought his
subtlest theories,so with regard to the sciences
of the othey senses.
In each of these they nearly equal the most
extraordinary of the animals, who excel in a
particular sense—as the eagle, the cat, the
hound, etc., and yet have the advantage of com
bining all.
How immeasurably superior such life, to the
prosy vegetation of the civilized man, and what
amazing discoveries such organizations would
bring to the fields of his investigations, aided
by his mechanics!
How is this life perfected, and such organi
zation perpetuated?
The savage is most innocently a profound
master of the laws of life. He has never taken
his degree at Edinburgh, or travelled to the
European schools—yet his simple habits are so
far above the practical wisdom of learned pro
fessors, as to enable him to look down with pa
tronising pity upon’the technical and poiHierous
stupidity of all the colleges of medicine and sur
gery in the world.
The object of medical science is to preserve
as well as restore health. We have in civili
zation the must stupendously pompous ap
pliances for the perpetuation of such know
ledge as we possess, in all the departments of
this science. ,
The Indian laughs to shame all this silly pa
rade ! Long ago he humbly asked of his an
cient mother nature, that she would teach him
—and as she is always gracious, except to those
who, like our learned professors attempt to
teach her !— she answered his prayer. She told
him to look upon the wild birds and beasts
around him, and he might read her written re
velations of the laws of life and health.
The Indian was humble and obeyed. He took
his science of life from them, and when we
grow wise enough, we too will wipe out our
dusty records, and take from the same source,
and from him our science.
As he is more powerful, more long-lived,
more active, more enduring cf hunger and
thirst, and the vicissitudes of climate and sea
son, than any cne of the inferior denizens of
the wilderness, through which he ranges—so
will those bold men of civilization, who adopt
his humble unpretentious science, outstrip in
physicaljdevelopment the feeble slaves of Prece
dent by whom he is surrounded.
Simplicity and common sense guide the sa
vage. He lives in certain conditions of the
elemental world. To these, whether hot, cold,
or temperate; he must adapt himself and his
children.
All their vicissitudes have to be faced—whe
ther or no—so lie commences with accustom
ing his child to them from its birth.
He plunges it mto the Water, and teaches it
to swim before it can walk. He gives it simple
food, accustoms it to enduring hunger and thirst
—its life is to be a predatory one, so he habi
tuates it to the use cf mimic arms, so soon as it
can handle them. Its games are all such as will fit
it for the war path, ot the mountain foray.
The child grows up a warrior without know
ing it. When it receives a bruising fall in
hunting, or is wounded in their dangerous
games—like the frog when bitten by the spider
—it has its prompt remedy at hand —runs to the
nearest stream, and lies down in it until the
pain is relieved, or else in harmless mimicry
of. Pedantic nostrums snatches some fresh herb
from the earth that with its natural coolness
answers nearly the same purpose ot withdraw
ing the inflamation,
So he grows up his own physican and if
more serious diseases overtake him—which is
seldom—abstinence, the steam sweat of hot
rocks with water poured on them under a
Blanket—followed by a plunge into the cold
stream relieves him.
He is his own surgeon too, and ii a limb is
broken he takes it to the nearest running water,
steeps it there until the inflamation has subsid
ed, bsnds it up with innocent herbs in some
soft fibrous bark, returns to the cold water as
often as the inflamation rises, and is well in an
incredibly short time.
So with wounds of every description, a sin
gle warrior will bear wounds of a character and
number that would kill three white men, and
yet by the aid of abstinence, his immense recu
perative energies, and snch simple treatment
as we have mentioned, he is up again and in
the saddle befoie the corpse of a white man
woulu have been fairly in the way of decompo
sition.
This system constitutes as I conceive the
true adaption of “ means to the end.” We do
not wisli to make our children—in civilization
—professional robbers, certainly—but we must
and do desire to make them men. Physically
men in every sense of hardihood and endurance
—they are best fitted to become ethicaly so in
every sense of good citizenship.
The Border white man in bis contests with
the savage soon acquires from the collision
many of his habits and appropriates much of
his wisdom “on compulsion” of the same con
dition and necessities.
1 have mentioned how promptly Old Hicks
and Landeville, who were the most experienc
ed in Indian modes, adopted my s uggestion of
of my party who were less experienced, prov
ed more difficult to persuade, yet what prompt
and magical results followed? We were in
vigorated and refreshed alter our bath the next
morning—-in spite of all the wounds bruises and
fatigue we had e dured.
Now in our hospital camp we had been sub
jected to the same simple processes and with
like extraordinary results. I am convinced
that three out of five of all.that were wounded
—including myself and remnant of party —
would without hesitation have been consigned
over to death upon the list of the “ mortally
wounded” by the majority of scientific surgeons.
Yet it seemed we were not mortally wounded
for one after another by the constant use of the
invigorating tonic of a cold bath we came
forth again restored to the free use of our ener
gies. ,
It looks as if, here again “ out of the mouths
of babes”—in learning—our Doctors were con
founded—lor since my return to civilization I
learn that a rude and half savage peasant of
Germany has astonished the world by the mira
culous cures he has performed through the
energetic application of these same primitive
nature derived laws, to all forms of disease as
well as accidental injuries.
Who shall say now that the boasted and in
flated learning of civilization may not even in
the healing art, be set at naught by the dark
skinned, and breech clouted being, it has so
patronizingly designated “the untutored sa
vage.”
Thus it was that amidst all the dangerous
blows and blood-lettings we came through at
last a feeble remnant —but once again securely
on our feet.
Our freedom from all shackles upon the phy
sical life was of course attended by a like re
lease from moral bigotry. The savage has his
morality and a stern code it is too.
He happily has no such subtleties as the Doc
trine of original sin or.predestination to puzzle
his brain —he falls back upon the common or un
written law ot Human Rights.
This is tha broad foundation of his code—the
features of which have been slightly modified
by traditionary usages which are purely deriv
ed from the Patriarchal system which is evident
ly the truest and most ancient of Human In
stitutions.
As is always the case where this Institution
prevails in its original form the Government is
a pure Theocracy. Among the Southern In
dians there are few religious observances or
ceremonies. ■—
Indeed I have not been able to detect any
which might be strictly so called. By mute
and impressive gestures they sometimes give
token that they recognize the being and pre
sence of the Great Father of all good.
Their civil chiefs are hereditary and answer
nearly to the Leritical Priesthood of the
Hebrews except that they unite more entirely
in themselves the civil with the Spiritual
Rule.
Tbeir war chiefs are elected as we have
shown from the body of the warriors. The civil
chief is the Executive Judge who administers
justice to all.
The war chief is his lieutenant. He is in
deed in one sense a petty king—though the ex
tent of his power and influence is strictly limit
ed by his wisdom and the capacity for command
he may exhibit in the council where he pre
sides.
It will be ..perceived that with such an organ
ization the habits of thought and feeling among
these people would be entirely impulsive, sim
ple and direct.
What their passions taught they would obey,
and this though a terrible subversive and fatal
doctrine to civilization, is to savage life entire
ly safe.
For among them we find the grand exception
—which civilization does not furnish—that
their passions are healthy. Consequ'ently the
frightful catalogue of crimes with which civi
lization is rotting through the morbid develop
ments of the passions is almost entirely un
known among them.
The passions for war, plunder and revenge,
might be said to be inordinately developed—
but not morbidly—these are the uses of their
social condition, and they seldom abuse them or
are abused by them. They control them with
that heroic stoicism, which perfect health,
physical development, and habits of abstinence
alone can furnish.
The character and creed of the Border-Ran
ger, when not entirely corrupted by the
civilization he has left behind him re
sembles that of his natural foe in very many
respects.
His vigorous life is usually intact of the de
generating vices, and it is from this fact that
his moral code derives a certain immobility and
sternness of definition, which will admit of no
variations within the range of those conscious
instincts of honor, justice and right which are
common to all mankind.
Beyond this they do not seek to penetrate,
and if they knew before hand, are eagerly ready
to forget—since they only isolated themselves
from civilization, to get rid of what—to their
free instinct—seemed merely conventional, and
unnatural requisitions.
With them the primitive virtues of an heroic
manhood are all sufficient, aqd they care no
thing for reverences, forms,duties, observances,
&c., as civilization has them—but respect each
other’s rights, and recognise the awful presence
of a benigna’nt God, in the still grandeur ol
mountain, forest, valley, plain, and river,
through, among, and over which they pass.
With them loyalty to the God of truth and
nature is first, and loyalty to race and comrade
next.
This is their creed in short.
Such men do not look back to society, except
with disgust—but look into the face of God as
revealed in his natural world, and into the in
stincts of their own souls and hearts for what is
just and true. To them all that is true, fitting,
and natural in a passion, is proper and legiti
mate.
But their’s is not the social legitimacy—
they care not a fig for what the judgment of
conventionalities might be at home —it was suf
ficient to them that the passion was appro
priated here—under existing circumstances.
It was in this spirit that my passion for the
French woman had been from the first regard
ed by my men. That it had seemed to them
sacred and entirely fitting—witness the man
ner in which the first brutal suggestion of Dol
phin Larry had been met—witness the unhesi
tating devotion with which they had followed
to the death my desperate fortunes, when they
knew to a man that I had been controlled in al
most every movement, since the recovery of
our arms, by this passion—witness the manner
in which the brother of Dolphin had acted to
wards her and myself, after the death ot his
own brother at my hands—witness their devo
tion in the last terrible fight, and the small
remnant now left, who were as loyal and un
shrinking as eyer I
Does not all this show that rude frontiers
men are not only capable of recognising the
highest instincts of chivalry—but are practi
cally, though unconsciously, as far advanced,
as the most noble and divine of modern philo
sophers in their perception of the holiness of
honest love. The enchantment of woman’s
beauty when united with the delicacy proper to
her own sex, and the resolute daring of the
other, is more powerful with them, while at
the same time they regard it with less surprise
than would the men of civilization.
Nothing within the range of human capacity
for evil or for good surprises them, but treach
ery or cowardice.
They were not surprised to see me ]ove the
Frenchwoman—for that was natural to two
young persons, such as we were, thrown toge
ther under circumstances so peculiar.
They* .were surprised at the brutality of
Larry, for this was dishonoring to their hospi
tality as well as chivalry.
But they were not surprised to see the French
woman kill the chief, for it was just what any
“ spunky gal” of their sisters or sweethearts at
home would have done, and probably had done
before on the Frontier.
They were not surprised but aroused to see
the French woman lead in battle, with the port
of command, and the coolest daring—for .they
thought it all natural that a spirited woman
who had been brave once should be brave again
—and then this was a wild country,anditmade
all brave alike.
But it did not decrease the respect of such
rude, honest men, lor these, to them, natural
traits, that she carried upon her calm and open
brow, the white stamp of a nobler nature, gen
tler cultivation, and a more imperious will than
theirs. They rather worshipped, than won
dered at her.
I, too, was a Ranger, and my experiences in
this wild life, had been much the same as
theirs, and had produced upon me very similar
effects. I loved her because she was piquant,
These were reasons enough why a ranger
captain or any other sort of a captain, should
run mad about her, and do any amount of ex
travagant things in her behalf—leaving out of
view the romance ol the strange accident that
had brought us together in such extraordinary
scenes.
I still.—with all my infatuation —had enough
of the bi tter leven of civilized bigotry in me to
curse her heartily at times for an evil witch,
when the sting suffering rankled most —for then
I realized that she—or rather—my passion for
her, had caused it all—but one glance at her
noble face had always been sufficient to make
me heartily ashamed of the meanness.
This feeling of' distrust and self-reproach
could of course never have risen with regard to
her for an instant, but for the agonizing doubts
which would intrude themselves as to her true
relations with Albert.
However graceful and beautiful she might be
—the idea of wasting an eternity ot passionate
adoration upon the discarded mistress of ano
ther man—was rather uncomfortable, even for
a reckless Ranger in the midst of the wilder
ness.
From what had fallen from this remarkable
being, I could not believe her anything else in
my sane moments —yet there was something
so pure, chaste, and even loftily superb in her
bearing, at all times, except when contrasted,
with moods of the most touching tenderness,
that I had never been able to rid myself of the
tones of a still but heart-heard voice, which
gave the lie to all suspicions. It always con
quered my jealous and desponding rage by plea
ding—” The angel is known by its wings—her’s
were never soiled with her own fore-know
ledge of the infamy—for see ! have they not
grown as white and strong as ever ?”
And yet! and yet! the fade licentiousness
of Parisian life, might well have sought instinc
tively, the impunity of licence afforded here
with none to question.
These cruel doubts—how they racked me,?
■ There was yet another side to the question.
I The two extremes of civilization come very
• near together.
I Paris and a Camanche village apnroach each
other much more intimately than Paris and
i Philadelphia do. In Paris civilization has
: reached its culminating point. It is nearly the
radiating centre of human jirogress—scattering
the keen fresh light of latest truths upon an
“ outer darkness” that pervades the world.
This highest civilization lias a tendency to
bring us round and back again to our starting
place, and soon in its contempt for convention
alities, rushes to.the extreme, beyond the sa
vage even, and comes to regard all social ques
tions, from a point of view which he would
shrink from.
This worst form of libertinism of thought and
sentiment, has given birth to the ferocious
school of French literature, which is far-more
shocking with its hideous ideal, than a bruised
Gorgon’s head, with the black gore dripping
from its writhing locks.
Indian scalp taking is nothing worse than an
innocent amusement when compared with its
teachings and suggestions.
Among the followers of this school, I had no
doubt Master Albert was to be classed. He had
probably,, after running the whole round of li
centiousness, sighed for new worlds to conquer,
and come here to find them. It might be that
something of the same feeling brought this
brilliant and charming woman here from the
salons oi' her beloved Pans ! —I say.it might,
be—jyet my heart gave the lie to this in spite
of my reason. It was an holier feeling, a sub
lime impulse, that must have moved this noble
woman to such a step—it must have been some
thing higher than a vulgar passion for the Ro
mance of novelty. She was no soft girl to go
wild of asickly sentimentality.
A passion which had been strong enough—at
one time, at least, to master and absorb the
fiery will of her volcanic nature, must have
been at the bottom of all this. The tender
woman in her had been overcome, and per
haps her trust been foully wronged. That it
had been outraged in one sense, she herself had
told me and God knows this wrong had been
bitter enough, to such a woman, —but her oc
casional gloom and those paroxisms of deep
humiliation which I had frequently witnessed,
taken with her rigid silence with regard to the
definate character of the relations existing be
tween Albert and herself—farther than that, she
had loved him—had impressed me with a vague
apprehension that there must.be something be
hind yet unrevealed, of which it was either too
painful or too humiliating for her to speak.
I was not yet quite enough of a savage or of
a Parisian to disregard these perplexing ques
tions and doubts. It was still something to me,
whether the woman I loved was or had been
the willing mistress of another. While the
memory of my mother lingered with me, and
my own self-respect remained, this could not
be otherwise.
But love is a most subtile sophist and if rea
son will not avail him, he takes refuge under
the wings of Faith, and will suffer himself to be
borne by them as upon the wings of the morn
ing, to the uttermost parts of the earth, in
search of proof, of what he desil es to be true.
Her presence was sufficient to banish every
lingering shadow from my sky and flush the
cold blue with a rosy warmth. It was then
enough to be happy and leave the future to take
care of itself.
Ah ! the delicious hours we passed together
beneath those rude tents of Buffalo hides.
I felt in those communions that though the
future might reveal that Albert had picked her
out from the filthiest brothel cf the vilest
fauxbourg of Paris and brought her here as the
convenient creature of his beastly lusts—that
it would make no real difference in my heart
feeling for and recognition of her. Since we
had- met I had witnessed enough of all that is
most gentle, devoted, delicate and pure in her,
that the fastidious idealist would demand in the
exalted woman who should be the angel of his
fireside—to sanctify and redeem the leman.
If there be rejoicing in heaven over one sin
ner that repentetb should there not also be
mercy and forgiveness at least, upon earth? aye
and when the good ar.gel has returned to its
“ House ,of Lite” once more and looks upon
the world through calm, clear eyes, it is with
command, not entreaty, that the brutality ol
the hardened scoffer is rebuked.
I was troubled with few bigotries or conven
tional scruples, certainly, but I am sure that
had I been ridden by the most ferocious
prudery that ever exhausted spinster minced
and ambled beneath, that “ Oid Woman of the
Sea” would have vanished from my shoulders
in decrepid hurry /before a single keen imperi
ous glance from the dark eyes of the French
woman.
* For though she might have been a thousand
times disgraced in the eyes of what we call
“ the world I” sue would have flashed them
down into cowed subjection before that haugh
ty, self-reliant will of hers when once it had
been roused. She was sufficient to herself—
within herself and therefore she could com
mand.
Shrinking from consequences seemed to her
nature an impossibility. If she. had sinned wan
tonly, he it so I she sinned no more, and as she
felt that her peace had been made before the
throne of heaven, she no longer dreaded the
eye of man—if she had sinned unwittingly, then
there was nothing for either God or man to for
give, and in the presence of either she would
be equally calm.
Thus it was I translated her throtigh all that
had fallen from her lips, and had been expressed
in her bearing. How near I came to the truth,
perhaps the future may soon show I
Through all the weary period of our conva
lescence, until our entire and perfect restora
tion to health, Albert had been unceasingly as
siduous in his attentions—presenting himself
personally to me, at least once, and most fre
quently twice a day to enquire for the progress
of my recovery, and do the agreeable in
general.
Although he quite as often found me in the
tent of the French woman, as in ray own, this
circumstance never seemed for a moment to at
tract his attention —he appeared rather pleased
indeed that it should be so.
About the time I became able to remount my
horse, he began to let me see the meaning of <
this extraordinary courtesy and interest in the I
progress of my recovery. ,
He now with many protestations of respect
and admiration, assured me that I had by my
prowess and bravery, inspired him at last with
a most passionate friendship.
He had been a little suspicious of, and had
somewhat disliked me at first—but gradually
his respect had deepened into admiration, and
then into such a friendship, as could sacrifice a
world for me.
I entirely recognized the disinterested char
acter' of these advances of my new and enthusi
astic friend—particularly when he came to tell
me with the most confidential manner that he
had to propose to me a new enterprise which
would most unquestionably be attended with
brilliant results to us both.
After a few days spent in preparing the way,
he.at last came to me with the announcement
that he had completed his arrangements for a
distant and somewhat dangerous enterprise,
which yet could not by any possibility succeed
[ unless I joined him with my men, and —more
my astonishing prowess in the risks of the un
dertaking. He assured me that it was onb
necessary that I should sav the word, and all
my tribe would come at once into the arrange
ments he had projected.
After some little coquetry he at last camt
out with the proposition—in plain words—that
I should join him with my three men and rnv
warriors in an expedition which he himself hat
long contemplated—to a famous mountain fa>
within the Camanche country, which was be
lieved. to contain a gold mine of astonishing
richness—the discovery of which would enrich
us all. He promised that three hundred of his
Caygua warriors should accompany any force of
my tribe that I could raise—whether great or
small.
As I had determined in no event to shrink
from the consummation of the purpose that,
brought me here—l at once consented to this
arrangement, and on the next morning we were
all under way for this ultimate El Dorado of
our wild adventures.
[To be continued.)
[Original.]
Bdigions of tl)e iDorlir.
NUMBER THIRTY SEVEN.
Pantheism.
This word is a compound of pan, all: and
theos, God. Pantheism is that form of philoso
phical Deism, which consists in a belief that
God is the soul of the Universe, and that all
nature bears the same relation to the universal
soul, that the bodies of mon and animals do to
their spirits.
Pantheism is one of the most ancient of reli
gious doctrines. It was taught, by Orpheus,
and by several of the schools of Greek philo
sophers ; and in modern times by Spinosa and
Hobbes, as well as many other writers on meta
physics and theology, of lesser note.
Pantheism is often confounded with material
ism, but the latter doctrine, in its purity, makes
all cogitative or mental power and action to
depend on matter, while the former may sup
pose the reverse, holding that matter is but the
unfolding of the Deity. Pure Materialism is
Atheism—Pan’heisrn makes all nature God.
No writer has spread pantheistical ideas so
widely as Pope, because nowhere are they so
beautifully expressed as in his poems,especially
in his “Essay on Man,” which, strangely
enough, is used in our common schools through
out the United States. Never was Pantheism
taught more perfectly than in the following
lines:
“All are but parts of one stupendous whole,
Whose body Nature is and God the soul;
That, changed through all. and yet in all the same,
Great in the earth as in th’etherial frame,
Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze,
Glows in the stars and blossoms in the trees,
Lives through all life, extends through all extent,
Spreads undivided, operates unspent;
Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part,
-As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart;
As full, as perfect, in vile Man that mourns,
As the rapt Seraph that adores and burns;
To him no high, no low, no great, no small:
He fills, he bounds, connects, and equals all.”
Considering attentively these lines, we see
how fully Popo had adopted the Pantheistical
philosophy, which is fully expressed in the
line,
“ Whoso body Nature is and God the soul,’
the idea of which is so finely elaborated in
the succeeding verses; and the same is stated
in Epistle Third:
“ Nothing is foreign; parts relate to whole;
One all-extending, all preserving; Soul
Connects each being, &c.”
The idea that man is a microcosm, or the
world in little, favors the doctrine of Pantheism,
or teaches it rather by analogy, for if the body
of man represents the material universe, his
mind or soul corresponds to the “ All-extend
ing Soul,’,’ —the great Soul of the universe from
which all other souls are made.
If matter, as appears to us, fills all space, a
Deity as infinite must pervade all matter, and
this is the commonly recognized doctrine of
God’s omnipresence. If God be everywhere
present, it follows that he is every where active,
because we cannot conceive of a passive deity;
and if every where active, all Nature must be
the subject of this activity, and the manifesta
tion of this pervading power—and this deduc
tion is Pantheism.
Pantheists hold, with Plato, to the eternity
of matter, because they cannot conceive of
a God, as seperate from his attributes and man •
ifestations. Their minds cannot grasp the idea
of a spirit, existing in a void of infinite space,
in an infinite past eternity, without any con
ceivable exercise of any one of his attributes.
They, therefore, believe that matter is as eter
nal as God; that both are inseperable, and ne
cessarily dependent on each other, so that there
could be no more a God without a universe, than
a universe without a God.
It is -objected that this connection of God
with nature, making him the active agent in all
her operations, is degrading the Deity. It
makes him the author of all evil as well as all
good; performing the meanest as well as the
grandest operations. But if this doctrine is ob
jectionable, it is taught by those who would not
confess themselves Pantheists. Thus it is sai; l ,
that it is “in God we live, move, and have our
being,” and the omnipresence and omnipotence
of God, as recognised by the most orthodox
sects present the same objections.
There are Pantheists, who recognise what
they term a cogitative quality of matter, and
who consider the universal soul, rather as an
effect, than a cause, making God inferior to na
ture.
Thus they say, all the great laws and princi
ples of nature are eternal, and self existent.
Such are all the mathematical principles, and
geometrical combinations. Such also are the
laws of chemistry, optics, etc. It no more re
quired God to make these self existent princi
ples, than for him to cause that two and two
make four; which it is not even in the power
of God to alter.
They hold then that God and nature, as the
united body and soul of the universe, are the
necessary result of certain positive principles,
always existing and always active.
This doctrine, however, is so near to Athe
ism, that it is not very easy to distinguish the
difference. It is charged that every Pantheis
tical theory tends to the same result; but it is
scarcely safe to follow any theological doctrine
very far; at least, it would not be, if we had
the Inquisition.
Perhaps the best thing connected with what
may be called the philosophical creeds of reli
gion, is their toleration. Philosophers never
persecute, they never burn men at the stake,
for a difference of opinion, or involve whole
nations in bloody wars. Even the worst ene
mies of the doctrines of Spinosa and Hobbes
admit the excellence of their characters; and
it must be admitted that a mild and benevolent
Pantheist is a better man than a fanatic who
hates and persecutes bis fellow men for a diffe
rence of opinion, in regard to matters which we
know very little about, and which, possibly, do
not much concern us.
Britannia Bridge.
The following description of this stupendous
work is given by a correspondent of the Man
chester Examiner:
“ If we suppose ourselves stationed in a boat
in the middle of the Menai Strait, a few hun
dred yards distant from the new bridge on the
south side and suppose it finished, we shall see
a wonder of the world of this kind. First,
there is the middle pier rising out of the water,
founded on the Britannia rock, after which the
bridge is named. This rock can be seen at low
water. The breadth of this pier is sixty-two
feet by fifty-three feet and a quarter of an inch.
The blocks of stone are seven and eight feet
long by three and four feet in breadth and deep
ness, and they rise stone upon stone, until the
pier is 320 feet high.
“ At the distance of 460 feet on each side of
this centre pier* there rise, near the water’s
PRICE, THREE CENTS.
'readth and height; while on each side of these
‘wo piers, at the distance of 250 feet, there rise
'wo walls. Continuing outwards, the wall on our
ight hand on the Carnarvon shore, does not ex
'end its ponderous bulk far back, for the land is
high and bold, and the railway comes along its
■levated brow and at once lays hold of the bridge,
lot on our left hand, which is the Anglesea
hore, the wall is the forehead and end of a
nighty embankment, on which the railway is
aised to the level of the bridge.
“ There, then, are the four spaces before us,
across which, in the iron tubes, the railway is
laid—namely, two. spaces on each side of the
centre pier of 460 feet each (let the reader
measure 460 feet on a street or on a road, and
he will wonder at the vastness of this structure) ;
and two more spaces of 250 feet, respectively at
each end. The tubes are eight in number, each
of them 30 feet on the exterior side, and 27 feet
high in the interior. Each is 14 feet wide, and
they are laid in couples parallel to each other.
In the whole, with the breadth of the piers and
the landward buildings, the length of the bridge
is one-third of a mile.
“In height the three piers are, as already
said, 230 feet. Measuring from low water mark
to the bottom of the tubes, the height is 130
feet, the tubes being 30 feet on the side, and the
pier 70 feet above their upper surface. As or
naments to the two walls which rise upon each
shore, are four lions, two at each end of the
bridge. The lions contain about 8,000 cubic
feet of stone; they lie couched, and yet the
height of each is 12 foet; the greatest breadth
of each paw 2 feet 4 inches.
“ The tubes are made of plates of iron of
various thicknesses, riveted together. The iron
i ncreased in thickness as we proceed towards
the centre. The roofs of the tubes are formed
of cells, and also the floors. These cells are,
formed of iron plates set on edge, the cells of
the roof being within a fraction of one foot
nine inches square, and those of the floor being
one foot nine inches wide, and two feet three
inches deep. The rails on which the trains
run are laid on these cells of the floor. The
flat bottom, the two upright sides, and the flat
roof of each tube, are formed of plates, the
thinnest of which is a quarter of an inch, and
the_ thickest three-quarters of an inch. The
weight of each of the four long tubes will be
about 1,300 tons; the weight of each of the
four short ones about 600 tons. In the whole
there will be, at least, 7,600 tons of iron used.
Tiie masonry was contracted for by B. J. Noel
& Col, at 130,0007.; but from alterations in the
plans, it will cost 200,0007. They expect to
finish the masonry by August, 1848. It twill
contain one million and a half of cubic feet of
stone.”
3/dstoa'acn.
England looks every where aristocratical. A
dominant idea in English life is possession by
inheritance. Property and privilege are nailed
by law to names. A man, by force of mind,
rises from lowliness, to a Dukedom : the man
dies, but the Dukedom lives, and lifts into emi
nence a dullard, perhaps, or a reprobate. The
soul has departed, and the body is unburied.
Counter to the order of nature, the external
confers, instead of receiving life; and whereas
at first a rnan made the Dukedom, afterwards
’tis the Dukedorn that makes the man. Merit
rises, but leaves behind it generations of un
meritorious not only to feed on its gains, but to
posses places that should never be filled but by
the deserving.
In an hereditary aristocracy the noble fami
lies form knots on the trunk of the nation,
dra.ving to themselves sap which, for the pub
lic health, should be equally distributed. Law
and custom attach power and influence to names
and lands: whoso own these, govern, and so
rigid and cherished are primogeniture and en
tail, that much of them is possessed without an
effort or a natural claim. The possessor’s
whole right is arbritary and artificial. To as
cribe the short-comings of England to the aris
tocratic principle, were as shallow as to claim
for it her many glories.
In her developement it has played its part
according to her constitutional temperament;
but her developement has been richer and
healthier than that of their neighbours, because
(a false aristocracy having been hitherto in Eu
rope unavoidable) her people have been manlv
and democratic enough not to suffer one dis
tinct in blood to rear itself among them. Com
pare English with any other aristocracy, and
this in it is notable and unique; it does not form
a caste.
It is not, like the German, or Russian, or
Italian, a distinct breed from that of the rest of
the nation : nay, its blood is ever renewed from
the veins of the people. This is the spring of
its life; this nas kept it in vigor; this
strengthens it against degeneracy, it sucks at
the breast of the mighty multitude. Hence at
bottom it is, that the English Peer is, in any
part of the world a higher personage than the
German Count or Italian Prince. He cannot
show pedigrees with them, and this, a cause of
mortification to his pride, is the very source of
his superiority.
From this cause, English aristocracy is less
far removed than any other in Europe from a
genuine aristocracy, or government of the best,
of which, however, it is still but a mockery.—
It is not true that all the talent in the realm
gravitates towards the House of Lords, but some
of it does; and as such talent is, of course, in
alliance with worldly ambition, the novi
homines in Parliament are apt not to be so emi
nent for principle as for intellect. Until men
shall be much purer than they have yet been,
no nation will, under any form of policy, throw
up its best men'into high places. The working
of the representative system with us has reveal
ed the facfe that witn free choice a community
chooses in the long run men who accurately
represent itself.
Should therefore Utopia lie embosomed in our
future, instead of the present very mixed as
semblage, our remote posterity may look for a
Congress that will present a shining level of
various excellence. Only that should so blessed
an era be in store, Congresses and all other cun
ning contrivances called governments, will be
superfluous.
11l England, in legislation and in social life,
most of the best places are filled by men whose
ancestors earneij them, and not themselves.—
These block the way to those who, like their
ancestors, are capable in a fair field of winning
eminence. By inheritance are enjoyed posts
demanding talent, liberality, refinement—qual
ities not transmissible. It is subjecting the
spiritual to the corporeal. It is setting the
work of man, Earls andßishops, over the -work
of God, ins*.
The world is ever prone to put itself in
bondage to the external: laws should aim to
counteract the tendency. Here this bond
age is methodized and legalized. The.
body politic has got to be but feebly organic.
Men are obliged in every direction to conform
rigidly to old forms ; to reach their end by me
chanical routine. A man on entering life finds
himself fenced in between ancient walls.—
Every Englishman is free relatively to every
other living Englishman, but is a slive to his
forefathers. He must put his neck under the
yoke of prescription. The life'of > every child
in England is too vigorously predestined.
Antipathy to • Operas.—“ The celebrated
Sir Isaac Newton,” says Sir John Hawkins in a
MS. note, “ disliked operatic performances.—
One day when I was in company with him and
the famous Dr. Clarke, in an assembly of the first
ladies being asked if he had ever seen an opera, he
replied, “ Once.” “ And how did you like it 2”
added the lady. “ Sir Isaac answered-“ The
first act enchanted me.—the second I could just
bear—and at the third I ran away.” The great
St. Evremond was of a similar disposition ; in
one of his letters to Villiers, Duke of Bucking
ham, he says, “ There is in operas one thing so
contrary to nature that I cannot be reconciled
to it, and that is the singing of the whole piece
from beginning to end, as if the persons repre
sented were ridiculously matched, and had
agreed to treat in music both the most common
and most important affairs of life. Is it to be
imagined that a master calls his servant, or
sends him on an errand singing; that one friend
imparts a secret to another singing ; that men
deliberate in council singing; that orders in
time of battle are given singing; and that men
are melodiously killed with swords and darts.
This is the downright way to lose the life of
representation.”
An Anecdote of the War. —A corporal
of the 6th Infantry, one of St. Patrick’s sons,
was struck down by a ball in the pursuit of the
Mexicans after the battle of Churubusco.
While laying on the ground calmly contem
plating his misfortune in the shape of a broken
arm, lie heard at a short distance from him >
comrade, also wounded, howling terribly.—
Angered by the fellow’s want of fortitude, lie
exclaimed, “ Hold your tongue, ye wee bit of a
soldier do ye think nobody is kilt but yerself?”
Goon Advice.—lf you are about to leave a
neighbor’s house, don’t stand stammering and
fumbling and saving, “ well, I guess 1 must be

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