The voice of freedom. [volume], March 16, 1839, Image 4

About The voice of freedom. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1839-1848

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THE VOICE OF FREEDOM.
POETRY
On the Death of a Sister.
BY CHArtLES SPB.AGUE,
I knew that wo must part; day after day,
I saw the J read Destroyer win his Way.
That hollow cough first rang the fatal knell,
As on my ear its prophet-warning fell;
Feeble and slow the once light footstep grew,
Thy wasting cheek put on death's pallid hue,
Thy thin, hot hand to mino more weakly clung,
Each sweet 'Good night' foil fainter from thy tongue.
I knew that wo must part no power could savo
Thy quiet goodness from an early grave:
Those eyes so dull, though kiud each glance they cast,
Looking a sister's fondness to the last;
Thy lips so pale, that gently pressed my cheek ;
Thy voice alas! thou couldst but try to spca'i ;
All told thy doom, I felt it at my heart,
The shaft had struck. I knew that wo must part.
And wo have parted, Mary thou art gone!
Gone in thine innocence, mcek-suft"ering one.
Thy weary spirit breathed itself to sleep
So peacefully, it seemed a sin to weep,
In those fond watchers who around thee stood,
And felt, even then, that God was greatly good.
Like stars that struggle through the clouds of night,
Thine eyes one mo.nent caught a glorious light,
As if to thee, in that dread hour, 'twere given
To know on earth what, faith believes of Heaven;
Then like tired breezes didst thou sink to rest,
Nor one, one pang the awful change confessed.
Death stole in softness o'er that lovely face,
And touched each feature with anew-born grace;
On cheek and brow unearthly beauty lay,
And told that life's poor cares had passed away.
In my last hour be Heaven so kind to me,
I ask no more than this to die like thee.
But we have parted, Mary thou art dead!
On its last resting-place I laid thy head,
Then by the coffin-sido knelt clown, and took
A brother's farewell kiss and farewell look.
Those marble lips no kindred kiss returned;
From thoso veiled orbs no glance responsive burned;
Ah! then I felt that thou hadst passed away,
That the sweet face I gazed on was but clay ;
And then came Memory, with her busy throng
Of tender images, forgotten long;
Years hurried back, and as they swiftly rolled,
I saw thee heard thee, as in days of old;
Sad and more sad each sacred feeling grew,
Manhood was moved, and sorrow claimed her due;
Thick, thick and fast the burning tear-drops started,
I turned away and felt that we had parted.
But not forever in the silent tomb
Where thou art laid, thy kindred shall find room;
A little while a few short years of pain,
And, one by one, we'll come to thee again.
The kind old Father shall seek out the place,
And rest with thee, the youngest of his race;
The dear, dear Mother bent with age and grief
Khali lay her head by thine, in sweet relief;
Sister and Brother, and that faithful Friend
True from the first and tender to the end
All, all, in His good time who placed us here,
To live, to love, to die and disappear
Shall come and make their quiet bed with thee,
Beneath the shadow of that spreading tree;
With thee to sleep, through death's long, dreamless night,
With thee rise up, and bless the morning light,
From the New-Yorker.
POETRY IN EDEN.
" No poetry in Eden ? No poets amongst man, whose
mental organization is held up to be perfect ? Say rather
for such is the true interpretation of such a contradic
tion in terms there was no Paradise." New- York Re
view. No poetry in Paradise ? What! none
Where in primeval glory rose the sun
Where man held commune with the God of heaven
At dawn of morn, and 'mid the shades of even
Where regal night in peerless beauty shone,
When from their azure vault the stars look'd down?
Those silent watchers, whose calm, holy rays
Thrill to the soul, as 'twere a seraph's gaze,
Searching the heart-depths, and beholding there
All that was hidden from the daylight's glare.
No poetry in Eden ? w here the flowers
Clustered and blossom 'd from their native bowers
Where heavenly breezes fanned them into birth,
Borne by the hands of angels to the earth
Planted for man, that every whore his eyes
Might rest on beauties breathing of the skies;
Lading with odors every truant wind
That kissed the rose on mossy stalk reclined,
Or sought the violet in its lowly bed,
And gently bent the lilly's dew-gemm'd head.
No poetry in Eden .' where the song
From thousand warbling throats was borne along
In one full chorus, one harmonious swell,
From sunny upland, shady grove, and dell;
Where Nature's harp-strings, swept by every breeze,
Thrilled with all low and gentle harmonies,
And from the altar of man's heart the prayer
Responsive rose upon the balmy air;
Where lay reflected in the waters blue
A silvery bow a heaven of oloudloss hue
Or orient tint, where glimpses might be caught
Of rainbow-wings bright forms that love had bro'l
From upper Eden, first to gaze upon
Their Maker'sfimage, and to hear the tone
Of brother's voice uprising to the sky,
Like them the heir of immortality-.
No poetry in Eden ? none where love
Flowed from the pure and holy fount abovo ?
All things grew fairer to th' enamored view,
Earth, sea and sky wore all one gorgeous hue;
Mountain and valley, bower and lake were rife
With countless beauties bursting into life;
Joy wove a rose-hued wreath to crown the hours,
And Love lay nestled 'mid the blooming flowers;
No care, no doubt, no dark suspicion rase
To dim the sunlight of the heart's repose.
And now, when sin and suffering shed theii blight,
When Eden's bowers are lost to mortal sight,
If, 'mid the ruins of our fallen stale,
Man finds the beautiful, the pure, the great
Sees snow-topped mountains in their grandeur rise,
Formed by the hand divine that arched the skies
Rude, rushing torrents from the rocks rebound,
And, startled , hears the thundering crash of sound ,
Gathers wild daisies on the green hill-side,
Or seeks some nook where gentle rivulets glide
Watches the morning radiance streaming on
The waters flashing in the noon-day sun
Longs for the wings of birds, to soar away,
And float 'mid glories of the. dying day
Revels at midnight in ideal dreams
Sees airy shapes upon the pale moonbeams
Feels in his heart a fount of kindness spring
ITnchilled, though his young hopes lie withering;
If thus the heavenly, the pure, the sweet,
In this worn world around man's pathway meet,
And poetry makes all seem hallowed ground.
Say, was there none in Time's fresh morning found.'
No poetry in Eden ? All things fair.
Bright, brilliant, lovely, were concentred there:
Soft murmuring fount, and fragrant zephyr's sigh;
The voice of love tho thrill of ccstacy;
Dark, solemn groves, and tree tops starred with gold;
Warm, purple clouds, like tissued robes unrolled;
Gay-plumaged birds, with waving pinions free;
Oh, these are all unwritten poetry !
And these wers there and man 'a aspiring soulj
All formed in Paradise one glorious whole ! J. C.
MISCELLANEOUS
From the Backwoodsman. ,
The Forged Patent.
BY A WESTERN RECLUSE.
Remember you no case like this? Or if
Your mcmorv none records, is such a one
So much at odds with probability
Your fancy cannot image it?
Mr. Russell : The changes which the last
twenty years have wrought in Illinois, would be
incredible to any who had not witnessed them.
At that period our settlements were few, and the
spirit ol' enterprise that now pervades every
corner of the State, had not then been awakened.
The bluff of our own beautiful river had never
sent bade the echo of the steam engine. With
out a market for their produce, the farmers confined
their labors to the wants of their own families.
Corn was nearly tho only crop raised, and from
the time it was 'laid by' near the end of June, till
'pulling time,' in November, was a holiday, and
the intervening period was passed in idleness,
except the Saturdays. On that day, duly as it ar
rived, the settlers, far and near, collected at the dis
tillery, and amused themselves with shooting at
a mark, 'trading nags' and too often when the tin
cup had passed freely around, in 'fighting.'
This, sir, is by no means a picture of all the
settlements of that early period, but that it is
graphically true of many, none of our oldest set
tlers will deny. But to my narrative.
One Saturday afternoon in the year 1S19 a
young man was seen approaching with slow and
weary steps, the house, or rather the distillery of
squire Crosby, of Brent's Prairie, an obscure set
tlement on the Military Tract. As usual on that
day, a large collection of people were amusing
themselves at Crosby's who owned the only dis
tillery in that region was a magistrate, and re
garded by the settlers as a rich and great man.
The youth who now came up to the group
was apparently about twenty-one years of age,
of slender form, fair and delicate complexion,
with the air of one accustomed to good society.
It was evident at a glance that he was not inured
to the hardships of a frontier life, or labor of any
kind. But his dress bore a strange contrast with
his appearance, and manners. He wore a hunting
shirt of the coarsest linsey-woolsey, a common
straw hat, and a pair of deerskin mocasins. A
large pack completed his equipment.
Every one gazed with curiosity upon the new
comer. In their eagerness to learn who he was,
whence he came, and what was his business, the
horse swap was left unfinished the rifle was
laid aside, and even the busy tin cup had a tem
porary respite.
The young man approached 'Squire Crosby,
whom even a stranger could distinguish as the
principal personage among them, and anxiously
inquired for a house where he could be accommo
dated ; saying that he was extremely ill and felt
all the symptoms of an approaching fever.
Crosby eyed him keenly and suspiciously for a
moment, without uttering a word. Knaves and
swindlers had been recently abroad, and the lan
guage of the youth betrayed that he was a 'Yan
kee,' a name at that time associated in the minds
of the 'ignorant,' with overy thing that is base.
Mistaking the silence and hesitation of Crosby,
for a fear of his inability to pay, the stranger
smiled and said, 'I am not without money,' and
putting his hand in his pocket to give ocular proof
of the assertion, he was horror struck to find that
his pocket book was gone. It contained every
cent of his money, besides papers of (Treat value
to him.
Without a farthing without a single letter or
paper to attest that his character was honorable
in a strange land and sickness rapidly coming
upon him these feelings nearly drove him to des
pair. 1 lie 'feature, who prided Imnselt of his sa
gacity in detecting villians, now found the use of
his tongue, With a loud and sneering laugh he
said ; 'Stranger, you are barking up the wrong tree
if you think for to colch me with that are Yankee
trick of yourn.' He proceeded in that inhuman
strain, seconded by nearly every one present, for
the' Squire,' was powerful, and few dared displease
him. The youth felt keenly his desolate situa
tion, and casting his eye around over the group,
in a tone of deep and despairing anxiety, inquir
ed, 'is there none who will receive me V 'Yes, I
will,' cried a man among the crowd ; yes, poor
sick stranger, I will shelter you.' Then in a low
er tone he added, 'I know not whether you are
deserving, but I know that you are a fellow being,
and in sickness and want, and -for the sake of
Him who died for the guilty, if not for" your own
sake, will I be kind to you, poor young stranger.'
1 lie man who stepped forth and proffered a
home to the youth in the hour of suffering, was
Simon Davis, an elderly man who resided near
Crosby, and to whom tl)e latter was a deadly ene
my. Uncle Simon, as he was called, never re
taliated, and bore the many persecutions of his
vindictive neighbor, without complaint, His fam
ily consisted of himself and daughter, his onlv
child, an affectionate girl of seventeen.
The youth heard the offer of Mr. Davis, but
heard no more, for overcome by his feeling's and
extreme illness, ho fell insensible to the earth.
He was conveyed to the house of his benefactor
and a physician called. Long was the struggle
t i . 1 I 11.1 f-iV. .-
oeiween nie anu aeatn. 1 hough unconcious
he called upon his mother and sister, almost in
ce-sanlly, lo aid him. When the youth was laid
upon the bed and she heard him calling for his
sister, Liucy Davis wept and said to him, 'poor sick
young man your sister is far distant and cannot
hear you, but I will be to you a sis'ter.' Well
did this dark-eyed maiden keen her promise.
JJay ana night she watched over him except
me snort intervals when sue yielded her nost nt
i i , . , . ., -
nis Dea siae to ncr lamer.
At length the crisis of his disorder arrived
the day that was to decide the question of ljfe or
death. Lucy bent over him with intense anxiety
watching every expression of his features, hardly
daring to breathe, so fearful was she of waking
him from the only sound sleep he had enjoyed for
nine long aays ana nigms. At length he awoke
and gazed up into the lace ol Lucy Davis and
faintly inquired, 'ivhere am I?' There was in
telligence in that look. Youth and a good con
stitution had obtained the mastery. Lucy felt
that he was spared, and bursting into n flood of
irrcpressibly, grateful tears, rushed out of the room.
It was two weeks more before he could sit up
even for a short time. He had already acquaint
ed them with his name and residence, but they
had no curiosity to learn any thing further, and
forbid his giving his story till he became stron
ger. His name was Charles Wilson and his pa
ternal home, Boston.
A few days afterwards when Mr. Davis was
absent from home, and Lucy engaged about her
household affairs, Wilson saw at the head of the
bed, his pack, and recollecting something that he
wanted, opened it. The first thing he saw was
the identical pocket book whose loss had excited
so many bitter regrets. He recollected having
placed it there the morning before he reached
Brent's Prairie, but in the confusion of the moment
that circumstance was forgotten. He examined
and found every thing as he left it.
This discovery nearly restored him to health,
but ho resolved at present to confine that secret
to his own bosom. It was gratifying to him to wit
ness the entire confidence they reposed in the honor
and integrity of a stranger, and the pleasure
with which they bestowed favors upon one whom
they supposed could make no return but thanks.
Night came and Mr. Davis did not return.
Lucy passed a sleepless night. In the morning
he watched hour after hour lor his coming, and
when sunset approached and he was still absent,
terrified at his long and unusual stay she was set
ting out to procure a neighbor to go in search of
him, when her parent appeared in sight. &hc ran
to meet him. and was bestowing upon him a
thousand embracing expressions of affection, when
his haggard, woebegone countenance startled her.
He uttered not i. word, and went into his
house and seated himself in silence. It was in
vain that Lucy attempted to, cheer him. After a
long pause, during which a powerful struggle
was going on in his feelings, he arose took his
daughter by the hand and led her into the room
where Wilson was seated. 'You shall know all,'
said he. 'I am ruined I am a beggar. In a few
days I must quit thisfhouso this farm which I
have so highly improved and thought my own.'
He proceeded to state that a few days before, Cros
by, in a moment of un governable malice,, taunted
him with being a beggar, and told him that he
was now in his power, and he would crush him
under his feet. When Mr. Davis smiled at what
he regarded only as an impotent threat, Crosby,
to convince him, told him that the patent of his
farm was a 'forged one, and that he, Crosby,
knew tho real owner of the land had written
to purchase it and expected a deed in a few
days. Davis immediately went home for his pa
tent, and during his long absence had visited
the Land Office. Crosby was right. The patent,
beyond all dispute was a forged one, and the
claim of Davis to the farm, not worth a farthing.
It may be proper to observe that counterfeiting
soldiers' patents was a regular business in some
of the eastern cities, and hundreds had been du
ped. It is not for myself, said the old man, that I
grieve at this misfortune. I am advanced in life
and it matters not how or where I pass the few
remaining days of my existence. I have a
home beyond the stars where your mother has
gone before me, and where I would have long
since joined her, had I not lived to protect her
child, my own my affectionate Lucy. The weeping
girl flung her arms around the neck of her fa
ther, and poured her tears upon his bosom. We
can be happy still, said she, for I am young and
can easily support us both.
A new scene followed in which another indi
vidual was a principal actor. I shall leave the read
er to form his own opinion of it and barely re
mark that at the close, the old man took the
hand of Lucy and young Wilson, and joining
them, said, my children I cheerfully consent to
your union. Though poor, with a good conscience
you can be happy, I know Charles that you will
be kind to my daughter, for a few nights ago, when
you thought no) human ear could hear you, I
heard you frequently implore the blessings of
heaven upon my groy hairs, and that God would
reward my child for all her kindness to you.
Taking down his family bible the venerable old
man added, 'it is a season of affliction but we nre
not forsaken, let us look for support to Him who
has promised to sustain us.' He opened the book
and read, 'Although the fig tree shall not blos
som, neither shall fruit be in the vines; the labors
of the olive shall fail and the fields shall yield
no meat; the flocks shall be cut off from the fold
and there shall be no herd in the stall, yet will
I rejoice in the Lord ; I will joy in the God of
my salvation.'
Charles and Lucy knelt beside the venerable
old man and while he prayed they wept tears o
gratelul emotion.
It was a sleepless, but not an unhappy night
to the three inhabitants of the neat and cheerlu
llf. I 1.., 1 i
aweinng tney were auout to leave and go they
Knew not where. It was then that young Wilson
learnt the real value of money. By means of it
he could give a shelter to those who had kindly
received him when every other door was closed
upon him.
All nightlong he thought of the forged patent
There were a few words dropped by Mr. Davis
which he could not dismiss from his mind that
Crosby had written to the real owner of the land
and obtained the promise of a deed.
It is now time for the reader to become more
luny acquainted witn the History ol the young
stranger.
His father, Charles Wilson, Senior, was a mer
chant ot lioston, who had acquired an immense
fortune. At the close of the late war when the
soldiers received from the government their boun
ty ol 10U acres ot land, many of them offered
.1 . . . H T 1TT -1 n" 1 T"! 1
men- patents to :vir. wiison ior safe, rinaing
that they were resolved to sell them, he conclu
ded to save them from sacrificing their hard
earnings and purchased al a fair price all that
were offered. In three years no small portion
ot the Military tract came into his possession
On the day that Charles became of age he gave
himadeedof a principal part of his land in Il
linois, and insisted that he should go out to see
it, and if he liked the country, settle there. Wish
inghim to become identified with the people, he
recommended his son on his arrival in the State
to lay aside his broadcloth and dress like a back
woodsman. On the morning of his son 's departure Mr
Wilson received a letter from a man in Illinois,
who had frequently written. He wished to pur
chase a certain quarter section at government price,
which Mr Wilson promised he should have on
those terms, provided he forwarded a certificate
from the judge of the Circuit Court that the land
was worth no more. The letter iust received con-
enclosed the certificate in question. Mr Wilson
had given this tract to Charles, and putting the let
ter and certificate into his hand enjoined unon hiin
to deed it to the writer agreeably to promise on his
arrival in Illinois.
The remarks of Mr. Davis forcibly reminded
young Wilson on this incident, and on the next
morning after he became acquainted with the de
sign of Crosby, with a trembling hand examined
the letter and certificate. It was written by Cros
by, and the land he wished to purchase, the iden
tical farm of Davis.
Astonished that his friend the judge should
certify that the land was worth no more, Mr. Da
vis asked to see the certificate, and after a mo
ment's examination unhesitatingly pronounced the
signature a 'forgery.'
An explanation from the young man now be
came necessary, and calling Lucy into the room,
he told them his history and laid before them a
pile of patents and bank notes, one after another, till
the amount reached thousands.
It was a day of thankful happiness to Old Si
mon Davis and his daughter, and not less so to
young Wilson.
xsoi longauer tins scene urosoy enterea. iiis
air was that of a man who has an enemy in his
power and intends to trample upon him. He
scarcely noticed Wilson except with a look of con
tempt. Alter pouring out all his maledictions up
on the family ho advised them to leave immediate
ly. I he old man inquired if he would give him
nothing for the improvements he had made ? The
answer was, 'not a cent.' 'You certainly would
not,' said Wilson, ' drive out this old man and his
daughter penniless into the world ?'
' What is that to you,' replied Crosby with
look, ot malice and contempt. l will answer you
that question,' said Wilson, and acquainted Inm
with what the reader already has learnt. Cros
by, at first was stupefied with astonishment, but
when he saw that all his schemes of villainy were
defeated, and proof of his having committed lor
gery could be established, his assurance lorsoo,
him, and he threw himself upon his knees, and
begged first the old man, then Lucy and Wilson
to spare him.
Affected with his appeals, the latter agreed to
purchase the larm upon which Crosby lived, upon
condition of his instantly leaving the country. He
accepted the terms and with his family fled to Tex
as.
Why should I spin out the narrative? Lucy and
Charles were married, and though a splendid man
sion rose up on the farm of Mr. Davis, both loved
lar better the little room where she nad so long
and anxiously watched over the sick bed of the
homeless stranger. Mr. Wilson was rich, but
never forgot those who were in want.
Cheered by the kind and affectionate attention
of his children, Old Simon Davis almost seemed
to have renewed his existence. He lived many
years, and long enough to tell the bright eyed son
of Charles and Lucy the story of the FORGED
UZjhD. And when he told the listening boy now
his father, when poor and friendless, was taken
home and kindly treated, and in turn became their
benefactor, he impressed upon the mind ol In
grandchild, that ' oven a cup of cold water, given
from a pure motive, shall not lose its reward.
From the Common School Journal.
. English Language. As of all existing lan
guages and literatures, the English is most re
plete with benefit'to the human race, so it is over
spreading the earth with a rapidity far exceeding
any other. With a partial exception in Canada
lnglish is the language of the continent ol Amer
ca, north of Mexico ; and at the existing rate of
increase there will be a hundred millions speaking
Jbnglish in the United States at the end of this
century. In the West India Islandswehave given
our language to a population, collected from va
nous parts ot Alnca ; and by this circumstance
alone they have been brought many centuries near
er civilization than their countrymen in Africa, who
may lor ages grope about m the dark, destitute o
any means of acquiring true religion and science,
Their dialect is an uncouth perversion of English
suited to the present crude state of their ideas
but their literature will be the literature of Eng'
land, and their language will gradually be con
formed to the standard. More recently the Eng'
hsh language has taken root in the continent of
Africa itself, and a nation is rising by means of it
in the extensive territory belonging to the Cape,
out of a certain mixture of different races. But
the scene of its greatest triumph will be in Asia
To the south a new continent is peopling with the
Jiinglish race ; to the north, an ancient people, who
have always taken the lead in the progress of reli
gion and science in the .hast, have adopted the En
glish language as their language of education ; by
means ot whicn they are becoming animated by
a new spirit, and are entering at once upon the
improved knowledge of Europe, the fruit of the
labor and invention of successive ages. lheEn
glish language, not many generations hence, will
be spoken by millions in all the four quarters of
the globe ; and our learning, our morals, our prm
ciples of constitutional liberty, and our religion,
embodied in the established literature, and diffused
through the genius of the vernacular languages,
will spread far and wide among the nations.
what we wish to investigate in this city, and could
spend another two months with profit in the like
researches here. Professor Robinson.
Effects of Civil War. The Montreal Transcript
says that the district of Cheteaguay which has here
tofore furnished some millions of feet of 'squared
timber for the market, and the principal supply of
cord wood to the city of Montreal for fuel, will not
this year supply one loot ol the former, nor one
cord of the latter. Contractors cannot find hands
n the district, the majority of the French males
ha-ve either fled or been imprisoned, and the Brit
ish and loyal population, being under pay as mil-
i . -c f..ii r.:i:
nary volunteers, or n not uuuei pay u iun ui mili
tary spirit that they cannot be prevailed on to work.
To add to the trouble in prospect for the future, the
wheat ploughing of last fall was almost universally
neglected, and the chance is that there will be very
little wheat sown in the spring. Though more
emphaticlly true ofChateaguay than of any other
district, the same remarks apply in a greater or less
degree to the whole of Lower Canada.
In this state of things, it would seem to us, fam
ine can only be averted by the generosity of tho
loyal wealthy in the provinces, and of the British
government. Contributions will be made from
this side if the enmity of the races should cramp,
charity in Canada and the only way in which the
lar-sighted loyalists can prevent increased hatred
to the British and attachment to republicanism, will
be extending sympathy at home to the distress of
the poor, and forgetting the cause of that distress
in the existence and severity of it. Let matters take
what course they will, we shall expect that there
will be a great deal of emigration from both prov
inces to this country when traveling opens again ;
and if the emigrants will take possession of uncuU
tivated lands in their new homes, without attempt
ing war upon the Canadas, there can be no objection
to their taking refuge in a ready made republic, in
stead of striving to create another. But as to
making Uncle Sam a shield for their predatory
incursions on the provinces, they will find the day
for that past. People will have more to do next
season than they had last, and in attention to their
proper and legitimate business, will let conquests
and dreams of conquests alone. JV. Y. Sun.
Faith and Works. A worthy son of thechurch
in the West Highlands, who had peculiar opinions
touching the " full assurance of faith," having to
cross a ferry, availed himself of the opportunity to
interrogate the boatman as to the grounds of his
belief, assuring him that if he had faith he was
certain of a blessed immortality. The man of oar
said he had always entertained a different notion
of the subject, and begged to give an illustration of
his opinion. " Let us suppose," said the ferryman,
" that one of these oars is called faith and the other
works, and try their several merits." According
ly, throwing down one oar in the boat, he proceed
ed to pull the other with all his strength, upon
which the boat turned round and made no way.
" Now.'said he, " you perceive faith won't do, let
us try if works can." Seizing the other oar, and
giving it the same trial, the same consequence en
sued. "Works, "said he, "you see don't do, either;
let us try them together." The result was success
ful ; the boat shot through the waves, and soon
reached the wished for haven. "This," said the
honest ferryman, "is the way by which I hope to
bo wafted over the troubled waters of this world
to the peaceful shore of immortality."
AVAR.
What, speaking in quite unofficial language, is
the nett purport and upshot of war ? To my own
knowledge, for example, there dwell and toil, in
the British village of Dumdrige, usually some five
hundred souls. From these, by certain ' natural
enemies' of the French, they are successively se
lected, during the French war, say thirty able-bodied
men. Duindridge, at her own expense, had
suckled and nursed them ; she has, not without
difficulty and sorrow, fed them up to manhood,
and even'trained them to crafts, so that one can
weave, another build, another hammer, and the
weakest can stand under thirty stone avoirdupois.
Nevertheless, amid much weeping and swearing,
they are selected; all dressed in red, and shipped
away, at the public charges, some two thousand
miles, or say only to the South of Spain; and fed
there till wanted. And now, to that same spot in
the South of Spain, are thirty similar French arti-
zans, from a French Drumdridge, in like manner
wending ; till at length, after infinite effort, the
two parties come into actual juxtaposition ; and
thirty stand fronting thirty, each with a gun in
his hand. Straightway the word ' Fire !' is giv
en ; and they blow the souls out of one another ;
and in place of sixty brisk, useful craftsmen, the
world has sixty dead carcasses, which it must bury,
and anew sued tears lor. Mad tnese men any
quarrel? Busy as the devil is they had not the
smallest! They lived far enough apart; were the
entirest strangers ; nay, in so wide auniverse, there
was even, unconsciously, by commerce, some mu
tual helpfulness between them.
Sartor Eesartus of Carlyle.
Antiquities of Jerusalem. In Jerusalem we
are surprised to nnd now mucn ot antiquity re
mains, which no traveler has ever mentioned, or
apparently ever seen. The walls around the great
area of the mosque of Omar are, without a ques
tion, those built by Herod around the area of his
temple. The size, position, and character of the
stone (one of them 30 1-2 feet long, and many over
20 feet) shew this of themselves : but it is fur
ther demonstrated by the fact, that neartbe south
west corner there still remains, in a part of the wall
the loot ot an immense arch, evidently belongin
to the bridge which anciently led from the tern
pie to the Ilystus on Mount Sion. rJoscnhus
6, 5, 2.1 This no one appears even to hnvp seen
n the castle near the Yafxa gate is also an ancient
tower of stone, like those of the temple, correspond
ng precisely to Josephuss description of th
tower Hippicus IB. J. 5, 4, 3.1 which Titus left
standing as a memento. 1 he ancient part is over
iv leet nigh, and built solid, without any room
within. We have no doubt that it is Hippicus
We have thus gain ed some important fixed points
Irom which tostart, in applying the uncient descnp
tions of the city. We have been able also to trace
to a considerable distance the ancient wall N. W.
and N. of the present city. The pool of Siloam,
at the mouth of the Tyropecum, (see Catherwood's
plan,) is without doubt the oiloam oj Josephus;
nd the wall of ISehemiah, further down, is the
En-Rogel of Scripture, where the Border of Judah
and Benjamin passed up the viilley of Hinnom
We have found, further, that the mosque of Omar,
which is doubtless ancient ; the water has just the
taste of that of Siloam, and we conjecture a con
nection between them. This point we have yet
to examine. We have not completed the half of
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