{ title: 'Jamestown journal. (Jamestown, Chautauqua Co., N.Y.) 1826-1938, January 16, 1852, Page 1, Image 1', download_links: [ { link: 'http://www.loc.gov/rss/ndnp/ndnp.xml', label: 'application/rss+xml', meta: 'News about NYS Historic Newspapers - RSS Feed', }, { link: '/lccn/sn83031315/1852-01-16/ed-1/seq-1/png/', label: 'image/png', meta: '', }, { link: '/lccn/sn83031315/1852-01-16/ed-1/seq-1.pdf', label: 'application/pdf', meta: '', }, { link: '/lccn/sn83031315/1852-01-16/ed-1/seq-1/ocr.xml', label: 'application/xml', meta: '', }, { link: '/lccn/sn83031315/1852-01-16/ed-1/seq-1/ocr.txt', label: 'text/plain', meta: '', }, ] }
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ytm m B L ' !® flic*a>Srttitf S ireeV o v fetFieJd’s StlMstore » ' • Miigitttf.» Cfai^'iPpl-; «H * r a a d iM f t^C e n ts i* *«**»*««. VillajrMUbfletth* era willbo charged Two &oHar*»nd jEftfty,«?entf. •Jg* Vgm *#■*** discontiQued u p t i l ^ U ^ w »gt>s are paid, except at the option of tne piiO- tisbew., .» . .. , c ... -TM R W S % P A t)V E |lTISm S — H ilinta o r legt, 50 c e n ts for the firsty at).d25 cents for e v e r y s u b sequeatin*w tiont i f coiitrpueu lean . th4nthree-m o n tbs, Jioritha, $ $ , YearlyadvertisetneiUs w ^ b e e h a rg- ed;„for one square, $ 6 ';: tw o squares, §y,& c . ’^JpUsin^sCardgj^SSpiBr y e a r. _ jQ g PRINTING of ai I deseriptionsatlowrale. FRIDAY, JANUARf 16, 1852 (Er’Ttl'E Knickerbocker M agazine s a y s ; '^Can anybody tell who wroie tho following? We heard $t sung the other e v e n ing to a very charming air, and ahoukt Eke to trace its authorship ” Give me old music ! let me hear The songs o f days gone by. Nor stay thy voice in kindly fear, If to thy notes a falling tear Should m.'.Tie the mote r«ply. T h e songs that lulled me ®n the breast 3 *o sleep away the noon— \ Sing on I sing on ! I Jove them best, ^■There’s witchery in the notes impressed W ith each familiar tune. {jive me old wina !—its choicest store Drawn from the shady bin : O a r vineyards shall produce no more gnifn rare strong jtnce they gave of yore, As sparkling lies within ; 5 ’his» was my grandsire’s chief delight, When the day’s chase was o'er. Fill high ! fili high ! its treasures bright Shall sparkle on our board to night, Though we should drink no more. <jSive me old friends !—the tried, the true, Who launched their barks with me, .And all my joys and sorrows knew, As chance s gale the pilgrim blew, Across the troubled sea, Their memories are the same as mine— Our loves through life shall laat; Bring one, bring all your smiles lo shine, Upon our good songs and wine, Like sunbeams from the past. A HOME SCENE. BY IK MARVEL A nd now 1 s h a ’l not leave this realm of boyhood, or suffer my hero to slip away from th is gala tim e of life, w ithout a fair iuok at i that Hom e where his present pleasures lie, and w h ere all his dream s begin and end. L ittle cfoes the boy know, as tho tide of years drifts by,’ floating him out insensibly from lhe harbor of bis home upon the great sea of life— w h a t joys, w h a t opportunities, w h a t affections, are blipping- from him into the shades of th a t inexorable F a s t, where no m an can go, save 0:1 the w in^s of his dream s. L ittle does he those delicate fingers, so tender of your' happines8,pl*y w ith the locks upon y o u r brow T o stru g g le w ith th e world — t b a t ia & proud t h i n g ; to s tr a g g le alone— t|iere lies lh e doubt ! T h e n , crowds sw iftly, upon the calm of boyhood, the first a n x ious th o u g h t of youth ; then chases-over the sky of S p ring the first heated, and w rathful cloud of Sum m e r. But- th e lamps are now lit in the little par lor, and they shed a soft haze to th e farthest corner of the room ; w h ile the fire light stream s over the floor w h e re puss lies purring. L ittle M adge is there ; she has dropped in softly w ith her m o ther, and N e lly has wel comed her w ith a bound, nnd w ith a kiss.— Jenny has not so rosy a cheek as M a d g e .— But Jenny w ith her iove notes, and her lan guishing dark eye, you think of, as a lady ; and the thought ol her is a constant drain upon your sentim e n t. A s for M adge— that g irl M adge, whom you know so w ell— you think of her as a sister ; and— it is very odd — y o u look at her far oftene r than you do at N e lly . Frank too has come in to have a gam e w ith \o u a t draughts ; and he is in capita! spirits, all bri3k and glow ing w ith his eve ning’s w a lk. H e— bless his honest heart— never observes that you arrange the board very adroitly, so th a t you may keep half an eye upon M adge, as she sits yonder beside N e lly. N o r does he once notice your blush as you catch her eye, when she raises her head to fling back the ringlet ; and then, with a sly look at you, bends a most e a rnest gaze upon the board, as if she were espe cially interested in the disposition of the m en. You catch a little of the sp ir it of coquetry | vourself— (w h a t a native grow th it is !) and if she lift her eyes, w h en you are gazing at her,you very suddenly divert your look toilie cat at her feet, and rem a rk to your friend F rank, in an easy off-hand way— how btilj the cat is lj ing. And F r a n k tu r n s — thinking probably, ij he thinks at all about il, that cats aro very apt to lie still when they sleep. As for N e lly, half neglected by your thought, as well as by your eye, w h ile tnis- S ome fifty-five years ago, a yoyng woman “ A b , fH m lenP’ m u rm u red the*old woman w iping aw a y tears from a source which for m any long years had been dry, \ bow m a r vellous is the will of God ! T o think th a t I should live to behold this s i g h t ! Poor, poor B e r te l! All that I predicted cam e to pass , but, ah me ! who knows w h e ther you m ight not have enjoyed a happier life, after\ all, had you stayed with your old father and m other, and m arried me ? Ah, H inilen, there’s only one can tell ! Poor Bertel !’J F o u r years more sped, and one fine S a b bath morning* an aged and decrepit female painfully dragged her w e ary limbs through the crowded lower rooms of th a t wondrous building know n as T h o rvaldsen's M u seum . S h e paused not to glance at the m atchless works of tbe sculptor, but c rept onw ard until she reached an open doorway leading into tbe inner quadrangle, in the centre of which a low tomb of g ray m arble e n c loses the m o r tal rem a ins of him whose hand created the works which fill the edifice. Step by step she drew close to the tonib, and sank on the pavem e n t by its side. T h e n she laid down her crutch, and pressed her bony hands tig h t ly over her skinny brow, “ Jo, j a ! ” m ur mured she, “ they told me he lay here, and I prayed to God to g r a n t me s trength to craw l to the spot— and H e has heard me. Ah, Hitnlen, I can die happy now !’’ She w ithdrew her hands,and peered at the sim ple but all-com p rehensive inscription of “ H e rtel Thorvaldsen,” deep cut in the side of the tom b . T h e n she raised her fore-fin g e r , and earnestly traced with it every letter to the end. Sm iling feebly, she let fall her hand, and com p lacently sighed, w h ile an evanescent gleam of subtile em otion lighted up her lineam e n ts. “ ’T is true ; he mould ers here. Poor Bertel, we shall m eet again — in heaven !” H e r eye closed, and her head slowly sank on her breast, in which attitude she rem ained until one of the officers of the museum, who had noticed her s ingular behavior, cam e up. “ Gammei kone” (old w ife), said he, “ w h a t are you doing 7” She answ ered n o t ; and he s lightly touched her on the shoulder, thinking she was asleep. H e r body gently slid to the ground at the touch, and he then saw th a t she slept the sleep of death f A c o r r e s p o n d e n t gives us some ideas as to ta s te in the top o f a steeple. H e says :— “ It is now going the rounds o f the papers th a t lhe Bteeple of a Presbyterian Cnurch now being erected in C incinnati, is to be c a r ried up to the height o f two hundred and sev enty-tw o feet, and to be mounted by an im mense hetnfl. N o thing of late has afforded us mare pleasure than this novel and sublim e in vention ; and we hope it will come to be generally adopted. T h e devices hitherto used, so far from having any propriety, are for the most p a rt utterly m e a n ingless. W e a th er-vanes. indeed, tell which way the wind blows. T h is useful purpose, however,would be as well subserved on a m a rket-house ; let it vary with the price o f m e a t and vegetables. T o our thinking, it does not become a c h u rch or au g h t connected with i t , ‘to be blown about with every w ind.’ A fish up so high, is cer tainly out of its elem ent. Besides, to see a shad stuck through the middle in this way degrades the spire by giving it the appear ance of an enorm ous spear. But w h a t shall we say, when the eye ascends, and the feel ings rise, until both reach the lord of a hen roost ? W e have no idea th a t the bird him self enjoys his dizzy elevation. H e would not only look more respectable, b u t feel mucb more at home, on his native dunghill. T h e cross is the best emblem now iu use ; it m u st be a d m itted, how e v e r,that it looks too heavy. Besides, though our m o st precious hopes cluster around it, there are unfortunately other associations w h ich make it distasteful to a large portion ot P rotestants. U n d e r these circum stances, how welcome this b e a u , liful conti ivance of a hand, with the forefin g e r extended a t length. T h e conception strikes us as every way adm irable and felic itous. It very appropriately distinguishes the edifice from all others, ^however lofty, th a t are used for secular purposes.— T h e em b lem is significant and im p ressive, ft is an outw a rd and visible sign of the ser vices th a t are engaged in w ithin. It look3, it speaks, it a c ts, in a way that is readily un derstood by every, m ind. It enrobes the whole shaft w ith a s e n tim e n t. A fter elevating the m ind as far as it c a n by its altitude, the spire term inates with a pathetic appeal to th*s im agin a tio n . I t directs the eye of iaith to those things w h ich eye hath not seen nor e a r heard. T h e silence of this ever-upw a rd g e s ture is more eloquent than speech. It is an irresis. tible stroke of oratory. In tbis way it be comes a co-w o rker w ith the preacher. In some sort it is* itself a preacher. T o the im penitent it proclaim s, ‘ T h e kingdom of heaven is at hand to the faithful C h ristian, ‘ Be not weary in w ell-doing, for in due s e a son ye shall reap, if ye faint not.’ It preach es to those who come within the influence of no other preaching* Instant in season and out of season, it a d d resses the heart and con science o f every passer-by. T h rough the week as well as on tbe sabbath, under the m ilder radiance of 4.he moon, as beneath the effulgence of th e sun,it s till.‘points its slow, unm o v ing finger’ a t those things which are unseen and eternal. T o all c lasses of socie ty it is a perpetual serm o n .”— [H o m e J o u rnal. Tom had ju s t purchased a demijohn of K e l logg’s best O tard - it c a n ’t be beat in this m a r ket, H e (T o m ) w rote his nam e upon a card w h ic h happened to b e the seven s p o t o f c lubs, ?ud tied it in th e handle. Councilm an S — com ing along, and observing the ju g , re marked : « T h a t ’s an aw ful careless w ay to jleave th a t liq u o r /’ “ W h y s o ? ” asked Ton). “ W h y 1 B e c a u s e somebody m ight com e along with, the eight spot and take i t . ” Tom ftofce to lb# handle and jn*t out with *5 - « - It, think— and God be < , . . . . . , . . , , ichievous looking M adge rs sittin g by her, praised, thal the thought does not sink deep j ,. , . . . . . , r ' ° u i y ° u llll'e know as yet, w h a t kindness, w h a t lines in his young forehead ! — as he leans upon the lap of his m o ther, w ith his eye turned to her, in some earnest pleading for a fancied pleasure of the hour, or in some im portant story of his griefs, th-it such sharing of his sorrows, and such sym p a thy w ith his w ishes, he will find no where again. Little does he im agine, th a t lhe fon 1 N e l ly ever thoughtful of his pleasure,\ver sm iling aw a y his griefs— will soon be beyond the reach of either ; and that the waves of the years which come rocking so g e n tly under him will soon toss her far aw a y , upi u the great sw e ll of life. B u t now, you are there. T h e fire-light glim m e rs upon th e walls of yuur cherishcd hom e, like the V e stal fire o f old upon the fig ures of adorning viigins, or like the flame of gentleness, you are careless of. F e w loves in life, and you will learn it before life is done, can balance the lost love of a sister. As for your parents, in the intervals of the gam e you listen dream ily lo their talk w ith the m >ther of M adge— good M r j. B->yne.— Il floats over your in in 1, as you rest your chin upon your clenched hand, like a sifain of old fam iliar m u sic,— a household strain, that seems to belong to the habit of your ear — a strain th a t v ill lingei ab^-ul il melodious ly for m any years to come— a s train th a l will be recalled long tim e hence, w hen life is ear nest and its cares heavy, with tears of regret and w ith sighs of bitterness. l>y and by your gam e is done ; anJ utlie r gam e s, in w h ich join N e lly (lhe lears come when you w rite her name, now !) and M adge H e b rew sacrifire, whose incense boro hearts j (t|l0 Slllj !e3 COmc when you look on tier then,) to H e a v e n . T h e big chair of your father is j out, that sw e e t eventide of H o m e, un draw n to its wonted corner by the chim ney t]10 jamp flickers, and you speak your side ; his head, just touches w ith gray, lies j — a d ie u , T o M adge, it is said boldly; back upon its oaken lop. L ittle N e lly leans J a boldness p Ul on t 0 conceal a little lurking upon his knee, looking up for som e reply lo j lrcm u r ; but there is no trem o r in the home h e r girlish questionings. O p p o site,sits your m o th e r , her figure is thin, her look cheerful, y e t subdued her arm perhaps resting on your shoulder, as she talks to you in tones of tender adm o n ition, of the Ja_\s lliut are to com e. T h e cat is purring on the hearth : the clock th a t ticked so plainly w h en Charlie died, is ticking on the m a n tle still. T h e g r e a t table standing in the middle of the room , w ith its books and w o rk, w a its only for the lighting of the evening lamp, to see a return to its stores of em b roidery, and of story. Upon a little stand under the m irror,w h ich catches now and then a flicker of the fire lig h t, end m akes it play as if in w a n ton, upon the ceiling, lies th a t big book, rever enced of your N e w -K n g land parents— the F a m ily B ible, It is a ponderous square vol um e , w ith heavy silver clasps,{hat you have often pressed open for a look at its quuint old p ictures, or for a study of those prettily bor dered pages, w h ich lie betw een the T e s ta m e n ts, and wfcrich hold the Fam ily R ecord. T h e r e are the B irths— y o u r fath e r s , and y o u r m o ther’s ; it seem s as if they w ere born a long tim e ago ; and even your owu date of birth appears an alm o st incredible distance back. T h e n , there are the m a rria g e s ;— o n ly o n e as yet ;—aud your m o ther's tnaiden nam e looks oddly to you; it is hard to think of her as a n y one else than your doting parent. You w’onder i f your nam e w ill ever com e under that paging ; and w o n d e r,though you scarce w h isper the wonder to yourself, how another nam e would look, ju s t below yours— such a name for instance as F a n n y — o r M iss M a r g a r e t Boyne ! L a s t of all, come the D e a ths— only one.— P o o r C h a rlie ! H o w it looks 1— « Died 12 S e p tem b e r, 18—r, C h a rles H e n ry, aged four y e a r s .” f o u £now ju s t how i t looks. You jh&ye turned to it often ; there you seem to be joined to him , th o u g h osdy by the turning of plfeaf. A n d -over y o u r thoughts, as you look th a t page of the record, there sometimes g a n d e r s a vague shadow y fear, w h ic h toiU com e -»tb«t your ow n nam e m ay soon be th e r e . Y o u try to drop th e notion, as if it w e re no t fairly your ow>n ; you affect to siig h t ft, a s you w o u ld s lig h t a boy who pre sum e d on your acquaintance, b u t whom you have no desire to know . I t is a common th in g , you w ill find, w ith our world, to de c lin e f a m iliarity w ith th j s e ideas that f r ig h t t « • us. I Y e t your m o ther— how s trange i t is !— h a s no fears o f such dark fancies. E v e n now, a s you stand beside her, and as the tw jlig h t deepens in th e room , her low, silvery voice is, M e a ling upon yotir ear, telling you th a t ahe can u o t be long w ith you— th a t t h e tim e is coming, w h e n you m u s t he guided by you;r own. judgm e n t, and s t r u g g 'e w t h th* world, unaided by th e friends of your boyhood,— T h e r e ia a t i t t l e pride, a n d a g r e a t d e a l m o re oi^ a n x iety in ’ y o u r th o u g h ts b o w — as you leUF steadfastly ' lito tLo ho«?,e blaze,, while good-night. O B Aye, my boy, k;ss your m o ther—kiss her again ; fondle your sw e e t N e lly ; pass your little hand through the gray locks of your fa ther ; love them dearly, w h ile you can !— M ake your good nights linger ; m ake yuur aJieus long and sw e e t, and often repeated. Love wii.li your whole soul— father, m o ther and sister— for these loves shall die. N o t indeed in tho u g h t ; God be thanked ; N o r yet in te a r s — for H e is m e rciful ! But they shall die as the leaves die— die as Spring dies into th e heut and ripeness of Sum m er, and as boyhood dies into lhe elasticity and ambition of yo u th. D e a ib, distance and tim e shall each one of them dig graves for your affections; but this you do not know, nor can know ,until the story of your life is ende<’, T h e d rean .8 of riches, of love, of voyage, of learning, that light up the boy-age w ith splendor, will pass on and over into the hot ter dream s of youth. S p ring buds and blos soms under the glow ing sun of A p ril,nurture at their h e a r t those firstlings of frutt w h ich the h e a t of sum m e r s h a ll ripen, \o u little k n o w — and for th is you may well thank H e a v e n — th a t you are leaving tbe S p ring of life, and th a t you are floating fast from the shady sourced of your years, into heat, bustle and storm . Your dream s a r e now faint, flickering shadows, th a t play like fire-flies in the leafy coppices o f June. T h e y have no rule but th e rule of infantile desire* T h e y have no joys to prom ise g r e a ter than the joys th a t belong to your passing life; they have no terrors but such terro r s as tu e dark ness of a S p r ing night m a k ^ s. T h e y do not take hold on your soul as the dream s o f youth and manhood w ill do. Y o u r highest hope is shadowed in a cheer ful, boyish home. You wish no friends but the friends of boyhood— na sister but your foud W elly—rnoae to’ love b e tter than the playTul M adge, You forget, C larence, th a t the S p rin g with you is the S p ring with them ; and that the storm s of^sflmmer may. c h a se wide shadows over your path, and over th e ir ’s . A n d you forget, th a t Sum m e r is now, low e ring w ith its mists, and w ith its scorching rays, upon the hem of your flowery May ! T h e hands of the old clock upon the m a n tel, th a t ticked off the hours w hen C h a rlie sighed, and when Charlie died,draw on to w ard m idnight. T h e shadow that the fire-flam e m akes, grow s dim m er and dim m er. And thu s it is, th a t Hom e, boy-hom e, passes aw ay forever— like the sw a y ing ot a pendu lum — like the fading of a shadow on the floor ! “ Mv~sori, liol<lVp~your head aud tell me who was the strongest man.” “ J o n a h .” “ W h y so V' C a u s e th e w h a le couldu’t hold him after h e g o t him dow n .,! That’s ft man—you needn’t study the catechism any more at present.” THORVALDSEN’S FIRST LOVE. Apd. a be,^ tfie olcj |y u * 4 | *lp%lyt wound by--^he&w%ayAmalie, o f prepossessing appearance w a s seated in a small back room of a house tn Copenhagen, i ’ n e |tn e r naa *ne. w eeping bitterly. In her lap lay a few trin kets apd other small articles, evidently keep sakes w h ich she had received from tim e to tim e . Sbe took up one after the other and turned them over and over : but she could scarcely distinguish them through her blind- irg tears. T h e n she buried her face in her hands and rocked to and fro in agony. “ O a !” moaned she, “ and is it come to this 1 All my dream s of happiness are van ished— all my hopes are dead. 11^ will even go w ithout bidding me farewell. A b , Him - ten! that I have lived to see th is bitter day ! Lovet voere G u d !\ A t this mom ent a h a s ty tap at the door w as fo.lowed by the entrance of the object of her grief. H e was a young m an of about tw enty-five years of age, his person middle- sized and strongly.built, his features m a s sive, regular and attractiv e — h is long hair flaxen, his eyes blue. T h is was Bertel T h o rvaldsen— a name which has since then sounded throughout the world as th a t of the most illustrious sculptor of modern tim e s .— IJ is step was firm and quick, his eyes bright, and his features glow ing, as he entered the room ; but w hen he beheld the attitude of th e w eeping female, a shade passed over his countenance as he gently walked up to her, and laying his hand on her shoulder, m u r mured, “ A m alie !” “ Bertel !” answ e red a sm o thered voice. T h e young D ane drew a chair to her side, and silently took her tear-bedew ed hands.— “ A m alie I*1 said he, after a pause broken only by ber quivering sobs, “ I am come lo bid thee farew e ll. I go in the m o rning.” She ceased weeping, raised her face, and releasing her hands, pushed back her dishev elled hair. T h e u she gazed on him in a way th a t made his own droop. “ B e rtel,” said she in a solemn tone, but void of all rep.oach — Bertel, why did you win my young heart ?— why did you lead me to hope th a t I should become the wife of your bosom ?” “ I —I alw a y s m e a n t i t : I mean it nm v .” She shook her head, m o u rnfully, and ta k ing up the trinkets, continued, “ Do you re m ember w h a t you said w h e n you gave me th is— and tlhis— and this ?” “ W h a t would you have, A m alie ? I said I loved you ; I love you still— b u t— ” ‘•B u t you love am b ition, fame, the praise of men, far better !” added she bitterly. T h o rvaldsen started, and his features Hushed ; for lie felt acutely the tru th of her words. “ Y e s, y^u w ill leave gam le D a n m a r k — you will leave your poor, fond old father and m other, w h o se only hope and only earthly joy is in you— y o u will leave me, and all who love the sound of your footstep, and go to the dislant land, and forget us all “ M i n P i g e ! you are cruel and unjust. I shall come back to my old father and m o ther — coine back to thee, and we shall all be hap py a^aiu !” “ N e v e r, Be riel !— n e v e r ! W h e n once you have gone, there is no more happiness for us. In heaven we may all m e e t again ; on earth, never ! Oh no, never more will you see in this lile either your parents or your poor broken-hearted A m a 'ie !”— ahd again her sobs burst forth. Thorvaldsen abruptly rose from his chair, and paced the room iu agitation. Tie was much distressed, and once or tw ice he glanced at A inalie w ith evident hesitation. H is past life, the pleasures of his youth, the endeared scenes and friends of his childhood, the affec tion of A m alie, the anguish of his parents at the approaching separation, all vividly passed in review j and whispered him to stay and be happy in the city uf his birth. B u t a vision of Roqie rose also, and beckoned him th ith e r to earn renown, wealth and earthly im m o rtality. T h e pride of conscious genius sw elled his soul, and he felt th a t the die w as cast for ever. Ilo restated him self by the side of Amalie, and once more touk her hand. S h e looked up, and in one glance read his inmost thoughts. “ Go,” said she, “ go and fulfil your desiliny. God’s will be done. You will become a g reat m a n — you will be the com panion of princes and of kings, and your nam e will extend the fam e of your country I _ to the utterm o s t parts of the earth . I see i t all ; and let my selfish love perish ! O n ly promise this : w hen you are hereafter in the full blaze of your trium p h , som etim es turn aside from the high-born, lovely dam es who are thronging around, and drop one tear to the memory of the lowly D a n ish girl who loved you better than herself. B e rtel, f a r - vel!\ * T h e next day Thorvaldsen quitted Copen hagen for Rome, w h ere he resided nearly the whole rem ainder of his long life, and more than realized his own w ildest aspirations of fame. But the prophecy of poor A m alie was literally fulfilled— he never more beheld his parents, nor her, hia first true love ! N e a rly h i If a century had elapsed, and again the tcetie was C o p e n h a g e n . T h e streets w ere densely crowded w ith e s g e r, s o r row ing s p e c tators, and every window of every house w as filled with sadly-expectant faces. A t length the cry, ‘‘ T h e y com e !” w as ech oed from group to group, and th e crowds sw ayed to and fru under the sym p a thetic sw ell of o n e com m on em otion. A w ithered old woman w a s seated a t the upper window of a house, and w h e n the cry w as taken up, she raised her w rinkled coun. tenance, and passed her hand over b e r eyes as though to clear aw a y tbe m ist of more than seventy w inters. A n im m ense proces sion drew nigh, A p p ropriate m ilitary m u sic pieceded a corpse being conveyed to it? las1 earthly abiding-place. The king of the land; the royall fam ily, the nobility, the clergy, the iearned, the brave, the gifted, the renowned, w a lk e d a f ter .it. The banners of mourning w ere waved, and trum p e ts w ailed, and ten thousand sobs broke alike fr 9 m stern and gentle breasts, and tea r s from eyes of w&rriors a s well as lovely women showered Iji'te rain. It was the funeral of Bertel T hoi- vftldaerij, with the P u n ish nation for mouru- LoxntnioosKBss.—Few of us w h o se lives are paw e d in republican timplic- i^ l i a y e a n y definite idea o f ’the amount of that fiurrounds niany of the E n g lish nobles in their princely residen ces. A n A m e rican, w riting from E n g land, describes some of these things. - T h e E a rl ot Spencer’s hom estead, about 60 m iles from London, co.nprises 10,000 acres, tastefully divided into parks,m eadow s, pastures, woods and gardens. H is library, called the finest private library in th e woild, contains 50,000 volumes. E x tensive and el egant stables, green houses and conservato ries, gam e -keeper’s house, dairy house, dog- kennels, porter's lodge, and farm -houses w ithout num b er, go to complete this estab lishm ents H u n d reds o f sheep and cattle g raze in the parks about the bouse. T h e Duke of R ichm o n d ’s hom e farm, at Goodwood, 60 miles from London, consists of 23.000 acres, o r over 35 square m iles, And this is in crowded E n g land, w h ic h has a pop ulation of 16,000,000, and an area of only 50.000 square m iles, o r 32,000,000 o f acres, giving, w ere th e land equally divided, but tw o acres to each inhabitant. T h e residence of the D u k e is a perfect palace. O n e ex ten sive hall is covered with silk and pictures in the richest and m o st costly tapestry. T h e dishes and plates upon the table are all of porcelain, s ilver and gold. T w e n ty-five race horses stand in the stable,each being assign ed to the c a re of a special groom . A grotto near the house, the ladies spent six years in adorning. A n a v iary is supplied w ith alm o st every kind of rare and eleg a n t birds. L a rge herds of cattle, sheep, and deer, are spread over the im m ense law n . T h e D u k e of D e v o n shire’s place at C h a ts - worth, is said to exceed in m agnificence, any other in the lSngdom. The income of the Duke is one million of dollars a year, and he is said to spend it alK In the grounds a b o u t his house a re kept four hundred head of cat tle and fourteen deer. T h e kitchen garden contains tw e lve acres, and is filled w ith al m ost every species of fruits and vegetables. A vast arboretum conpected w ith the e s tab lishm e n t, is designed to contain a sam p le of every tree th a t grow s . T h e re is also a glass conservatory 387 feet in length, 112 in width, 67 in height, covered by 76,000 square feet of glass,and warmed by 7 miles of pipes,con veying hot w a ter. O n e plant w as obtained from India by a special m e ssenger, and is valued at ten thousand dollars. O n e of th e fountains near the house plays two hundred and 76 feet high, said to be the highest jet in the w o rld. C h a ts worth contains 35,000 acres, but the D u k e owns 96000 a c res in the county of D e rbyshire. W ith in , the e n tire is one vast scene of paintings, sculpture, mosa ic work, carved w a inscoting, and all the e le gances and lu x u r ig ^ v ith in the reach of al m ost boundless wSaJth and highly-refined taste.— [E x e ter N e w s letter. Axi. t h e F u n is h o t H u m a n .— A very Interesting book on tbe ** PaBsions of Ani- m a ls,” shows us that there Is more scope in tho life and sebftrtions o f birds and beasts than we commonly suppose Sm a ll birds chase each other a b o u t in p lay, but perhaps the conduct o f the crane and the trum p e ter is tbe m o st extraordinary. T h e latter stands on one leg, hops about in tbe m ost e c c e n tric m a n n e r,and throw s som e rsets. T h e A m ericans call it the mad bird, on ac count of these sin g u larities. T h e crane e x pands its w ings, runs round in circles, leaps, and, throw ing little stones and pieces o f wood in the air, endeavors, to catch them again, and pretends to avoid them as if a fraid. W a ter-birds, such as ducks and geese, dive after each other, and clear the surface of the w ater I ' with outstretched neck and flapping w ings, throw ing an abundant spray around. D e e r' often engage in a sham battle, or a trial of strength, by tw istin g their horns together, and pushing for the m a s tery. A ll anim als tb a t prelend violence in their play, stop short of e x e rcising it ; the dog takes the greatest precaution not to injure by his bite ; and tbe ourang outang, in w restling w ith his keeper, attem p ts to throw him , and m a k es feint of biting him . Som e anim a ls carry out in their play the sem b lance of catching th e ir prey ; young c a n , for instance, lea > after every small and moving object, even to the leaves strew e d by t ie autum n win**, they crouch and steal forward, ready for th e spring th4 body quivering, and the tail vibrating with em o tion, they bound on the moving leaf and again spring forward at another, R e n g - ger saw young jaguars and cougars playing with round substances like k itten s . Y oung lambs collect together on the little hillocks and em inences in th e ir pastures, r a c ing and sporting w ith each other in the m o st inter estin g m a n n e r. Birds of the P ie kind are the analogues of monkeys, full of mischief, play and m im icry. T h e r e is a story told of a m agpie, w h ic h w as seen busily employed in a garden,gathering pebbles,and w ith much solem n ity and a studied a ir, dropped them in a hole about eighteen inches deep, made to receive a post. A fter dropping each stone, it cried <;currack 1 ’ trium p h a n tly, and set off for another, On exam ining the'epot, a poor toad was found in this hole, which the m agpie was stoning ror h is am u sem e n t. L i f e o?r a D e s e r t I s l a n d .— A^large ship of the m ost dishevelled and seedy appearance, standing towards us from the south, sig n a l ing that she w a n ts to speak. IV e ^ ie fcoand a boat comes on board. It is tEje Elizabeth w h aler, out three years, and now bound for the Cape. She had lately touched at the C rozet’s Islands, and taken off three E n g lish men wrecked there tw o years before. T h e y cam e off to us in the boat, and their story was as follows ; “ T h e y made part o f the c rew of a schooner fitted out a t th e M a u ritius for the whale-fish- ery of the south, and w h ich bore up ta^the Crozets in search of w ater. *So heavy was the su r f that no boat could be sent ashore, ana after trying all round the group for a landing place w ithout success, tb r y were driven at last to run the schooner ashore on the sm o o thest beach they could find, where she soon w e n t to pieces. T h e main body of the crew built them selves a boat out of the tim b e rs of the w reck, and em b a rking i.i her, were never m ore heard of. O u r three sai lors built them selves a hut in a little cove, where they found a spring of fresh w ater, and there^ubsisted,pleasantly enough it appeared, for two years, having abundance of firewood from the w reck of the schooner, and amply supplied w ith provisions in the sea anim als and birds w ith w h ich the island abounded, and w h ich w e re perfectly tam e and fearless. A diet of penguins and Bea-lions seemed to agree well w ith them , for they were uncom monly f a t ; and though exposed much to the w e a ther in th e ir Robinson Crusoe life, had the fairest red and w h ite complexion I ever saw . I m e n tion this, as there may be some natural kalydor or am andine in the air of the C rozets, w h ic h our R o w lands and other en terprising perfum ers are trying after in vain. T h e three m en had a rem a rkable air of sim plicity and credulous confidence, acquired no doubt by so long an association with sea calves, gulls, boobies, &c. O n enquiring into their mode of procedure, they told me tb a t having no fire-arm s fit was necessary to keep ou good term s w ith the other inhabitants ; and though a dead body m ust occasionally be seen about, s till their object was to baffle the coroner as m u c h as possible. T h e y accosted tb e ir seals with frankness, s tealing, however, if possible, be tw een tbe w a ter and them ; and being pro vided w ith a sho r t club, gave a nonchalant tap on the nose to som e unsuspecting victim , or quietly dividing the ju g u lar vein o f a wal rus, walked aw a y , leaving tbe bystanders to im a g ine w h a t accident they pleased, In the case of the large penguins, w ith whom they w e re in th e habii o f rom p ing for exercise, they danced them off to some quiet n o o k , and then privily despatched them . B u t the w a l ru s w a s their piece de resistance , a n d sup plied them as w ell w ith oil for th e ir lam p s as ivory ; of w h ich and lhe rich feathers o l the large grebe they had collected a valuable stock. In tb e spring they feasted luxuri ously, not only upon eggs, but young alba tro s s chicken? w h ich a tta in nearly tb e ir full size before they can f ly.' T h e s e good tim es th e y dw e lt upon w ith m u c b g u s to . T h e w inter they, d e scribe^ a s very severe; ^ i t b trem e n d o u s g a le s a n d snoW s torm s . D u rin g tb e t w a y e a rsW T « s fei,cf«ni? J [A Transport Voyage to ih<* Mauritius. A B ea d t ifu l I llustration .— A florist will tell you th a t if you p a in t the flower-pot that contains a beautiful, fragrant flower, the plant will w ither, and perhaps its blossom die. You shut out the air and m o isture from panging through the earth to the roots, and your paint itself is poisonous. Ju s t so mere external cultivation, superficial, worldly a c com p lishm ent, or a too exclusive a n x iety and regard for that injures the soul. T h e vase may be ever so beautifully ornam ented but if you deny the w a ter of life to the flower it m u st die. A n d there are kinds pf ornam e n tal accom p lishm e n ts, tbe very process of which is as deleterious to the soul as the paint upon the flower-pot is pernicious to tbe plant whose delicate leaves not only inhale a poisonous atm o sphere during your very pro cess o f rendering the exterior more tasteful, but the whole earth is dried and devoid o f nourishm e n t. N a tu r e never paints, but all her forms of loveliness are a grow th,a native character, possession and developm ent from the beginning. If the sun can never b6 called a painter, it is only because the plants absorb his rays, and receive them into the very texture and life of their vegetation. So w h a te v e r is real know ledge, wisdom, princi ple, character and life in ed,ication, is a pro cess of the absorption and developm ent of truth, and is not mere painting. A P o e t ica l N kostor .— T he p f poets, and probably the oldest living author in th e world, is M r. R o g e rs. T h o u g h firm in his faculties, and constant in spirits, he has become, in the last year or tw o , a helpless cripple. M r . R o g e rs owes mucb of h is vigor and length of days to his uninterm itted habit of w a lking, daily and nightly on alm o st all occasions w h en his business or inclinations led him abroad ; add to thia habit of indepen dence he ow es the only m isfortune th a t sad dens th e close of an> extended and happy life. It has been a t all tim e s his practice in Londoh to retu r n home oh foot from evening parties, however late the hour or ^ inclem ent the w e a ther— with a friend if he could pick up one o f like pedestrian hum o r with himself; if not, then w ith the com p anionship of his um b rella, In the m o n th of M a y , p f last y e ar, as he w as w a lking home alone from some company in w h ic h he had been, a t a late hour, he was driven over by a gentlem a n in a brougham , in S t. Jam e s street, near his own door. O n e oH iis legs was seriously in jured, and it was supposed for som e tim e that he m u st pass the rest of his days in a recum b ent position. W ith an energy and vitality characteristic of his extraordinary constitution, how ever, he bas rallied against the misfortune, and now s its up in his library and is moved about in a chair, and receives his friends as of old. H e has even made e x cursions from Lbndcfn to th e seaside, and seem s destined' to be im m o rtal a like in fame and fram e. A w e stern editor, in s p e a k ing of a vocalist says tb e m o re an a u d ie n ce adm ires s a w filing the sooner he w ill become a favorite w ith them . A person w h istles when be has cold fin gers ; and be w h istles when be has burnt his fingers ; and stran g e to say, w h en b e has lost his m o n ey be prhistjes for it also. ** H o w much can you pay us ? W h a t can you offer In th e pound ?*’ dem anded the im portunate creditors o f a bankrupt farm e r.— “ A^aa, g e n tlem e n ! all I really have is a donkey in the -pound.'? I f you p u t tw o persons to sleep in the sam e bed-room, one of whom has th e tooih ache, a n d th e oth e r ia in loye, yon w ill find th a t t h e person who h»a th e tootfr#ch# w ill go toi steep first. S id n e y said of .a g r ^ a t |a l k e r jtbajt it would g r e a t l y i m p r d W i._ i — j an$ then, “ a few flashes a kind o f wooder^Jand. tines of tbe Dutch dynasty we themes of golden speculation aifl&hj ^ the sages e f New-Arn»terd|m. JDnriDg tSsi administration e f W libellous tbetfe a meeting between the director of the Netherlands aud th^ chiefs of the ftfobatrfc nation to conclude a treatyf=of~;|>9a^ss^p^ giis <x$p9i0£ ,ti*e tiimuiit by Mynheer Adriaen Ifcaa der Donk, D p « o | of Laws, and subsequently iistorian o f the colony. The Indian chiefs, as ustialipatnU^L and decorated themselves on tbe ceremony; One of them in so doing, made nee of meot, tbe weight qud shining appearance o f which attracted the notice of Keitt and his learned companion, who sqsheeted it to be ore. They procured a lump of;it and took ij back wiih them to New-Atnsteidam. Hera it was subm itted to the inspector of lohannea^ de la N o n tague, an em inent H u g u e n o t D o c to r of M edicine, one of th e counsellors of N e w -N e theriands. T h e suppose^ ore w a s forth w ith put in a crtisible and assayed* and to the g r e a t e x u ltation of the ju n to yield* ed tw o pieces of gold, w o rth about tbred guilders. T h is golden discovery w a s kept a profound s e c r e t. A s soon as the treaty o f peace was adjusied'w ith the M o h aw k s, W ik liam K e i u sent a trusty officer and a party of men under guidance o f an Indian, who u n d er took to conduct them lo the place w h e re tha ore had been found. W e have b o occouat of this gold-hunting expedition, nor of it* whereabouts, except that it was som e w h e ra on the C a lskiil M o u n tains, T u e exploring^ party brought back a bucketful of o re. L i k e the form er specim e n it w as subm itted to t b e crucible of De la M o n tague, and w as equally productive of g o ld. All this we have on th e authority of D o ctor V a n der D o n k , w h o was an eye w itness of the process^and its r e s u lt, and records the whole in bis D e scription of the N e w -N elherlands. W illiam K e ift now dispatched a confiden tial agent, one A rent Cor6en, to convey a sackful of the pr cious ore to H o lland. Cor- sen embarked at N e w Haven in a British vessel bound io E n g land, w h ence be w a s to cross to R o tterdam . T h e ship set sail a b o u t C h ristm a s, but never reached h e r p o rt. A llo a board pe'rished. In 1647, when the redoubtable P e trus S tu y - vessant took com mand of th e N e w - N e tb e r- Iands, W illiam K ieft em b arked, on his Te- turn to Holland, provided with further s p e c i mens of the C a tskill m o u n tain ore ; from which he doubtless indulged golden a n ticipa tio n s . A sim ilar fate attended him w ith th a t which had befallen his age^t. T h e s h i p in w h ich he had em b arked was c a s t a w a y ,and he and his treasure -were sw allow ed in th a w a v e s. H e re closes the goklen legend of tbe C a ts - kill ; but another one of sim ilar im p o rt suc ceeds. In 1669, about two years after th e shipw reck of W iibelm u s K e iit, there waa again rumor of precious m e ta ls in thesa m o u n tains. M y u h e e r B rant A rent Van Slecty- lenhoast, 'agent of the Patroon of R e n s s e l- aersw y c k , had purchased in behalf of the P a troon ^ t r a c ^ o f the Catskill lauds, a n d leased it out in farm s. A D u tc h lass in the house hold of one of the farm ers fouud one day a glittering substance, w h ich, on being exam ined, w a s pronounced silver ore. B rant V a n Slechtenhorst forthw ith sent his son from * 1 R e n s s e laersw y c k ^ o explore the m o u n tains ia quest o f the supposed m ines. T h e young m a n put up in the farm e r’s house, which had re cently been erected on the m a rgin of a m o u n tain stream . Scarcely w as he housed w h e n a furious storm burst forth on the m o u n tains. T h e thunders rolled, tbe lightnings flashed* the rain cam e down in cataracts ; the stream was suddenly sw o llen to a furious to r r e n t thirty feet deep ; the farm -house and all its contents w ere sw e p t aw a y , and it w a s onl^ by dint of excellent sw im m ing th a t young V a n S lechtenhorst saved his own life anij the lives of his horses. Shortly after this a feud broke o u t betw een P e ter S tuyvesant a n d the Patroop of Rensselaerw ’yck, on account of the lig h t and title to the C a ts k ill M o u n tains, in the course of which the eld e r .S lecb- tenhorst was taken captive by the P o ten ta te of N e w N e therlands, and throw n into prison a t N e w -A m b ie rdam . • W e have m et with no record of any fur ther a ttem p t to g e t at th e treasure o f thq C a tskill ; adventurers may have been dis couraged by the ill luck which appeared to attend all who meddled w ith them , a s i f th e y w ere under the guardian keep of tbe same; spirits or goblins who once haunted tfe§ m o u n tains and ruled ovet the w e a th e r . T h a t ^ l d and silver ore w a s a c tu a lly cured from these m o u n tains in days of yorey we have historical evidence to prove, and th9 recorded word of A d rian .V a n der D o c k , a man of w e ight, who was an ey e - w itness.-— If gold and silver w ere once to be fotind there, they m u st be there at present, i t re? m ains to be seen, in these gold-hunting days, w h e ther the quest will be renew e d , and somq darin g adventurer, fired w ith a tru e Califor-r nian spirit, w ill peuetn te the m y stejip# of these m o u n tains and open s goiden region on the borders of^the H u d son, [H o m e Book of th e Picturesque. P u n c h hopes that F rancis Joseph, o f A u s tria, is prepared with purgative nledicines, a a the “ K o ssuth fever” is likely to be followed by a breaking out in H u n g a ry. £?e iei$jtrj £4 ais • upon the fact, th a t as thp gjory o f Ifa - poleon’s reign w as enhdnaed by h i s g r e u t M arshals, Soult, M u rat, 4nd others, so th e presidency o f L o u is Napojepn is d istingi I d l ed by od& m ighty Marshy}, n am e ly, M a r t i a l L a w . Punch thinks t l ^ t the N a tional AtjS* them m u st be of the tx^scntine gender, be» cause it ia a him (hym n .) H e - a s k s w h e n F leet street, is like a c o u n try w ithout a gov ernm e n t 1 and inform s a g a p in g public t h a t i t is w hen i t has no cab-iu-it, (cabinet.). T h e B ritish G o v e rnm e n t i§ repoipmende^ by Punc^i to serve Sjlr H a rry S m ith , th e commander o f th e forces a t the Cape b t Good Hope, With * w rit o f C a p ias ad evidently grossly Cape. H e a ltc calIsihe-attenlf^.n ofipe^iohs who think of em igrating' to AiistraijB, to the ancient mora* % hand, Is *brtl> papers, »*$<£« t*-f TW*ad tributes •*
