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Sunday dispatch. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1845-1854, July 15, 1849, Image 1

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VOLUME 4. NO. 33.
WRITTEN EXPRESSLY FOR THIS PAPER.
THE ORPHAN SEAMSTRESS:
A NARRATIVE OF
jhutmnce anb (Mlt, Jilgshrg, jCone anb (tfritne.
Being actual events which have come to light in the City of JVew York,
during the latter part of the year 1848 ;
BY THE AUTHOR OF THE “MILLINER’S APPRENTICE.”
CHAPTER XIX.
PLOT AND COUNTER PLOT.
’ Ecklin and Lines bent their steps towards
that sanctuary of justice, known to New
York, and indeed to the whole country, as
the Tombs—that pile of Egyptian architec
ture erected as a temple of a code of laws,
and a legal system which we derive from
Rome. The Romans held Egyptian archi
tecture in utter contempt—but the fact nev
er occurred to the fathers of the city when
they erected the Halls of Justice in Centre
street.
“ Have you ever had any business at the
Tombs, my dear fellow I” Lines asked, as the
two sauntered along.
“ Never was there but once in my life,
and that but a day or two ago,” Ecklin re
plied.
“ Ah, you don’t know the delicious ex
citement of a case before the police. You
should adopt my plan, and get pulled up once
or twice a year for an affair of gallantry, be
sides making a display of yourself occasion
ally in the watch-returns. It is capital good
fun, I assure you, my dear fellow.”
fw “ X confess,” answered Ecklin with a slight
sneer, “ that I have no disposition to figure
in that way. However, every man to his
taste.”
“ Why, how do you manage to pass away
the idle hours ?” exclaimed the dandy, with
real or well feigned astonishment. “ ’Pon
my life, I don’t know how I could survive
for a week in this ‘ stale, flat and unprofita
ble world,’ without creating a sensation. I
can’t read a book—books are .bores—the
stage is as heavy and dull as a smooth sea—
church—l never go to church, and as for
home, it’s d—d unfashionable to ever men
tion the word. The only resource, unless it
be in matters of gallantry, is wine, or rather
brandy—but then there’s the cursed reaction,
head-ache, low spirits and nervousness, the
next day.
. “Do you bathe daily in’cold water?” de
manded. Ecklin.
“ No, not daily—it puts one in such a hor
rible shiver I What a horrible punishment
the old-fashioned ducking-stool must .have
been! Don’t you think so, my dear fellow.’”
“ It must have been indeed a horrible pun
ishment to a man of your temperament,”
Ecklin returned with another sneer. “ But
you take a good deal of exercise, I presume ?”
“ Oh, yes ! I walk up and down Broadway
every day, that is when there’s no rain; and
then I drive tandem once a week. I long to
put those mares of yours in shaft and trace.”
“ But when it rains—what do you do ? You
can’t endure a book, you only walk in the
sunshine, and then but in Broadway. lam
puzzled to know how you pass the remainder
of your time.”
“ Ah,” Lines responded, with a low laugh,
“ if I only dared to tell you—if I could con
fide in you !”J
“Do so with perfect confidence in my
honor,” said Ecklin.
“ Well, then, you know—l just told you,
I am cursedly poor, and it bothers us dam
nably to keep up an appearance. (Never
blow on me, my dear fellow—no, I am sure
you won’t!) In rainy weather I pass my
time in cleaning and repairing my wardrobe.
Devilish good idea, isn’t it ? Ha, ha—a gen
tleman setting a stitch, sponging out a grease
spot, eh!”
“ It is better than doing nothing at all, and
I rather like to hear that you have some use
ful occupation to vary the monotony of your
life.”
“ I can’t 'expect., you to sympathise with
me, Ecklin, because you are rich. But just
see what a d—d awkward position I’m placed
in. I was born a geiitleman—that’s evident
enough—but I’m incapable of doing anything
useful. With the tastes and refinements of a
gentleman, with an indisposition to work—
in fact utterly incapable of turning my hand
to any thing but; mending and cleaning i,y
own clothes, I lack the money to sustain my
natural position.”
“ Your father left something, I believe .”’
“ Very little, but we nurse it carefully.”
“ Did he inherit what he left to you, or ac
quire it in trade .’” continued Ecklin. '•
“ There you hit me hard, my dear fellow,”
Lines replied, coloring slightly —“ my father
was a merchant —a-a-a —that is, a tradesman
—to be frank, he dealt in old clothes —but
that is between you and me.”
“ I shall not divulge the secret, though,
in the same confidence, I must tell you that
it is no secret to the whole town. Every
body knows who your father was, my dear
Lines, and the only regret of your friends is,
that he did not leave you more of the only
thing which could justify the pretention of
your life.” Eiklin uttered these cutting,
scornful words, with an emphasis and in a
manner which none but a fool could have
failed to notice. But wrapped up in his stu
pidity and overmastering self-sufficiency,
Lines detected not the sarcasm.
“ It is very kind of yon to say so, indeed it
is,” drawled out the dandy—“ I always liked
you, Ecklin, and regarded you as a friend,
though you talk d—d bluntly sometimes. If
I can be of any service to you, you dcrn’t
know how glad I should be—”
Here we are at the Tombs,” whispered
Ecklin, interrupting without ceremony the
protestations of friendship which were fall*
ing thick and fast from the lips of his com
panion.
“ Oh, yes—this is the infernal, gloomy
looking place, I know it well enough,” an
swered Lines.
“ I will make the complaint as you sug
gest,” Ecklin resumed. “ Allege a plot by
which I was entrapped into the house— de
clare the real character of Kate Dashall, (the
police know her well enough,) charge Mary
with being an accomplice—that will destroy
her reputation—and swear that this scoun
drelly fireman also acted in concert with
them, and when I refused to give them mo
ney, fell upon and beat me 1”
“ Stop, stop, my dear fellow,” interposed
Lines, “ that is not my plan, it is yours. I
proposed not to trouble a magistrate, and so
expose yourself, but to hire two police offi
cers to make the arrest—the one to take off
the girls, back to Mrs. Evans’ if you like, the
other to frighten this low fireman into si
lence and discretion, without bringing him
to the Tombs.”
“ It would be the better way, if it were not
so dangerous,” answered Ecklin, musing for
leak out—see what a scrape we should all he
in.”
“ Leave that to me—l’ll answer for all the
consequences,” said Lines. “In the first
place, when you have once got possession of
Mary, you will keep your eye on her—keep
her in custody I mean—until—until she is
not a whit better than her nice companion,
Miss Kate Dashall—both the inmates of a
house of ill-fame.”
“ Yes, yes !” exclaimed Ecklin, “ let me
but get her back to Mrs. Evans’ house again,
and she is safe enough.”
“ Very good, my dear fellow—imagine her
escorted back then, and consigned to the
protection of your worthy friend, Mrs.
Evans, whom I must really call upon—l must
indeed—and then imagine this low fellow
called upon daily by the police officer, cau
tioned to silence, frightened by being told
that you have commenced proceedings against
him—that you are rich—don’t you see its the
best plan to adopt. There’s no danger to be
apprehended. If there were, you know I
wouldn’t counsel such a course.”
“ That’s true enough,” Ecklin said, with a
slight expression of contempt. “If there
were danger in it, you wouldn’t take a hand.”
“ Certainly not—thank you for the compli
ment to my carefulness and caution,” drawl
ed out the dandy with evident gratification.
“Well, then, resumed who are
these two worthies, who are to do for us this
nice job.?”
“ Come along, my dear fellow, come along
—by the Lord here’s an adventure,” and
gaily moving his hand, he ran up the stone
steps which led to the vestibule of the
building.
usual, there was a considerable'crowd
of loiterers in the spacious area—small law
yers, waiting with impatience to filch a fee
from some degraded being; policemen ready
to be summoned to one or the other criminal
courts; reporters on the look out for an ex
citing incident for the next day’s paper;
loafers watching eagerly for a scene of low
life, in which they themselves revelled—a
very remarkable place is that vestibule !
Lines walked through and through the
crowd, occasionally bowing to an acquaint
aucc but Lurrying on in his search, At
length his eye fell upon a short thick-set man,
who was engaged in apparently earnest con
versation with a “ shystering lawyer” as that
branch of the legal profession is termed.
He was a gross, bloated-looking fellow, with
a keen, cold, gray eye, that had a nervous,
quick, twitching movement, denoting great
cunning and alertness, and not a particle of
humanity or honesty.
“ I have been looking for you, Mr. Stell,
“ said Lines approaching the person we have
described : “ where is your partner, Lane ?
I have a little business which will engage
the attention of both of you for a few hours.”
The man he addressed left his companion
and saluted Lines, who drew him aside, and
whispered for a few moments in his ear.
Stell’s grey eyes glistened—smiled, indeed,
with a cold, cunning, heartless smile. Draw
ing out a little memorandum book, and touch
ing the pencil to bis lips, he said—
“ What is the number of the house, Mr.
Lines!”
Lines was obliged to consult Ecklin, who
now drew near, before he could reply.
“ I can easily find the place,” Stell resu
med, noting down the address, “ Two girls—
Mary Eustis and Kate Dashall, and - , the
fireman.”
“ But you must have Lane along with
you,” said Lines.
“He is close at hand, and will be found
before I set out 1 ” answered Stell.
“ You are sure you understood ?” Lines de
manded.
“ All but one thing,” that worthy answer
ed, clasping his memorandum book and re
storing it to his pocket—“ All but one thing
—how much are we to have for the job, Mr.
Lines’.?”
“ Ah, yes, I had forgotten,” lisped out the
dandy. “It is usual, my dear Ecklin,” he
continued, turning to that gentleman, “to
pay the officers something in advance.”
“That’s the talk,” S tell interposed roughly.
“ How much,” demanded Ecklin, drawing
out his pocket-book.
“ Why ten dollars for’each of them, simp
ly as a retainer, you'know. If they perform
the business with their usual cleverness, you
can double or treble that amount.”
Ecklin handed over a twenty-dollar note,
which Stell looked at with his sharp eyes for
a moment, and then carefully folding it, laid
it away in his vest pocket.
“ All right, gentlemen,” he said, “by night
fall you will find the two young ladies safe
under Mrs. Evans’ roof, and your friend, the
fireman, nowhere in particular—but out of
your way.” So saying, he carefully settled
his hat on his head, buttoned up his coat,
and whistling an Irish air, departed on his
mission.
“ I must go down and look after an infirm
friend of mine, whom I left at - hotel, in
charge of a friend,” said Ecklin, turning to
Lines—“ where shall we meet this scoundrel
we have just employed.”
“ Why you need not see him again to-day ;
go up to old Evans’ cage to-night, and you’ll
find the birds safely caged.”
“ But I’d rather see him before I go up—l
want to know all the particulars of the move
ment—to be well advised, so as to act with
prudence.”
“In that case, come here in an hour, he
will be back by that time,” said Lines, “ He’s
not a man to waste any more time than is ab
solutely necessary.”
“ Suppose then we meet here in an hour,”
Ecklin proposed, ■“ and after receiving satis
factory assurance that our plan has succeed
ed, we will go and dine together.”
“ Agreed to .that,” returned Lines, “in
an hour then, look through this crowd of va
gabonds, and you’ll be sure to find me ”
“ I shall not fail to find you among them,”
retorted Ecklin, “ and so till then good bye.”
and the two gentlemanly plotters separated.
.As for Stell, he lost no time in hunting up
his associate, Lane, and of informing him of
the work in hand. Honestly dividing the
twenty dollars between them, the two offi
cers walked rapidly towards the spot indica
ted. They had no difficulty in finding it,
and without ceremony walked up stairs. The
door through which Ecklin had so hastily,
and with such indignity, passed, was imme
diately opened to their call, and the ofificers
Jjvalked in.
There were four young girls, a middle-aged I
suffering from indisposi
tion, and a young man in the room.
“Is Kate Dashall here,” demanded Stell
in an authoritative tone, opening his memo
randum-book, and pretending to examine it.’’
“That is my name, sir,” said Kate, stepping
boldly forward.
The officer glanced at her out of his grey
eyes, and then looking at the memorandum,
continued in the same offensive tone—
“ Is Mary Eustis here ?”
The girl thus called stepped timidly for
ward and stood by the side of Kate.
“ And you, sir,” said the officer, looking
fiercely at the young Fireman, “ are you
Frank Knowles ?”
“ I ain’t any body else,” answered the
young Fireman, with amusing nonchalance.
“ You have the advantage of me, my friend,
seeing that you know me, while I don’t know
you from any other ass in town.”
“We are officers attached to the police,
and we arrest you, Frank Knowles, Kate
Hastings and Mary Eustis. Now don’t make
a muss, but come along.”
“ Whew —whew —whew! !” whistled the
Fireman—“justtell us what’s out now—what
are we arrested for .*’
“ For enticing a gentleman named Ecklin
to this house, and endeavoring to extort mo
ney from him.”
“ That’s good,” said the Fireman, in the
same imperturbable tone. “ Ecklin’s ahead
of me, but that’s the more reason we should
make haste. Put on your bonnets, gir's, and
you, Sissies, come along, too. “ There, mo
ther,” continued the Fireman, stooping down
and kissing the pale cheeks of the old wo
man, “ there, don’t be frightened—we’U all
be back soon.”
“ We arrest but the two girls named,” said
Stell, “ and yourself. The other young wo
men need not accompany us to the Tombs.”
“ But they may if they like, and they will,”
replied the Fireman.
“ “ They had better not,” growled Stell, not
liking the proposition much, as the reader
will understand it threatened to interfere
with the programme as it had been originally
fixed.
“ Come along, girls, the whole of you,”
continued the Fireman.
In a few minutes the whole party were in
the street, in the direction of the Tombs.
Lane walked along by the side of the Fire
man ; Stell had gallantly given an arm to his
two fair prisoners, while the sisters of the
Firemen brought up the rear. They had
walked in this way for a few blocks, and had
reached the Engine House, where the reader
was first introduced to the noble Fireman,
when Stell stopped suddenly, and called out
to his confederate,
“ Lane, you keep on to the Tombs with
Mr. Knowles—the Judge won’t be_there for
an hour. I have got a process to serve in the
next street above, and if these young ladies
are not too tired, I’ll trouble them to walk
that way with me.”
“ All right,” replied the confederate, un
derstanding in a minute the object of the '
scheme.
“.But it is not right,” exclaimed the Fire
man fiercely, turning on the officer.
“Now, look here, young man,” cried Lane,
turning very red in the face—“ you are my
prisoner, and must go along with me. If you
make any resistance, I’ll have to put the irons
on you—d’ye hear ?”
“ I hear,” answered the Fireman, “ and
that is just what I want to do. I want to go
ta the Tombs—these gals want to go there,
and we are going together; and, moreover,
you are going, too. No separating such an
interesting party. D’ye take me for a gree
ney, and think that I do not read through
you ?”
As the Fireman uttered these words, he
put two fingers to his mouth, and blew a
shrill blast, sounding more like a steam whis
tle than anything else. Instantly the door of
the Engine House flew open, and six brawny
fellows stepped on to the walk.
“ Fall in here, boye, the fellow that I was
just telling you of, has got ahead of me, but
we’ll be in time for him; fall in the rear, and
now march for the Tombs.”
“ You resist the law!” exclaimed Stell and
Lane in a breath. “We leave you, therefore,
to its penalty,” and both were making away,
only too glad to escape thus easily, when the
Fireman interfered—
“ No you don’t, my good fellows —no you
dont. We are your prisoners, and mean to
go with you to the Tombs. We are deter
mined on that.”
An expression of blank amazement and
fear passed over the faces of the two detected
knaves. But there was no help for them.—
Exposure, dismissal from the police, punish
ment for presuming to make an arrest with
out a warrant, these terrible results stared
them in the face. But the Firemen walked
on either side of them, and proceeded to
wards the Tombs. The policemen were in
fact the prisoners of the law, and not those
they had feigned to arrest. That was an odd
and an eventful scene.
[To be continued.]
Evenness of Temper.
Madame Necker relates the following an
ecdote of M. Abauret, a philosopher of Ge
neva :—lt was said of him that he had never
been out of temper ; some persons, by means
of his female servant, were determined to
put him to the proof. The woman in ques
tion stated that she had been his servant for
thirty years, and she protested that during
that time, she had never seen him in a pas
sion. They promised her a sum of money if
she would make him angry. She consented ;
and, knowing that he was particularly fond
of having his bed well made, she on the day
appointed, neglected to make it. M. Abau
ret observed it, and the next morning made
the observation to his servant; she answered
him that she had forgotten it; she said no
thing more, but on the same evening she
again neglected to make the bed. The same
observation was made on the morrow by the
philosopher, and she again made some excuse
in a cooler manner than before. On the third
day, hejsaid to her, “ You have not yet made
my bed —you have apparently come to some
resolution on the subject, as you probably
found that it fatigued you. But, after all, it
is of no great consequence, as I begin to ac
custom myself to it as it is.” She threw her
self at his feet and avowed all to him.
Origin of Negroes.—The lower order of
Brazilians entertain the following singular
belief as to their original formation“ At
the time,” they say, “ of the creation of
Adam, Satan looked on, and formed a man of
clay, but, every thing he touched becoming
black, he determined to wash him white in
the Jordan. On his approach the river re
tired, and he had only time to push the black
man on the wet sand, which, touching the
soles of his feet and the palms of his hands,
accounts for the comparative whiteness of
those parts. In a rage, the Devil struck his
creation on the nose, by which the flatness of
that organ was accomplished. The negro
then begged for mercy, as no blame could be
attached to him, upon which the other, some
what pacified, patted him on the head, and,
by the heat of his hand, curled his hair in the
way it is seen at the present day.”
No Doubt of it. —Some fair damsel com
mences an advertisment in a New York paper,
Iwith — ‘j! young lady wishes an engagement.'
■vie should like to know the disengaged young
lady who does not wish an engagement!
NEW ¥OKK, SUNDAY MOBNING, JULY 15, 1849.
I Some Sickness.
FROM THE GERMAN.
Thou ask’st me why my heart is sad,
Why pensive thus I roam,
When all around are blithe and glad?
My spirit pines for home.
’Tis true the birds pour forth their songs,
’Tis true this earth is fair,
But ah! my aching bosom longs
For that which is not there.
At morn the flowers pour forth their perfume,
At eve they fade away,
But in my Father’s mansion bloom
Flowers that can ne’er decay.
Those fairy blossoms will not grow.
Save in their place of birth ;
They fade, they wither here below—
They were not made for earth.
Where is that mansion 1 Far above
The sun, the stars, the skies;
In realms of endless light and love,
My Father’s mansion lies.
Then ask not why my heart is sad,
Why pensive thus I roam,
When all around are blithe and glad ?
My spirit pines for home.
A Sardinian Slobber.
The May number of the Dublin University
contains a review of a work on the Island of
Sardinia, from which we cull an extract.
Pepe Bona, the robber here spoken of, was
accused of the murder of a baronial law offi
cer, and fled to the mountains, where he re
mained five years, but returned to his home
on the accusatien being disproved. The law
officers’ friends still cherished ill feelings
against him, and again charged him with ano
ther crime, when he again fled to the moun
tains, where he was soon surrounded with
partisans and other fugitives, of whom he
became the leader. In 1836, he sought an
interview with the Marquis de Boyl, who
gives this account of it:
Towards nine o’clock in the evening, as I
was finishing my dinner, a servant came and
whispered to me that the celebrated Pepe
Bona desired to have the honor of presenting
himself to me. The Minister of Justice and
all the official authorities of the village being
at table with me, I ordered, in a low voice,
which none could hear, that he should be
conducted to my bed-room without passing
through the room where we were dining. I
then went there, and soon saw enter a man of 1
middle stature, about forty-seven years of
age, of calm and majestic deportment. His :
hair was grey, as was also his long beard;
his eyes were dark and his face much wrin- ;
led. Four others were behind him, one of
whom was a very handsome young man of 1
twenty-one, of slender figure, with light '
beard and dark eyes. All were armed from j
head to foot, each carrying a gun, a bayonet, 1
and a brace of pistols; and each of them 1
held by a cord a dog of most ferocious aspect
—a thorough Cerberus. Pepe Bona, follow- !
ed by his sons—for thus he calls his com
rades —advanced towards me, and they all 1
kissed my hand with the greatest courtesy '
imaginable. After apologising for present- 1
ing himself thus armed before me, he hoped '
I understood his position, being continually j
pursued by his enemies and the hand of the
law. He then proceeded to relate to me the !
kind of life he had led for eleven years in the ,
mountains, and, as he said, “ from having 1
been calumniated by his enemies and the '
law authorities, without having killed any 1
one”—alluding to the Primo and second af- ’
fair of 1829. I was extremely delighted 1
with his conversation, and questioned him on j
many subjects. He then begged me to ask
pardon for him: and I replied that he could
obtain it easily himself, as he already knew,
per impunita— that is, by giving up another
who had a price fixed on his head. ‘ At these
words my hero, drawing himself back a cou- ’
pie of steps, and grasping the handle of the 1
bayonet, which was placed diagonally in his 1
waistband, said, “My lord, Pepe Bona has 1
never betrayed any one: if the government ;
does not choose to change the sentence on
me, and lam to buy my liberty by treachery, :
I do not wish for that change; I prefer a '
thousand times to reside in the mountains ;
with my sons and my honor, which I regard
more than my life.” At this answer I could '
no longer restrain myself, and giving him my
hand, he kissed it most respectfully, bending
his head. I commended the honorable senti- '
ments with which he was animated; and af- ;
ter having promised to do all in my power to .
intercede with the government for his par- ,
don, on the other condition, I endeavored to ]
reason with him, and make him see that
some day or other he might be wounded, and 1
then easily arrested. The four men who 1
were with him, and who had not hitherto s
spoken a word, here interrupted me as I was
proceeding, and all of them simultaneously
exclaimed, “ Inantio heus a morriri totus
conca a issu.’ (Before that, we will all pe
rish for his head.) I then withdrew myself i
from them for a little while, to take leave of i
my guests, who were waiting for me in the i
other room, and ordered a supper for them,
which they accepted with much pleasure; '
and to avoid any restraint on them, I retired
to a little distance. How I longed for the
pencil of Vandyke to paint their animated
countenances, their large, dark eyes turning
from all sides to the door whenever it was
opened. The five dogs beside them, their
eyes fixed, on their masters, watched greedily
for the pieces of food which were thrown to
them from time to time. My maitre d'hotel
eat at table with the fuorusciti, and had to
taste every thing first, according to their re
quest, as the dragoni, the government troops,
might, as they hinted, have become acquaint
ed with their arrival at the palace, and it was
necessary to be on their guard, least they
should “ die the death of rats.” They gave
me an account of their mode of life, wander
ing about all night, resting and concealing
themselves during the day; and, outcasts as
they were, on assembling in the morning,
they go through the rosario; and courageous
beyond all belief, are yet most humble in the
presence of their chief, nor dare to raise
their eyes when he reproves them. Their
principal amusement is firing at a target,
which they do constantly and with great dex
terity. After supper they again kissed my
hand, and it being past midnight, and every
one in bed, I expressed a wish to accompany
them to see them start on their horses. I
was perfectly astonished in meeting, at a
short distance, twenty more of his band, who,
acting as a vidette, with their dogs, were
guarding the security of their chief and their
companions.”
The application was not successful, and
two years afterwards another bandit—be
tween whom and Pepe Bona there had been
a quarrel—found him asleep and shot him
dead on the spot. He is said to have been
loved as well as feared, and during his whole
outlawry, he never injured any one who
treated him fairly.
Coming- Home.
He who has never been separated in early
years, while yet the budding affections of his
heart are tender shoots, from the land of his
birth and his home, knows nothing of the
throng of sensations that crowd upon him as
he nears the shore of his country. The
name, familiar as household words, come
with a train of long buried thoughts; the
feeling of attachment to all we call our own
—that patriotism of the heart—stirs strong
ly within him, as the mingled thrills of hope
and fear alternately move him to joy or sad
ness.
Hard as are the worldly etruggles between
the daily cares of him who carves out his
own career of fortune, yet he has never ex
perienced the darkest poverty of fate who
has not felt what it is to be a wanderer, with
out a country to lay claim to. Of all the de
solations that visit us, this is the gloomiest
and the worst. The outcast from the land
oi his fathers, whose voice must never be
heard within the walls where his infancy
was nurtured, nor his step be free upon the
mountains where he gambolled in his youth,
this is, indeed wretchedness. The instinct
of country grows and strengthens with our
years; the joys of early life are linked with
it; the hopes of age point towards il; and he
who knows not the thrill of ecstasy some
well-remembered,long-lost-sight-of place can
bring to his heart when returning after years
of absence, is ignorant of one of the purest
sources of happiness of our nature.
Husbands, be Polite.—The editor of the
Racine Advocate winds up a long article to
the ladies with a word to the “ lords”—
“ A word to married men. Remember to
; I be polite to your own wives, for if\you are
j not, others will be.” , '
Anthy, the Penitent.
We extract the following from a new fairy
tale which recently appeared in England, il
lustrating The Magic of Kindness: —
Now it chanced one morning, as Huan vis
ited the hospital, he noticed, while all the
sufferers he passed had some gentle friend to
smooth their pillow and ease their pain, still
there was one poor, stricken thing, whose
bedstead was deserted; and, though she lay
gasping with the fire of the fever, there was
no one near to raise the cool cup to her burn
ing lips. Filled with pity for her loneliness,
he asked of those around the name and histo
ry of the sufferer, but none could tell him
who or what she was, for they said she had
refused to answer all their questionings. At ’
first Huan thought it might be his sister An- :
thy, who, ashamed of the name she bore, had :
sought to keep her misery secret from the i
world. But he remembered that Anthy was >
the favorite of the Prince, and Aleph, he i
said, would never leave her, lor whom he had '
once risked his life, to die alone in such a 1
place. And, when Huan sat himself down 1
by her side, and looked at the scarred and 1
riddled face of the girl, his heart beat again, 1
for he felt sure she could not be the pretty i
Anthy that he sought. But, though he re- 1
joiced at first to find another stricken in his 1
sister’s place, still, as he looked at the poor s
maid a second time, and read in her sightless t
eyes how bitterly she had suffered, his heart )
bled for her, and he vowed that he would be s
a friend and brother to her in her hour of i
trouble. Huan tended her so kindly, and s
spoke to her so gently and cheeringly, that I
the girl soon got to love and confide in him; I
so that, as she grew stronger, she would raise <
herself on her pillow, and, turning her sight- 1
less eyes towards him, as he sat watching by i
her side, would tell him of the days when she
was happy, and had found a friend in almost ]
all who looked upon her. And she would
wonder what those, who used to call her j
“ the bright-eyed,” then, would say if they
could see her now. Whereupon, she would '
vow to herself that henceforth she would be ‘
as altered in mind as she was in body, so that J
none might recognise her. At one time she
would thank God for having taken her eyes f
from her, saying that, “ when she had them, (
she had used them only to look upon herself,
until she had got to think she was the fairest j
thing in all creation ; whereas, now that she
had lost them, she knew that she was the j.
foulest.” Then, at another time, she would
speak to Huan of her brother, telling him (
how her father had so hated him for his de- j
formity, and loved her lor her beauty, that
he had driven his poor boy from his house,
and ruined his weak girl by the vanity of his
praises. So Huan, weighing all these things |
together, soon got to know that the poor, dis- j
figured object, at whose bedside he watched, a
was the once lovely Anthy, who, now that (
her loveliness had passed away, had been t
flung aside like a withered flower, and left *
without a friend to care whether she lived or f
died. As he consoled her, he drew from t
her, little by little, the story of all her suf- r
fenngs. She told him she bad fallen the vic- (
tim of her vanity and Aleph’s admiration;
for her mother and her father, proud to find f
their girl loved by a Prince, had striven to t
fan the flame their child’s beauty had kindled, £
leaving her alone with Aleph, to listen to his r
flattery ; until at last, she—blinded with the (
brilliancy of the lot he promised should be t
hers—had left her humble rocf for his splen- ;
did home. And, when her father found the c
girl that he had been so proud of, and, to in- t
crease whose beauty he.hr*. squandered all a
bis earnings, had lied in 1'...n0r from his j
care, his reason left him,-' id shortly after a
her mother died of grietT Then, as she s
heard Huan weep aloud, she blessed him for s
his compassion, and went on to tell him that 8
“ her beauty had been not only her own pest,
but the pest of all around. For, to increase j
the charms she had been cursed with, she t
had asked of the Prince —when hebegged her j
to name some precious gift by which he ’
might show the magnitude of his love for her s
—a shawl of many colors from the far Indies, '
made of the fine wool of the goat of Thibet, j
and interwoven with red gold; arid how in j
that shawl the pestilence had been brought ,
into the city, and she deprived by it of the (
very charms it was intended to enhance; so j
that Aleph’s love had turned to fear, and he (
had cast her from him, cursing her as a [
witch.” And, when she had told the wretch- ;
ed tale, Huan, as he wept, confessed to his ;
sister who he was, and consoled her; saying, (
“he would be ever near to guide and protect ,
her in her darksome way ; and, now that she ,
was blind, she should look at the world with j
his eyes, and find in it beauties that she had (
never seen before.” Then, as she ran her j
fingers over his features, she blessed him, as j
she kissed his hand again and again, thanking -
Heaven for the hard lesson it had taught her. t
The Devil’s Gave,
For at least the last two centuries, Castle
ton, (England,) has been resorted to by the
lovers of the marvellous. In the seventeenth (
century the philosopher Hobbes, and Isaak 1
Walton’s friend, Charles Cotton, both pub- .
lished Poems upon the “Wonders of the ,
Peak;” and of the then wonders Castleton’s j
were the most wonderful. That which then, ,
as now, was the chief attraction, was the Peak ,
Cavern, or Devil’s Cave, as, among other less ,
mentionable variations, it was then called.
It is indeed a strange place. You approach ,
it up a narrow ravine, on either side of which j
steep rocks rise to a vast altitude. In front ,
an immense cliff closes the chasm, upon the >
summit of which, at the edge of a deep cleft, j
is seen a ruined tower; at the base is the ,
gloomy entrance of a cavern. As you draw ■
nearer, you see that the mouth of the cavern (
is peopled by a busy and noisy crew of men,
and women, and children, engaged in spin- j
ning twine. The scene is altogether quite .
unlike any thing else in England, and is a ,
fitting approach to the dark recesses you are .
about to explore. Some writers recommend j
that the cavern should, if practicable, be vis- .
ited at mid-day, when the spinners are absent
at their dinner; but after visiting it at all
times, we are disposed to think that the wild .
looking spinners help materially to increase ‘
the uncommonness of the scene. These peo- '
pie have long had a sort of prescriptive right (
to the use of the mouth of the cavern. Two
centuries ago, it was inhabited by a race '
“ whom by their habits you could scarce ■
guess what creatures they were.” Then, and ,
till a comparatively recent time, they dwelt ,
in rude huts built within the shelter of the :
cavern, and added to their earnings by acting
as guides to strangers who wished to exam
ine the inner parts. Now, they are only per- :
mitted to use the mouth of the cave to work :
in, for which they pay no rent —their cotta- ;
ges have long been swept away. Ihe cavern .
itself is let at a nominal rent to the person ;
who shows it to visitors. When you have (
passed through this strange vestibule, and the
eye has become somewhat accustomed to the :
darkness —for the candle you carry serves but
to render the darkness visible —and the char
acter of the cavern begins to make itself
felt, you come to what is called by the guide
the “ First Water” —a stream or pond fills up
the narrow opening, and the roof bends al
most to the surface. While you are wonder
ing how it is to be passed, the guide hauls
from its concealment upon the farther side, a
a kind of boat, in which you are told to lie
down, and in this posture you are drawn
through the cavity. There is a rather start
ling sensation experienced the first time this
voyage into Erebus is made. But when there
are more in the party, some efforts at pleas
antry are usual. The Soph mutters some
choice quotation about Styx and Charon;
your fat friend inflicts a joke, or suffers one,
about Falstaff and Gadshill; the fair one puts
en a little pretty alarm. On disembarking,
you are led onward alongside a little stream
let : now the roof rises up into lofty vaults,
whose top is lost in the deep shadow ; pre
sently it sinks solow.that you are constrained
to stoop till your back aches again ; and so
you pass on by winding ways till you reach
the farthest point that has yet been attained,
some 750 yards from the entrance. By this
time you are able to discern the objects that
are around more distinctly; and in returning
can make out the forms of the several cham
bers. Some are very remarkable. One is a
cavity that rises to an amazing altitude. By
the aid of a “ Bengal light,” which the guide
fires at some height up this opening, you see
the sides far up brilliantly illumined, yet can
hardly perceive the roof. Other cavities
there are scarcely less remarkable, though of
less extent; to exhibit these artificial lights
are also employed. At one spot, where is a
series of arches almost as regular as though
i wrought by hand, a red light has of late been
used. As you look irom a distance towards
i the light the effect is very singular. Con
: trasting with the fitful lurid glare that plays
over every projecting fragment, and throws
the arches into strong relief, are deep gloomy
recesses, which seem as though within them
some mysterious occupants were moving
stealthily about. Just the robbers’ cave
would it seem to be of some old romance that
haunted the imagination in one’s youthful
days. Besides these lights which are brought
to show the height and form of the principal
chambers, candles are in others so placed as
to produce a pleasing or curious effect; and,
occasionally, at one spot a band of singers
is assembled high up, in a sort of natural loft,
to greet the visitor. At one place a blast of
gunpowder, which has been fixed in a bore in
the rock, is discharged—and this produces
the most surprising effect of all. The report
is usually described as “seeming to roll along
the roofs and sides of the cavern like a heavy
and continuous peal of thunder.” But this is
not exactly its character. The first report
is, perhaps, like a burst of overpowering ;
thunder, save that it is more intense; but, j
then, the reverberations resemble a prolong- <
ed rushing sound, which grows fainter and ;
fainter until it dies away in a whisper, like \
that of a gentle breeze stirring softly among ,<
the leaves of some ancient grove. It would ;
be idle to stay to mention the trivial names ;
given the various chambers :—Roger Rain’s ■
house, where a spring finds its way down- I
wards, falling from the roof in a perpetual f
shower; the Devil’s Wine Cellar, (which, by ;
the way, is empty,) and the like, would sug- :
gest little in themselves, and require a con- ;
siderable space to explain. Not the least
note-worthy thing connected with this very
strange place, is the very singular and beau
tiful effect of the daylight streaming into the
mouth of the cavern, as it appears to you on
emerging from the darkness. Vain attempts
have often been made to depict this effect—
it is inimitable, as it is indescribable.
Xffionopoly of the Pttbllc Dands.
Land, without labor, is worthless. And
labor, to be efficient, must be free and inde
pendent. It must not be the forced labor of
an uninterested tenantry, but the intelligent
and hearty labor of independent farmers — 1
men who own their homestead®, and pay tri- '
bute to no man ; who work with a will be- «
cause the •proceeds of their industry are se- s
cured to themselves and their children ; and <
who cherish with patriotic pride the institu- f
tions of their country, because they are in- I
terested in its native soil, and are part of its 1
bone and muscle. I
Land monopoly has been the curse of the t
old world. Under its operation thousands of
half starved and shiftless tenants have dragg- c
ed on in ignorance and poverty from year to 1
year, that some pampered nobleman might (
riot in his pleasures. And the result has s
been worn out and fruitless lands, and a de- i
based and discontented peasantry. Ireland, t
at this day, is a melancholy spectacle of the t
evils of land monopoly. Our ewn country, f
notwithstanding the antagonism of its insti- r
tutions to feudalism, has not escaped the in- 1
fluences of this enemy of freedom. Witness e
the troubles in New York, where, under the t
name of “ patroonery,” land monopoly has r
wrought disastrous results. t
It is eminently the true policy of our gov- t
eminent to prevent the accumulation of large /
tracts of land in the hands of individuals, or s
corporations. For such monopoly of land is t
not injurious to the tillers of the soil, but is r
entirely at war with the spirit of our institu- 1
tions. Wherever the land is divided into a
immense estates, despotism and slavery stand
on a broad foundation, while, on the contra- f
ry, freedom finds its most congenial home in r
a community of small landholders. Our own a
New England owes much of its intelligence r
and freedom to the small farms, and its hard j
working, but independent farmers Jeffer- j
son well understood this when he labored to \
abolish the law of primogeniture in Virginia, t
We have been led to make these remarks t
by reflecting on the policy pursued in the i
disposal of the public lands of the United a
Ssates. Our government owns millions of j
acres of land in the West, or rather, we a
should say, it holds them in trust for the r
people, and it is a matter of great moment e
that this fertile soil should be widely distri- s
buted among the laborers of this country. c
But if the present state of this continues, this j
cannot be. Already immense tracts of land ]
have been purchased by individuals and asso
ciations, for the purpose of speculation, or to c
be rented out to tenantry. One English no- (
bleman has purchased twenty thousand acres f
in Wisconsin. And this land, thus purchas
ed, is now lying unimproved, and strong and ,
willing laborers cannot enter upon and culti- <
vate it, and thus benefit themselves and en- E
rich the nation, but after their weary labor (
of many years has made the surrounding coun
try to blossom like the rose, it will be brought
into the market at greatly enhanced prices.
Thus will the large land holders become en
rished by the toils of the hardy pioneers of 5
our western country.
A french SMCnngo Park.
La Presse says : “ One of those great en- ,
terprises which raise a name to the rank of
those of the Cooks and the La Perouses is on j
the eve of accomplishment, with the aid and ]
under the protection of the government of ,
France. A traveller, who has already, tra- .
versed Egypt, Syria, Abissinia, Darfour, and ,
Cordovan, —who has ascended the Nile as far j
as the first chain of Mountains of the Moon— .
who has visited Tranquebar, the five pro- .
vinces of Arabia and Arak Arabia —who, as j
interpreter, has been attached to the mission ,
which explored the ruins of Nineveh, and ]
has also traveled in Persia, from Mascata to ,
Ispahan, and visited the Cape of Good Hope, ,
and the Island of St. Helena, now proposes ,
in a first voyage to traverse the whole por- ,
tion of the African continent, extending from ,
Algiers to Senegal, passing through Timbuc- ,
too; to gain by cutting the great African ,
Peninsula from north to South, that is to say, ,
from the Cape of Good Hope to Algiers. The ;
‘ Wandering Jew,’ who has conceived the •
idea of undertaking this fabuious journey,
and to whom a residence of sixteen years
amongst the Arabs, (whose religion, customs,
costume and manners he has adopted,) offers
a prospect of success not possessed by Clap
perton, Mungo Park, Denham, or the broth- 1
ers Lander, is a Col. Ducouret, known in the 1
east by the name of Hadji Abel-el Hamid-
Bey, which he assumed at the time of his pil
grimage to Mecca, a pilgrimage never before ■
accomplished by any Frenchman. Impressed
with the importance of a journey which may
yield such great results, political, scientific :
and commercial, the government has hasten
ed to lend its support to the enterprise of M. ;
Ducouret, and the three ministers of Public
Instruction, Foreign Affairs, and Commerce,
have just concurred in its execution in a most
efficacious manner. Whether it succeed or
fail, here is one of those missions which we
shall always rejoice to see a government en
couraging and supporting. Hadji Abel-el
Hamid-Bey estimates the duration of his pe
rilous expedition at from five to six years.”
Attack of a Dion on a Woman.
An accident, very foolishly and incautious
ly brought about, took place at Wombwell’s
collection, at present exhibiting in Birming
ham, on Saturday evening. Amongst the
crowds of holiday folks that the fair attract
ed, was a woman named Grummage, who,
with a male friend, was making merry, feast
ing eyes and ears, and not adhering very
strictly to the rules of temperance. The wo
man and her friend paid Wombwell’s estab
lishment a visit, and, while there, she began
to stroke the paw of a remarkably fine, but
ill-tempered lion. The keepers remonstra
ted with her, but she continued to pat the
paw of the quiescent and apparently sleeping
animal, when the lion suddenly started up,
seized hold of the woman with his claws, and
drew her towards the bars of the den. A
fearful scream immediately startled every
one in the place, and the greatest confusion
prevailed. Some, supposing that the lion
had broken loose, fled to the doors ; others
shrieked in concert, and others again stood
still in terror. The keepers, however, im
mediately ran to the spot, and found the in
cautious woman’s hand and arm bleeding
profusely under the paw of the enraged ani
mal. She was speedily released from the po
sition in which she had so foolishly placed
herself, but not before the lion had lacerated
the arm, and torn the skin and integuments
from the back part with its claws. The in
jured female was conveyed to the hospital.
There it was discovered that the wound she
had sustained was of a more serious nature
i than was at first suspected, and that it would
i be necessary to amputate the arm. The
i operation was accordingly performed, and
i borne with much fortitude by the poor wo
* man. — London Dispatch.
s I (JtJ-Why is a thief called a “Jail Bird ?”
s I Because he has been a “Robin."
I
w wS ' I ’
DR, S. F. TOWWSEND,
The manufacture and sale of Sarsaparilla i
has assumed such an importance from its ]
world-wide celebrity, that we have conclud- j
ed to furnish our readers a portrait and short i
sketch of the life of Dr. S. P. Townsend, the I
original and celebrated vender of Townsend’s <
Sarsaparilla, as evidence to the practical ;
business man, of the immense benefits of <
liberal and judicious advertising, when he 1
has an article which he wishes to commend <
to public favor. <
In early life he was employed with a corps i
of engineers under Capt. Beach, on the 1
Morris Canal, and afterwards under Colonel <
Oykes on the New Jersey Rail Road, and <
subsequently as engineer on the Central Canal ]
in Indiana. Being possessed of remarkable i
talents for observation he sought to improve <
them by travelling; visited aknost every i
place of interest in the United States, and 1
ultimately conceived the idea of applying |
himself to the study of medicine and attend- t
ed the best medical institutions in the coun- ;
try. While prosecuting his reseaches in <
medical science (now some 15 years since) ]
the idea of a great remedy occurred to him, ]
upon which he dwelt with singular interest. <
After experimenting some five years, and 1
satisfying himself of the value of his prepara- i
tion of S-trsaparilla as a curative agent, he ;
made arrangements to introduce it to the pub
lic, and with that view came to this city, i
some five years since almost wholly unknown. J
He was then, we believe, 29 years of age, ;
full of energy and hope, with an indomitable 1
resolution to succeed in his new undertaking, ]
and the result shows that he did not overesti- i
mate his tact and talent as a business man. 1
His first care was that every effort should be i
made to let the public know, by means of ad- j
vertising, how and where his medicine was J
to be had, and immediately his business began :
to grow beyond his expectations, and present- :
ly he found himself unable to give it his per- i
sonal attention. He then connected with
him Mr. Ruel Clapp, a gentleman of wealth ,
and respectability, and under their joint :
management the business has increased to an '
extent that is really astonishing. The great :
success of Townsend’s Sarsaparilla, has in
duced unprincipled men to counterfeit and
imitate it. Not long since an extensive :
Druggist of this city was arrested charged 1
with counterfeiting the medicine. All this :
opposition instead of injuring the Doctor, has
only had the effect of increasing the demand
for the original preparation.
Besides the sales in this country, it is ship- ;
ped to the Canadas, West India Islands,
South America, and even to Europe, in con
siderable quantities. At the manufactory
they employ a steam engine, besides a large
A Phenomena in a .Hurricane.
There is a curiosity in the possession of
Dr. Beck, Professor of Chemistry in Rutger’s
College, New Brunswick, consisting of a pane
of glass with a hole in the centre, making a
circle as perfect as if drawn on mathematical
principles. It was perforated by the extra
ordinary hurricane, which passed over New
Brunswick about sixteen years ago, levelling
in its path a streak of houses the whole
length of the town. In one of the windows
this pane was discovered with a hole in it—
and what is remarkable about it is, that the
perimeter of the hole is as smooth as a pol
ished gem, so that the finger may be rubbed
around it with impunity. It has the appear
ance of being forced out while the glass was
in fusion—hence the theory to explain it—
namely, that the current of air had a spiral
motion in the centre of the column, the as
tonishing velocity of which had collected a
nucleus of electricity equivalent to a voltaic
pile of gigantic construction ; this heat being
opposed by the glass, sufficiently absorbed it
to prevent the communication of fire to oth
er elements in its path, while the suddenness
of contact with this amazing heat caused
the perforation of a cavity so perfectly circu
lar and smooth. The pane was taken from
the window, and now occupies a place in the
Doctor’s cabinet.
How to Elevate the Taste.
Let the furniture and domestic utensils of
the rich and the poor (says Mr. Wornum)
differ only in material, not in qualities ot
taste; so that the cottage of the peasant may,
notwithstanding its frugal simplicity, be as
refined and as cheerful in its degree as the
more gorgeous palace of the prince. The
potter’s clay is as capable of displaying the
forms of beauty as was ever the marble of
Paros, or the famed bronze of Corinth or
Delos, or, as is now, the purest gold of Brazil.
The Egyptian potter, more than 3,000 years
ago, produced with his simple earth forms as
beautiful as all the wealth and art of Greece
and Rome combined have ever produced
since. And what is the fatality that hangs
over us, that our poor alone should be wholly
debarred from the enjoyment of the beauti
ful ? If they can be reproached as indifferent
to, or incapable of, appreciating such things,
whose fault is that ? They cannot appreciate
what they have never seen. This is not al
together the fault of the manufacturer. It is
to the indifference or ignorance of the de
signers that we must attribute it. Just or
not just, such is the manufacturer’s com
plaint.
Change of Color In Fish.
John, on sporting, says that the change of
color in fish is very remarkable, and takes
place with great rapidity. Put a living
blackburn trout into a white basin of water,
and it becomes, within half an hour, of a
light color. Keep the fish living in a white
jar for some days, and it becomes absolutely
white; but put it in a dark colored, or black
vessel, and although, on first being placed ’
there, the white colored fish shows most con
spicuously on the dark ground, in a quarter
of an hour it becomes as dark colored as the
bottom of the jar, and consequently difficult
to be seen. No doubt this facility of adapt
ing its color to the bottom of the water in
which it lives is of the greatest service to
the fish, in protecting it from its numerous
enemies. All anglers must have observed,
that in every stream the trout are very much
of the same color as the gravel or sand on
which they live; whether this change of
color is a voluntary or involuntary act on the
part of the fish, I leave it for the scientific to
determine.
Power of Education.—There have been
few criminals who have not been sent from
: their early homes or schools, passionate, sullen
i and callous; few whom careful and proper
I training;—intelligent and elevating,—might
! not have sent, in their tender years, upon a
I better path; few whom kind, judicious or
• thoughtful parents or teachers might not have
encouraged and warned out of cad h.ibim.
Let, therefore, no scope be given to the
" I gloomy unkindness in the relations of life, that
I is one of the great sources of wrong doing.
number of men, women and girls, in the pre
paration of the medicine, making boxes, print
ing, &c., &c., and turn out, ready for ship
ment, over 400 dozen per day, or nearly 5,000
bottles. One of the most interesting features
of his business is sending forth annually and
gratuitously the “ People’s Mmanac,” each
edition of which reaches the enormous num
ber of several millions. A copy is left at the
door of almost every dwelling and shop in the
country, while the Canadas are supplied
equally with South America and the West
Indies; every place in our city and each log
cabin in the West and South, and the mines
of California is furnished with this almanac.
It is translated into several tongues, and
speaks to all alike. The Doctor being a man
of peace, a teetotalar, a Son of Temperance,
and an Odd Fellow, uses these large editions
to advance these moral institutions. During
the past five years he has distributed more
than 20,000,000 pages in favor of peace and
against war; over 15,000,000 pages in favor
of Temperance ; and last year he printed in
his Almanac nearly 4,000,000 ef one of Prof.
Nott’s temperance sermons, and a mass of
other valuable information. It is supposed
by some that he has distributed gratuitously
more pages than all the Peace and Temper
ance Societies in the United States.
He keeps three Napier steam presses con
stantly in operation, to do the printing of his
large establishment, and in the course of five
years, Mr. George Hamilton has furnished
him about SIOO,OOO worth of white paper.
His annual expenses for advertising in news
papers are now averaging SIOO,OOO, and we
believe he has paid the New York Sun, dur
ing four years, the snug little sum of $12,000.
Here, then, is the great secret of his success;
liberal in his expenditures to newspapers for
advertising, his business has extended beyond
any thing which has hitherto been known in
the patent medicine business.
The store in Fulton street has been found
too small to answer his business purposes,
and he has taken the building formerly occu
pied by the South Baptist Church in Nassau
street, which he will occupy as a depot for
his medicine. He has converted the old
building into a palace for offices, and the sales
room will be one of the most magnificent and
beautiful in the United States, with marble
floors, and stained glass in the windows, while
the walls will be decorated with rich paint
ings, and the niches filled with statuary.
The subject of this sketch is now but 36
years old, and is still characterized by his
energy and business tact, which young men
about to commence their career in life will
do well to emulate, and success must and
will crown their efforts.
Parental Example.
There is often a great deal more conveyed
through a single sentence, than we are apt to
imagine. Our future destiny may be swayed
by the hearing of one little word, and that
word may be spoken in our hearing at a very
early period of our lives. Many a father,
when years began to sober the buoyant tu
mult of his spirits, has wondered and grieved
over the dispositions and actions of his son or
daughter, marvelling whence they came;
whereas the son or daughter received the
feelings which gave birth to such actions,
while they were but infants, from the lips of
their father, as they heard him recount the
deeds, the exploits, the feats of bravery of his
young boyhood. From the hour that a child
begins to notice the objects around it, or to
be sensible of kind or harsh treatment, from
that moment every one who takes it in his
arms, and every object around it, becomes its
instructor. All children are inquisitive, and
this anxiety for more knowledge should be
encouraged rather than repressed. A child’s
oft-times curious inquiries should never be
met with repulsive, chilling answer, which is
so often heard —“ Children should never ask
questions.” Would not the mistaken parent
hesitate in replying thus, if he reflected, that
what he terms idle curiosity is the restless,
never-ceasing yearning of the immortal spirit
that will never be entirely satisfied ? The
great plea urged by those who neglect these
important duties, is want of time. But God
never imposed upon any of his creatures a
single duty without giving time for its per
formance.
The Shadow of an As*.
The Greeks had a proverb which ran thus:
“To dispute on the shadow of an ass.” This
took rise from an anecdote which Demos
thenes is said to have related to the Athen
ians, to excite their attention during his de
fence of a criminal, which was being but in
attentively listened to. “A traveller, he said,
“ once went from Athens to Megara on a
hired ass. It happened to be the time of the
dog-days, and at noon. He was much expo
sed to the unmitigated heat of the sun; and
not finding so much as a bush under which
to take shelter, he bethought himself to des
cend from the ass, and seat himself under its
shadow. The owner of the donkey, who ac
companied him, objected to this, declaring
to him that when he let the animal, the use
of its shadow was not included in the bar
gain. The dispute at last grew so warm
that it got to blows, and finally gave rise to
an action at law. After having said so much,
Demosthenes continued the defence of his
client; but the auditors, whose curiosjty he
had piqued, were extremely anxious to know
how the judges decided on so singular a cause.
Upon this the orator commented severely on
their childish injustice, in devourieg with
attention a paltry story about an ass’s shadow,
while they turned a deaf ear to a . cause in
which the life of a human being was involved.
From that day, when a man showed a prefer
, ence for discussing small and contemptible
subjects to great and important ones, he was
said “ to dispute on the shadow of an ass.”
Dinner in a California Ship.—A cor
respondent of the Albany Journal furnishes
the following bill of fare on board a Califor
nia ship:
Act. 1. Overture with hand bell, by stew
ard. All rush down! Hope! Joy! Incres
ed animation.
Act. 2. Grace said ! very long ! Frequent
nudging under table! Anxious glances at
covers! Yawns!
Act 3. Covers taken off! Corn beef and
mush displayed! Indignation ! Scowls and
suppressed oaths!
Act 4. Plates changed! Knives not ditto !
Increased hopes ! Indian meal! Contempt!
More oaths!
QCj- Guided by lhe star of truth, no man was
ever led into error. It is by turning from the
light that is within and around them, that
multitudes fall by the way and perish. They
. ,>:n) take the truth as revealed in the Scrip
: tures and blazes on the heavens and follow the
t dictates of reason, will never err and come
short of glory.
PRICE THREE CENTS.
The Bffiagic of Kindness.
Aleph and his band had long since returned
to Asulon, to tell the wondrous story of the
nation that had been conquered, without the
shedding of one drop of blood. And when it
was spread about that Huan and his sister
were returning, Ulphilas and his court went
out to meet them and bid them welcome, as
the greatett glory of the land. And the
Monarch set apart for Anthy and her brother
the noblest chambers in his palace. Then,
as the same evening drew in, he made Huan
and his sister go over and over again the many
marvels they had wrought. And the mighty
warrior, who had conquered half the earth
by the resistless sway of his arms, cried, as
he listened to the tale. “ Verily, there are
but two powers in the world—Kindness and
the Sword—and in the end, Kindness is sure
to subdue the Sword; for there is no force so
overwhelming as that whose strength lies in
its very weakness.” But Huan, smiling, an
swered, he feared the King had not yet per
fect faith in the magic of the kindly influ
ence. Then the Monarch called Heaven to
witness, that he believed there were no lim
its to its power over man. Instantly Huan
bade him prove his words, and free the ma
niac of his chains. But Ulphilas sought to
qualify the speech, and answered, “that Man
was only Man by the possession of his reason,
and when that left him, he was as the beasts
of. the field.” Whereupon Huan replied, that
“ it was the province of the reason to think
and not to feel, and Kindness,” he told the
King a second time, “ spake to the heart and
not to the head.” As Huan saw the King
waver, he again urged Ulphilas that he would
allow him to unchain the maniacs. And he
pleaded for their liberty with such earnest
ness and warmth, that the Monarch at length
gave way to the earnestness of his arguments,
and agreed to go with the Dwarf and examine
the maniacs’ dungeons in the morning. Anthy
and her brother could scarcely sleep on that
night, for the joy they felt—at last their
prayer had been heard, and their father was
to be free on the morrow. Early on the next
day, Huan and Anthy led the King unto the
grim abode. As they entered, they found
the sufferers chained naked to the walls and
being shown for money, like wild beasts, to
gaping visitors, while the keepers—so that
the rage of the poor, frantic wretches might
be increased for the amusement of the sight
seers—alluded to every subject likely to ex
cite their fury. The voracious idiot, too,
was kept without food, so that his unnatural
gluttony might appear the more wonderful to
the wonder-seeking crowd. But, when Ul
philas saw the fury of those that were chain
ed, and heard the confused sounds of their
cries, shrieks, laughter and curses, and above
all, the clanking of the iron fetters in the
damp and dark cells, he repented him of what
he had said, and hurried from the place, ex
claiming, “ You will become the victim of
their rage and your own rashness. Your
blood be on your own head.” And now that
the time had come, even-Huan himself half
trembled for the result; and he bade Anthy
leave him, so that he alone might meet the
danger. But the loving girl clung the closer
to him, and as his faith wavered under the
heavy trial, hers grew the stronger for it—
and she reminded him how Kindness t -i'
tamed the beast of the field and the of
the forest; and she bade him. ;;.«'trust the
Magic Power that had triumphed when all
others had failed. again Huan heard the
fury and the shrieks, and his spirit quailed
before them. So he prayed for strength, say
ing, “ Almighty Spirit of Kindness, help me,
O, help me ! in this, the greatest work of all.
Show to those that want faith in the magic of
thy power, that even the maniac, deprived of
every other kind of intercourse with Man, is
still able to understand thy gentle voica, and
be guided by thy gentle hand.” Then, as he
felt his confidence come back, he turned unto
those about him, and bade them lead him to
Ergastor’s cell. But they dared not, saying,
“ Ergastor’s fury made him the most danger
ous of all.” So they besought him to begin
the perilous task upon those whom long con
finement had rendered almost powerless; and
Huan, yielding to their entreaties, moved to-.
wards the first cell. In it was one who had
been in chains for forty years, and who had
been so long hidden from the world, that no
one knew his history. The keepers then ap
proached him with caution, for in a fit of
rage he had killed one of them with a blow
from his manacles. His chains were heavier,
stronger and tighter than the rest. Huan
entered the dark dungeon, and speaking to
the maniac in a calm, kind voice, told him he
had come to free him of his fetters; but the
madman laughed scornfully,as he said, “No!
no! no! You are all too much afraid of me.”
But the dauntless Huan advanced, and smote
the chains with the magic branch—and in
stantly the links burst like bubbles at the
touch. Then Anthy and the Dwarf drew
back from the cell, leaving open the heavily
barred door. The poor wretch raised himself
many times from his seat, and as many times
sank down again. He had been so longchain
ed to his chair, that his legs bent under him,
as he tried to use them. At last, he stood
up, and with tottering steps reached the door
of his dark dungeon. His first look was at the
blue sky, that he had not gaxed upon for forty
years—and as he drank in the sweet air, and
felt the soft refreshing breeze fan his burning
brain, he cried out, as his lip quivered with
emotion, and his eyes were filled with tears,
“ Great God ! how beautifull” Then the
poor wretch staggered into the sunshine, and
stood still to listen to the chirping of the
birds. And then he hurried back into the
cool shade again, and gazed wildly upon the
green trees, all the time uttering quickly, as
he went, “ How beautiful! j Great God, how
beautiful!” In the next cell that Huan vis
ited, was one who had not stirred from it for
ten years. He had been a soldier, but drink
had driven him mad. In his frenxy he be
lieved himself to be a general, and attacked
all those that would not bow to his rank, and
he was more dangerous than all, from his
greater bodily strength ; for he had often, in
his furv, snapped his chains with his hands
only. Once he broken loose, and then defied
his keepers to enter his cell, until they had
passed under his legs. Nor could he be qui
eted, until eight of the boldest had obeyed
his strange command. But one wave of the
branch, and the maniac-giant was unchained,
with the Dwarf unarmed and alone beside him.
But the change was sudden and complete !
No sooner was the madman free, than he be
came gentle and devoted as a child. With
his eye he followed up every motion of the
Dwarf. And, when Huan called upon him
to help him release his fellow-prisoners from
their chains, he joyfully obeyed, speaking
kindly, and even reasonably, to his brothers
in affliction. And so earnest was the attach
ment of the madman to his deliverer, and ail
that belonged to him, that when years had
gone by, and the hand that had freed him
was mouldering in the dust, he still followed
and tended so closely those that claimed kind
red with his liberator, that they could never
hear, without emotion, the mention of his
name. In the cell adjoining this were three
strangers in the land. They had remained in
chains for many years—but why, no person
knew. They were calm and harmless, be
coming animated solely when conversing in
their own language, which none about them
could understand. They were allowed—the
only consolation of which they seemed sus
ceptible—to live together. As Huan entered
to release them, they became alarmed, for
they fancied he had come to inflict new tor
tures upon them, and they warned him, by
their gestur es, not to approach. In vain did
Huan wave the magic branch, for though the
chains fell heavily from the poor creatures’
limbs, still they would not quit the seat that
many years of bondage had used them to.—
Either grief or loss of intellect had rendered
them indifferent to liberty—and the earth had
no fairer spot for them than the dark and
damp dungeon, to which their chains so long
had bound them.
A man, says the Boston Messenger, was
seen to stagger heavily against a window of a
store in Washington street, shivering a large
pane of glass into fragments. Several persons
ran to his assistance, and one more anxious
than the rest, inquired the matter. “ Matter,”
hiccupped the reeling pedestrain, “ m matter;
why, 1-hic-eat some c-cream cakes, and they
don’t hie a-gree with me.” “ Had n’t you
better take something,” suggested another.
“ Take something, hie, why, I have t-taken
something ; 1 took e-eight glasses of brandy
and water; b-but-hic, it’s no use, them cream
cakes have got the upper hie, hand «/ me.”
Truth. —We must not always speak all
that we know—that would be folly,but wbat a
man says should be what he thinks, otherwise
it is knavery. All a man can get by lying
and dissembling is,that he shall not be believ
ed when he speaks the truth.

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