3.94"’
, FROM THE TROY POST.
THE W'EEPI.N'G IVILLOFV.
Why weeps the willow for the rlead;
V-Vhy mournful bend its towering head ?
_.Docs nature thus our cxit mourn,?
And weep thatwe to dust return .
"l‘is not lor those who low do sleep,
That nature thus is tauglitto weep ;.
Ilad sin ne'er cnter’d Edenjs bower A
The weeping willow still might tower.
Till sin dt-filed the new-borin pair,
The rose and myrtle flourish'd there ;
No weeping willow stood to tell,
That man from God’s own image fell.‘
"Twas when our woes began to flow,
The weeping willow’learnt to grow ;
Man’s flowing tears bcdcw the soil,
Its culture only pain and toil.
"I"is by the willow too.I learn,
That I to pains and ills am born ;
And by its pliant pendent bougli,
Ilunibly to walk while here below.
.-\nd..when my trials all are o'er,
Andl am known on earth no more,
'-fhen let the willow point my friend'
The‘ place, where toils and troubles end.
hé
\Ve have no apology. for offering to our readers
the following article from I3-LAci«:wooD’s Maci-
Jtziivis. To this ma-.-'terly appeal to the bolt-
est passions of our nature, we can only add the
lines of the pnet—- I
i Sure the lust end
Oftlic good man is /zeace .’, Ho-zu calm his exit .’
.:‘."z'g/it clef-iv.» full no.’ more gently to t/wigromld.
Be/told him in t/imcvcn-title qfl{/‘c,
.21_l{/.3: well-vs/zcrzt, =w/Lose curly care 2': ‘rues
Ifis ri/zer years‘ s/zoulrl not u"/2braz'd /1i.s-grccfl ;
By u'n/‘iercvi-u’cl degrees /re wears away ;
Yet, ~l'ij/rc the sun, sL'cm.s- larger at his setting.’
:3" _ C.'at.skz'll Recorder.
-"mi; Ez.ni3it"s DEATH BED.
It \'v’il_§,‘;'._Ol'l a fierce and howling winter day, that
I was criissing the dreary Moor of Aitcliindowii‘.
one-my-ivay to the Manse of the parish, asolitary
p"éi'desti'ian. The snow, which had been incess-
antly falling for-ya week past, was drifted into
beautiful but dangerous wreaths’, far and wide 0-
ver the inclancholy expanse--anil the scene kept
visibly shifting‘ before me, as the strong wlnd
that blew l't'or_ii‘“every point oft’h_e coit_ip2I55s Slruck
the tlazzling masses, and liea\'erI"-tliciii up and
down in‘ endless transformation. Tile“: W85
something inspiring in the labor witlrwliich, in
_t’he_boyan’t ;st-rengtli of youth, I forced my way
"through the storm—and.I could not but enjoy
tliose-gleamings of sunlight that ever and anon
bjurst through some unexpected opening in the
sky,.;.uid gave a character of clieerfulness, and
even warmth to the sides or summits of the
stricken hills. Sometimes the wind stopt of a
§'.l‘.l-’_li.‘I], and then the air was as silent as the snow
-1
u
. _ .—n‘ui a tnut-iiitt‘ to L‘clI:ai‘cl from spring oI‘sli't1-W3:
r"
’..
0
4
now all frozen up over those ffI‘,;ll nioorlands. As
.-the inoinen-.'ai-y cessation ofthe sharp drift allow-
ed my eyes to look onwards and around; I Saw
here and there up the little opening_vallics, cot-
tages,:just visible beneath the black stems oftlielr
snow covered clumps of trees, or beside some
small-spot of green pasture. kept open for the
sheep. Tliesc intimations oflife and liappirtcssr
caine delightfully to me in the miCI.~‘.t0f(.l<3SOl£1tI0l'l;
and the barking of a dog, attending some Shep-.
herd inhis quest on the hill,put fi'eshvigorintotny
limbs, telling me, that lonely as I seemed to be,
I was surrounded by cl‘ieerful though unseen
company, and that I was not the only wanderer
over the snows. .
“As I walked along, my mind was insensibly
filled Will) a crowd of pleasant images of rural
winter-life, that helped me gladly onwards over.
many miles of moor. Ithouglit of the severe
but cheerful labors oftlie barn--the x’n<-.iicl.ing"o'f
farm gear by the fire side-the wheel turned by
the foot of old age,‘ less for gain than as a thrifty
pastime-the skillful mother, making ‘ auld clues
look amaist as we-cl’ the n<:w’——the ballad uncon-
sciously listened to by the family all busy at their
own tasks round the singing maiden-—tlic old tra-
ditionary tale told by some w-ayfarer liospit-ably
housed till the storm should blow by—-the unex-
pected visit of neighbors on need or friendship,
or thejfootstep of a lover undeterred by'snow-
drifts, that have buried up his flocks-._hut above
'. all, I thought of those hours of religious worship
that have not yet escaped from the dome-stic life
of the peasantry of Scotland—-of the sound of
psalms that the depth of snow cannot dcadcn to
the ear of Him, to whom they are chaunted--
and ofthat sublime Sabbatii-keeping, which, on
.days too tempcstiiotis for the kink, changes the
cottage of the shepherd into the temple of God.
VVitli such glad and peaceful images in my
heart, I travelled along that dreary moor, with
the cutting wind in my face, and my fget sinking
in the snow or sliding on the hard blue ice be-
neathit-;-—as cheerfully asI ever walked in the
"dewy warmth of a summer morning, througli
fields of fr:~.graiicc and of flowers.‘ And now I
_.€ould discern, within half an hour’s walk before
‘me’, the ‘spire of the church, close to which stood
the mouse of my aged friend and benefactor--iiiy
‘heart burned within me as a sudclengleatii of
stormy sunlight tlpt it with fire--and I felt, at that
moment, an incxpressible sense of that grey.-
hea_dcd.Sbeplici'd with had, for fifty years, abode
in the wilderness, keeping together his owti hap-
py little flock’. '
As I was ascending a knoll, I saw before me
,on horseback an old man, with his long white
hairs beaten against his face, who nevertheless
advaiiced with a calm countenance against the
hurricane. It was no otlier.than niyfather, of
whom I had been thinking—-for my father had I
called him for twenty years--and for twenty years
my father had he truly been. My surprise at
meeting him on such a mooi'—-on such a day, was
btit.moiiieiitai'y,. for I knew that he was a Shep-
herd who cared not for the .winter’s wrath. As
he stopped to take my hand kindly into his, and
to give his blessing to his long expected visitor,
~ the wind fell calm--the -Wllole face of the sky was
softened, and brightness, like a smile, went.o.vei'
the blushing’ anél crimsoiied snow. The very el-
- ements seemed then to respect the hoary Iieadof
fourscorc--anzl alter our first grcetuig was over, A few tvorda stifliced ‘to tell who was the strain-
- cheeks, blue eyes and yellow hair, so unlike grief
. or little, as I was running by myself to Manse o-
ftliere a top of the stone wall peeping through the ,
‘Austere as seemed to us the Elder-’s sabbatli-face,
too brightly into the school-room the passioi'ztl im-
when I looked around, in my alfeclioii, Ifelt how 3
beautiful was winter. .
‘ I am going,’ said he, " to visit a man at the
point ofdeath-—a man whom you cannot have for-'
gotten--whose head will be missed in-the kirk
next Sabbath by all my congregation-—-a devout
man, who feared God all his days, and whoin, on
this awfultrial, Godivill assuredly remember. I
was goingfmy son, to the I-Iazle Glen.’ I
I knew wellln childhood that lonely farmhouse,
so far off among the beautiful wide green hills-—
and it was not likely that I had forgotten the
name of its possessor. For six year’:-. S-abbatlis I
had seen the ELDER in his accustomed place be-
iiealh the pulpit, and, with a sort of solemn fear,
had looked on his steadfast countenance during
sermon, psalm, and prayer. On returning to the
scenes ofmy infancy, I now met the Pastor going
to pray by his death bed—and with the privilege
which nature gives us to behold, even in their last
extremity, the loving and the beloved, I turned
to accompany him to the house of sorrow, resig-
nation, and death.
And now, for the first time, I observed, walk-
ing close to the feet of the horse, a little boy of a-
bout ten years of age, who kept frequently look-
ing up in the pastor’s face, with his blue eyes
bathed in tears. A changeful expression of grief,
hope and despair, made almost pale checks, that
otherwise were blooming in health and beauty-—
and I recognized, in the small features and smooth
forehead of childhood, a resemblance to the aged
man whom we understood was now lying on his
death be(l.—-‘ They had to send his grandson for
me through the snow, mere child as he is,’ said
the minister to me, looking tenderly on the boy;
‘but love makes the young heart bold—and there
is one who tempers the wind to the sborn lamb.’
[again looked on the fearless child with his rosy
or sorrow, yet now sobbing aloud as his heart will
break. ‘ I do not fear built that my grandfather
will yet recover, soon as the minister has said
one single prayer by his bed side. I had no hope’
ver bill after hill, but I am full of hopes now that
we are together, and oh ! if God suffers my
grancllhtlier to recover, I will lie awake all the
long winter nights blessing him for his mercy. I
will rise up in. the middle of the darkness, and
pray to him in the cold onimy naked knees !’ and
here his voice was choked, while he kept his eyes
fixed, as if for consolation and encouragement,
on the solemn and piiying countenance ofthe kind
hearted pious old man. . I , ,
\Ve soon left the main road, and struck oil‘
through scenery that, ,covered as it was with the
bewildering snow, I sometimes diinly and some-1
times vividly remembered; our little guide keep-
ing ever a short distance before us, and with a
sagacity like that of instinct, sbewiiig us our
conrse, of which no trace was visible, save occa-
sionally his own little foot. prints as he had been
hurrying to the Manse. .
After crossing, for several miles, morass, and
frozen rivulet, and drifted hollow, with here and
snow, or a more "visible circle of a sheep-bught,
wt: (lescéflded into the l~la_zel Glen, and saw before
us the solitary house of the dying Elder.
A gleam of days gone, by came suddenly over
my soul. The last time I had been in this Glen
was on a day of June, fifteen years before, aboli-
day, the birthday of the king. A troop ofla_ugli-
i_ng school boys, headed by our benign Pastor,
we danced over the sunny braes and startled the
linnets from their nests among the yellow broom.’
when sitting in tlic kirk, we school boys knew.
that it IXEIG-I its week day smiles--and we flew on
the wings ofjoy to our annual festival of curds
and cream, in the farm house of that little sylvan
world. VVc rcjoicedin the flowers and the leaves
ofthat long, that interminable summer-day ; its
memory was with our boyish hearts from June to
June ; and the sound ofthat sweet name, ‘ Hazel-
Gflen,’_oftcn came upon us at out-‘tzi-;ks, tlll(l'l)l‘i)'t _
agery of that mirthful solitude.
1- now slowly approacl_iv:(l the cottage,
tliroligli a deep snow drift, wlricli the distress
within had prevented the house-hold from rcm‘oiI.-
ing, we saw, peeping out from the door, hrot'li-
ers and sisters of our'_little guide, who quickly
disappeared, and then their mother showed her-
self in their stead, expressing by her raised eyes
and armls folded acrost her breast, hoivtliankful
she was to see, at last, the Pastor, beloved injoy
and trusted in trouble.
Soon as the venerable old man dismounted from
his horse, our active little -guide led it away intp
the humble stable, and we en=.ei"ed the cottage.
Not a sound was heard but the ticking ofthe clock.
The matron who had silently welcomed us at the
door, led us, with suppressed sighs and a face
stained with weeping, into her father’s sick room,’
which even in that time of sore distress was as or-
dcrly as if health had blessed the house. I could
not help remarking some old china, ornaments on
the chimney piece-'--and in the window was an '
e\'et‘-blooming rose-tree, that almost touched the
lofty roof, and briglitciicd that end ofthe apart-
ment with its blossoms. 'il‘liere was something
tatsteful in the simple furniture; and it seemed as
if grief could not deprive the hand oftliat matron
of its (-‘.ttt'eftIl elegance. Sickness, almost hope-
less sickness, lay there, surrounded with the same
cheerful and beautiful objects which health had
loved, and she, who had arranged and adorned
the apartiiicnr in her happiness, still kept it from
disorder and decay ‘in her sorrow. ,
VVith a gentle hand she drew the curtain off
the bed, and there, supported by pillows as.wliiti:-
as the snow that lay without, reposed the dying
Elder. It was plain that the hand of God was
upon him, and that his days on earth were num-
bercd.
H_e greeted his minister with a faint smile, and
a slight inclination ofthe head--for his daughter
had so raised him on the pillows, that he was al-
most sitting upright in his bed. It was easy to
see that he knew himself to be dying, and that his
soul was prepared for the great change ;.;_ye, Q.‘
long with the solemn resignati_on ofa cliristiaii
who has made his peace with God and his Saviour,
there was blended on his white and sunken coun-
‘finances an expression of habitual reverence for
the -minister of-his faith--and I saw that he could
not have died in peace without that comforter [0
pr ay by his-death bed.
gen--and the dyling.-: ziian blesseci me by l‘r_‘J.I]|C,
held-out to me his cold sltrivelled hand in token
of recognition. I took my seat at a small distance
from the bed-side, and left a closer stationfor
those who .wcre more dear.
do_wii near his head—and by the bed, leaning on
it with gentle liands, stood that matron, his dangli-
terinlaw ; a figure, that would have graced and
saintcd a higher dwelling, and whose native beau-
ty was now more touching in its grief. But Re-
ligion upheld her whom nalurc was bowing down ;
not now for the first time were the lessons taught
by her father to be put in practice, for I saw that
she was cloth ‘» ' deep mourning--and she be-
liaved like th‘ , ighter of a man whose life had
‘not only been i .- iroachable but lofty, with fear
and hope fighting desperately, but silently in the
core of her pure and pious heart.
\Vhile we thus remained in silence, the beau-
tiful boy, who, at the risk of his life, brought the
l.‘\'linister ofReligioti to thevbcd-side of his beloved
grandfatlier, softly and cautiously opened the door,
and, with the lioarfrost yet unmelted on his bright
glistening ringlets, walked‘ up to the pillow, evi-
denflxx no stranger there. He no longer subbed
--....- no longer weeped, for hope had risen strong-
ly within his innocent heart, from the conscious-
ness of love so fearlessly exerted, and from the
presence of the Holy Man in whose prayers be
trusted, as in the intercession of some superior
and heavenly nature. Tliere he stood, stillas an
image in his‘ grandfather’s eyes, that, in their
diniiicss, fell upon him with delight. Yet, hap-
py as was the trusting child, his heart was de-
voured by fear—-and h-e looked as if one word
might stir up the flood of tears that bad subsided
in his heart. .-As he crossed the dreary and dis-
mal moo had thought of a corpse, a shroud
and a grit‘ he had been in terror, lest death
should stri in ‘his absence, the old man with
whose grey hairs he‘ had so often played, but
now he saw him alive, and felt that dcntli uas
not able to tear him away lrom the clasps, and
links, and fctters, of his grand cliild’s embracing
love.
~‘-..«
after a pause, ‘ it will be liard for my friends to
carry me over the drilts to the kirk yard.’ This
sudden approach to the grave, struck, as with a
bar of ice, the heart of the loving boy-and with
a long deep sigh, he fell down with his face like
aslies on the bed, while the old man’s palsicd
right hand had just strength to lay itself upon his
head. ‘ Blessed be thou, my little Jamie, even
‘for his own name's sake who died for us on the
tréc l’ The motlier, without terror, but with an
averted face, lifted up her loving-liearted buy,
now in a‘ dead fainting-fit; and carried him into
an adjoining i'oom, where he soon revived: but
that child and that old man were not to he separa-
ted ; in vain was he asked to go to his brothers
and sisters; pale, breathless, and shivering, he
took his place as before-, with eyes fixed on his
grandfatlier’s lace, but neither weeping nor utter-
ing word. Terror had frozen up the blood of
his heart ; but his wcrt-:_now the only dry eyes in
the room ; and the‘Pastor himsclfwept, albeit the
grief of fourscore is seldom vented in wars.
[C'orzclusz'on next =weck.]
INDIAN MARRIAGE.
The mode of celebrating marriage will appear
from the following anecdote.
An aged Indian who had spent much of his
time among the white people both in Pennsylva-
nia and ‘New-Jersey, one day about the year 1770
observed that the Indians had not only a much
jeasier way of getting a wife than the whites, but
-.-. ere also more certain of getting a good one;
‘ For, (said he in his broken Eiiglislij \Vhite man
court--court--may he one whole year !—may be
two year before he marry !--well--may be got
very good wile---but may be not !—--may be very
cross !--scold as soon as get awake in the morn-
‘ing ! scold all day ! scold until sleep !-—-all one ;
he must keep him ! White people have law for.-
bidding throw away wife, he he ever .so cross!
must keep him always! Vtfell; how does Indian
do ?—-VVlien he see industrious Squaiv, which he
like, he go to him, place his ‘two forefingcrs
close aside each other, make two look like onc—
look Squaw in‘ the lace--see him smile-—-wliich
is all one he- say, Ycsl so he take him home-—-no
dauger he be cross! no! Squaw know too well
what Indian do if he cross! throw him away, take
anotlrer! Squaw love to eat meat! no husband!
no meat ! Squaw do every thing to please husband!
he do the same to please Squaw ! live happy 3’
1‘{usbrz_7,2,/(1__.a7id Wzfi.-.——Pa!rz,'c/c Kelly 21 cdmely
young Ir—i's'hnian, was brought before the Magis-
trate, on Saturday morning, on a warrant issued
at the suit of his wife Mary, a tall, ordinary snuff-
taking woman of fifty.
The parties and their witnesses having arrang-
ed themselves before the table, Mrs. K. contem-
plated her husband for a few minutes in silence,
with a strange mixture of fierce and tender ; and
heaving a deep sigh, ejaculated, ‘ Och Pathrick,
Patlirick ! why wouldn’t you you be ui.5'_z/ without
it E" She then inhaled a hearty pinch ofraal black-
guard, and curtsying to his VVorship, informed
him that about 15 months‘ ago she first saw Mr.
Pathrick Kelly, and z_'nm2adcmIy taa/ring a fancy
to him, she thought he was the swalast cratur as
ever slept by the side of a lady; and so as hr.-was
after s/ta/ring to but‘ about that same time she
not the man she took him to be; and she now
went in fear of her life by raismz of his ill-liumours
-—sl-ie, however, only wanted him bound over to
keep the peace, and to trrirc.her as a loving hus-
band ought to do. _ °
The Magistrate told Mrs. Kelly that it was tit-
terly out of his power to enforce the loving treat-
ment she desired : the most he could do would
be to make her husband find surcties that he would
abstain from actual p/ersonal Vl_Ol(:l‘IC6 ;- and before
he could do cv_e_n this, he must have proof that
she had reason to apprcliend he intended to do
her some bodily harm.
6.’l’liaiik your worship kindly,’ replied Mrs. K.
‘and if Iget the /zcace, perhaps the love may
come afte '; and so hcre’s Phelim (f)’Dogherty,
your Honor, knows all about it, and he’s come to
be a bit ofa witness for me, in case your Honor
ikes to be axing him. Phelim_, comejbrrat and
tell his Honour a little ofthe rights of it.’
. Mr. Igppiint O’Dogherty, a little tottering old
man, iiionie forward accordingly, and began
to star‘ "ometliing about Mr. Kelly having struck
The - I’flSl'£)il§-lg-'5,-‘ll,
‘ If the storm do not abate,’ said the sick man, *
fix
.€'.v
, .. . . . .‘_,,_..
at his wife ‘_with a-"grate big l;j;ife.;’ 1,1,1; he was
soonstoppcd in his evidence for the .word /c;zz'f-.-
had scarcely passed his lips when M rs. Kelly sei-
-hef shawl into his mouth with such violence, that.
old fellow was. .aII§.SUII‘UCilIC(I. She
. him tlicI'_c 1 a bit ofa witness on-'
which probably would have brought
‘ment on her -jusband than she
‘ force(l.greatf%art' of the sliawl
- h, slide began dragging;
by this time the olIit;;_:-_.i-_s;
some difficulty released
’ old cratur I’
to whatis not
«
had i'ntcrfer<..
him from her
said Mt s. Kel
lit to be told be
After somef __
l)’ ‘W5 ordered to i suretics for his kecpintr
the peace towarcls his wife. ' "i
. —-.+-—-
-4 8t‘Ti0u-5 tr?“/I.-—A labourei"s (luuglitcr, wlm;
had been in service from her childhood, when
iiedftliat, as she emphatically termed it, 5113‘
might 1'L'.s‘! lier bones.
her to the alter, not/u‘ng luat/i. Sometime after-
wards, her late mistress meeting her, ‘ V\~"cll.
Mary, have you rested your bones ? she replied
with a sigh, ‘I/rave rc'.r!c'cI m_r/jaw bones.’ ‘
./Ine:’.dole.-—-‘Not many years ago a7 gentleman
lately from Scotlatztl, called on Mr. H. at his sou:
iiear \Vilnii’hgton (Delaware) for ~.»-|,om‘1~,e had
some l_etters, VVliilst walking in his ga:den a-
bounding in excellent fruit, tlielutterobserved,
that show him what "he would, his guest insisted
he /zac1..ree7i viucklc better in Scotland. Delei‘[3]i1].
ed however, to surprise him, he privately order-
ed a servaiit to tie some goutds on a pair tree,
whilst they were at dinner. \Vlieii the cloth was
removed, * Now, sir,’ said Mr. H. ‘ I think I aim
show you something you ne’er saw in Scotland,’
and taking him to the tree, he asketl the astonish-
ed Scotchniaii what he tliought of that.’ t j;,
truth, sar,’ quoth he, ‘they are varra line piers
indeed ; but I think I have seen, full as lcarge in
the Duke of Argyle’s gardens, tho’ I must ekn
confess that (I1 03/ Iran‘ no quftc sic long rizacks-.’.
' After giilotici preface info I'm.’ pronosmccd m,—,,,t
audible,‘ fhiiree times, in-the Higli-Street, at New.
Market, England, the late crackbrained Lord
Barrymore, haviiigcollected at number of persons
together, made the following proposalto the ga-
pcrs :--‘ W he wants to buy a horse that can wall;
8 miles an hour, trot l8, and gallop 20 i’_ ‘ I do,’
said a gcntlenian,willi nianif-"est eagerness.‘ Then,
replied Lord Barrymore, if I see any such ani.
mal to be sold, I will be sure to let you know.’
Ty/zogra/2/izc'al .flnecclotc.—-A printer, not thor-
oughly master of the business, especially that
part of it of placing the pages right, v.l~.ici,p,-31,-
ters term iznjiosing a form, wrote to a friend to’
semi him a book ofz'mfzosi:z'ons--liis friend, not be-
ing acquainted with the printing busin¢‘:ss',~ an}!
not knowing particularly what he wanted, sent
him a demacralz'c £lgctz'am°crz'n/tam/rgzzez, ob5._-,-,-i,,g
suit him.--Ball. Fed. Rcfzub. ‘
-—-<¢¢-— _
A late London paper says—-‘ A few days ago a
501. bank note which was issued 80'_z,aears ago, was
paid into the bank_of England. Had it been put’
out at compound interest when first issued, by this
time it would have amounted to nearly 2'."..‘>Oa'.’
\ ——-i-¢-(‘ED-2::--::':3:’:®I:b-—-— ._
Revirral of I\’clz'g'z'0n in t‘>"a-aanna/1.--.VVe are per-
mitted through the politeness of a friend in this
city, to make the following extract of a lcttet‘
from a getitlenian in Savannah, (Gem) dated Aug.
7th, lS2l. It will be read with great interest by
those who are anxiously observing the signs of
the times, and heartily eiigagcd in that cause, in
married him ; butslie was sorry to say, he was"
wliicl:,alone, mankind have a real and lasting
coticern.—Cfomicczicut Journal. v
‘ The revival of Religion which had commen-
ced before you left this, is progressing with a de.
gree of rapidity that was never before known in
the sotithern states. Since February last, one
liundrcd and thirty members have joined the
Methodist CllUl'Ch,'a2'l(l several have been added-
to the other churches. At our last love feast.
twenty-one joined at once," chiefly young men
and Women ; three joined in Class last evening.
Notw-itlistanding our population is very thin, our
rneetings are crowded with seriousaiid attentive
bearers. Surely God is at work among us in S3.
vannah, as well as in other parts ofthe country.’
There has been for about 5 months past a con-
siderable attention to religion among the students
in Dartmouth College, N. H. In Hanover, a-
bout 120 persons have recently been brought to
hope in the Saviour; and in Lyme. a town ad-
joining, there are upwards of a hundred hopeful
subjects of renewing grace.
editor of the Religious Iiitelligencer, communi-
catcs the joyful news of a most remarkable work
of God prevailing in almostevery town in that
state on the west side of the green mountains,
from Massachusetts to Canada line.
Ho/zc_/‘or sailors-.—Purstiant to arrangement be-
tween a committee of the Port of New-York So-
ciety and Commodore Stewart, divine service
was attended on Tuesday evening on board the
U. S. ship of the line, 1"ran,(-liri, now at anchor
opposite the Bat‘$el'_V. Several clergymen and at
number of citizens were present, who had the
satisfactioii of witnessing a scene which they will
not easily forget. lctwecn seven and eight hun-
dred persons being assembled on the deck of this
noble ship, the Rev. Dr. Spring addressedthe.
throne of grace, after which that venerable,apos-
do of the seamen, the_ Rev. Mr. E:-istburn, of
Philadelphia, delivered akshort but most appro-
priate discourse. Tlic Rfejv. Dr. Stougliton, of
Philadelphia, closed the exercises by prayer and‘
benediction. The utmost decorum and at inter-
vals the most touching solcri-inity prevailed
throughout the, exercises. Much is due to the
Cheerfulness fifh which the overture oftlie com-
.mittee' was received by Commodore Stewart, as
well as to the promptness and civility of Lieut.
Hunter, and all the oflicers of theship, for-the
regularity and accommodation of the meeting.,_
Evening‘ I’osr..g
weaijy, would be frequently wishing to be mar-'
Hymcn at last listened to‘
her players, and a neiglibm'ing- clo(l.1,,_,F,,,,,. jug‘ ~g
that it was full of im/zosi/ions, and hoped it-would I
‘ ‘ V .
A letter from a clergyman in Vermont to the
Ca D00<ll€» Was going to tell the _
Z$d{’3hll'nv'l'0ll~ll(l tlie--iicckaiicl began cramming .
3,
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H _,.x‘u._
Norwalk Chronicler