BY HARDY & McAfiLY. SBEPHEBDSTOWN, YA,
VN REGISTER
TUESDAY, DECEMBER 18, 1849. VOL, 1, NO. 3.
THE REGISTER,
IM'ULISIIEI) WEF.KI.Y
UV HARDY & McANLY.
Udicc on Rumsey Street, South of German.
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cor Tingly.
I LOVE YOP.
1 love you ? Mis the simplest way
The thins 1 fcr' t > u !l ;
Yet ii* I told it all the d ty.
You'd never g'u ? h??w well .
V hi are my comfort and my h .lit
My very life you *cem ,
I ihit.lv of you all day ; all night
'To bat of you 1 dream.
?j i,. re's pleasure, in the hghti 1 v" 1
That you ean speak t<> m< ;
My soul like, th- '? diaii < hord,
?id vibrates -til! t-> thee.
1 neM r read the love-song yet,
j-'.) thrilling, I'-nd l,r tl'mN
)!ut in my own heart 1 have m< t
3oim kinder thought lor you.
1 hh s the shadow - ? n your face.
The light upon your hair?
1 I'.ke for hours to sit and trace
The passing fhang< s there ;
| love to hear your voice's tone,
Although you should not say
\ single word to dream upon,
\\ hen th >t has died away.
Oh! von are kindly a- the beam
That w arms where'er it plays,
And vou are gentle as a dream
( >f happy f I'ure day - ?
,\i;d you ore atroi g to do 'he Bght,
And swift the wrong to lice?
And if you were not half so bright!
V m're all iho world to me.
Physical I'd'n of Dyifl
in the Lonln QtlrieiH lor
IS a curious irticlcon the lignlof d|atli. ?
Antony other tiling 11 speak! l'll,s ol t.'l(|
degrciTof physical pain ^ onncctcd with
dilb runt forms of Hath.
The pain of dy ing must bn tlislin^ui^Ii
r 1 from th" pain ol the previous disease,
for wl en lilo ebbs sensibility d? 1 lints.
- As death i- the final extinction of corporal
lV' lin,r, so numbness increases as death
comes on. The prostration of disease,
|,ke healthful fati-oe, engenders a gro\J
iniT stiipor ? a senna t ion of subsiding softly
into a coveted repose. The transition
?.h es what inav !??' seen in those lol
iv mountains, Jiose si<|? exhibit. .in
cverv climate in regular flraJatHh. vege
t .mm luxuriates at 'heir base, and d\\ in
d!e> in the approach to the regions bl snow
fll its feeblest manifestation is repressed
l.v the odd. The 1) called alony Ian
never be more foimidable ihaii when ihe
brain is ?h| last to - and the mii.d pre
s.-rves to the end n rational cognisance ol
the *.? late of the bod v. \ et persons thus
i.u veil coiiuii'oiiv attest thai there are
I w things in lib' b'ss pajitul ill. in tin
,.|,?>e. -Il I ha I "Jrcijjjh enough jo hold
;i pel,; said William Hunter, 1 would
writl bow easy and delightful it is j|
<hrl 'If this he d villi,* said the niece ot
Newton ??1" <>lnev,V.t is a pleasant thing
tu die;* jthe verl cNpressio.l add! hei
uncle, ' which another ft .end of mine mad*
use of on In r doa'h-hed a lew* years
;?r?/ 'I'liesanie words have : o|fte| htln
uttered under similar circumstances, that
we could lil I pages with instances which
only varietl by the name of the spea
ker. 'If this Ihj d\ inj' said Iiidy tile
nf eliv, *it is the ea.-it st thill imagin|
hie/ 'I thought that dying had been
more difficult,* said l.ouis XIV. 'I did
not suppose il was s<- sweet to die, s.iitl
Francis Snare/., the S|?.mi>h theologian.- -
An agreeable surj risi |as the preliilinj:
sentiment wilb iheni all ; they expected
the Ire .till to Icrmiil dc '? n til* j dash id the
torrent , and thev found il was losing ilsi ll
,,, ?!,. g end est ci|rcn| T| w lude of the
facilities seem sometimes concentrated on
the placid enjoyment. The day Arthur
Murphy died, he kept ni>eaiii?g Irom
Pope. '
'?Taught ha f by re i*on, hall by mere decay.
To welcome death, and calmly pass away."
Nor does the calm partake ol ihe sensi
liveness of sickness. There was a swell
ill the sea tj,c day t'ollin?;wood liieathed
bis hist uoon the elenu nt which had been
t)lC scene of his glory. Captain Thomas
?expressed a fear that he was disturbed by
ihe ttissing of the ship : 'No, I hornas,
|,e replied; 'lam now in a state in which
nothing in this world can disturb nu
mor?. I am dying; and 1 mn sure ti
must he eonsolalnry to you. am. all who
love me, to see how cointortably 1 am
coining to niv ? lid.
* * " * * * *
\ftcr these remarks the Q'tarutly
speaks of the different kinds of violent
s death. Drowning is wholly without pain,
and sometimes, accompanied by ph a
snrable sensation. 44 Intense cold brings
i>n spieJy sleep, which fascinates the
senses, and fairly beguib s men out ol their
lives/* All accounts agree, that in bang
in', 'Mhc uneasiness ii? S|uite momentary,
,|,ai a pleaMirable feeling immediately
succeeds, that colors of various lnn .s start
up before the sight, aud that the*e iiaving
been gazed on fur H ifjvb! >paee, thi; rtsi
is oblivion. 'flic pain of burning, if in
stantaneous, as usually is the case wi;h
those consumed in their dwellings, would
b;r flight, 1 mi I as a piotraeted method of
execution ii was nxcecijingly enul.
Worse th;.n the "halter, axe, or wheel,
was tUe *1 rc? which, as typical of the
(lames officii, was employed in die blind
ness of theological fury lo consume the
foremost of ihe pilgrims to !ie:iven. The
legs of liishop Hooper were charred, and
his body scorehed, helorc he was ( 1 1 1 1 \
enveloped in ihe lire, which a w ind blew
aside, nor was it till the pile had been
twice replenished that he bowed his head
-Hid gave up the ghost. A similar misfor
tune attended Ridley. All excess of 'ag
gots hindered the llames aseending, and
his extremities were in ashes when his
body was unhinged. Ridley yielding
slightly to tin; dictates of nature, and
struggled at tie* height of his protracted
anguish. Hooper remained immovable as
the stake to which lie was chained. For
three quarters of an hour his patience was
proof against the fury of the (lames, and
lie died at length as quietly as a child in
its bed. lint the pain of burning is of
fearful intensity, and the meek endurance
ol these heroes at die stake was the tti
uniph of mind over the tortures of the
llesli.
The Head, the Hope, the Supporter of
those who gave their bod?CS to be burnt,
drank himself ol a bitterer cup. Of all
the devices of cruel imagination, crucifix
ion is the masterpiece. Other pains are t
sharper for a time, but none are at once so
agonising and st> long. One aggravation,
however, w as wanting which, owing to
the want of knowledge in painters, is still,
we believe, commonly supposed to have
belonged to the punishment. The weight
of the body was borne by a ledge which
projected from the middle of the upright
beam, and not by the hands and feet,
which were probably found unequal to
the strain. The frailty of man's frame
comes at last to be its own defence ; but
enough remained to preserve the pre-emi
nence of toiTure to the cross. The pro
cess of nailing was exquisite torment, and
vet worse in what ensued than in the ac
tual infliction. The spikes rankled, the
wounds inflamed, the local injury produc
ed a general fever, the fever a most intol
erable thirst ; but the misery of miseries
to the sufferer was, while racked with ag
ony, to be fastened in a position which
did not permit him e\cn to writhe. E ve
ry attempt to relieve the muscles, every
instinctive movement ef anguish, only
sencd to drag the lacerated flesh, and
wake up new and acuter pangs; and this ?
torture, which must have been continually
aggr.v ited, until advancing death began
to lav it l?> ?leoj>, buftod on an uverugo
two or three days.
The Perils of J/fe.
Again, what is the dark word that i.
.
witten in this volume of life, spreading a
shadow over all its pages ! Temptation !
It is no strange lot. It is t!ie lot of com
mon life. I'] very man is a tempted man.
I'' very day we meet those awful hours, in
which the great controversy between r i ?x !j t
and wrong, is pleaded in our bosoms. ?
Then the senses' allurement steals upon
us: ilicn ambition, or anger, or envy in-,
vades the peace of our minds ; then the
world's nivat show, or ?? the world's dread
laugh," demand> our homage or threatens
our freedom. Must we not light every
hour. wiili4hese besetting foes of the spir- (
it ! In the depths of the heart, in deepest !
silence wheie praise comes not ; wiili sol
itary prayer and patience, must we no!
strive? And here in this post within, to
be held against all the world, believe me,
deeds are to be done and victories t < ? be
gained, compared with which the prowess
ol battles and the splendour of triumphs
fadeaway! 4% (Ireatcr is he that ruleth
his spirit," savs the sacred proveibialist,
" than he that taketh a city."
\\ hat is the power within, that holds
I this sublime coiillict ! It is (iod's vice
gerent in the soul, the sovereign and ma
jestic conscience. \\ hat on earth so no
ble ! l4o ! a man ? "faithful found among
the faithless and to this man the slight
est whisper of his conscience, is more
than the echoing lame of ages : the simple
purpose of rectitude is more than all the
blaudi>hments of beauty and love ; and
the single, sclf-poiseij feeling of integrity
in the heait, is more riches to him than
tlit? wealth of kingdoms. Ah! what an
elevation is that! when the secret, invisi
ble feeling in the heart, that says, "J will
do right," weighs more, and is worth
more with its possessor, than all the rich
es of the world; yes, when the whole ac
cumulated magnificence of the world could
not buy fiotn him that simple feeling. I
have seen t!ie hon ago of loyalty to kings,
the lowly and graceful prostration before
the symbols of the majesty of earth ; and
I will confess thntl thought it beautiful ;
the bare feeling of reverence, wins my
sympathy ; but what is it all, compared
with the deep and lowly homageof a man
to tho Jiwful sovereignty within him '
And the righteous aian livcth { pure,
calm, strong; inwardly uiuved, ami moved
from within; pwlf-^ubibtjiig, and dependent
neither upon fashion, fortune, nor fame.
Shall I say, it is the life of a sage, of a
philosopher ? It is more. It is the life of
Chiist in the soul ; and it is the study and
imitation of Christ that must lead us to it.
The Passion for Wealth.
This insane and insatiable passion for
( accumulation, ever ready when ciruurn
stauces favour, to seize upon the publf
I mind, is that " love of money which is the
root of all evil," that 44 covetousness
which is idolatry." It springs from an
undue, an idolatrous estimate of the value
of property. Many arc feeling, that
nothing- ? nothing will do for them or for
their children, but wealth; not a good
character, ,l()t well-trained and well exert
ed faculties, not virtue, not the hope of
heaven; nothing but wealth. It is their
god, and the god of their families. Their
sons arc growing up to the same worship
of it, and to an equally baneful reliance
upon it for the future ; they are rualiiit
into expenses which the divided property
of their father's house will not enable
them to sustain ; and they arc preparing
to he in turn and from necessity, slaves to
the same idol. llow truly is it written,
that " they that will be rich, fall into temp
?
tatiou, and a snare, and into many foolish
and hurtful lusts, which drown men in de
struction and perdition !" There is no
need that they should be rich ; but the)
will be ricii. All the noblest functions of
life may be discharged without wealth, all
its highest honours obtained, all its purest
pleasures enjoyed ; yet 1 recent it, noth
ing ? nothing will do but wealth. Disap-.
point a man of this, and he mourn! as il
the highest end of life were defeated. ?
Strip him of this : and this gone, all is
gone. Strip him of this, and I shall point
to no unheard-of experience, when 1 sa\ .
lie had rather die than live !
The grievous mistake, the mournful
evil implied i u this oversight of the great
spiritual end, which should ho sought 111
all carthl\| pursuits, is the subject t<>
which i wished to draw your attention in
the last place. It is not merely in the
haste to ln| rich, njjeompanied with the in
tention to retire from business to a state of
luxurious and sell-indulgent leisure ; it is
not merely in the. rag? for speculation,
that the evils of overlooking the moral
ti in of business are seen ; but they sink
deep into the heart, in the ordinary walks
of regulaif and daily occupation ; dethron
ing the spiritual nature from its proper
place, vitiating the affections, and losing
some of the noblest opportunities for vir
tue, that can be lost on earth. ? Dewey.
Moral State of (iermaiiy.
I he Rev. James Martincau, a distin
guished l^n^lisli Dissenting Minister, has
lately returned from a visit to Germany.
In a speech on a recent occasion at a mect
i n jr in the North of England, he made ma
ny pertinent remarks touching the pliilos-j
oj>hy and religion of (ierniany. On the
whole, his opinion of the moral condition
ol that country, is unfavorable, even to the
extent ol "hitter disappointment." 1 1 ??
says ;
" I do not hesitate to say that I helicve
that the inllucnee of Christianity upon the
political lutnre and the social condition
(.'erinanv is now extinct : that the jjreat
changes which are going on there are tn>
iug on independent ol it. growing out of
new sources, and arising from classes
where the old church influences have al
mo.st ceased ? (hear). I believe, too, that
this is the ease in our own country, and
even the Protestant religion of the middle
classes is becoming more a middle-class
atlair than it was, and mighty political and
religious changes will take place in the
course of coming years, which the old in
llucnccs will do little to control or direct.
Hut this is far more the case in Germany
than here, and I think one cause of it is
this : whilst religion has never separated
itself from the highest intellectual culture
which we possess, in Germany thaf sev
erance has taken place. While in Mug
land our universities, where that culture is
sought, and to a great extent found, remain
essentially ecclesiastical corporations, pro
ducing thereby a multitude of social evils,
at all events it has this good effect ? it
keeps the highest understanding and the
deepest learning of the country in close
connection with religious influence. In
Germany, this is far otherwise ; and I
think I do not speak with any extrava
gance in saving that there the almost en
tire mass of its most cultivated classes, of
the intellectual men who constitute the
strength of our universities, and give them
their endowment, is practically alienated
from the Christianity of Germany. I
come home then, I confess, with a most
confirmed prefeience lor our English so
cial life, (applause) for our English modes
of thought and habits of action, and espe
cially 1 come home with a deciifcd pref
erence for that popular and practical reli
gion which exists in this country, rather
than that purely intellectual anil critical
tjjcplogy which exists in Germany ? (np
plause). Of course I do not mean to
speak with the slightest degree of dispar
agement of the inquiries which have bro't
the condition of theological literature to
such a degree of perfection in Germany.
These aids are always necessary ; but I
think it a matter of the utmost importance
that these should not remain as a separate
studv, as a division of labor, hut should
remain in practical connection with the
influences of the Christian religion."
The Fronde School,
The last number of the Edinburgh Re
view has in excellent article upon the shal
low coxcombs of the Fronde class; who
write so much mischievous and infidel
trash in these days. There is one little
descriptive bit in it which it may be well
to circulate : ? "Hut we arc at the same
time fullv convinced that in our day thou
sands of youths who are falling into the
same errors and perils from sheer vanity
and fllec talion ; who admire most what
they least understand, and adopt all t lie
obscurities and paradoxes they stumble
upon as a cheap path to a reputation for
profundi!} ; who awkwardly imitate t lie
manner and retail the phrases ol the wri
ters they stud \ ; and, as usual exaggerate
to caricature their least agreeable eccen
tricity s. We should think that some of
these more powerful minds must be by
this time ashamed of that ragged regiment
ofmos: shallow thinkers and obscure wri
ters and talkers, who at present infest our
literature, and whtise parrot-like repetition
of their own stereotyped phraseology,
mingled with some barbarous infusion ol
half Anglicised Herman, threatens to form
:is odious a can! as ever polluted the stream
of thought or disfigured the purity ol lan
""ua"v." So writes Sir James Stephens
upon Froude and his followers. ? ( 7i. & : i
St. (I nz.
We give place in our columns to the
(ore,roiiiLf, not because we want to lend
our aid to expose Mr. Froude (for really
he is very much of a stranger to us) luii
because it points to admiration a class
who in this country have been for some
time playing oil' great a'rs, They may ?
or may not be Froudeites, after all. 1 his
class, so capitally hit oil' iu the above.
ihev ? stip? rinicud, lead, and patronize
what is called "The Reformatory Press,"
and arc for the most part, peddlers in a
melange of Abolitionism, Fouricrisin, the
deformities (not the virtues) of Sweden*
hoprianism, Christianity as travestied by
Ti 1 ?
George Si'nd and \ ietoi Constan*, all set
oil" and scented with a spurious transcen
dentalism, and grotesque inversion ol
phraseology at once ridiculous and con- ,
temptible. With all their bloated preten
sions to superior illumination these pre
tenders have advanced the age not a single
jot, and produced nothing in any branch
of philosophy worth the honor of half
binding.
FAITIIFI L OR FAITHLESS.
Lamartiuc's admirable essays are not
widely circulated here. We are glad,
therefore to translate another noble pas
sage Iroin " Atheism," his tract of Oeto
O I
her.
Now, the people who forget God, lor-1
get themselves. W hat is its title to be a
people if God be not its hope How can j
they expect that oppressors will remem
ber and respect them in the mission they
were sent to accomplish, if they, them
selves, debase that mission, and become
machines, with ten lingers devoted to the
task of weaving the greatest possible num
ber of yards of cloth in three score years
?and ten ; of peopling as many hiridrcd
acres as possible, with creatures as much
to l;e pitied and as miserable as themselves,
and to serve from generation to generation
as human manure to the earth, to enrich
the soil of their birth, their lives and their
graves ?
How can the spiritual morality ol a peo
ple long resist such theories ! W here
lintl God in this work-shop of matter
Hut now there is nothing ol this. 1 he
Fri nch Revolution came in 178U. Iteaine
to devclope a double philosophy ; on tut
one baud, a spiritual, rational, religious
philosophy founded in the J. J. Rous
seau school ; on the other a material, athc- ,
istic, cvnical philosophy, whose founders
were ilelvctius, Diderot and their deci
ples. The tirst was truly religious; it
consisted solely in clearing the bright idea
of God from the darkness into which ig
norance, intolerance, the temporary inqui
sitorial dynasties, and barbarous rges had
plunged it ? this idea, depraved, darken
ed, chained to theories ; to restore rea-on
to libertv, to examination, to the liberal
conscience ol every sect and every mind,
and to revive it to the sight by restoring to
it the brilliancy of day, the evidence ol
nature, the dignity and ellicacy ol a liberal
worship.
Ciiaracit.r. ? Men are to lie estimated,
as Johnson says, by the mass *j charac
ter. A block of tin may have a grain ol
silver, but still it is tin. and a block ol sil
ver mav have an alloy ol tin, but still it i>
silver. The mass of Llijah s character
was excellence, yet he was not without
the alloy. The mass of Jehu's character
was base, yet he had a portion ot zeal
which was directed by God s great ends.
Bad men are mode the same use of *s
scaffolds; they are employed as means,
to erect a building, and then u taken
down and ijcsiroycd. ? tccil.
The Credit System.
Debt is the curse of our age. It unnerves
industry, and clogs the movements ol bu
siness. It is an incubus that weighs down
I trade ? an evil spirit forever gnawii.g away
at the vitals of prosperity. Debt seems
the mark of man's iall from perlection.
lie makes debts as soon as he lias a name
to be charged by ; and marks down ere'!*
its as soon as lie co?i write names. 1 he
old and the young ? the rich and the poor
'are haunted eternally with debts. Indi
viduals and states are cursed and oppress
ed with debts.
Many and many a long and toilsome
day's labor goes to pay the interest and
costs upon debt. Hordes ot oflicers lor
the collection ot debts swarm about like
the Irons and lice that in the olden time
plagued Euvpt. Debt makes man a slave
jand rolis him ol his toil, his contentment,
his independence, and too oltcn ot his in
tegrity. It masters him to make him hate
and lear his friends. It makes him a pli
ant too', to do the veriest meanness at his
masters bidding. It girds him with fet
ters and bonds worse than those withu hieli
a malefactor is bound.
Debt cheats Honesty and drives out \ ir
tue. It sneers at Purity and pollutes In
nocence. It betrays Friendship and bribes
Fidelity. States are weakened and made
the prev of the money changers by debt.
Countries once the laiherland ol a happ\,
hardy and contented people, are now the
scenes ol rapine and plunder by a horde
of pampered demagogues and oppressois:
while the sweat and toil ol the emaciated
and poverty-stiieken plebeians can no
longer sufficiently fatten the soil to make
it satisfy their hunger ? and the taxgath
ercrs. ? Slur of the A orth . ?
Aii Aerial Bridge.
ANOTHER 01 THE WONDERFUL DISCOVERIES .
OF THE AGE.
The New Oilcans Courier, of the 12th
insl., is responsible for the following de
scription of a bridge, a model ol which is
now on exhibition in that city :
It may be remembered that about six
months since, Mr. Remington ami his sell
supporting bridge were the subjects ot
extended and commendatory notice in the
Kn<rli?li papers, extracts of which were
published about that time in the United
States. This gentleman has recently ar
rived in tins city, and has erected in the
bar-room ol Hank s Arcade, lor public in
spection, a model of his wonderful bridge.
I I is undoubtedly an extraordinary result
of mechanical genius.
The lirst impression on seeing ?4 is, that
it is constructed on principles hitherto un
known to the student of natural philoso
phy. It certainly appears to set the laws
of gravitation at defiance. It extends
across the bar-room, a space of DO feet,
and is elevated some ten feet from the
lloor. Its appearance is so li agile, that
few men, judging from this alone, would
willingly trust themselves upon it. ^ et
while ?tliere, yesterday afternoon, among a
number ol other spectators, \\c saw ten
gentlemen all together on the centre ol
this bridge. It will be noticed that it has
no Mipport from the ground, its resistance
as well to gravitation as to the pressure ol
so many persons being secured by the
principles on which it is constructed. ^ et
notwithstanding this great weight, its de
flexure was very inconsiderable.
From a memorandum handed to us by
Remington, it appears that the bridge lias
a span of DO feet. This space is crossed
hy four longitud nal supporters, each less
than one inch square at the centie, but in
creasing gradually in size, until at the
ends or points ol fastening they are
inches square. The bridge has one cate
nary and two parabolic curves, by which
strength and beauty are both secured.
The flooring is attached diagonally, and
is made to sustain a portion of the strain.
The deflexion of the supporters is Tl\
inches. It is capable of bearing the pres
sure of seven tons ; while each of the
supporters, occupying their place in the
bridge, will sustain a weight greater than
the absolute strength of the timber and the
direct cohesion ol i's lihres.
Mr. Remington stales that if one of his
bridges were cut through transversely at
the centre, the parts severed would neither
sink nor separate so much as to render it
impassable. He informs us, beside, that
a bridge on this principle could be made
to span a space ol a mile and a hall.
Osage Plus-sfeaking. ? The follow
ing is a poition of a speech ot ?' \\ bite
Hair" to a Catholic priest, who had
come among them as a missionary, and
will serve to show the simple, honest
dealing of the old chief " Father, you
will find among us many old men like
myself, whose opinions are too confirmed
lo be changed. They will acquiesce in
almost any views you m iy advance but
will remain the sa nc at hcnr\ Do not
waste your time on such, lint our cbi -
dren's 'minds are young and icndnr^JimJ
will receive any impression you may wish
to make upon them. Fake them and r i->e
them as you think best; we wish them
to beeon'e cducaU d and made respectable.
And a- for our women, 1 would advise
you to have nothing to do with them.
They* are not worthy of attention.
M. F. Cm Ren Statistics. The
Christian J dvnah states the whole tim
ber ol members in the tlit^y northern
conferences of the Methodist Lpiscopal
Church to be 0(W,315, showing an in
crease of 28,2 49 over the number report
ed in 1 H 17. < ?f this tctil 586,749 are in
full membership, and probation
ers. The number ot culoicd members i*
?29,579, and df Indians 95$. There are
8,984 traveling preacher, of whom one
hundred anil thirty are supernumeraries,
and three hundred and sixty-one superan
nuated. There have been three hundred
and tweiUv-one preachers received on
trial durirtgAe year; one hundred have
located, thirty seven died, five have beett
expelled, ami eleven have been with
drawn. The number of members in the
Liberia conference is 1,063, which is one
i hundred and seventeen more than in the
previous year.
DAYS WITHOUT MGHTS.
Or Baird, in his lecture nt the Confer
ence-room pave some interesting facts. ?
There is nothing that strikes ^a stranger
more forcibly, it lie visits Sweden at the
season of the year when the days are the
longest, than the absence of night. Dr.
Haiti had no conception of it before his ar
rival. He arrived at Stockholm, from
Uottenbcrg, 400 miles distance, in the
O #
morning, and in the afternoon wertt to see
some friends ? had not taken notes ot
time ? and returned about midnight ; it
was as light as it is here half an hour be
fore sun-down. N on eould see distinctly.
Hut all was quiet in the streets; i!
seemed as if the inhabitants were gone
away, or were dead. No signs ol life
stores closed.
The sun in June goes down at Stock
holm a little before ten o'clock. There is
a great illumination all night, as the sun
passes round the earth toward the north
pole, and the refraction of its rays is such
that you can see to read at midnight. Dr.
Baird read a letter in the forest near Stock
holm, at midnight, without artificial light.
There is a mountain at the head ol Boih
nia, where, on the 21st ol June, the sun
does not go down at all. Travellers go
there to see it. A steamboat goes up from
Stockholm for the purpose ol carrying
those who arc curious to witness the phe
nomenon. It occurs only one night. ?
The sun goes down to the horizon, you
can see the whole face ol it, and in live
minutes it begins to rise.
At the North Cape, latitude 72 degrees*
the sun docs not <ro down for newr.il
weeks. In June it would be about d? -
?Trees above tlie horizon at midnight.? -
The way the people there know it w mid
night, they see the sun rise. The chan
ges in these high latitudes, from summer
to winter, arc so great that we can have
no conception of them at all. In the win
ter time, the sun disappears, and is not
sc-en for weeks. Then it comes and
shows its face. Afterwards it remains
for ten, fifteen, or twenty minutes, and
then descends, and 1 1 II ally it does not set
at all, but makes almost a circle around
the heavens. Dr. Ilaird was asked how
they managed in regard to hired persons,
and what they consider a day. He coultl
not say, but supposed they worked by the
hour, and twelve hours would be cbtisid-1
? il a day's work.
Birds and animals take their accustom
ed rest at usual hours. The doctor did
not know how they learnt the time, but
they had, and go to rest whether the sun
goes down or not. The belts take to the
trees about seven o'clock P. m. and stay
there until the sun is well up iu the morn
ing; and the people get into this habit of
late rising too. The first morning Dr.
Baird awoke in Stockholm he was surpris
ed to sec the sun shining into his room. ?
lie looked at his watch, and found It Was
only three o'clock ; the nefct time lie a
woke it was five o'clock ; but there were
no persons in the street. The Sweden in
the cities arc not very industrious* owing,
probably, to the climate.
Interestixo. ? To see a spoouv young
man prowling around the house of his la
dy love hours after the whole family have
gone to bed, and wondering in which
room his Snivellici lies ; till finally grow it
desperate, he madly wishes 44 ihat a fire
might break out, that the assembled
crowd might stand appalled, that he,
dashing through them with a ladder, might
rear it against her window, save her in his
arms, go back for something she left be
hind, and perish in the flames." With
the exception of some poetry we have re
ceived this week, on the Upsetting? of a
Troy horse boat, we know of nothing
more touching. ? .Itbany Dutchman,
Fkmalk Sarcasm. ? Few things arc
more liable to be abused in society-? es
pecially by young ladies ? than the gift of
liveliness. No doubt it gains present
admiration while they continue young ami
pretty, but it leads to no esteem ? produ
ces no affection, if carried beyond the
bounds of graceful good humor. She, for
instance, who is distinguished for the odd
freedom of her remarks ? whose laugh is
loudest, whose wof is the most piquant ?
who gathers a group of laughers aiound
her ? of whom i-by and quiet people are
afraid; ibis is a sort of person who fnay
be hiviled out, who may l>e thought no
iucoiisidi nble Sc<?ui*i:io|t to parlies of
which the general opprobrium i? dull
ness, but which is not the sort ol { erson
likely to become the honored mi*trtts of
a respectable home. ? Table Talk ?
A \ kky Iitckir Husband.-.? 'I here is
now living within half a mile of Brouis
-rove, Worcestershire, on the Worcester
Uoad, lour children, horn at Due birth, all
Sir's. They are fifteen irmnths old, two
of them can walk aloncj ami die others
nearly so. The father is alaboiiii^ it^iu,
named Lambert. His wife, at* her urevt
oui conlincment, bore him tfiicc eh Mfen,
the whole of whom are alio ulirc, making
j?4.ven\hilditn wilhiu two \ci
. ' " ' ? ;
ixfo-rm fl S.HU.Jm