e , iy /4 I%V ) A Voiny; 3 ‘f“:;méf_fi:w \"5 T AT MMMy e I 3 LI Cdl . . 2R\ WYY 9 D s v 1 &/A 5 o> TIY 4D N APV % W il il QY @ AL VO /'//fi % 4 '%} - /%’ é %) % 7, A\ /%/% ‘ (/f’” R‘ 2 ) ;’/ &Y 4; \% : Y i % . %/, /”@ /////& XY R e ez : = &Y R AN s & e, B 1 : o B o s L Lo oTG o VOL. XCIIL. SELECTED POETRY. THE MECHANIC. Lift up thy toil-worn hand, Thou of the stalwart frame and fearless eye! Lift proudly now thine iron hand on high'! Firm and undaunted stand ! No need hast thou of gems To deck the glorious temple of thy thought : Thou hast the jewels which thy mind hath wrought, Richer than diadems! Thou art our God’s high Friest, Standing before great nature’s mighty shrine ; For the whole world the glorious task is thine To spread the eternal feast. : Even the Hebrew Chief, Strik’st thou upon the rock, and from the deep Mysterious heart the living waters leap To give the world relief'! Mighty ameng thy kind, Standest thou, man of iron toil, midway _Between the and heaven, all things to sway o By igh-working mind ! Thou canst delve in the earth, And from its mighty depth bring forth pure gold; Thou canst unwrap the clouds in heaven rolled, And give the lightning birth! Thou hast the stormy sca Chained to thy chariot wheels and the wild winds Obey the o’errun intellect that binds Their rushing wings to thee ! Thou canst new bands create, Where the wild rolling wave no mastery owns; And the vast distance of opposing zones Canst thou annihilate ? Lift, then, thy hand to Heaven ! Spread thy toil-sceptre o’er the sea and land, Thou hast the world entrusted to thy hand, Earth to thy charge is given! From the New-Orleans Delta. THE-WIFE, When the world’s untried—joys alone in view— " The soul, self-confident, brooks no delay, Rushing impetuous along the way, Unless, in wisdom, held in check by you— Man’s best safe-guard when life itself is new, His crowning comfort and his bosom’s stay, His morning-light of Love's most blissful day. Fond one! in faith and duty ever true, Nor changing, when clouds clad with sombre hue His hopeful skies, wrapping each genial ray That o’er his forward path was wont to play, Or warming with the beams it kindly threw The heart, thy angel charms did haply woo; And for his honor’s trust thou dost repay When the world, fertune, friends and hope betray. Forslandcrs, borne on wings of Rumor, too, Rich guerdon! Ty LovE,that may ne'er decay— The fragrant rose, pearl'd with Heavenly dew ! : NATURE'S NOBLEMAN. Away with*false fashion, so calm and so chill, Where pleasure itsclf cannot please; Away with cold breeding. that faithlessly still, Affects to be quite at its case: For the deepest in feeling is highest in rank— The freest is first in the band ; And Naturc’s own nobleman, friendly and frank, Is the man w ith his heart in his hand. Fearless in honesty. gentle, yet just, He warmly camdeve and can hate; Nor will he bvith his face in the dust, To Fashion’s jillerant state : . For best in good brecding, and highest in rank, Though lowly or poor in the land, Is Nature’s own nobleman, frendly and frank— The man with his heart in his hand. lis fashion is passion, sincere and intense, His impulse is simple and true; Yet tempered by judgment, and taught by good sense, And cordial with me angd with you—— For the finest in manner. as highest in rank, Is you, man ! or you man ! who stand Nature’s own nobleman, friendly and frank— The man with his heart in his hand! From the Odd Fellow. THE FIREMAN. Oft when our populace is sleeping, Save those who nightly watch are keeping, A cry is heard amid the gloom, : Like a death-knell from the tomb: Fire, fire, fire! The fireman, from his slumber waking, At once his quiet home forsaking— ~ Regardless of both health and life, Rushes to the deadly strife ; While still the ery of wild despair, Is wafted on the midnight air: Fire, fire, fire ! Though winds and tempests howl around him, Yet these combined, do not confound him, He still his courage will maintain, ’Spite of the stormy hurricane! As higher, and still higher, rise The tlames enraged to meet the skies— Fire, fire, fire! Fearless he rushes into danger, Saves the goods of friend or stranger ; £ Or perhaps some precious life Of father, husband, child or wife, Nor tires he till the joyful shout: All out, all out. A MITE FOR THE POOR. Think of the wretched room, Of the embers burning low— “ Think of the scanty garb, Of the child of want and woe, Ye, whose bright cup of life : With wealth is running o’er, “Think of your brother man— Relieve him from your store. If the widow's humble smile Received the Savior’s praise, sShall not your gifts be blest . In these our later days? Agye! every deed of love Is a bright and sparkling gem, “To be wreathed by angel hands In our heavenly diadem. 3 THE DOMINION OF PAIN. 4 1n all that live, endure, and die ; In every vision of the brain ; #@On Love’s fond lip ; in Pleasure’s eye. The hermit’s pulse, the warrior’s vein ; In hearts that pause and plunge again, Frail victims of the passing hour.s We find thy far dominions, Pain, We trace the footsteps of thy power— . Though some are washed away by tears, While some survive the march of years. Who cannot weep was never blest ; Would all were wocless that have wept ; Would all that heaves might be at rest ! And sleegsmight come to those that slept ! My soul hath long its vigils kept O’er sense of pain and dreams of death, __And knows not why its course hath crept Thus idly on for feverish breath— ~'While hour by hour it longs to sleep ; 1 feel it doomed to watch and weep. ¢ —————————————————————— e se, -~ .+ To MANY A RICH MAN. ~ You boast you've made the money, xiuAnd tbatnoczgubt, is true; Jut others say, the money " i Has done fl{em to you! - e _ Who seeks to please atl men each way, . And not himself offend; SELECTED MISCELLANY. From the Columbian Magazine. THE FOREST MAIDEN. BY D. ELLEN GOODMAN. ! It was a lew-roofed, humble log-house in the heart of awestern wilderness. At its rude doorway | stood two beings gazing out upon the wild but -magnificent scenery—the proud giant trnges with ‘their tall branches rising toward the blue skies; l their glossy leaves trembling in the summer breeze 'and forming a curtain through which the bright ~sunbeams poured over the rich sward at their foot —the wild-flowers peeping out from the dark shad ows of their huge trunks, and the scarcely trod den foot-paths winding over the velvet turf from the narrow clearing about the cottage. A low, thrilling carol from a fAuttering bird, now and then broke tic stillness, and far away down the shady ravine was faintly heard the soft murmur of a rip -3 plingl; stream. : ~ The eyes of the young maiden at the door wan-. dered delightedlyover the quiet scene, and their was a light in their blue depths, and a dimpling smile about the rosy mouth which gave an inde scribable charm (o her sweet face. One little hand clasped the strings of her straw bonnet which hung by her side, and the other was raised to her white | forehead, half shading the laughing orbs beneath it from the bright sun-light, while the whispering ’ winds lightly touched her pure neck, lifting the wavy brown tresses from her shounlders. She was ! very young and very beautiful, and every glance of her bright eyes told that her soul was full of love and purity. The lady by her side was many } years her senior, and there was the slightest shade ‘of care upon her smooth brow, and a subdued and }patient look upon her, mild face, which told that lier life had not been without its changes and trials. The glance which she cast upon the young girl was full of fondness and maternal affection ; and when she looked into the deepening shadows of the sur rounding forest, or up to the azure skies, the soft light of her dark eyes told of hope and content ment, if not enthusiasm. All at once the little hand dropped from the forehead, and a low ringing laugh czme from the lips of the young girl. ¢ They are coming, mother! See, there is fath er holding Anna and little Eddy upon my black pony, and Oscar in the rear mounted upon old Charley. Oh, we shall have such a nice ride thro’ these old roads and down by the bank of that quiet ; river. v | - And with a joyous bound she started forward to ‘meet the approaching band, the merry voices of the delighted little ones mingling with her joyous shouts. ¢ 0, sister Ether!” eried little Anna, ‘we have ‘had such a grand time; Eddy and I riding round ‘through the forest with father to lead your dear lit tle pony; and he is so clever and steps so careful- Iy overthe green sward and pretty flowers. Obh, I wish we had not got home this whole hour yet!’ But the chubby prattler was lifted from her covet ed seat and stood dancing at the feet of her mother while the baby boy clapped his hands and sent out his infant carol from the arms 6f his smiling sire. Ether had tied her straw cottage over her curls, and sprang gracefully to the back of her favorite ; and now he pawed the rich turf impatiently, and shook his glossy mane, as if’ quite conscious of the lovely weight he bore, and longing to dart away down the mossy patch and through the dim shades of the thick grove. ‘ Her brother, a tall, noble looking youth of twen ty, soon smilingly joined the company, and after kissing her gloved hand to the dear group, they galloped away down the foot-path and were lost to view. After riding a mile or two beneath the ‘drooping boughs of the old trees, they suddenly ‘came to the steep bank of a river of considerable i size, and turning to the right had a full view of the open country for many miles around. No obstruc ;tion was offered to their progress, and they rode gaily on over a surface of downy moss and yield | ing sward, besprinkled with every hue and variety. | Far to the left, and on the opposite shore, the for est was deep and unbroken, and the steep, grassy ‘declivity which rose from the river’s pure waters, was now and then broken by a chain of massive rocks extending far out into the stream, and losing ‘ their dark tops amid the shrupbery and spreading ' boughs. The cheeks of Ether Dunham glowed, land bright smiles deepened the dimples sbout her small mouth, while her brother’s cloquent, dark leyes beamed with intenser light as they rode on i ward, the musical tones of the one blending with the deep mellow voice of the other in earnest con versation. At last the horses slackened their pace, walking almost noiselessly along over the flowery ground, as if, like their riders, subdued to pleasant thoughts by surrounding influences. Just as they came to a clump of trees, which bent over the ! stream and threw their dark shadows far out into { the sleeping waters, a low, warbling murmur, not | exactly like the carol of a bird—but quite as lswcet and full of melody—fell on their ears; and | instantly checking their tired horses, they bent | breathlessly over their saddles and peered down ! through the thick leaves: for the sound seemed to proceed from their midst. l A low, faint ery of wonder half burst from Eth er’s lips; but her brother’s hand smothered the ! sound, while he pushed his way nearer to the edge of the bank, that she might have a more distinct view of the strange wild creature thus thrust upon their vision. She had grasped with one small ibrown hand a pliant branch of one of the trees | that overhung the dark waters, and swung herself | from_!he slight foothold beneath, while the other reaching far up amid the clustering, clambering vines, that wound themselves around every limb, she was trying to grasp a bunch of purple grapes which swung to and fro, constantly eluding the clasp of her slender fingers. Her large, wild, brown eyes, with their thick, silken lashes were fixed ea;leerly upon the capacions treasure, and her full red lips half opened in their impatience, while the lone jetty ringlets of her hair, in their lavish abundance fell back from her dark high forehead and hung trembling over the deep waters. The l same exquisite music now came again from her fall heart, for the extreme peril of her situation scemed i unable to restrain its outgushings of gladness ; and the golden bird which had just lighted upon a ; bough above her head scemed to hesitate before pluming his wings for a flight. | She was strangely beautiful ; and as she hung there with only that frail limb for a support, and the notes of joy upon her lip, Oscar Dunham and his sister turned Fale with terror. She had just reached the Pl"'£ e fruit, and torn the rich cluster from its vine, when the bended bough broke with a S'Edde" cragh, and with one faint cry the daring girl s:mlg beneath the dark surface below. She rose again almost instantly, and the next moment the strong arms of the bold youth had borne her up to the feassy .bank, where he gent.ly laid her with her head in Ether's lap. The little hand still grasped the luscious fruit, gut the bright drops ‘dripped from the stem, and the smile had hardly left the pale lip and cheek. Arthur bent anxious ‘over the marble face, and rubbed the cold hands with his trembling fingers, while Ether kissed the lovely brow and put back the wet hair, calling on her to wake. At last a faint color came to the lips, the long lashes trembled upon the cheek, and then the brown eyes looked up with a bewildered gaze ; but when they fell ug:n,the, eloquent g:la face of the stranger youth, she sprang to her feet, while a crimson glmiflushgdfhfi.d;‘k and brow, and a cry of fear trembled on her tongue. It was only momentary; for when she turned her sweet ey ob b eof Ehr D sl of satisfaction and loveliness broke over her sea. AND REPUBLICAN UNION. PORTSMOUTH, N. H, TUESDAY MORNING, FEBRUARY 92, 1847. tures, and l LR B T RTINS AN A als spPaIRiTG 111 1T Sall biue eye, and she looked tenderly upon the beautiful child who approached them from the little bed room, where she had exchanged her dripping gar ‘ments for dry ones in a twinkling. A ‘soft blush stole over her face, whenever she chanced to meet ‘the dark eye of Oscar Dunham, and a strange thrill ‘passed through her frame when his mellow voice sounded in her car; but to Ether she clung with extravagant fondness, twined the soft brown ring lets about her slender fingers, and kissed the little white hands. She told her of the pleasant haunts about her wildwood home, of her daily sails upon the river and occasional walks to the distant settle ment. And in return, Ether told of the dear bright home she had lately left, of the many friends she had bidden adieu, and how, with her father and mother, her brother and little sister, she dwelt in the bosom of the forgst, but a’ few miles distant. The wild creature clapped her hands for joy, and danced about the Jittle room, till the voices of her visiters mingled with her own merry laugh, and a smile of gladness dimpled the pale cheek of her pensive mother. She was rejoiced that a compan ion so gentle and kind had been found for her idol child ; for since her young heart first throbbed with Its gushing tenderness she had had none but her mother to love; though her yearning spirit went out towards all that was bright and glad in nature. The birds were her fricngs, and sfie had listened hours fiogether to their raerry carols, till her own tones had caught the echo, and she sang as gaily as they. She loved too, to listen to the rusfiing of ‘ the forest leaves when the evening winds whisper ed among them and they breathes forth their pen sive sounds; and then a strange sadness would creep into her spirit, and she would with her large earnest eyes up into the m:-ry%::wnq and wonder that the s‘parkling tiny gems could be l scattered so lavishingly over the fi?:o expanse.— It was at such times that the low tones of her | gentle mother had fallen soothingly upon her heart tt she told of the spirit-land and of the angel | guardians who hover about the pathway of mor ‘tals to guide them in the way to Heaven. An hour had passed by. The strangers had partaken of the simple meal spread by the hands of their new friends, and the sun was nearing the ’letant_llorizon; but still they lingered. The wild ihght of Nora’s dark eyes had softened to an ex | pression of calm and tranquil enjoyment, and her | Yoice was low and tremulous ; but a deeper feeling Seemed to pervade the gentle bosom of her mother. | Stl‘ange, pleasant thoughts had taken possession of ‘her soul ; and as she gazed into the sweet face of ‘Ether Dunham, and listened to her voice, the ‘dreams of carly childhood seemed haunting her a- Igam, and a dim, shadowy picture of happiness and Lnfifl‘r‘y flittered before her. She had said but little, 19(1 her eyes rarely left the fascinating face of her F-‘l’ iter ; and sometimes when her low, mellow laugh ‘Z»‘%fig:led with the glad strains from Nora’s full hos ‘om, she would start to her feet and lovk about her, then a gush of tumultuous emotions almost stilled the heavy beating of her heart, and she would bury her face in her hands and try to collect the dim fan cies which wandered through her brain and join the | broken chain of memory. | It was evening, and the sun was (uite down, thongh the golden light flooded the deep recesses of the surrounding forest, when Oscar Dunham arose and turned from the soft glance of Nora’s eyes. He walked to the door, looked a moment abroad, then returning, said reluctantly—“ Come, Ether, we must start, for it will be very late now before we reach home, and mother will be so anxious. You know she always thinks of lurking red men, and fears that you may be taken captive.” “Yes, brother,” replied the fair girl, turning from the entwining arms of her friend, “but you know the rpason of mother’s anxiety on that ground. She can never forget the dear little sister they-tore from her side long ago, but I am sure we need not t‘ca'r tow, and I do want to stay longer with No ra.” Nane noticed the deadly pallor which overspread the features of the silent woman ; for the dimness of the twilight was in the little room; but when a stifled sob broke from her bosom as she grasped Ethers arm and bent wildly over her, they all look ed upin wonder. | _ Nota sereamed in terror, and clung about her form, but she heeded her not. The white lips at first moved without a sound, and the eyes glanced wildly into the face of the terrified girl; but the un earthly expression passed away, a beautiful smile beamed forth in its stead, and she whispered, as she bent ber head down to the shoulder of the sweet child and put her arms about her— “ Did you say the Indians tore her away—that the yaung sister of your blessed mother was borne from ler side a captive? 1 have been dreaming ever since Ilooked upon your dear face—aye, for many long years I have dreamed and slumbered on; but Tam awake now, I sce it all—remember all. We were down in that charming valley at play— she had twined a wreath of wild roses amid the' curls of my hair, and as she left me to go around by the shore of the running stream for a white lily, they came and took me away.” “You!” exclaimed Oscar and Ether, at a breath: “You! and are you indeed the dear sister of our mother? and is Nora our cousin? Oh, how glad, happy!” It was indeed a hal)py moment. Tears were in the eyes of all, and Nora sobbed like an infant up on her mother’s bosom. The glad woman sat down in the rude door-way and brushed the moisture from her smiling eyes; and the little group gath ered about her, and raised their happy faces to her’s, and the heart of each seemed too full for ut terance, she bowed her head again to her hands, and the big, bright drops, fresh from her spirit’s shrine trickled throngh them, while her whole frame shook with the weight of pleasant and bitter thoughts that came gushing up from memory’s dis turbed fountain. She found words at last to tell them all--how she dwelt from the time of her captivity beneath the roof of the great chief—how he loved her as his own child, and how the young chief smiled upon her. She told them of the bitter tears she sfied when thinking of the dear friends she had left, of her sleepless nights and cheerless days, and how as years rolled on she learned to love the old chief, who was ever kind and good, and to regard the young prince as a brother. Then she spoke of her unwilling marriage, and told how tears had drenched her bridal garb, how they bore her insensible from her husband’s arms, and took the crushed jewel from her hair; of weeks and months of wretchedness and pining for her early home, and then of returning calmness af ter the last glimmering hope had died away in her heart. Years rolled on, and her husband, the powerful king of a warlike and bold tribe, was killed in battle, and his men taken captives, and their vast possessions fell into the hands of the white men; but she and the Young Fawn—her darling Nora—had never been molested ; they had lived in the wild home alone and almost unknown, though she had never ceased to mourn for the friends of her early life, nor to remember the low sweet tones that fell upon her ear, and the gentle, loving glance, that had so often met her gaze. True, these remembrances had the shadowy dim ness of a half forgotten fdream; but still their light had ever been with her, brightening her pathway through life, and filling her lone heart with sad and delicious emotions. Not till that day when the sweet face of Ether came up before her had her fond imaginings taken to themselves a form and distinctness, with the vividness of reality ; but the fond tones of the dear child, and the glance of her deep eyes had touched a string in her inmost soul, which vibrated like the chords of a long neglected harp, and sent forth pleasant melody. i It was late that evening, when Oscar Dunham rode up to the door of his father’s house, and he was alone. He found anxious, fearful hearts and tearful faces awaiting him, and when his mother looked in vain for the form of her darling, a smoth ered cry escaped her lips; but her wi%d eyes fell upon the smiling, happy face of her son, and won der and astonishment kept her silent. It was not long before they knew all, and were weeping at the grateful intelligence.. Morning dawned fair and beautiful, and ere the sun reached his meridian height, the lone widow of the Indian chieftain and her lovely girl had pressed to their throbbing bos oms the forms of those about whom they had dreamed and communed with painful interest through long years of loneliness and suspense. It was a happy group that assembled that day beneath the low log cabin in that deep wilderness; and the very birds that lingered amid the thick leaves of the blossoming honeysuckle seemed oppressed with gladness, for their little throats swelled with the wild strains that mingled with the low voices with in; and when Anna and Edgar clapped their tiny hands, and gazed with their laughing eyes up to the leafy retreat, the sweet songsters only answered their many shouts with a louder and gladder strain, and twittered and trembled upen their blooming throne. -Oscar and Ether, with the happy Nora, walked down to the river's brink and unmoored the little canoe beneath the great rock, and as they sailed gently over the bright waters and bent their laughing faces to the smooth mirror, they blessed the fate that brought them wfifther. and looked with a kind of fom%ness upon the old tree with its dangling limb, which had mn the instrument of so much fear and pleasure. And Mrs Dunham and her restored sster—they bad everything to say, ang their hearts mingled lovin(gily. together as they toldl of their past~its joys and its sofrows, and looked fondly to the future with trembling, ea ger hope. : It is many years since these events occurred; and the great wilderness, with the 10;? house of the dark bright maiden and her fair mother, have dis appeared altogether ; but in the flourishing village which is built upon the spot and on the shore of the river Ohio, near where the cabin stood, is a large, beautiful mansion. Its owner, Mr Danham, with his gentle wife and dark eyed children, re members with pride his noble irandfa!hcr, over whose grave the grass is still fresh and green, and the meek and loving partner, who slecps sweetly by his sidle—even the Indian chieftain’s danghter —Nora, the graceful Fawn. FasuroNaßLE Music.—The ‘sudden siops, ex tra sharps,” and distressing demi-semi-quavers of i modern fashionable music are thus eapitally hit off ‘by a writerl in the Boston Atheneum—a new pa per, recently stagted in the city«f ngdiss: . fp ‘A coxn;)uiny‘%sfi’imnfj)’eriofn%'s; or- of scien= tific amateurs, may take pleasure in listening to the productions of some very noted composer, but ‘on a large audience it is wholly lost. Instead of the sudden stops and starts, extra shakes, gentle whispers and thunder imitations with which many often played pieces are filled, the people want something less scientific, but possessing more real harmony. Some overtures commence behutifully —the air is sweet and strikes the ear pleasantly, and one thinks ke is about to have a treat; but, sud denly every thing stops—for a while not a sound is to be heard—then some ambitious little fiddle gives a half suppressed squeak—another taking courage squeaks a little louder—then all the little fiddles squeak together—the hass viol, as if afraid of being left in the lurch, gives a groan—the double bass roars, and suddenly silence reigns again. Anon the | same spunky little fiddle squeaks once more, and the other instruments, as it determined not to be 1 left behind this time, all break out at once. Ye! gods! what a contest. ~Wind versus catgut—at | times catgut seems the victor; but suddenly wind l breaks out, and catgut falls—the instruments seem | to be playing on their owners instead of being play- | ed upon—the fiddler’s elbow can’t be kept still——l the drum-sticks can’t be kept off the drum, and the 1 trombone seems urging its owner to blow his 1 brains out. If this be music, musicis not harmo-i ny. | A Goop AND GENTLE WirE.—The young and | pretty Mme. de V——— to whom her own calm and sweet physiognomy, and the joyful countenance of her husband, had given the reputation of being an angel of conjugal goodness, was lately seated at the piano, engrossed in an effert to decypher a new Cavatina of Verdi. While thus employed, some persons of her acquaintance came to the door, who, in order not to interrupt the eharming cantatrice, prohibited the servant from announcing them. Y¥or some moments, they listened with profound silence, then upon a hint of the ladies, a young cousin of Mme. kr—————, stealthily advances to the seat of his fair cousin, and suddenly claps his hands over her eyes. “Mon Dieu! Whata beast, you always do come and annoy me when I am alone!” cried impetu ously the gentle Mme. V——— exhibiting the most ‘extravagant symptoms of rage. Stupified, the ‘cousin withdraws his impudent hands. A general burst of laughter in the saloon follows. The young ' wife turns, and, with one of her sweciest smiles, } says : - “Pardon, my dear Charles,” said she, ziving her | cousin her most winning look—“ 7 thought it was my husband ! "— Courrier des Etats Unas. ‘LawruL REVENGE.—Many vears since, a gen tleman in Newington, a parish of Wethersfield, Connecticut, who was a very religious and consci entious man, married one of the most ill-natured and troublesome women he could find in the vicin ity. This oceasioned universal surprise wherever he was known, and one of his neighbor’s ventured to ask him the reasons which had governed his choice. He replied that having had but little trou ble in the world, he was fearful of becoming too much attached to things of time and sense, and thought by experiencing some afflictions, he should become more weaned from the world, and he mar ried such a woman as he thought would accomplish his object. The best part of the story is, that the wife, hearing the reasons why he married her, was much offended, and out of revenge, became one of the most pleasant and dutiful wives in the town; declaring that she was not going to be a pack-horse to carry her husband to Heaven. Hixts ABouT Foop.—Roast meat contains near ly double the nourishment of boiled, but boiled meat is better adapted to weak digestion. Frying is one of the very worst methods of dressing food, as boiling is one of the best. Boiled meat has a strong flavor,. but is deprived of some of its nutri tious qualities, and is diflicult of digestion. Spices, sauces and melted butter, should never be used by an invald.. EasE OFr.—As an honest seaman, who had just come into port, was taking a stroll in the country, he saw a bull dashing furiously along the road di rectly towards him, and according to the custom of the animal, with his tail straight out behind him. “ Bull ahoy!” roared Jack, making a speaking trumpet of his hand, ease off your spanker sheet there, you lubberly son of a cow, or you’ll be afoul of me.” The bull paid no attention to the warn ing of the sailor, and the next moment Jack was rolling in the dirt. ¢ There, I knowed it!” said the enraged tar gathering himself up, ¢ I told you you'd run afoul of me!” Sttpy AND CoxNsipEr.—-The tomb is the best source of morality. Study avarice in the coffin of the miser ; this is the man who accumulates heap upon heap ; riches upon riches ; see, a few square boards en close him. Study ambition in the grave of that enterprising man; see his whole designs, his extended projects, his boundless expedients, are all scattered, and end in this fatal gulf of human projects. Approach the grave of the proud man, and there in vestigate pride; see the mouth that pronounced lofty expressions condemned to eternal silence; the piercing eye that convulsed the world with fear, covered with a midnight gloom ; the formidable arm that disturbed the destinies of man, is now without motion or life. Go to the tomb of the nobleman, and there study quality. Behold his magnificent titles; his royal an cestors ; his flattering inscriptions; learneld genealo gies, are all gone—or gone to be lost, with himself, in the dust. ~ EFFECTS OF THE ABSENCE OF SUN AND AIR— Dr. Moore, the eloquent and amiable author of ¢ The use of the body in relation to the mind,’ says—' A tad pole confined in darkness wouid never become a frog. and an infant being depffived of heaven's free light, will only grow into a shapeless idiot, instead of a beauteous and reasonable thing. Hence, in the deep dark gorges and ravines of the Swiss Valais, where the direct sun shine never reaches, the hideous prevalence of idiocracy startles the traveller. It is a strange melancholy idioc racy. Many citizens are inca{)able of any articulate speech: some are blind, some labor under all the pri vations, and all are misshapen in almost every part of the body. I believe there is, in all places, a marked difference in the healthiness of houses, according to their asrect with regard to the sun, and that those are decidedly the healthest ceter in paribus. in which all the rooms are, during tome part of the day, fully exposed to direct light. %tis a well known fi#et, that'epidemics attack the inhabitants on thm;r side of a strect, and totally except those of the atheFside ; and even in epi demies’ sach as ague, the morbid influence is often thus partial in its action.’ 1 _The shortest day of our year comes im winter—fit emblemm of onr life, at once dark, cold, and short. | z THE DEERFIELD PHENOMENA. | Extract of a letter from E. Mexrlay, Esq. of Brookiyn, | to Hon. Josian Burrer. Brooxwryx, Dec. 28, 1846. Dear Sir—ll have your letter of 23d inst., and the | two newspapers referred to therein, containing Mr. | Leavitt’s letter to you, and your reply. * * i lam familiar with the preparation’ and combustion - of Hydrogen gas—it is abundént under the surface of - many parts of this State, Pennsylvania, and Virginia, ~and never produces Earthquakes in these localities, - In the municipal Gazette, No. 38, herewith sent you, is the account of the lightning coming in contact with Hydrogen gas—the lightning was dispersed and disap peared and the gas ignited--no explosion—Hydrogen ‘gasis not explosive unless mixed with air, or other ~gases in certain proportions. I have a preparation of Platinum in my cabinet with which 1 ignite Hydrogen. On placing a piece of this platinum in & current of gus it immediately begins to heat and soon becomes red hot and then ignites the gas. - T onee witnessed a fire in 'New York city iy Conl ' vard where Nova Scotia coab-was stomd...:.b.é?fin wet the bituminous coal and ignited it. There is a bitumi ‘nous coal mine near Pittsburg, Pa., which has been on fire fifty years—no shakes come from it. At Potts ville, a'vein of Anthracite coal has been on fire several years. No shakes from it. TFire damps, in coal mines, are often ignited and workmen killed. Sir Humphrey Davy’s Safety Lamp was the remedy for this. These explosions produce no shakes and there is Hydrogen. These simple facts, if brought to the notice of your fricnd Mr Leavitt, will convince him that the cause he assigns is not the right one, You have in the recorded observations made by me and published here in the daily newspapers, the evi dence that the convulsions you Lave noted, are EArTu- QUAKES. Itisa fact well settled by recorded obser vations, that Earthquakes always produce storms. On the 30th of October. a rain storm commenced here which continued to Nov. 4th, during which near four inches of rain fell. On the 12th of November, a rain storm was experienced here which lasted to the 16th, during which 3-4 inch of rain fell, and on the 3d of December, a rain storm was experienced here which lasted eight hours. Here is the proaf. 'The explosion of Hydrogen gas arising from the decomposition of Iron Pyrites would not have thus affected the atmos phere. * * * % * * * * The water you speak of in the well should be ana lyzed. If you will obtain a bottle of it, 1 will analyze it. The atmosphere of our earth is in an extraordinary state and in this is the germ of the Earthquakes felt at your place. Iccland was convulsed on the 2d of Sept., 1845, the first time since 1786. A Mountain in the Eastern Hemispere was ignited on the 2d of Sept., 1846, the first time for 1000 years. Your atmosphere was greatly heated in September last, while in September, in Lat. 88 degrces 22 min. South, the cold was only four degrees above the freez ing point. Numerous places on the surface of the earth were convulsed successively from the 22d of Au gust to the 15th of September—cight convulsions al ready heard from, in 24 days, being one to every three days, and extending to both Hemispheres. The day the convulsion was felt by you in November, a terrible storm made great waste on the coasts of Frauce and England. 1 am anxious to ascertain if vour Lamprey Eels are Electric—also, to ascertain if the waters of Pleasant Pond and the head waters of Lamprey River approxi mate very close, and how near, and the height of the land which divides them—also, how fur are you from Winnipiseogee Laket %= % # * * I'should have ere this visited your place hut sickness in my family has prevented. I am anxious to make ‘Some observations from the tops of one of your moun tains before sun rise, of the vapors which rest upon the - waters, and to examine your Geological Stratas. The Stratas which compose the crust and substratum of the ! earth at your place, I presume has nothing to do with the shakes—these 1 think are atmospheric and may al -80 be subterrancous. Before T heard of your disturbed district I had fixed the point of departure of the Elec tric discharges at Portsmouth, New Hampshire—this was from drawing the chart of a lightning storm on the 25th of April. 1845, from a small Creok in Virginia to Springfield, Mass.. and thence to the Northern Seas, passing Portsmouth in its departure from land. This thunder storm killed several persons and burnt several buildings in & journey of about six hundred miles—it was seen to rise in a small Creek, near Alexandria, near Virginia, raising the water several feot in the air. With great respect, your ob’t servant. "~ EBEN. MERRIAM, Houn. Jostan BurLeß, Deerfield. GEMS OF THOUGHT. Men, like books, have at each end a blank leaf— childhood and old age. Esteem is the mother of love. but the daughter is of ten older than the mother. Graves are but the prints of the footsteps of the angel of eternal life. Peace is the evening star of the soul, as virtue is its sun, and the two are never far apart. The gifts that circumstances make in our character, We are apt to regard as its native fruit. He who dreads giving light to the people is Yike a man who builds a house without windows for fear of lightning. Our sorrows are like thunder-clouds, which seem black m the distance, but grow lighter as they ap proach, A Rovar Eprror—The London Punch says :— “The King of Bavaria is alout to start a newspaper, which, rumor says, he is to edit himself. We can imag ino the King sitting on the throne, with an immense pair of scissors in one hand, and the paste brush in the other, writing his Zeitung, while the printer's devil is knocking at the door of the palace calling for ‘copy.' His Royal Majesty scarcely knows the pains and pens alties of an editor yet, or else he would not be so ambi tious of rushing into newspaper authorship. How will he like opening three hundred letters a day—every one of them finding fanlt with some part of his paper 2 How will he like being knocked up at three o’clock in the morning to.come down to the office and open an ex press How will be like collecting his quarterly sub scriptions, or answering his correspondents’ inquiries— whether his Majesty will be graciously pleascdq'io take out their subscriptions in coals. candles, German sausa ges, sour crout, seltzer water, or Bavarian beer? How will he like some enraged author or angry actor of his Royal Theatre, or pugilistic member, entering his office, and, not knowing he is King, laying the horsewhip across his shoulders for some smart personality or witty ecriticism? How will he like being prosecuted for a libel ? or is he prepared to putin the old plea, ‘the King can do no wrong 2 hecause the same yarn, of course, would apply to gramatical errors, false syllo gisms, erroneous quotations, and nonsense, though it is very doubtful whether his readers would take the ex cuse, and might not write to his Majesty to stop sending in the paper.’ Beaurvy.—lt seldom happens that a beautiful wo man is amiable. Persuaded that Nature has done eve rything for her, she imagines that, in order to charm the hearts of men, she has only to shew the graces of her person. Such are the vanities with which she en ters society ; but her triumph is short; it does not ex tend beyond the frivolous admiration of the moment, which soon passes away, and leaves nothing but rN~ul, insipidity, and even disgust. In her company the mind remains inactive, the heart is cold; and the truth of this remark will for ever appear, that strong and lasting passions ate not inspired by the most beantiful women, . How Mex smouvip TreEa? Womew.—A DPersian poct gives the following instruction upon this important subject ;—* When thou art married, seck to please thy wife : but listen not to all she*says. From man's right side a rib was taken to form the woman, and never was there seen a ‘rib quite straight. And wouldst thou straighten it ? It breaks, but bends not. Sinee. then. ’tis plain that crooked. is woman's temper, forgive her faults and blame her not; ror let her anger thee to coercion use, as all is vain to straighten what is curved. Whitfield, when asked why he set divine pralms to prefane airs, replied * that he knew no rcason why the devil should have all the best music. N 05 A lady in Schuykill ‘county, Pa., presented her husband on Christmas ‘morning with four daughters at one birth, SRa s NO. V,