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Sunday dispatch. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1845-1854, January 23, 1848, Image 4

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Persistent link: https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn83030362/1848-01-23/ed-1/seq-4/

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Entered to the Actol Congress in the year 18-17, by r WiLLUM«oN & Burns, in the Clerk’s
Otticejof the. District Court of the Southern District of New York.
©r, QUmturts of on (Entljnsiost
In the City and the Wilderness.
Away I away over the bending grass of the
prairie these two young riders sped, with a
swiftness that caused their nerves to tingle,
and made the great beds of sun-flowers, over
which they trampled, to run together as
though a swift stream of molten gold went
by on either hand —while Fanny—whom their
speed had overtaken, seemed as she gambolled
by the side of her mistress, a strange dolphin
sporting on a wave as strange!
Even the gentle breeze they met was rous
ed by their wild speed, and went roaring in a
gale of rollicking laughter past their ears—
while, as for their exultant horses! —
" Through main and tail the high wind sighs,
Fanning the hairs which wave like feathered wings.”
Away! away! with their hearts on fire,
their blood bounds faster than fleet-footed
steeds can go. They do not look upon each
other now. They touch occasionally, and
one sphere encircles them. They feel that if
they pause, their hearts will pale to ashes of
that fierce consuming flame—that they must
on! and shake off the keen ardour that had
gathered there, through motion, outwardly,
updn the cool wind, that it may go to warm
the soul of nature, and relieve them from a
present death of too much joy.
On ! on they go. The yellow flowers have
been passed, and now they come to great beds
of the pink sweet William, and the swift
stream on either hand grows paler suddenly
with a delicate flush, till they seem to be ca
reering down some roseate river, rippling
through the gates of dawn.
On ! on ! The pink flowers have been past
and now come great beds of blue, and the
swift stream on either hand seems like a'li
quid sky fallen in, with here and there a flee
cy flake of cloud-foam on it, where some
white flower swings its delicate plume along
But then this mad motion cannot last for
ever. For several miles they bad thus gone,
when the cool winds and the calm of the bles
sed sun drew forth the burning fever of that
overcoming ecstacy from their throbbing
veins—and now their pulses could gradually
subside to the full but slower beat of a less
tempestuous happiness.
They reined up their reeking horses to a
gentle canter, and then the subtler and more
soothing influences of the scene through
which they passed, had time to interpenetrate
their beings, and they were hushed in voice
less awe.
These wonderful prairies!— how gorgeous
ly strange they seemed to them through their
love-illumined senses.
Even to their accustomed eyes they still
were a wonder and a miracle, for they com
bine many of the most picturesque character
istics of both the ocean and the sky.
Here it lay skirted in the vast circumfer
ance of a sky-bounded sea—while the stilled
undulations rise and dip with the regular
sweep ot waves. Had the shadow of God’s
presence passed upon the great wafers just
while they rose and fell in the long swells af
ter a storm, and they had grown afraid and
paused to wait through all time for his man
date of release, then would that enchanted
sea have been like the prairie.
And then, if on the green glassy mirror of
those quiet billows, the gorgeous sunset of a
day of summer storms threw down the glo
rious reflex of its cloud-piled splendors —they
might see in it the flowering robes the grand
prairie wears.
And then all the living creatures that they
see upon it—each one, whether , deer, mus
tang or tall white crane, standing so still as
they approach—amidst the solemn silence of
that primeval solitude—
“ As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean
that when one moves it makes them start to
see it, as if that were a kind of miracle.
The only sounds they hear are the low
sweet trill of the yellow meadow lark,
which, bounding from the grass before them,
turns its head as it goes off, to show them the
black shield on its breast, and leaves a sigh of
timid music, like a perfume, behind it, on
their ears. Or else the little grass sparrow,
with a shrill affrighted chirp, darts from near
their very feet, and dips quickly into covert
again—or when they approach too near the
tall stately cranes, and they begin to stalk
majestically to and fro with ludicrous gesti
culations of their long shifting necks—their
hoarse, sudden croak will strike thumping on
their ears like a pistol shot at midnight.
Scattered motts of timber begin to loom
upon the blue distance like islands in the sea.
They approach them' slowly—soon from
banks of haze—they become more distinct,
and first the outline of the treetops, and then
that of each trunk' is defined clearly.
“ Come said the young girl, breaking the
silence at last, as she urged Black Hawk to a
renewal of his speed. “ Here are some of my
wilderness loves in this little valley.”
As she spoke they commenced descending
a gentle slope from the prairie level, the sides
of which were covered with a scattering
growth of noble oaks. A stream, narrow, and
glistening with the speed it made, held its
way down the centre of the valley and lit the
dark trunks and foliage above with the golden
shimmer thrown up by its ripples.
Here the grass seemed greener than else
where, for the tint was fresher, and as they
passed down below the general level, the
roar of the opposing breeze ceased upon their
ears, and it was, as it they had come suddenly
upon the pulseless, sleepy silence of the
fenced valley of the Lotus Eaters 1
Before Carter could realize how strange
this transition was, the young girl had bound
ed from her horse, throwing the reins upon
his neck and turned to him with a flushed
cheek and joyous laugh.
“ Dismount, sir, if you would see and know
my Lilliputian people.”
Carter had already obeyed, and was ap
proaching her hastily, when she stooped for
ward, spreading out her arms as if to protect
something which he was crushing beneath his
tread and exclaimed.in a voice of tender en
“0, beware sir! Step more carefully I See !
see my gentle flowers.”
Frank paused and looked down for the first
time —since, all his eyes had been for her.
He saw that the sod about him was enameled
with small flowers of the most rarely delicate
forms—and of colors as various as they were
He paused in blank astonishment I He had
never seen anything so chastely beautiful!
She laughed merrily—
“o! you need not look so wild, sir! I
have done no work of enchantment here!
Spring tarries in this sheltered valley nearly
all the year—and spring, you know, possesses
a refining necromancy. All flowers that I
bring here become gentle- people soon !”
“ Ah !” said Frank, with an impulse of ten 7
derness he could not resist. “ There needs
be no idealization to account for all, since the
embodied Spring is here ! —but how have you
managed to bring together so many curious
and delicate flowers upon this remote spot. I
am puzzled—the groups seem too rich for un
assisted nature, and yet they follow her order
perfectly! What is it you have dong and how
have you done it ?”
“Nothing wonderful,” said she with a mis
chievous twinkle in her eye. “ Nothing, at
least, which entitles me to assert myself to be
an embodiment of Spring. The greater num
bar of the flowers you see clustered along this
slope down to the water’s edge are the growth
of this valley. Here the grass is finer, the
soil more loose, and better irrigated, and the
protection from the winds is perfect. The
shade of these few scattering trees is just
sufficient to preserve the cool spring tempera
“ Here, therefore, all the most delicate flow
ers grow best and flourish longest, and wher
ever I have found them during my rides, I
have taken them up carefully to be transplant
ed t> this natural gtr ien.”
•• But do you not cultivate them ? I see no
evidences that you have done so.”
“ It is not what you would call cultivation
lin the cities. I merely observe carefully the
location, the character of the soil and sur
roundings in which I find them originally and
when the time for transfer comes, I bring
each flower here and place it as nearly as I
can remember, in a similar location and
amidst like surroundings. I then pluck away
the grass and weeds from immediately about
it that it may have a fair chance for a start—
after this it must take care ot itself and usual
ly does
“ I see you have none of those prarie flow
ers here, through such enormous beds ot
which we galloped so ruthlessly on our way
here I”
“0 no I I have no use for such coarse
flowers ! In those vast and firmly matted
beds presenting, with little variation, a single
color at a time. They suit well to the extent
and grandeur of the scene they are intended to
diversify. They are like those singular
changes in the color of the water of the ocean,
with the indications of which mariners are so
familiar—but they are all alike—the indivi
duality of each is lost and merged in the gen
eral effect 1”
“Ah, I see!” said Frank, eagerly. “The
great sea-like plain of the prairie furnishes in
its broad contrasts and garish tints a rude
type of earth’s epic, or heroic poetry in
colors—while in this sheltered nook, where
each of the elements is tempered as the wind
to the shorn lamb, and all
“ the blest infusions,
That dwell in Negatives, metals, stones,”
co-operate harmoniously with them—the
higher forms of this poetry are produced in
more delicate shapes and far intenser, more
varied and glorious colorings. It is much
like the contrast of the vague splendors of
Milton’s great epic, with the chiseled gem
like and exquisite perfection, of particular
beautiesof the Mask of Comus, and others of
his minor poems.” She bent with a fond
caressing gesture over a strange frail little
flower, the three petals of which were shaped
like the'wings of a small butterfly—but were
of such a new, peculiar and unearthly tint of
blue that it seemed as if in fluttering down
from heaven, it must have brushed the color
off from farthest space ! —it looked so unfami
liar and so unlike all other tints we know.
“ Yes it would seem quite as sacriligious to
me to hear this rare blue stranger—which is
born only beneath the most beneficent smiles
of God—profaned by the association of a vul
gar name as to find the common meter ballad
mongers aiming at the glowing, chaste, yet
infinite simplicity of such an image as
‘ The holy dew lies like a pearl
Dropt from the opening eyelids of the morn.
Upon the bashful rose ’
Milton said that, and in doing so, conveyed an
image to my mind, that comes whenever
memory brings it up, with scarcely less of
the recurring charm of strangeness, than does
the presence of this wonderful little flower!”
“ They are very like—with the distinction
that one is the creation of God and the other
of a God-like humanity. But I suppose you
have the type in colors and in odors of many
a rare thought of highest poetry collected
“ Surely—for nature’s inspiration is more
sure than that of any madman of them all,
with “ eyes in fine phrensy rolling.” These
creatures are my mute familiars and I have
always thought they seemed to known me
when I came. They are my gentle nurslings
of the wilderness.”
“ But you are so far from home here, —I
wonder at your audacity !”
“ It must be a fleet and wary foe, that can
surprise me, with two, such quick sensed
watchers as Black Hawk and Fanny. They
run to me instantly on the slightest indica
tion of the approach of any thing, that has
danger in it, and leaping with one bound into
the saddle I am safe, for Black Hawk can
defy in speed all the marauders, of whatever
color from whom I am in danger out here !
See I will show you1”
She gave a shrill whistle, by placing her
two fingers in her mouth and the noble horse,
who was feeding a hundred paces off, with
his head half buried in the tall grass, wheel
ed instantly and dashed to her side, with the
last tuft he had plucked, still in his mouth.
She placed her hand on the saddle-bow and
sprang quickly into the seat.
Frank called Celeste, who came—though
not quite so quickly and away they went once
more. Fanny looked after them a moment,
then shook her head and, with a gaily frisk,
They followed down the valley, which led
them through the open grove, amidst a maze
of timber islands. Through these, they soon
came to a vast and magnificent old forest
like an English Park—with a cheerful green
sward underneath, and the mighty trees
standing wide apart.
Now his strange guide seemed to have al
most forgoten poor Frank, who became
Here a bird’s nest had to be visited, the
winged people of which, seemed half a mind
not to be frightened—she would look into it
without touching, then drop some food near
and gallop on.
Then she made Frank pause in sight of a ’
great old oak. She rode up to it alone and
tapping on it with her switch right sharply, ■
she waited some moments for her summons !
to be obeyed.
Soon, to his infinite amazement and delight,
Frank saw a small head put forth from a
round hole some distance up the trunk, a
gray squirrel came forth cautiously, and with
wide spread tail, making a low chattering
sound, commenced descending towards her
white out-stretched hand. Soon another
came forth—which was smaller and seemed
to be a young one—others followed until
there were four of them upon the trunk, be
sides the old one. These were more timid
and did not come quite down to her hand—
but the mother did and snatching from it a
small ear of pop-corn, darted up the trunk
again and disappeared in the hole, followed
by her young.
She laughed gaily, and turning towards
Frank said, as she joined him,
“ You see, sir, that you are a formidable
person, for my timid Bunny would not stay
to be caressed as usual, for her quick senses
had perceived that there was a stranger near.
I called to her Bunny ! Bunny! Bunny ! with
out avail, for she had caught a glimpse of
you, and would not stay to thank me!”
“ But how in the name of all miracles and
wonders, have you managed to tame this wild
creature so ?”
“0, naturally enough ! Bunny was an old
pet z>f mine, and lived in my room with me
for two years, and then I took a fancy to
bring her out here into the neighborhood of
my flowers. I found that old oak without
any tenants in its chambers, and I brought her
here, leaving a sufficient supply of food at the
foot of the tree to last her for some days until
she should become accustomed to the new
circumstances, and learn to provide for her
self. .She took possession of the tree, and as
I came every day to visit her our friendship
has never fallen through. I have almost
made a conquest, too, of the wild lover she
has found out here, and shall certainly make
friends with her little folk—one of which fre
quently comes down to eat from my hand.
So, you see, sir, I am not quite a witch after
“ I do not know that I am any the less con
vinced ot that now,” said Frank, with a
meaning smile.
They rode on slowly through the forest.
She had a thousand things to show him, for
her sharp observation and solitary wanderings
had made her quite as familiar with the
homes and habits of the creatures of that
forest, as it it had been a city of humanity, in
exploring the haunts and characters of which
her life had been spent.
Now she would tell him of some peculiar
shrub or tree remarkable for beauty or for
rareness, and then would dart away to lead
nim to see it with her.
Then Frank would murmur in her ear
Confess that my suspicions’ are well
grounded! repeat, now, the confessional
alter me.”
“ ... ■ lam the power
Of this fair wood, and live in oaken bower,
I To nurse the saplings tali, and curl the grovo
With ringlets quaint and wanton windings ;
And all my plants I save from nightly ill.
Of noisome winds and blasting vapors chill—
And from the boughs brush on the evil dew,
And heal the arms of thwarting thunder blue,
Or what the ctoss, dire-looking planet smites,
Or hurtful worm, with canker’d venom bites.”
* ‘ Pshaw! pshaw I ou are even more sadly
beset than the lost lady in the enchanted
' wood; for though I found you lost—a dreamy
wanderer—and have been doing all since that
I could to open your eyes to the real world
about you, still you will hear the ‘ airy
tongues.’ ”
“ No, you cannot dodge my implication so
—for what is your mission now, but to
'‘Number j-our ranks, and visit every sprout,
With puissant words and murmurs made to bless.”
Answer me this ?”
“ 0 never mind, come on !” and away she
would lead again to show him the fox’s den,
and when they came near it she would rein
up, and approach with a slow, cautious tread,
and point him out the young cubs gamboling
in the sun before the hole which had been
dug beneath the uptorn roots of some huge
forest Titan, that had been thrown in wrest
ling with the storm.
When they took the alarm and darted in,
she was off again with a merry laugh.
Now she would stop her horse suddenly
beside the decaying stump of a small tree,
into which the woodpeckers had hollowed
for themselves a chamber once upon a time;
but now when she touched it a flying squirrel
would rush out, with its large and meek black
eyes glistening in affright, and from the top
would dart away with its rich furred mem
brane spread like wings, all white beneath,
and sail to some neighboring trunk. Then
she would take the soft young ones from their
warm bed and caress them tenderly and show
Frank their bright gentle eyes, and talk to
them in a quaint, rippling tongue, which she
seemed to have learned from the waters, the
, winds, and the trees.
They were placed back all gingerly and
j snug again, and some food left for the mother,
which Frank now, for the first time, observed
. was taken from a pouch which she carried
at her saddle-bow.
Now they were oft' again—for she had al
■ ways some new pet or wonder that he must
see—and so the day went swiftly by.
The dinner was forgotten by them both, for
they were too happy to think of eating.
As the evening came on, the character of
. the foi’est they were travelling became chang
ed. From the open glades, which it seemed
as if the most careful cultivation could not
have improved, they had gradually come into
a more rank and denser growth.
Frank had an idea that they had been skirt
. ing the edge of the great parairie round to
. wards the rancho again, and were entering
the dense and formidable Forest of the Black
Walnut Bottom, concerning which we have
already heard something. They had been
happy all day—too happy for words to tell!
Like unheeding children, they had gone forth
to play, and through hours and hours had
gamboled on the lap of Nature—that ancient
mother, who yet is ever young!
They had rather felt each other, and been
meekly joyous, as they went side by side,
than talked much except in a fragmentary
way. This was too much happiness ! It
could not be real! There must be some wild
delusion here.’ He had struggled so forlornly
all his life with that eVer present yet trea
cherous shadow of the Ideal, that he could
not realize this tne embodied Real found at
The reaction of the bewildering joy, the
glorified beatitude of all that day was now,
distrust! Every thing he had yet found to
lavish the garnered tenderness of his whole
life upon, had somehow played him false !
Could it be that this was any higher, purer
than the rest.’ Certainly he had never met
a being that' seemed to nestle with such sub
lime faith right close to the heart of Nature,
where her pulses might be felt to guide a life
by ! —but yet! but yet! there is too much
joy in all this for him to realise at once !
There were dark suspicions gathered around
the life of this young creature ! Her father
was a wonderfully acute, and may be bad man.
She evidently loved him with entire devo
tion ! It might be that if this gray-haired
man was vicious as he instinctively felt him
to be—that he still had enough of sacredness
left in him to guard her from a knowledge of
his vices and crimes, and feel that he propi
; tiated Heaven in permitting her to live in
unconscious ignorance of all this happily with
With such gloomy and distrustful thoughts
as this, the life of Frank Carter had been
hushed for some time, and his brows grown
unconsciously contracted. The shadow, too,
had fallen on the girl, and she rode mutely
by his side, in timid consciousness—but what
it meant she knew not. That she was all at
once unhappy she knew.
They were penetrating more deeply into
the sombre forest, and the lengthened sha
dows as they fell across his form, seemed to
darken his heart yet more.
But there was that in this primitive Na
ture, wearing her century-calms upon her
front, which could not fail to overcome him
with a spell—to sink a nameless awe into his
being—brooding in shadowy peace upon the
tumult of excitement the passions had been
subjected to during the late incidents.
Nowhere does this invisible power make
itself so palpably felt, as in the deep-tangled
aisles of an old Southern Forest. When the
sun is near setting, too, as it was then, and
i strikes its leveled rays square athwart the
gloom, glorifying in lines and angles the stout
: rugged boles and gnarled arms overhead,
i leaving the severed shades sharply defined
beneath and between the sheeted gold.
High, up, sitting in the halo, the roseate
headed Caraccas Eagle screams to its mate—
the Black Squirrel sputters and barks, whisk
ing its dusky brush, and saucily stamping on
the Pecan-bark—the long whoo-ooze of the
Bull-bat sighs hoarsely through the air—the
Paroquet, with its shrill waspish chattering,
in a glimmer of lit emeralds goes by—the far
tocsin tolled from out the swamp-lake by the
Wood-Ibis, or dropped smiting suddenly from
the clouds, as the great Snowy Crane sails
over—the low quavering wail of the dotted
Ocelot—the hack, hack, and quick prolonged
rattle of the Ivory-billed Woodpecker’s ham
mer—the smothered shriek of the prowling
Wild-Cat. impatient for the night—the chirr!
chirr ! of the active little Creeper—the crack
ed gong of the distant Bittern —these were
the sights and sounds that gradually lulled
and charmed him into utter abstraction—and
of course into entire forgetfulness of every
other purpose and object than the passion in
his heart and the being at his side who had
thus led him in reach of their enchantment.
His heedless pace had gradually slackened
—for the mood of dreams was on him. The
unpleasant realities of the wild unnatural life
he had been leading disappeared, and in de
licious revelations the ideal life of calm and
holy peace came around him, and in the
flushed quiet of that lull, . the bewildered
Fancy danced with its own airy creatures to
the merry click of the castanet a bright-eyed
Wood-Chuck was sounding, as it sat familiarly
on the other end of a log, by which they
Doubts, anger, suffering, suspicions, all
were as things that had been and were not,
while his heart made blissful music of its
latest memories amidst these evening choris
ters !
Now his trance was broken, and he turned
to her with a bright meaning look, and her
life answered to the summons joyously for she
knew that his spirit had struggled into free
dom now.
During the hour’s gallop which it required
to reach home, they rode with clasped hands
without speaking a word. When they reach
ed the rancho the young girl found that her
father was not at home, and with a bewitch
ing air of confidence invited the young man
to pass with her that narrow door, beside the
fire-place, which he had regarded with such
curious envy.
Here he found every thing as pure as he
I had dreamed it should be in the penetralia of
such a life!
There were many books, a harp, and a gui
tar. The rude walls were huqg about, with
quaint, but wild and graceful ornaments.
Besides these, her ingenious fingers had ■
platted of flowers inwreathed with colored 1
quills and natural grasses, there Were paint
ings, in water colors, of scenes and faces
which indicated the highest order of artistic
After tlie evening meal she sung to him
many songs, with the accompaniment of one
or the other instrument. Most of these airs
were old familiar friends to him—but many
of them seemed to be improvised, as if she
had caught the strathspeys that the wild
winds make when they go echoing amidst
cliffs—whispering through the deep mysteri
ous woods, or moaning off through vast prai
ries into silence I
Frank went to bed that night, and could .
not tell, for a long time, whether it was that I
he dreamed or was afloat upon a strange,
gleaming sea, that lulled him on its waves of
light, as they rocked to and fro harmoniously.
It was enough that sleeping or awake the
cup of joy was fdled up for him, until even
' “Beaded bubbles winking at the brim?’
The next day was much a repetition of the
last, so far as these young people were the
willing actors.
There had been no word of love spoken be
tween them, and why was this necessary?
They felt each other, saw each other, heard
each other, lived through each other, and
what more ?
It seemed to Frank as if the sun was bright
because her cheek was, to shine upon, and he
grew savagely jealous of
11 The common kissing Titan.”
The earth rejoiced because of her, and the
birds sang to do her praise !
They went forth again to visit the sweet
valley of Wild Flowers to see the squirrels
and many another wild thing that she knew
and loved.
As they skirted the forest on their return,
they saw a long winged hawk swoop from the
clouds and disappear in the deep grass of the
prairie. In a moment it came flapping hea
vily up again, bearing a hare in its claws.
The creature cried out as it was borne up,
with that plaintive melancholy wail peculiar
to the species when captured and in pain. It
was quite close to them that it had been
struck —for the hawk had, as is their custom
on the prairies, been poised for some time
above the heads of the riders, watching to
strike whatever small game they should scare
up in their progress.
The wail of the poor creature was so touch
ing, that they urged their horses forward
■ with one impulse, in the hope to rescue it.
They did not succeed—but were close enough
to see the bright inexorable eye of the winged
Frank raised his gun, and was about to fire
when she touched his arm.
“No! no! do not shoot—let him go !”
He lowered the gun and turned to her in
surprise—which was yet hightened when he
saw that tears were streaming from her eyes.
“ Why not shoot ? you are weeping for the
poor hare?”
“ Yes because its plaining cry was eloquent
to me for help and mercy !—yet to the hawk
that same cry was only an appetiser—whett
ing the raven in his maw! The hawk was
hungry and the hare must die !”
“ But suppose I was hungry, should the
hare die then ?” and Frank gazed into her
face with curious eagerness.
“Yes surely! if there was absolutely no
thing else for you to eat! Ido not reason— I
only feel!—but it seems to me that even if
you seized the hare with the clutch of famish
ing eagerness, you would feel that such a
piteous moan as we just heard, would move
you to weep before you could devour the crea
ture with flesh and blood so l.ke our own.”
“ Thank you!—thank you a thousand
times!” said Frank joyously—“your beauti
ful instincts clearly confirm my own theory.
You feel a profound truth, without reasoning
upon it! The pewer of articulating sound—
which is, of course, the most perfect mode ot
conveying sensation—constitutes the dividing
line between a monstrous cannabalism and a
legitimate diet. Man is the highest type of
the Divine—the most immediate representa
tive of God upon the earth. All articulated
sounds are significent to him—and wherever
the power of producing these sounds exists,
it evidently places the creature in intelligent
communion with its royal liege—for it en
ables it to appeal to him for mercy, for pro
tection and for help !
“ It is well enough for hawks, wild cats and
■ all other creatures who are, on the ascending
scale, merely birds and beasts of prey, to be
dumb to this sort of appeal—but for us who
should be angels unto them, with a compell
ing splendour on our brows, —who walk
among them with a higher sense and know
the mournful language of their agony, to de
vour them, groans, shrieks, yells, moans, red
blood and all, is one of the worst form of
“ You will observe that it is only the red
blooded animals which are capable of produd- ;
ing sounds, the meaning of which our senses ■
can comprehend-! The evening song of the
mocking bird teenies with inspiration, and is a
joy and a glory to us—while that of the caty
did, contains about as much significant of the
desires and passions of the creature itself, as
the rasping sound of two dry sticks rubbed
So the day passed while they looked love,
but discoursed of curious truths.
They reached the Rancho about dark, and
found there all the bustle and confusion
which indicated a new arrival.
There were many horses grouped outside
the picketing, and the Indians of the Rancho
were busy in hospitable cares amongst them.
“ Hah ! they have come !” said Frank, ea
gerly springing to the ground. He almost
forgot to offer his hand to assist the young
girl in dismounting—so full was he of joy ;
but she saved him the trouble, and led the
way over the picketing.
He found all his friends collected in the
■room where he had first been received.—
Their congratulations were warmly exchang
ed, and he even embraced Clenney in his rap
ture. The gray-haired man was there, and
formally presented his daughter to Mr. Clen
, F rank was not so far blinded by his happi
ness that he failed to observe how pale she
turned, as she recognised his friend most for
mally, after an involuntary start—either
when she heard his name or saw his features
fully—he could not tell which. But he re
membered the fact for many a day after.
She continued to be pale, abstracted and
constrained during the remainder of the eve
ning, and Frank was greatly troubled. It
was a relief to him when their host proposed
that they should retire to sleep. Frank no
ticed, too—for his watchful eye let nothing
pass—that although himself and the four men
were invited to sleep upon the floor of the
same room, still his friend Clenney was in
vited to sleep elsewhere—perhaps in that
mysterious room—a vision through the half
open door of which had already cost him so
much of pain.
That night, when Carter was fast enough
asleep, dreaming of love and joy, four men
w ere awake—wide awake in that mysterious
chamber, plotting of many things which
would not have quite comported with the
tenor of his dreams.
There were three pallets of buffalo robes
upon the floor of this room, and when the
gray-haired man entered, bearing a shaded
lamp in his hand, the three men sprung to
their feet as they had lain down fully dress
ed, and with their arms about them.
He set the lamp down on a small rude table,
and they gathered around it.
Clenney said, in a sharp tone of nervous ir
ritation, as he sat down near the table—
“ What the d lis the meaning, my hon-
ored uncle Cedric, of this last, most incon
venient, and most ridiculous stratagem of
yours—the stampede of all the horses be
longing to our party ? You left me in a nice
position, sucking my thumbs like a bear or a
“ Pshaw, Newnon, do not be impertinent.
You know that my scheme was well devised. I.
You should .have known the. topography of (
the country better than to have permitted .
him to come this way. My spies told me '
that your general course would bring you di
rectly into this neighborhood. This was to '
be prevented. I did not wish him to see |
Freta, and you were likely to cross her er- 1
centric track any moment. My Indians car- , '
ried off your horses—but that cursed Celeste ! t
broke away, and went back, only to bring j ‘
about the very meeting that I dreaded. They I
met in the woods, and she brought him here. I
I knew the youngster at a glance, though I
wondered utterly how you could have let him I
go. I found him to be just the fiery, imprac- i
ticable fool you had represented- for when
he saw the horses of your partv in my horse- |
pen the next morning, he was so savagely dig
nified and insulting that he roused the devil
enm in me. Freta interposed in time to
prevent my getting rid of the troublesome
“I had one of my white fits upon me—
which, as you know, do not often occur for
, nothing ! —but when the girl interposed, a-
I new idea flashed upon me. I saw that he
was already in love, and I determined to en
courage the thing to the utmost.”
“ Damn him ! why did not you have him
shot at once ?” said Clenney, with a spasmodic
“ Keep cool, my gentle Newnon ;” said Ce
dric, with a sneering sn.iu
“I see clearly how we are to manage this
incorrigible youth without the necessity of
resorting to any such extremities. We have
only todisgust him with his ideal here, and he
will go back to Myra Haynes again ! So you
need not grow any whiter if you can help it!
This child, you seem to have cultivated an in
sane passion for since her infancy, is quite as ,
astute as you ! She is only to be won through
her intellect. I have given her sympathies
the proper direction to insure this. This boy
cannot touth her life—for she has learnt to
love and expend her overflowing sentiment
and sympathies upon another class of objects,
and now she is only to be commanded ! This
is a hard word, Newnon, but you are just the
man to live up to its conditions —make her
respect your intellect—impose her life with
the restilts you shall accomplish, and she will
give to you all the love she has to spare from
her flowers, birds, trees, and indeed all the
wild creatures of the natural world, with
whom she is now in strict communion.”
’ “ I like the peril of the game, my good un-
cle ! —there is something exciting in it to me.
; But what are we to do with this person for
1 the present! I recall my hasty speech just
1 now. I have a respect for him personally—
! for he has a great deal in him, and when he
’ can be scourged out of the sphere of this
‘ childish sentimentalism, which has given me
so much trouble, he will be a great acquisi
tion to us—for even if he lives merely upon
' the memory of that daring enthusiasm of his,
he would be the subtlest agent of our purpose
1 we have ever had—for of a surety, it would
1 impose upon Lucifer himself! How do you
propose to get rid of him
“ Never mind ! I shall get rid of him to
morrow. But let us proceed to other busi
1 The two men, whose faces Frank had seen
1 for a moment, and who had seemed to be im
passive spectators during all this scene, now
‘ drew up closely around the table, and at once
the four persons went into a close discussion
' of other matters—which, hewever far-reach-
■ ing, we must leave to be developed in their
future results.
The morning has come, and Frank has gone
forth again upon his gay Celeste, with the
young girl upon her glossy steed, and they 1
are full of love as yesterday.
Away ! away they go, asking of nature only
joy. -and leaving the grey Cedric to scheme
‘ with his apt nephew of “ stratagems and
spoils.” They were unconscious of every
thing but of the sunshine and of happiness !
, The day had gone by with them as the
others, they looked love into each other’s
eyes, as they had done since they first met,
I and now felt it more—because the passion had
grown stilled within them, and warmed them
with a quiet glow, like that with which the
sun sinks down into the earth in Spring—and
r . io
’ comes up again in such an odorous, beaming
silence through young flowers. They were
• riding through a narrow path which led from
’ out the dark tangles of the forest of the Black
Walnut Bottom—Frank was speaking to her
of the gentle themes which had absorbed their
lives, and she clung upon his words with
looks, when all at once Celeste and Black
Hawk shied together, and darted away in a
’ panic of wild affright, and in the act poor
Frank found himself constrained and dragged
powerless from his saddle, with a lasso about
his neck, and at the same moment several In-
I dians rushed upon him from the thicket,
while he saw the young girl going off as if un
’ conscious that he was gone. The last sound
’ he heard was the shrill neigh of Celeste, and
a choking sensation darkened on his life—
and then all was black to him !
(End of Part First.]
■ Pickings from the Note-Book of
H an old Contributor.
Animal Magnetism— The most Wonder-
• j ful Case on Record.— ln a small town Down
•. East, there lived a butcher, who was a jack
i at all trades, and more particularly noted for
1 his experiments in Animal Magnetism. A
• half-witted fellow, who lived entirely upon
the charity of. the town, imagining one day
that he was quite ill, made application to the
butcher for a remedy to relieve him from the 1
pains in his stomach. The thought flashed I
upon the mind of the butcher that he was a
fit subject for experiment, and accordingly \
I he mesmerized him into a profound sleep.
He then made an incision into his stomach
and took out the innings to wash them, which
after doing he laid them down and went into
his house to get needle and thread to sew up
the incision. But on returning, to his asto
nishment beheld an old sow just leaving the
place, having eaten them. In this dilemma,
he seized a sheep and removed its entrails to
the body of the man.
Meeting the individual some days after, the
butcher was induced to ask the chap how he
got along. Oh first rate, says he ; only I have
got such an infernal hankering aftergrass.
The Classics —A young sprig of the law,
while addressing a jury, in one of the courts
in the State of Michigan, indulged largely in
quotations from the classics, and to render
himself more eloquent recited several pas
sages of Latin, which was all jargon to the
understanding of the court and jury. The
display considerably annoyed the opposite
counsel, who was an old . plain, common sense
spoken man, and but little conversant with
law, and in concluding his speech in reply, he
remarked —“ Gentlemen of the jury, my
young friend has been at college, and has
therefore advantages in quoting from the dead
languages ; but,” raising his voice to a high
pitch, “ what if he has studied the classics,
as he calls them ; suppose he has romped it
with Romulus—soaked it with Socrates—
ripped it with Euripides, what in heaven has
that got *o do with the laws of Michigan?”
Why is a promissory note like a blade of
grass ?
Because it matures by falling dew.
Late Honrs.
All animals, except those that prowl at '
night, retire to rest soon after the sun goes ■
down, from which we may conclude that na- !
ture intended that the human species should i
follow their example. It is from the early
hours of sleep, which are the most sweet and
refreshing, that the re-accumulation of mus- '
cular energy and bodily strength takes .
place, as well as that of due excitability in '
the brain indispensable to the operation of our 1
waking hours. In order that sleep may be re- '
freshing, it is necessary to take sufficient exer
cise in the open air during the day, to take a •’
light supper,or none at all, avoiding tea or cof
fee late in the evening, to sleep on a hair mat- '
tress, with a light covering of bed clothes, in
a room freely ventilated. It is well known !
that the Duke of Wellington, now a hale old
man, is accustomed to sleep on a narrow hard
pallet; and we believe the couch of her Ma- !
jesty is of the simplest possible construction. •
It is reported that the duke justifies the nar- 1
nowness of his resting-place on the plea that
when a man wishes to turn, it is high time to '
turn out.
Value of Sawdust.—From the Portland
-Jduertiser, we learn that shipping lists report
at Frankfort, Dec. 10th “six small vessels ■
i loading with saw dust for Charlestown, Mass.” a
The commodity is designed for packing ice at c
Charlestown and Cambridge—the great sour- ;
ce? of the ice trade for almost the whole j
A respectable income is now derived, at f
several places in that State, from the sale of t
pine sawdust, for this purpose,and the trans- a
portation gives employment to considerable 0
tonnage. Thus the exigencies of luxury _
within the tropics and in many of the largest
cities in the world are giving encouragement t,
to the minutest results of industry in the
“ down east" regions of Maine. J
True Beauty.
Her eyes were gray, dull, sombre erav.
Her cheek the lilly’d hue;
j No rosy lips, enclosing pearls,
No raven hair with glossy curls,
Could she display to view,
Her fairy form was never known
To figure in a dance;
As heroine she never shone
I In novel or romance;
I Yet she was lovely, gentle, good,
l ,r, pleasant to behold:
The charm of intellect was there;
And purest gems lustre rare
And richer far than gold,
Were stored in her capacious mind,
And in her heart of hearts enshrined:
These gems were knowledge, kindness, truth.
And heaven-born piety. They grew
And flourished in the days of youth,
And now their star-like radiance threw
Around their word®, and actions too.
O! what is beauty? Is it not
That beaming of the soul,
That lights the eye with glowing thought,
And animates the whole?
The rose may fade, the lily droop,
The auburn turn to gray,
The sylph-like form be bent by age,
Or premature decay;
I But beauty never groweth old—
True beauty cannot die;
It claims unending-excellence—
An immortality.
Worlb’s Uefarmers
The fifth plague recorded was a murrain
upon the cattle.
This is an epidemic, and in some locations
an endemic disease, to which great numbers
of our cattle, and whole flocks of sheep, still
fall a prey each year. It is often connected
with disease of the vegetation on Which these
cattle feed, and in some districts, as the
“ Landes” of the South of France. M. Lalle
mand, one of the greatest French physicians
i of our tune, has shown that the ergot, or
. diseased grain of the rye, causes a kindred
i form of disease in the human organism. The
most remarkable symptoms are a slow dry rot
. or mortification of the extremities, and a mor
bid excitement ot the reproductive system,
. which makes the wretched abortions of these
i provinces as salacious as monkeys; while in
. stature, strength, and general development,
, either moral or physical, they are degraded
, almost to the level of those low typ-es of hu-
> manity who have been discovered in remote
. Australia.
, M. Lallemand instances this as an illustra
, tion of the physiological law, that the activity
> of the reproductive system hears an inverse
I proportion to the, integral development of
( the individual, whose highest vital forces
are expended in the act, and who sinks into a
. state of comparative death. In some species
. of butterflies it is, in fact, the termination of
individual existence, and immediately alter
i providing for the continuation of their
. species, they perish, the martyrs of love.
, To this law we shall have occasion to refer
, again.
1 It is probably an acute species of the rot,
. which attacks the intestines, and in which
r the whole blood and body are so corrupted
that great patches of hair, and even of the
, skin, will separate, which was prevalent in
> Egypt. It is in ill-drained marshy districts
, that the effluvia determining the different
kinds of rot, and other vegetable and animal
, diseases, arise. The annual overflow of the
. Nile, leaving on all low and flat places its
I alluvion, stagnant and decomposing by the
. sun, requires, like the similar locations of the
Mississippi Valley and of other water courses,
the most careful and sci ntific methods of
- culture—on a scale which baffle the greatest
s resources which any individual can command
, in order that it should bring forth good
and not evil, in proportion to the intensity
ot the forces acting. The soil resembles
i men, who, in proportion to the strength of
e their passions, will become the more angelic
J or the more diabolical according as they are
directed by education and circumstances for
5 the good of their f-llow creatures or against
e them. The condition ef the Egyptian pea
-1 santry, who had been despoiled of their
£ lands in the great famine under the adminis
tration ot Joseph, was probably the same
r with that of the European peasantry at the
r present time, mere tenants at the pleasure of
r large landed proprietors, and subject to an
increase of their rents in proportion to the
increase of the yield of the soil, so that whe
i ther the crops were good or bad, the tillers
r of the soil gained but a bare and wretched
j subsistence, and had taken away from them
all motive for improvement and honest am
bition. Egypt was then in a state highly un-
■ favorable to that integral and scientific cul
, tivation which its peculiar resources so
. urgently demanded, and murrains and pesti
lences came to replace the luxury of immense
vegetable productions, well ordered and dis-
1 tributed
The murrain has an important symbolic
meaning. It was a fatal rot which attacked the
horses, the asses, the camels, the oxen, the
sheep—the cattle in general, those domestic
animals which, by the services which they
[ render us, constitute, especially in grazing
countries, such as Egypt contained, and
amongst which the land of Goshen is men
tioned—the basis of industry and of society.
The tending of flocks is the first occupation in
1 which we find men engaged as they advance
c from the savage into the patriarchal state, and
r our advance in the arts and industry, in agri
culture and mechanics, are dependant on the
uses of domestic animals, of the ox and cow
i in agriculture and dairy products, the numer
f ous manufactures of leather, etc., the horse
, in agriculture, transportation, connexions of
, distant places over land, and the luxury of
' | motion, and of the sheep whose wool has fur
1' nished the staple of our looms. Man learns
i to have faith in himself and to recognise him
, \ self as the chief of the earth’s creation, whose
I forces are subject to his use and control, by
i feeling his sovereignty, first, over the domes
i tic animals,* whose relations with him are
, not less spiritually, than materially, causes of
his elevation, and which thus constitute as we
’ have observed the basis of his industry andso
-1 ciety.
Now we shall shew that the basis of indus
, try and society was already rotten in Egypt,
so that the rot ot the cattle, which is a real
’ rottenness as works on farriery show, was the
1 material correspondence of a spiritual fact.
The social body stands or moves on four
, columns el legs, which in proportion to their
strength ami integrity secure the harmonious
action ol all its classes and members in a great
1 unity.
These four columns ot the social body, im- ■
perfect as they must be at the best in civilized,
baroarous, patriarchal and savage societies, I
which are all characterized by the vice of in- ]
coherent action, had in Egypt been still more j
gravely compromised by the oppressions of,
government, and the high-handed monopolies j
recorded in the book of Genesis, where Pha- <
raoh is said to have availed himself of the <
fore-sight of Joseph, who foretold the years of s
famine, to buy up all the grain of the country, I
selling it oack to the people in their need at 1
such hard terms that they were forced to part, i
successively with their money, their cattle; I
their houses and their lands, until the whole i
land of Egypt, became the property of Pha
raoh. Here was the same iniquitous system i
which in Europe and America causes one man 1
to be born a houseless and landless outcast, <
and another the proprietor of many square <
miles—even of whole provinces—(asthe Duke i
of Sutherland, whose tenants have lately been i
forced to claim the charity of other districts,) I
—without any reference to his character and
capacity for managing such interests. How a 1
system which reduced the people to pauper- i
ism, must have carried the rot into the four i
columns of the social body, we shall realize 1
by examining them. They are— t
Attractive Labor, :
Social Charity and Providence, i
Unitary Education, , \
Population proportioned to Production. '
The explanation of these will render the
rest of this article a digression, but without t
their analysis we cannot understand the social t
polity of the Jewish nation transmitted through s
Moses which, without any technical arguments “
as to their Divine inspiration, we believe to y
have transcended in wisdom and beneficence
those of any civilized government in the past '
or present. t
It is necessary to contrast the absence ot J
these in the Egyptian tyranny with the pro- .
visions which were made for them under the 1
Jewish theocracy. a
“ Thou shalt earn thy bread by the c
sweat of thy brow ”
“ To say that labor is not the destiny of
man is to deny the evidence of experience. 1
To say that labor is the destiny of man and J
that it cannot become a source of happiness *
for him, is to calumniate God. e
There are then two laws of labor, the law f
of constraint, proceeding from human ignor- *
ance; the law of charm and attraction which
is of divine revelation. ?
In consequence, two results: misery or
wealth ; oppression or liberty.” b
The source of attractive labor is a natural 1
sympathy between those forms of life over 1
whose creation or generation kindred in
fluences have presided. It remounts to re
gions of causation which as far transcend
our vision as the nature of its generation 11
and conception transcend the curious enquiry
of the child. But the effect of its existence
is sensible and incontestable; what there is c
in the nature of a man and in that of a horse e
for instance, which causes the man to engage
from passionate preference in the nurture, g
the care, the taming, and managing of horses,
and which causes the horse to acknowledge at
once such or such a man as his master toatt.aeh f l
’ How decided an impulse lor example i 3 jri- B l
V* e sen J, im SP t V ambition, in vaulting on’ tfie
oaeK nt a noble-blooded horse, whose movements
send a thrill of electric sympathy through us-whose ol
speed conquers at once space and time. The dost l
awakens no less our sentiment of friendship ti
himself with devotion to him, we cannot per
haps adequately explain ; but we know very
well that such relations are with some men
and some horses very strong and intimate,
whilst they are impossible for others who
have neither inclination nor character adapted
to them._ It is the same between man and
every animal, vegetable and mineral; natural
likings draw us towards seme things and not
towards others, cause us to discriminate and
determine the peculiarities and differences of
our tastes and occupations. This discrimina
tive preference produces social and moral re
sults analagous to those of the principle of
discord in music. It individualizes, it re
quires perfect freedom of choice amongst nu
merous objects, functions, and uses, which
shall lie open to all, and in which interest
can be combined with pleasure. The child
to whom nature opens her arms, who flits
like the butterfly from object to object, and
who is always so much delighted with the im
portance of being useful, has this volatile in
stinct in order that while developing his dif
ferent senses and faculties by a constant and
absorbing action, which never dwells long
enough on one point to cause fatigue, he may
come to know his true relations with all that
surround him in the kingdoms of nature, on
which his energies are to be exercised, and
the functions towards which he is impelled
by the will of God, as expressed in his apti
tudes and attractions.
Without large opportunity of circumstance
and freedom of choice, the aim of nature is
baffled, and we are not only lost to the pur
suits, m which we were calculated to succeed
best, but rendered unhappy by the conscious
ness of stifled instincts, which discontent us
with ourselves, with the places we occupy,
and with the society which does not satisfy
our sympathies by enabling us ..to pursue
what we love with those whom we love.
This discriminating passion not only selects
those objects which excite and develope
our faculties and energies; it selects also our
associates in these employments, thus adding
a moral or social charm to the objects on
which we are employed.
_ Most of us, I am sjire, in reviewing the
circle of our acquaintance, could select a few
with whom almost any employment would
charm, where we could meet in a common
interest, and each make his or her capacities
useful, and where in carrying out the divi
sion of labor, a principle so fertile wherever
it has been introduced, We should be enjoying
a feast of the heart and the intellect, instead
of cursing a drudgery which enslaves us.
there is a wide difference between working
in company and working in sik&tto,— and
though patience and amiability can do a great
deal, they canßo’t make kindred spirits of
those Whom God has not related to each other
by the subtle magnetic ties of sympathy, an
essence whose distribution he reserves to
_ This free selection of pursuit and associates
is the only true liberty; we are slaves if we
work only under the lash of necessity, or if
we must hire ourselves to be the hands of
another man’s head—while the hardest work
becomes sport to us if we pursue it from at
traction. It is sport and liberty to tramp or
ride fasting all day in an exciting chase. It
is pastime and freedom for a Fulton to build
steamboats, for a Newton or La Place to toil
for years in abstruse mathematical calcula
tions; for Moses to guide the destinies of a
nation; but it is slavery to partake of a luxu
rious banquet, or to hear a magnificent opera,
if the dishes, the guests, and the ihusic do
not suit pur, peculiar tastes. To whatever
extent this kind of liberty, or attraction, re
sulting from free selection, may exist amongst
us, where poets fill the functions of commer
cial clerks; or in England, where aptitude for
the ministry of Christ is estimated bv the
■ amount of influence which a wealthy family
can command for a lucrative parish; it exist
ed still less among the Egyptians, whose
laws and customs, like those of the Hindoos,
obliged the son to follow the business of the
father in, regular inheritance; conceiving
that if God did not provide the son with
suitable aptitudes and attractions it was a
mistake on His part, for which they were no
ways responsible. ,
The second condition of attractive labor is
combination, which corresponds to the prin
ciple of accord in music. ’ It alwavs marries
the spiritual with the material element. In
regard to the object of our exertions, it com
bines the agreeable with the useful, the pre
ference for the object on which our cares are
expended, with love for the use to be obtain
ed from it. A young lady who delights in
tending roses, for instance, mav find her
pleasure heightened if she is to sell her
flowers, in boquets, at a fair of some favorite
church or reform society of which she is a
member, or if their leaves are to be distilled
into perfumes/or her toilet. Combination or
accord requires a concert of minds and bodies
bending all wills and energies upon the same
object, at the same place, at the same time,
for the same end, in a common interest—and
in such a manner that, as in a publishing
office where editors, in various departments,
type setters, proof corrector, press workers,
paper folders, &c., &c., are all co-operating
towards a common object, viz: the getting
out of a paper, unity of end shall result from
variety of functions or means, and a consis
tent whole from different parts Order is
peculiarly required by combination's liber
ty is by analysis. The material and spiritual
elements which must be combined in the as
sociates, are sympathy of character and com
mon preference of the function; with sym
pathy in interest and sympathy about the use
or end of the function.
These would be conciliated in a publishing
office where all the laborers had freely chosen
their position, and were deeply interested in
the doctrines advanced in their paper, as it
might be in case of some religious and social
question of universal interest, embracing all
classes of society—if they all shared, in pro
portion to the capital invested and labor per
formed, in the profits of the paper, and if
natural congeniality of disposition was de
veloped into, enthusiastic friendship by this
concert of action.
The enthusiasm resulting from this con
cert of action is illusirated chiefly on our
battle fields. The occupation of shooting bul
lets, punching bayonet holes through each
other’s bodies, and cutting off each others
heads and arms with sabres, is rendered very
attractive by the masses m the charge of bat
talions, where all individual consciousness is
lost in the tumult of action. The prestige
of honor also, the spiritual element of this
work, has hitherto been reserved for our de
structive industry, when we “ murder to
music,” and with measured and disciplined
movements, march under the flying colors of
our nation, sect, or partv, with “ all the
pomp, and pride, and circumstance of glori
ous war.” Agricultural science having late
ly discovered cheaper methods of manuring
the soil, Jt is probable that these freaks of
barbarous heroism which apart from their ac
cessories of music, measured movement,
popular renown, and escape from previous re
pugnant labors, have nothing very enticin''’
about them, will soon give place to more
rational employments of human energy and
The beautiful contrast in this illustration
has lately been afforded us by the soldier
:armers of French Africa, who in the plains
tear mount Atlas have turned their swords
nto ploughshares and scythes, and have
wrought to bear upon agriculture, that
jeautiful unitary discipline which character
zesthe army.
The third condition of industrial attraction
s VARIETY, which corresponds to the prin
ciple of modulation in music. It requires
changes and alternations since any work pur
med in the above mentioned conditions may
>e rendered attractive for a short time, but
‘ familiarity Heeds contempt,” and monoto
ly wearies us with every thing and every
>ody. The most delightful ball or festival
can rarely fascinate for six hours.
The work may proceed constantly, if the
general interest requires it, day and night
Jirough all the year, but the workers must
change. The principle of alternation assures
levelopment of the different senses, passions
ind faculties successively called into action,
md prevents the division of labor from sacri- 1
icing the man to the work.
It is rather a sorry account of a life, to j
lave spent year by year sixteen hours a day
n making tne tenth part of a pin, or measur
ng tape behind a counter, telling some 500
les a day at less than half a cent a piece. If
l poor devil of a clerk could only arrange so
.s to tell lies for three or four hours a day
n company with his friends, and then get to
vork on the soil or in a mechanic’s shop, that
vouldbe again for him.
Nature who gets all her work done by at
ractiqn, gives us some good examples of al- i 1
ernation. “ The elements,” as Milton !
ays, :
Perpetual circle multiform and mix, and nourish !
'arying to their great Maker’s still new praise.” ,
tis the same atom of carbon that burns in '
he fire on your hearth, that may presently '
e absorbed from the atmosphere by that <
ivonte flower you so tenderly cherish, and I
"baled by you in its aroma, may in its next •
Iternation, enter the very body of your I the
entre of your sentient, or impulsive life’.
Ihe earth with all the forms of life it con- <
ams however constant in the character ot ,
ts station or progressive, is entirely fluid in
egard to the elements from whose . combina
lons this character results ; the unity bein°- ,
volved from continual changes, only”
hrough the continual presence and action of J
he Divine Spirit. ;
This leads us to the consumating and t
ivotal condition of attractive labor, which
i Unity.' We call this the Pivotal condition
ecause tfie group formed according to the
tree above mentioned conditions requires a >
wot on which it shall turn or move.
The sun is the pivot of our planetary sys- °
mi. J J a
Christ is the pivot of the religious move
lent of Christendom. 1
Moses was the pivot of the Jewish nation. a
A master mechanic, who, by his superior S
ipital, skill, force of character and practical '
[ie rgy, takes the lead in his business, is the a
ivot, causing and presiding element in the
roup who, more or less, f reely form around p
Ihe pivot of a group is the centre of at- b
action, and must be capable, of inspiring it a
iwards any action in which he engages, even it
lould it be otherwise repulsive. j a
A general, who, like Napoleon, is the pivot s<
his army, can lead them to certain destruc- t<
on without a murmur. 1
Pivotal characters are distributed by God ; I
it is the part which he reserves to himself, 1 i
leaving it to man to discover and perfect the I 1
other means of animating his labors, which I
are all subsidiary to the pivotal. i f
We observed that a pivotal character is j (
capable of exciting an attraction towards > (
functions otherwise disgusting. An example! c
The flower of our aristocracy, as they roll |
down Broadway in their carriages, look upon <
greyheaded paupers which are cleaning the <
paving stones with their scavenger mobs, i
with mingled pity and disgust. There is no- <
thing attractive here, since to physical re- I
pugnance is added a moral repugnance, from
the general contempt and sense of degradation I
attached to such functions. They are neces- 1
sarj, it is true, at least in the absence of 1
machines better adapted to such work, but 1
society does not recognise the heroism of an
unconscious martyrdom in the scavenger who
does what nobody else wbMd be willing to do 1
because it knows that he had only the option f
\to sweep streets or to freeze and starve. It <
is the lash of cold applied to his back, and 5
the lash of hunger applied to his belly, and i
his heartstrings knotted into a cat-o’-nine- 1
tails to whip him over his social affections, 1
over his love of wife and children who live 1
upon his earnings, that make the scavenger+ !
work, and society finds neither attVabtibn or
merit in all this!
Now suppose, if vour imagination is so
elastic, that some political demi-god, such as
Henry Clay or the immortal Daniel, should
wake up one morning with a practical faith !
in those maxims of the “ dignity of labor”
and the “ honorable nature of all necessary 1
work,” which are so very fine! and that, in '
pursuance of this faith, he should provide
himself with a broom or a pickaxe, and set to
work on the pavement. Would not some of
those gentlemen in the carriages be presently i
struck with attraction towards the functions
of street cleaning? Would not Henry Clay
or Daniel Webster soon find himself sur
rounded by a group of enthusiastic admirers,
who would carry brooms as the political in
signia of true republicans ? If it was near
the eve of a Presidential election, when there
were plenty of offices to be distributed, it is
doubtful whether the street would be wide
enough for the new Corps of scavengers.
Now it is not recorded in the Pentateuch
that, the Pharaohs of Egypt were subject to any
freaks of this character. It does not appear
tq have entered into their royal and pivotal
minds, to inspire attraction towards the
functions of brickmaking. Hence we may
conclude that labor was'equally devoid of this
source of pleasure as in the others: of free
choice, combined order, and variety.
Agricultural functions, pursued amid the
influences of nature, have much that is at
tractive in them, independent of a scientific
distribution. It is the germ of attraction i
which furnishes, like her wild fruits i
6nd flowers, to encourage nidn, whose art
and science are needed to elaborate and re
' fine theme
This g'erm the Pharaohs destroyed by their
oppressive measures of reducing the Indus-1
trial classes to serfdom, and exacting of them I
the severest and most repugnant labors, such :
as those of erecting the pyramids must have I
been under the burning sky of Egypt. ,
It was on the contrary carefully preserv
ed in the Jewish Polity, by the division of the
land among the p'edple, by the emancipation ;
of tne people from serfdom, by the provision
of the sabbatical or seventh year when all j
servitude accidentally contracted was re-j
By the institution of the Jubilee, or fiftieth i
■year when lands which had been alienated re- !
turned to their first allotment, so that the im- i
providence or misfortune of individuals could i
not deprive their children of an interest in I
the soil which would generalize agricultural ■
By the exemption from military duty enjoy- I
, ed] ;by those who were recently settled in ■
agricultural pursuits, “ lest he perish in bat- '
tie and another eat the fruit of the vineyard
which he hath planted.”
By connection with the rites of religion—
the sacrifices offered to the Deity as thesensi
ble recognition of his Providence, being the
first fruits of the soil and the most beautiful
cattle, especially those which were pure
white and without blemish. A more potent
lever for stimulating to excellence in cultures
and in the raising of stock, could not be
(To be continued.)
From the sickening and appalling accounts of i
the state of Ireland, we copy the following, from I
i the Nation.
Where shall the people turn I In one hand!
the Government hold a scourge, and in the other
the delusive beacon of a Poor Law. The land
lord scours his estate of human vermin. With
his bailiffs round him he collects them together
like stags for the batue. The cry of the fox
chase is drowned by the more stunning shout of
human game, as they rush in hordes before hu
man beagles for covert to the Poorhouse. The
demand for admission has over-flooded the sys
tem; the torrent of human misery is so great
that the wheels cannot work. Guardians desert
their post, and throw up their office in despair.
Cavan, Lowtherstown, Ballinrobe, Westport
Galway, Roscommon, Bantry, Mohill, Ballina’
Castlebar, Clogheen, Enniseorthy—in all these
places the Guardians have resigned. But. the
Government is active. The velocity of steam
and telegraph has been surpassed by their eager
ness; in three days after the Coercion Bill’re
ceived the royal assent it was in force.
“The preservation of human life was the
sacred and paramount duty of Government.”
Of a truth, in the words of the Archbishop of
Cashbr, “ the lives of the poor alone are beyond
the pale of that duty ” “In Ireland there is one
law for the rich and another for the poor.” A war
of poverty and wealth will be the consequence
arid, oh! Heavens, such a war! Not of the
hungry, idle, or unemployed artisan, but the
turning of the hunted, robbed, and maddened
tanner upon the pursuers that plundered him
The following letter fiom the Archbishop of
Cashel to the Lord Lieutenant, appeared in the i
Post of Tuesday:
Thurles, Dec. 26,1817.
“My Lord—You have been most prompt and
vigorous in the exercise of the powers confided
to you by the recent coercion act of the legisla
ture. On tiie 21st instant it received the royal
assent; on the 23d your proclamation wa. issued
to enforce its provisions, and this, of course,
from a laudable anxiety for the protection of
life and the prevention of crime. Would it not
be well if your excellency’s vigilance were di
rected to anotherenactmenthavingalso in view,
as we were led to believe, the preservation of
human life’ I allude to the ammended poor
law for Ireland. This act was passed by the late
parliament, but it still remains almost a dead
letter on the statute-book; for thousands of our
poor people are dailyfamishing, and it is even on
record that some have already perished of hun
ger. Yourexeellency has admitted, in your an
swer to the memorial of the Catholic bishops, i
that ‘the preservation of human life was the I
sacred and paramount duty of government.’ Are I
the lives of the poor alone beyond the pale of
that duty, and shall it be always true that in !
Ireland there is one law for the rich and another
fot the poor I
“ I have the honor to remain, my lord,
“ Your very obedient servant,
“M. Slattery, Archbishop, &c. I
“To Ins Excellency the Earl of Clarendon.”
Threatening Notice to the Lady of the i
Hon. Col. Westenra, M. P.—We deeply re
gret to announce that the Hon. Mrs. Westenra
who is staying at the Sharavogue House*
has been served with a rockite notice, threaten
ing her with the. death of Lucas if she did not
send 11. to some poor family in her neighbor
hood.—Ring’s County Chvonicle.
80 It was found by M. Chossat, that, when
pigeons were entirely deprived of food and
water, the duration of their lives depended
upon the amount of fat which their bodies
contained, and upon the warmth of the at
mosphere in which they were kept;—those
living the longest which had the most fat,
and which were kept in the warmest air. The
temperatureof their bodies underwent regular ,
but inconsiderable diminution from day to
day; being kept up nearly to its proper
standard so long as any fat remained But as
soon as this was all consumed, they began to
cool rapidly, the temperature of their bodies
falling from hour to hour, until it was about '
thirty degreeslower than the proper standard,
when a state of insensibility and complete
loss of power of movement came on, which
was speedily followed by the entire cessation :
of the circulation, or death. Here, then, we 1
see that death by starvation is in reality '
death from cold; the immediate cause of 1
the stoppage of the heart’s action, and of all ’
the actions of life, being the loss of bodil y 1
heat, consequent upon the failure of the sup- <
ply of combustible material. 1

Curing Beef.—By most of the modes now j
in use, the beef becomes too much impreg- v
nated with salt, and is not as a consequence a
so fine for eating. By the following process
this difficulty is prevented, and the beef will
keep till the following summer : To 8 gallons I
of water, add 2 lbs. of brown sugar, h quart of j
molasses, 4 oz. of nitre, and fine salt till it j
will float an egg. This is enough for two ’
common quarters of beef. It has been re- s
peatedly tried and found very fine ; a famous a
beef eater says it is the only good way. n
To Extinguish Chimneys on Fire.— c
“ First shut the doors and windows of the «
room containing the fire; stop up the flue of .
the chimney with a piece of wet carpet or s '
blanket; and then throw a little wafer, or |
common salt on the fire. By this means the <1
draught of the chimney will be checked, and : 'i
the burning soot will soon be extinguished
for want of air. Let this be remembered by : *
the reader.” ’ |
Age of Poultry.—Those who purchase , l!
poultry will observe, that if a hen’s spur is ■
hard, and the scales on the legs rough,she is I
old. If the head is on, the comb will be thick ! a
mil rough, and the under bill stiff, and :W
hard to bend down. A young hen has onlvi sh
rudiments of spurs, scales on the legs smooth . r . c
ind fresh, claws tender and short, under bill ;
ihort, comb thin and smooth. The same re- :es
narks, as to the legs, apply in part to turkeys I ■
ind to geese. ' j pa
To Drive Away Ants.—l saw in your
japer a plan to drive away red ants by feed- j
ng them with bacon; but the following is |
letter than that; it,is to drive away black I
mts; when they trouble your sugar box, &c., lo>
ust roll up a small piece of camphor gum in |
i paper, and put inside the box, and it will: f
oon kill or disperse all these intruders ; sage I --
ea leaves thrown in their way are also very I ini
■ery troublesome to them.— Ohio Cultivator. I
A Clergyman in Trouble.—Sometime
ago, the Rev. Alfred Hewlett, of Astley, Eng-
I land, byway of inducing his congregation to
become total abstainers, publicly proclaimed
| from the pulpit that he would marry teetotal
ers, christen their children, and inter their
dead, free of charge. Influenced, by this de
claration, the orator being a widower in the
prime of life, a demure spinster, about hii
own age, who had for many months vainly
essayed to became the second Mrs. H., gave
in her adherence to the total abstinence prin
ciple and then claimed of the astonished rec
tor a fulfilment of his promise to marry her!
The result has not transpired, but as sho
threatens loudly, and has one brother at
Doctors’ Commons, and another in the
Horse Guards, it is presumed she will gain
her ends. •
Live Stock in Vermont.—Vermont will
prabably always be a stock and wool-growing
state. Her hills and vales, and the thousand
cool and refreshing rivulets thateihpty them
selves from the one to the other, has destined
it for a grazing country. In 18-10, she had
more horses and more neat cattle than any of
the New-England States; her number of
sheep was nearly equal to the tthblb of thoah
■ states combined: She cut more hay and pro
duced more oats than either. The value of
rU' airy P roduct 3 was but a trifle below that
of Massachsetts, and it would have exceeded
that even, were it not on account of the dis
tance from market She stands next to the
great state ot New York in her quantity of
wool, and her quantity to each individual is
about double that of the last mentioned state.
—Richardson's Address.
All's. Confidence Gossip lately met jfrliiifl
. I’rim Prattle—
“ Have you seen that dear little creature,
Gen ral Tom Thumb inquired Mrs. Gossip.
“ Who ain’t seen him!” exclaimed Miss Prat
“I wonder what on arth’s kept ’im from grow
in’ was the old lady’s observation.
“And so do I,” responded the young lady.
“ They say he’s been long that way,” giggled
Mrs. Gossip.
“ i know of only one reason for iiis bein’ so
i small, remarked Miss Pjattle. “They say his
‘ mar fed im on Cakes in which she put too much
Smoker^,—lt has been surmised, from thfc
following extract, that the author of the “feb
tanic Garden’’ is no smoker; be this as it may,
we give it for the benefit of our readers:
“From the smoker of tobacco it should not be
i concealed, that the essential oil of tobacco, like
that from its kindred plants, henbane and deadly
nightshade, is a virulent poison; and which, in
smoking, is inhaled and swallowed, and is fre
! quently productive of paralysis. Itsfreque.pt use,
like that of opiunij renders the system less sub-
■ ceptible of its active Qualities; this, however, ifj
i but the evidence of disordered fuhetibn—bf ha
. tural sensitiveness destroyed; an effect which,
< I like the effects of other poisons, can only be ad-
i vantageous where rendered necessary by dis
’ j ease.”
■ 1 Improved Candlewicks.—An improved can
. j d|e may be made by the steeping cotton wicks
j tn lime-water, in which a considerable quantity
jof saltpetre (nitre,) has been dissolved. By this
is obtained a pure flu me and a superior
i I’olttJ a more perfect Combustion is ensured,
snulhrig is rendered nearly as superfluous as in
- wax lights; and the candles thus made do not
i • run nor waste. The wicks should be thoroughly
y dry before they are covered with tallow, otner-
I t wise they will not burn with auniform and clear
j : light.
- | Arcahis httftogea, or Ground Pea.-*.
; This article is considerably cultivated in some
j j of our southern States under the name of pindars.
- ; The seed is planted in rows five feet apart, and a
_ J foot apart in the row, as early in spring as the
, i weather and the state of the soil will admit.
I I They are dug in the fall, before hard frost. The
1 ; tops dried make good fodder, for horses and
1; cattle. It is said that the poorest land in Mies-
I issippi will produce from fifty to eighty bushels of
_ pea-nuts per acre. The only cultivation needed
;1 ! is to keep the ground clean.
1 People should be careful how they bathe
without additional clothing. Two gentlemen
who had not washed their bodies in seven years,
- recently caught cold by removing the coating of
- dirt at the bath. Good economistswill not bathe
j at all, as a layer of dirt is equal to a pair
1 of drawers, and saves the expense of extra cloth
? mg.
t The Y oung People.^—At Box, in Herts, there
s is a family consisting of father, mother, son and
3 daughter, whose united ages are only thirty
three. Father seventeen, mother fifteen, children
(twins) a few weeks. j
A Curious Discovery.—The other week
j there was, it is said, found in a coal-pit south of
f I Edinburgh, at a depth of from twenty to thirty
■ fathoms, a petrified human body, which, unfor-
I tunately, the miners broke; but three pieceshave
been preserved—namely, portions of the arms,
] ; and a foot artd a leg half way up to the knee, the
r toes broken off.
i Effects of Famine.—The village of South
r Reen, in the west part of the county of Cork,
j. says the Southern Reporter , contained in the
i early part of the year 62 houses, and 320 in-
■ habitants. It now has but 50 inhabitants, and
' 8 small hovels remaining, the rest of the
t houses having been broken up to furnish
t coffins for the dead and fuel for the living.
’ Fattening Poultry.—An excellent way
? is to boil potatoes, and mash them fine, then
t add meal, just before the food is given to
' them. It is asserted that turkeys, geese, and
1 other fowls, will thus fatten in one half the
time usually required when they are fed on
grain alone.
J A devil intending to say that Wisdom
promised length of years, set it up so as to
‘ read “ Wisdom promises length of
! i
No. 141 Fulton St., N. Y.
the following offer which cannot fail to
. be satisiactory to all.
All invalids are invited to call at this office between
I the hours pt 10 and 12 o’clock, A. M., and 2 and 4 P. M..
i . convenient, their Family Physician or
. • Medical Attendant with them.
? | During the hours above designated, we will ex
1 . amine the following cases:
1 ! •° - L A ll ?. ases belonging to the practice of Physi
- j cians in the line of Medicine.
No. 11. All cases belonging to the SCROFULOUS
■ class of diseases, whether internal or external.
! belonging to the class of Diseases
called CHRONIC. either internal or external.
. No. IV. All kinds of SURGICAL CASES, in which
i instruments may or may not need to be used.
; No. v. All cases of SY PH ILlS.in all their stages :1.
■ Catarrh in the Urethra. 2. Swelling or Abscess
es in the Groin. 3. Ulcers, Sores or Pimples about
the parts. 4. Strictures in the Urethra— all which
are primary cases. 5. Secondary Syphilis. 6. Ul
dones. 10. Sore Eyes and Scald Head. 11. Fistula
in Ano and in Perineo. 12. Cancers 13. Hemorr
hoid or I iles. 14. Hemorrhages or Bleeding from
any part, in male or female. 15. Chronic Bronchitis,
or Ulcerous Sore Throat and Nose. 16. Catarrh
in the Head. 17. Stone oa Gravel, and all other dif
nculties in the Urinary organs. 13 All old Chronic
Mercurial,Rheumatic,Scrofulous and Jnveteratf
diseases of every kind.
Also, we ofler to Visit all Invalids at their resi-
All persons presenting themselves for examina
tion, at the hours above mentioned, shall receive Me
dical Counsel and Advice
ait, CHARGE.
J AMEb Me ALL ISER. hereby promise to the
public and Physicians throughout the United States,
that any persons who receive or purchase any
of the medicine preserved by the Physcians, whom
my ofli . ce > which may fail to ac
complish all that they promise they shall do in the
Fn?tn RE . CEIp T and PORMISE in Wl it-
to this effect will be given to every patient who
wishes it, with my signature attached. y
™ii r^ae ry ’i cas t e r a B kinds of diseases examined
for at all hours, (Sunday’s excepted)
AU Regular Physicians may receive, if they wish, a
full knowledge of the Medicines and Treatment em
ployed in this office, with the mode by which we ar- '
rive at a correct diagnosis and rtognosis in all cases,
without CHARGE—and also a Treatise which gives
the 1 reatment and Remedies adapted to all cases of
. Persons at a distance can be prescribed for by send- v
mg a written description of their case, post paid, and
money to pay for the medicine merely. The medi
cine can be sent in any way the patient or his friends
may order.
”><”‘CQMPREHENSIVE treatise
Mtnv »■•’ l 1 - ™r lt . s Jß nns anti stages, with the
REMEDY which is WARRANTED to cuke in every
tf7k^’i^? LLY F .? REV 'KR—For sale at this office,
ni vc ale and Ketai .l- Also. MEDICINE for MALA
nrev a°ql A c those intended for the
cur< \ c ? se ’ if the directions
are strictly followed. Wholesale and retail, by
james McAlister,
office in
McAlister s all-healing ointment
() ONTINUES to maintain an unequalled reputation
\T e^ ure ot the most aggravated internal and
whether o? recent date or long
1S owin ff to its extraordinary power
the blood and all internal
morbid, diseased, or offensive mat!er
VvitKrtnt tße R ? tu ral outlets, the pores of the skin.
® ut . vonu .tmg it cleanses the stomach and cures
dyspepsia—without purging, it relieves the bowels of
E?? kP-. 101 . 1 ’ and restores tlieir tone—without bleed
blistering, or leeching it allays inflammation,
lever, nervous irritation, and pain—without poultices
ana caustics, and plasters, it cleanses and heals old
sores and ulcers, burns and scalds—without cupping
and scarifying it cures sore and inflamed Eyes and
)tars; and without pills, powders, or syrups, it cures
diseases of the Lungs, Liver, Stomach, Bladder, and
Womb, with promptness and safety and without in
convenience or pain.
GRA DNDEPOT. No'. 141 Fulton street. New York
Suniog Oispatil),
By Williamson &. Burns,
And delivered to subscribers in the City, Brooklyn,
Williamsbnrgh and Jersey City, at the rate of one
shilling per month, by regular and faithful carriers.
Pei sens who wish to receive the paper regularly
should send their names to the office. Those who de
pend upon newsboys are apt to be disappointed,
especially in stormy weather.
The Sunday Dispatch will be sent by mail to any
part of the World at the rate of $2,00 per annum, pay
able in all cases m advance.
A limited amount of advertisements will be inserted
upon the following terms :
One Time, - - - - $1 00 I Throe Months. - - 00
One Month, • 200 Six Months . os
Two Months, ■ 350 | One Year. .... i 6 co
Longer or shorter advertisements at the same rates.
All orders must be addressed, post paid and encloi
inf amount of subscription, to the Publishers
r UbH»l>»r»

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