POE TRY.
STANZAS.
BY Joniv G. wnirrii-zit.
Art thou beautiful ?—Livc then in accordance
' with the curious make and frame of thy Crea-
tion, and let the beauty oftliy person teach thee
to beautify thy mind with holiness, the orna-
ment of the beloved of God.——\VM. PENN.
Bind up thy tresses, beautiful one,
Of brown in the shadow and gold in the sui1!
Free should their delicate lustre be thrown,
O’er aforeliead more pure than the Parian stone;
Sliaming the light of those Orient pearls
'W'hich bind o’er its whiteness thy soft wreath-
ing curls.
Smile—-for thy glance on the mirror is thrown,
And the face of an angel is meeting thine own!
Beautiful creaturc—I marvel not
That thy check a lovelier tint hath caught ;
‘And the kindling light of thine eye hath told
Of a dearer wealth than the niiser’s gold.
; ‘ Away, away-—tliere is danger liere---
Q_ A terrible phantom is bending near;
Gliastly and sunken, his rayless eye
Scowls on thy loveliness scoriifully---
\Vith no human look---with no human breatli,
He stands beside thee,---the liaunter, DE;\Tll !
Fly---but alas, he will fbllow still,
Like a moonlight shadow beyond thy will;
In thy nooiiday walk---iii thy midnight sleep,
Close at thy hovel will that pliantoui keep---
Still on thine ear shall his whispers be—--
’. j \Vo—--that such phantom should follow thee.
it In the lighted hall where the dancers go,
‘ Like beautiful spirits to and fro;
I '‘ \Vhen thy fair arms glance in their stainless
white,
I Like ivory bathed in still moonlight ;
l And not one star in the holy sky.
’ ’Hath a clearer light than thine own blue eye !
Oh tlien---even tlien,---he will follow thee,
As the ripple follows the bark at sea ;
In the softened light-—-in the ttiriiiiig dance,
He -will fix on thine his dead. cold glaiice---
- The chill of his breath on thy cheek shall linger.
And thy warm blood shrink from his icy finger!
I‘, And yet there is hope. I.‘:ll‘ll)l’t'1CC- it now,
’ _ VVhile thy soul is open as thy brow ;
\Vliile thy heart is fresli-—-wliile its feelings still
Gusli clear as the iinsoil'd mountain rill—--
And thy smiles are free as the airs of spring,
Greeting and blessing each breathing thine.
\Vhen the after cares of thy life shall come,
\Vlien the bud shall wither before its bloom,
\Vlien thy soul is sick ofthe emptiness
And cliaugeful fashion of liii man bliss;
And the weary torpor of blighted feeling,
I ver thv heart as ice is stealing“-
Phen, when thy spirit is turned above,
3y the mild rebuke ofthe Cliristian’s love:
Vhen the hope oftliatjoy in thy heart is stiri°‘d,
Viiich eye liatli not seen, nor ear liatli licard,-—-
I‘iii:N will that phantom of darkness be
Gladness and Promise and Bliss to thee,
Boston, lst nio 20th, 183-3.
EDCT '1‘.-I LES.
THE LO\VLY LAD Y.
B
. Y Npr. wiLLis.
, The sad but stately processioii had passed in-
to the church, and eveii the aisles ofthe venera-
ble building were throiiged with pt’-l'S()l].<. One
might liave-tlioiiglit, who looked upon the coro-
net, glittering on the cushion of crimson velvet,
and all other insignia ofliigli rank, that curiosi-
ty alone had drawn tliitlicr such a crowd; but a
deeper interest was marked on every coiiiite-
nance; and the firm voice of the minister had
faltered more than once, as he u.:u.=l dis -..-..'1.;..-..
‘s.f;,»-jg ..-Yet the coffin was that of acliiid. a
.;.’,,....;.:.5'.-..~ v infant, who had died in its first un-
conscious helplessness. livery one tiioiiglit of
the father st:-indiiig tip among them, and looking
so desolate in his grief‘. More than one fond
mother wept, and drew her red cloak closely
round the infant of her bosom, as she gazed
round tipon the mournful pomp, and the little
coffin, and the young l‘lt)l_il(3lll.'1ll-—tIlllltlICSS, and
worse than widowt-d——O _ycs! worse than wid-
owed! as he stood there, and followed with his
eyes the rriovcincnt ofthe men then placing the
coffin of his child in the shadowy darkness of the
open vault below him. That church was a
place of agonizing recollection to the young earl
of'Derby. Often had he entered it a happy
husband; and, as he walked slowly down the
aisle to his cairiagc, he could not help recalling
the day when his beautiful and modest bride
had clung, in trembling basliftiliiess to his arm,
when ll6‘ll£ltl there, for the first time, called her
his wife. “I am sick of all this idle ponip!”--
77 he said to himself, as he entered the wide hall
I of his own magnificent résideiice, attended by
his train of servants, and met by the obseqnious
.-‘V hows of the men who had conducted the fuiie-
ral; “I am sick of this mockery! I will bear it
no longer. \Vould that I were a liard-workiiig
easant, with some honest hearts to care for me
and love me. I am heartily tired of your great
people!”
Not many weeks after the funeral of the heir
of the noble house of Derby, a solitary wayfa-
ring man stopped at the turning of a little:;Toot-
path, which led down the sloping side of the
hill overlooking the villiage of II————.
He had been leisurely wandering on since the
early hours of the morning and had not yet found
the place where he would rest for the night.—
“Here, at least, is a happy scene,” he said, as he
looked down upon the little village at the foot of
the hill. About fifty or sixty persons were scat-
tered, in careless groups, about the pleasant
green. Some of them were dancing beneath a
venerable group of eliiis, others were crowding
ound the only booth which had been raised in
the rustic fair. “At least, I may witness their
enjoyment, though I cauiiot share in it,” he said;
and, in a few moments, he was standing beneath
the old trees on the grecen.
But, although he was not recognized as the
earl of Derby, and disgusted by the attentions
paid to his rank and station, he found the famil-
iarity of vulgar minds, and low manners, not
‘mite so agreeable as he had perhaps expected.
Quietly he turned away from the noisy scene.
He passed over the old bridge, which crosses the
clear and shallow stream, and turned down a
lane, the banks of which were overgrown with
wild flowers, and stragling bushes of birch, suf-
ficiently high and thick to meet overhead, and
forin a perfect bower of grateful shade. A poor
[woman was returning home through the lane
with her children, her infant sleeping soundly
on her bosom, and a curly-headed urchin dis-
tcmling his cheeks with puffing of a little pain-
ted trumpet, the horrid grating of which had all
the charm of novelty and noise to him. The
young mother looked so hot and tired, and witliall
so good hiimourcd, that the earl could not resist
asking her if she could direct him to a lodging.
“Not that merry village we have just left,” he
said, “for I am unwell and tired.”
The woman pointed to a little path, not very
far from the spot where she stood, which turned
suddenly out of the lane into the wood, over-
hanging the river; and directed him to follow it
through a large cornfield, and up a very steep
sandy lane, and then, for about halfa mile over
--but such directions are tiresome enough, when
one is obliged to listen to them to learn one’s own
way; here they would be even more so. Be-
sides, I am not sure the earl attended to the poor
woman, for he_lost his way. He walked on,
wrapped in his own melancholy thoughts, btit
soothed, in every sense by the cool fresh air, the
gurgling flow of the river, and all those distant
sounds, which, in the quiet fields on a fair calm
evening fall so sweetly indistinct upon the
car. But the sun had set before the wander-
er awoke to the recollection of the pitrpose be-
I
. the green grass, and her hand dropped half for-
slie was only a poor uneducated county girl.—
I. . . , 1,
BY VVM3 G. HYER.
PI’.h\'CI1‘L1iS
AND DIES.
l$2 PER ANf‘lU.M.
VGEL. 18.
fore him. He looked around him; he saw
green and sloping liills, many stately trees, and
the same calm river flowing gently below, but
"0 !l0U59- Al 151515: Where the leafy shade was
deepest. he discovered a pile of old, quaiutlv
shaped cliinnieys, opposed against the gl<)\\‘irf:
sky. He had not proceeded far in the dircctioii
of the farin house, which now plainly appeared
among the trees, when a light step seemed to
approach him, and then stopped suddculv; and
he heard the sound of uiirestraiued wceping.
A hazel eopse separated him from the iiicatlow
whence the sound proceeded; but, on peeping
through a little opening, he saw that a young
girl was sitting on the bank of the ii'icatl<iw oh
the oi.lier side. For a little while she coiit.iiiiicd
wecping—oiily for a little tvliile-—tlien clasp-
ing her liaiids together, she raised her head and
her whole heart: seemed to look tip to heaven in
her meek and steadfast gaze.
Still she sat there, almost without stirring ex-
cept that once or twice, she looked down upon
getfully, and half playfully, among the flowers
that grew in wild lnxuriaiice around her, as if
she was pleased with, but she scarcely knew
she noticed them. Just then the song of the
nightingale burst upon the stillnes of tlie even-
ing, and stole away her car; and though her
thoughts seemed yet to linger on about the subject
which had made her weep, she listened till at
last she smiled ; and so uiiiiutc after minute
passed away, and gradually she forgot all her
trouble ; and the only expression on her fair face
was innocent gladuess.
Let no one suppose that, in this fair country
girl, we have met with any maiden of gentle
birth, brought down to a low estate by the hard
uses of adversity ; nor any wonder of her native
village, gifted with talents of the highest order.
Oh, no! Lticy was none of these. \Vliat was
she? a fair and happy ]l]tll(lCl] of low birth; if
to be born of poor and honest parents be low
birth; ofno accomplislimcnts or education be-
yond readiiig and—(let me rcnieniber,) ycsslic,
could write. She read well, for her voice was
full ofnatural melody; and practice, and geiiu-
ine feeling, and above all, piety had madclier ve-
ry perfect.
Lucy’s features were not beatitifiil,_biit their
modest, innocent expression, was better than
mere beauty. Her hands were not the whitest
in the world, though delicately, nay, exquisitely
shaped ; their little palms iiiiglit have been soli-
er; but, if it might have been said oflier, as of
the fair and happy milk-iiiaid, “she makes her
hand hard with labor,” it might have been well
added, “and her heart soft with pity ;" for they
who knew her, say she was the kindest Cl'G{tll.ll‘~(‘
that ever lived ; and speak ofa gentle and win-
iiiiig courteousncss ofinaiiner, that gave a (,‘ll(il'lll
to every look, and every word she iittercd. But
although she was one ofnature’s own sweet gen-
tlcwonien, and unaflectedly modest and pious,
NGRWALK, TUESDAY, starters 3, teas.
“Not exactly through the park,” he replied,
“but I thought my Lucy might like to see these
fine grounds, and the house and gardens. I have
known the gardener and the housekeeper for
years; and I am sure we shall find them very
civil, and willing to show us any little attentioii
in their power, and we have time enough tliougli
the sun is getting low, for we are just at ll()l]id:”.
Lucy was deliglited. She had never seen a
nobleinaii’s house before, she said.
“\Vcll.' all tlicse lrirgcrooiiis, aiidilic pictures,
and all the fine furniture are very gtznid,” said
Lucy, “but my eyes ache with looking at tlzt-in ;
I like this garden a great deal better.
beautiful one it; !—But may we sit down in this
arbor of honeysuckle so near the liouse '1”
Lucy sat: in silence for some little time, gaz-
ing round licr at the venerable house, and the
trees and gardens; at length, she said, “I won-
der if the lord oftliis graiitl place is happy? Is
the earl of Derby a good man, dear liiisliaiitl ?—
Is he kind and lice-spol~;cii t.() the poor? Is he
a iii:-ii'i'icd tiiaii'!” she added, looking with it
smile of peculiar sweetness in her liusbaiid’s
face.
“How many qiiest.ioiis you have given me to
answer, Lucy! Let uie consider! Yes, he is
a married niau: he uiarricd, not _iiiaiiy months
ago, a young country-girl, such anot'ner as your-
self, dcar Lucy.”
“Poorthiiig!” said Lucy, and she sighed from
her very heart.
“\Vliy do you sigh, my own wife?” he de-
iiiaiided. “Do yoti envy that poor country
inaideii?
“Do I envy her?” she replied, in a voice of
tender reproach; “what a strange (|UCSllt_iI‘i !-—-—
Do I envy any one 7” and as she said this, she
drew more closely round his arm which encir-
clcd licr slender waist; “would I excliaiigc my
husband with any one 7” she added, looking up
tenderly and loveiiigly into his face; “I siqlictl
in pity for the poor young lady, (for a lady she
is iiow,) such a change is enough to turn IlCl'
licnd !”
“\Vould it turn yours, Lticy ?” he said.
“I’crliaps it iniglit?” she replied, in the sim-
plcst and most natural manner. “But is she
rccally happy ? Does she love him for himself
alone I”
“My sweet Lucy.” he began. As he spoke,
his wife thought that he had never seemed so
tenderly respectful toward her: “l‘:I_y sweet Lu-
cy, you alone can answer these last questions:
you smile! I see you look airiazed upon me;
btit I repcatit, you alone !”
“But fii'st,” said Lucy, very artlessly, “I must
be lady here; you must make me countess of
Derby!”
She had scarcely said this, when, from one
This is done, and they are received as friends
and confederates of Israel.
As soon as this was known, an extensive and
powerful Confederacy was formed among the
kings of Canaan for the destruction ol‘Gibeon.
“Conic, that we may smite Gibeon, for it hath
made ].CZlC'C with Joshua, and with the children
of Israt-l.’ And now, the men of Gibcon call on
Joshua for assistcncc; ‘Conic quickly and save
us, for all the kings ofthe Aiiioritcs that dwell in
the iiiittiiitaiiis, are gathered together against us.’
Iicre it nicmorable st.i'tigglc, is about to take
place, if"1\\'CCl1 the wi~o.cliippei‘s of the true God
and iii?‘ worsliippers of idols. ’l."l:e iiaiions of
Canaan: were idolaters. The Gibconitcs, when
they made a covenant with Israel, rciiouiiccd
the idois oftliese nations, and a.cltiiowlct.lqctl the
God of Israel. They said, “tliv sci-vaiits are
come, bccaiise Uf‘lll€‘Il'lL‘.ll‘iC ofthc Lord thy (Sod
for we have heard of the fame of him, (Illtl all
that In did in Egypt.’
ItlOl;:li'y is the iiiigliticst engine Satan eve‘
wielded for the tlesti't.ictioii of the souls of men.
\Vliilo other siiis have slain their tliousaiids,idol-
any has slain its ten tliousaiids. At this hour
Satan has six liniidrcd millions of the liuniaii
race bound ll1l'l1C(.'Ii{llUS of idolatry. Could the
coiifcderate nations have Cl‘llSl1t‘.tl Israel at a
blow, they would have crushed the only nation
that continiicd to worship the living ElllLl-{llL'. true
God. And now was it unber,-oniing the great
Jeliovrili t.o make bore his arm and cover them
with coiifiisioii ? especially, as he wastlieii per-
foriiiiiig a work wliich he designed to have re-
corded in his holy book, and circulated aiiioug
all the nations of the earth for their instruction,
until the end oftinie?
\Vl::.it were the objects to which the Canaan-
ites p:.id'diviiic honors? They worsliipped the
host of licavcn, cliiefiy the SUN and Z‘.I0O_\‘, which
they :.:rilorcd as the king and queen of heaven.
And tow the Lord will show Israel that he is
above the gods ofthe heathen, and he will show
these nations that he can make the very idols
wliich they had worsliippcd, and in whom they
trustc-.'l, contribute to their destructioii. \Vlicn
a man is in trouble he calls upon his God. These
nations, when they found Israel too strong for
them, and saw dcstriictioii iiiipciidiiig, doubtless
caller? on their gods for help.
"I‘l.oii sun, whom we have worshipped, with-
draw thy light; thou moon shiiic not! let dark-
ness cover us, that we may escape from the
sword of our pursuers!” But what says the
prophet 0f(.‘i't)tlf ‘Sun, stand then still! Throw
thy iglit tll’0llIltl them! And thou moon lias-
ten not to go down! Let the day be greatly
prolongerl.' Let there be no dai'kiie.ss, where
the \\'oi‘sliippci's ofidols may hide tliciiisclves!’
‘So the sun stood still in the midst of heaven,
one of the castle turrets, a bell lzegaii to toll :—-
Clil'l'ord rose tip instantly, and without sayting .1
word, led his wife to the Castle. They entered
the chapel there, in which the servants and the\‘
rpbptn was m'ii_-, Iii».-. .~-.-.... - - .3 -_
find new liopc—iicw life, I might almost say, in
the society of Lucy ; one who, in spite of all the
pride or aristocracy of his habits, and his preju-
dices, begnn to feel it a privilege to be address-
ed as a familiar by the piiiciiiiiidetl maiden;
who felt, in his inmost licart, the influence of
her modest, cheerful piety; and paid her from
his heart, the homage ofrespcctand love that was
the sweeter from being lialfniade up of grati-
tude.
He could not help smiling, when he inadeliis
proposals in due form, to the relations ofliis sweet
Lucy ; for they did not choose to have their child
thrown away upon one who, for what they knew
to the contrary, iiiiglit be little better than a
beggar, or a sort of(tlicy did not quite say the
word,) “Vagabond.” They doubted, and qi1es—
tioned, and wavered, and questioned him again,
t.ill the earl began to feel ll1'lt.‘Olnf()l‘l.al)l€, and to
staniiiier, and blush ; and thus, in fact, to make
them really suspicious: for he had quite forgot-
ten to provide against this most probable issue
ofliis Sllltlt) them.
“You see,” said an old uncle, atlast, who was
the head of the family, and the best spokesman,
“you may be a very good sort ofa young man,
and I have nothing to say against you ; but you
are, or at least have been, till now, when you're
plucking tip a bit, a poor, sickly, idle body ; and,
suppose you fall ill, or take to no kind ofeiiiploy,
and have nothing coming in of your owii——wliy
Liicy’s fifty pounds, and the hundred that I shall
eave her, when, please heaven, I die, will go
but a very little way. I tell you what,” he
said, “brother and sister,” (ttirning to Lucy’s pa-
rents, and looking very wise,) “dou’t be in a liur-
ry to give your consent; Lucy, though I say it,
is as good a girl as any in the land, and fit for a
lord—yes! I say it again, (though yoti seem to
smile) young man——fit for any lord in the lam .”
Lucy had been very btisily plucking the with-
ered leaves from a geranium, which her lover
had given her; but now she turned round, pale
and trembling, for she feared the effect oflicr un-
cle's liaraiigue upon her father, who was apt to
be as positive as his brother. She trembled, and
her heart throbbed with agitation, for she cared
not if he whom she loved were peniiiless; but
she. felt, that witliont the consent of her parents,
(servants of God, and kind parents as they both
were) she could not marry him. She turned,
as gentle loving daughters will, on all such oc-
casions, to her own tender mother, and she had
not to speak; her mother could read her looks,
and she could not resist the tears which rose so
suddenly into the soft eyes of her diiteous child.
Mother-5, or wives, I meant to say, have a win-
niug way of their own——particularly mild, sub-
miSSiV0 WiV€3s such as Lucy’s mother; and
what with her own influence as a wife, and her
own woman’s wit, or (in truer words) calm good
sense, it was soon agreed that Lucy should inat-
ry her love on this conditioii—tliat the answer to
a certain letter, to be written by him, for a char-
acter, etc. proved satisfactory.
In due time, to the very day, a letter arrived,
directed to Lucy’s father. VVitli this letter the
father and the uncle were quite satisfied; and
now Lucy, who had been, at times, unusually
silent, recovered all her clieerfuliicss; and went
about the house singing (so her mother thought)
like a nightingale. Thomas Clifford, for so he
called himself, was married to his Lucy, and all
the fair and modest girls of the neighborhood
were waiting round the church door, to fling
basketsfull of flowers in the little path as Clif-
ford led his bride to their own cottage.
He heard the blessing of many poor, aged
creatures, who lingered about in the sunshine 0
the cliurchyard,upon his huiiible,yet lovely bride.
Every one who met them on that happy morn-
ing, smiled npon them and blessed them.
“I-Iigh rank, heaps of gold, could not buy such
blessings as this!” he said to himself; “but my
sweet and pious Lucy has won the love of every
heart. These people, too have known her from
her childhood !” »
“That is a grand place, indeed!” said Lucy,
as, toward the close of their second da ’s jour-
ney, they approached an ancient an almost
princely edifice; “but does our road lie through
tenants had all assembled, and the chaplain \V£.l5~
-- ‘Inn nu.~.rtlt., ALA ~tr-A- -
y » --l"‘< *-‘ . - r
1 ~ ‘ '. . . - » .
'lll(.‘I‘l,lC21(l1llg the wondering Lucy into the llli(l.~,‘,{-;,_‘
of them, he presented her to them as their fu-I
tnre mistress, the countess of Derby, his wifc.— {
Lucy did not speak; she could scarcely stand;
the colour forsook her face, and she looked as
one about to faint. She stared first a.t. her lins-
band, and then at the domestics around her, and
at fast she begiui to cc-mprelieiid every thing.—
Erigerly she seized licr liiisband’s hand, which
she had d roped in her surprise, now afl'ectionatc—
ly extended to her; then, with an efibrt that
was very visible, but which gave new interest
to her in the eyes of all present, she regained
somewhat of her iiatural_aiid modest sclf-posses-
sion ; and, raising her innocent face, she courte-
sied to the ground, and met the respectftil greet-
ing of those around her with smiles, which per-
haps, spoke more at once to the heart tlian the
best wisdom of words. The Earl of Derby led
his wife to his own seat and placed her beside
him.
Lucy knelt down upon a cushion of enibroi-
dercd velvet, with the sculptured escutclieons,
and stately banners of the house of Derby above
her: btit perhaps of all the liigli-borii danies of
that ancient family, none ever knelt there with
a purer heart, or with aliumbler spirit, than that
LowL'i' LADY.
IVIISCF. LLANY}
THE BIBLE.
The following is part of a conversation which
occurred on board a steam boat on the Ohio, be-
tween the Rev. James Gallaher and a profess-
ed Iiilidel. It is full of instruction.
Infidel. \Vhy I tell you sir that the Bible to
my mind is full of absurdities.
Traveler. That may be because you have
not examined it enough to understand it. Hen-
tion some of the absurdities to which you refer.
Iii/idcl. There are many I might specify,
btit I will call your atlentioii particularly lO“ll.’l£3
account in the book of Joshua ofliis cominandiiig
the sun and the moon to stand still; is not this
a palpable absurdity, directly in the face ofall
our experience and all we know of the laws of
nature.
Trrwclcr. If you deny the fact, then I miist
tell you that ancient history abounds with refer-
ences to this event. Herodotus says he found
such a tradition anioug the Egyptians. The
records of China, state that such an event took
place in the reign of one of their emperors who
lived about the time of Jousliiia.——Aiid in Greek
and Roman fable there is undeniable reference
to this miracle. Thus, in the story of Phaeton
atteinptiiig to drive the chariot. of the sun around
the world, and proving unequal to the task, the
sun did not go down as usual, but remained long
above the horizon, and made one ¢Z(I.y/ niilike all
other days. Moreover, the book of Joslitta in
which this miracle is recorded, is quoted as di-
vine inspiration by Christ and his appostles. and
thus its divine authenticity is conifirined by the
miracles they wrought.
I'n_/iclcf. But the thing itselfis absurd. Is-
rael and the Caiiaanites are engaged in battle,
and the great God stops the sun and moon in
their courses, that Israel might gain the more
decisive victory. Now what call was there for
such an interposition from heaven ‘I VVhat pro-
priety is there in such a thing being done? I
ask what sense or reason is there in the whole
story ?
Trrwcler. If you will listen to me for a few
iriiniites I can show you that this miracle was
appropriate,advisablc,adapted to the circumstan-
ces of all concerned, and altogether worthy of
that God, who is ‘wonderful in council and ex-
cellent in workinrr.’
Infidel. I will hear with attention, proceed.
Traveler. You must observe, then that the
Lord was now giving to Israel the land promised
to their fathers. J erico and Ai had already fal-
leii into their hands, and the terror of them that
overspread the country. Gibeon, one of the
loyal cities, takes the alarm; sends messengers
to Joshua and Israel, saying we are your ser-
the park ."’
———— A
vaiits, now therefore, make a league with us.’
I
and hastened not to go down about a whole day :
§i\i_i_tl_ here was no day like that, before it or afte.r
ll‘. 15-.~ tttlie Lord liarkened unto the voice ofmaii :
* Lord fought for Israel.’
- nit <90. sir. that the sc fls and (T7l\‘ilc
. are groundless ; for ta tins: into view
‘ 3 uiiistaiices, this inirat-i:-. wits’ tliu ti‘1()5{
apprclpriate and happily chosen of any that the
Lordof Israel could have performed.
A3‘ ACCOUNT or AN ]-IX'l‘P..-\OP.DI.\'.-\RY DwAitr.
-—Tlie name of this dwarf was Baby, and he
was well known, having spent the greatest part
of his life at Luucnville, in the palace of Stanis-
laus, the titular King of Poland. He was born
in the year I7-ll, at the village of Plaisiie, in
France. His father and mother were peasants,
both of good constitution, and inured to a life of
liusbmidry.
Baby, when born, weighed but a pound and
a quarter; his dimensions, tlierefore, were very
small, for he was presented on a plate to be bap-
tized, and for a long time lay in a slipper. His
mouth, although proportioned to the rest of his
body, was not. at that time, large enough to take
in the nipple; and lie was therefore obliged to
be siickled by a slie-goat that was in the house,
and that served as a nurse, attending to his cries
with a kind of maternal fondness. He began to
articulate some words when about eighteen
months old; and at two years he was able to
walk alone. He was then fitted with shoes that
were about an inch and a half long.
He was attacked with several acute disorders.
but the small pox was the only one which left
any uiarks behind. Until he was six years
old, he ate no other food but pulse, potatoes,
and bacon. His father and mother could af-
ford him no better nourishment; and his edu-
cation was very limited. At this age he was fif-
teen inches high, and weighed thirteen pounds.
Notvritlistaiiding this, he was proportiond, and
handsome ; his health was good, but his uiider—
staiicing scarce passed the bounds of iiistinct.—-
It was at this time that the King of Poland, hav-
ing l;eaid of such a curiosity, had him conveyed
to Linenville, gave him the name of Baby, and
kepthim in his palace.
Baby, having thus quitted the hard condition
ofa oeasaiit, to enjoy all the comfort and conve-
niences of life, received no alteration from his
new way of living, either in mind or person.
His constitution was good till about the age of
sixteen : he grew very slowly, and his stupidity
was such, that all iiistrtictions were vain to im-
prove his uiiderstaiidiiig. He could never be
brought to have any sense of religion, nor even
to shew the least signs of reasoning faculties.-
Tlity attempted to teach him (lE1}]Cll’lg and inti-
sic; but he never could make any thing of mu-
sic; and as for dancing, though he beat time tol-
eralily exact, yet he could never remember the
figure but while the dancing-master directed his
motions. His mind, though destitute of knowl-
edge, was not without its passioiis,--auger and
jealousy harassed it at times; nor was he with-
out other emotions.
At the age of sixteen, Baby was twenty iiicli-
es tall ; at this he rested; and being new ina-
titro, old age cauie fast upon him. From being
very beautiful, the litt.le creature became quite
deforrncd ; his strength quite forsook him ; his
back-boiie began to bend; his head hung for-
ward; liis legs grew weak ; one ofliis shoulders
turned awry ; and his nose grew disproportiona-
bly long. \Vitli his strengtli, his natural spirits
also forsook him; and by the time he was twen-
ty, he was grown feeble, deeriped, and marked
with the strongest impressions of old age. Some
had remarkeditliat he would die of old age be-
fore he arrived at thirty; and, in fact, by the
time he was twenty-two, he could scarcely walk
a hundred paces, being worn out with the iiiul-
titudc of years, and bent under the burden of
protracted life. In this year he died :—a cold,
attended with a slight fever, threw him into a
kind of lethargy, which had a few momentary
intervals; but he could scarcely be brought to
speak. However, it is asserted, that in the five
last days of his life, he _sliewed a clearer tinder-
standiiig, than the time of ' his best health; but
at length he died, having endured great agonies,
in the twenty-second year of his age.
The United States sloop of war Falmotlth,
sailed from Pensacola on the 6th of January. on
a cruise,
L
'.NO. 17.
Aniiziiic.-i~.\' I‘-'IA.\'l\’F.RS.——It is a fine thing to
get a straight forward compliment now and then
from a foreign traveller on our national pro-
ficiency iii the rules of good breeding, seeing we
have to take so iiiucli of the other sort, to the
great disturbance ofotirselllconiplaccucy. The
followiiig, from the recently published journal of
Mr. Arfwedsou, briiigs a trifle of praise so di-
rceily home to us that we will not conceal our
szitisfrictioii. Mr. A. is makiiig a trip up the
II l.'(lSOl1 in the North America, when be ob-
serve.-‘.-—-
“Tlic coiiipany iiiixed imliscrimiiizitely. and
the (I."l‘.'?,'l‘ (‘t‘?‘.f_-'ltlL’l'E‘(l liiiiisclf as fine a gentle-
iiiaii as the lirst dniidy on board. This equality
was partici,ilai'ly observable at the tea—iable. A
young Aiiiei‘i-sari, with whom I had liecii in
companv a few days before, in one of the first
houses iii New-York, was 2:-czilcd at: the long in-
ble betwccu two feinales, one the wife ofa driv-
er, the othvr that ofa laiiip—ligiiter, both past. the
age when young men are generally flattered at
being near the elbow of a liclle. I saw him,
with perfect attention, serve both his fair neigli-
bors, before he thought of liiiiiself, and, during
the whole repast, continue his civilities with so
much gixaee, that the cxainole might serve as a
saltitary iessoii to many a European coxcoinb,
who certainly will not put himself to inconve-
nience for the sake of being attentive to females
of so iiiecliccie :1 stutioii in life, and to whoin na-
ture has besides refused the advantage of beauty.
A young Fiencliinaii. who came to America
about the same t.iinc I did, could not help rc-
inarking to the American, that lie was surprised
at seeing a man of birth, of blood, condesccnd so
far as to enter into coiiversatioii _witli ti couple of
vulgar women. The Aiiieric-an answered that
it 1lppf?{ll’t:tI to him equally cxtraorilinary how a
man of birth could ever forget t.lie. respect due to
every fciiiule by a person of education, let her
rank-be what it. will in society. “Civility to all
woiiicii,” added he, “is considered in America
as a tll.°(lllCtl‘\‘C proof of a well bred man.” The
Freiiclimaii retired confitsed, without saying a
word, only shrugging his shoulders, as if to say,
that he by no means admitted the propriety ofa
siniilar coiitlcscciision.”
Gt’-'.}‘.EK FOIt.\.lS or woi»isutP.—-I have been for
some time trviiig to understand the religion of
the Greeks. I Asfar asI have liit.liertosucceeded,
it appears a strange mixture of feasts and fasts;
of ringing of bells and uiiittering jargon. This
inornihg, as Nina and I were trying the music
ofa new opera, an unusual noise on the esplaii-
ade drew us to the vcrandali, and we saw a
procession passing by; a iiiilitary band; priests
in their flowing robes, hearing lighted wax ta-
pers as tall as themselves ', flags,crosscs, carried
aloft; incense waving : a penitent clad in white.
liare-footed, and beiidiiig under the weight of a
heavy black cross; and last of all the hero of
the day, the munimy of St. Spiridon huiiself,
in a sort of spdan chair borne al_o_ft on men’s
Sl10ult.lCt‘$.l an’ s iaded by an eriibroitlered cano-
P3‘; '10-. 3 "N-s\'v'ro:i:: to say. ltirzttiftlll, !l)1'lltt).sr?
wtliocanie ttfterthe body, made me blush for my
countrymen. The governor, the l‘t‘pl‘(:S(’.TiIi11lV'L'
of niajcsty, followed barelieaded, the idol of the
people. Little sick cliildreii were brought out
and laid in the road, that the saint’s liadow might
pass over them. If, by chance, they recover,
their niot.licrs will make them wear a priest’s
robe for a certain number of years, as a thank
ofleriiig to the saint. Vows are as common
among the Greeks as among the Roman Catho-
lies. Nina was telling me ofoiie of her sisters,
who had vowed to wear a veil for three years,
digiriiig her lover’s absence.——SIcelc}zcs of Corfu.
A M.-imn LoNGBow.—At the time when
iVIatliews is making the world laugh with his
Longbow stories, the following parallel may
ainiise :
“A friend( says the relator)wlio had lately re-
turned from abroad, calling on me one morning,
I enquired ifhe had seen any thing particularly
interestiiig in his travels? He replied no; with
the exception, perhaps, of a curious mode they
have in Siberia, of procuring the skin of the sa-
ble. Their fur is in the greatest. perfection in
the depth of whiter, at which time the hunter
proceeds to the forest armed with a pitcher of
water and some carrion meat; he deposits the
bait at the foot and climbs liiinselfto the top ofa
high tree. As soon as the animal, attracted by
the scent, arrives, the man drops some water on
his tail, and it instantaniously becomes frozen to
the ground ! On which, descending from his cle-
vation with incredible rapidity, his pursuer, with
a sharp kiiife,ciits him traiisversely on the face.
The sable, from the exces of pain, taking an ex-
traordinary spring, runs off, and, (his tail being
fast to the ground) out of his skin of course, leav-
ing it a prey to the hunter! Upon expressiing a
slight doubt as to the probability of this mode. of
skinning the animals, my friend assured me that
he never could have believed it, had he not fre-
quently beheld it himself.”
INTERESSTING BF.oe.»m.-——WIr. Fay considers
Italy as the head quaters of medicantiy—-tlie
paradise of beggars. Among his experiences of
this fact, he relates the following little incident
of the flower girl of the Lung Arno.
“A. very pretty girl, but an impurlent jade,
claims the. Lung Arno, and waylays people
there to a good accoiuit. She is neatly and even
elegantly dressed, has the air of a pert lady’s
uiaid, and carries in her hand a basket of flow-
ers. Slie ininiediately distinguishes strangers,
and a gentleiiian with ladies is sure to be her
victim: She climbs upon him fastens the nose-
gay in his button hole, nolcns ’l‘0l€7?8, courtscys,
gets her fees, and thus collects a tribute from
nearly every visitor to this city, who will have
no difficulty in recalling to recollection her little
velvet can, clean white apron, pretty saucy face
mature manners, and everlasting basket of flow-
ers. She becaine, at length, so troublesonie to
me that I told her one day, ‘I have now given
to you all the men.-y I can spare.’ More
tliaii once afterwards she was bounding up to
me with a bouqitct, when the sight of my face
and uplifted finger arrested her steps: she
would stop, smile, and drop :1 tlicatrical eoiirtsey
and let me pass with ‘Oh, that is true you have
given me something before, sir.’ ”
SUNDY ScuooLs.—It is strange that any one
should be opposed to Sunday Schools. It is
strange that any parent should neglect to send
all his children to such schools. ‘We know that
idle objections are solemnly adduced against them
and political fears are felt or affected at their
extent. Nonsense! \Vill our country ever suf-
fer because her sons are intelligent? VVill she
ever have reason to regret that they are pious?
These unostentatious schools may be the instru-
ments of her salvation. Give us liglit—-and lib-
erty is safe. A nation of men ignorantnvicious
and intemperatem-eaiinot long be otherwise than
a nation of slaves.
Sunday schools are doing incalctilable benefit
tothis country. They are dispensing from ten
thousand points thesaving influence oftrutli and
‘virtue. Let themlie cherislied.--,I_’l'iil. Gazette-
POISONXNG FOR Love. A young man by the
name of Smith, of Hatfield, for whom “the
course of true love never did run smooth,” un-
dertook to put an end to his pangs, _on Monday
week, by arseiiic. His Dulcinea lived in Had-
ley, where he sought her for the last time, and
told the story of his love. It was Sunday night,
that witchiiig time for lovers. She was obdu-
ratc, upon which the enamorado, in her pre-
sence, drew from his pocket that sentimental and
conipendious instruiiient, which had so often.
cut his bread and cheese-—-a jaeknife—aiid gave
the lady due notice that he should proceed to cut
his throat. She did not (like some other dam-
sel) request him to wait till she could get a pail,
for fear of having blood spilt upon the floor. but
humanely interposed and prevented the mad act.
He came to this town, and piirchased a couple
. ofounces of poison “for rats,” went home, and
being disappointed in “opening the jugular,” pro-
ceeded to stuff it with arsenic. The dose was
Ciiormous, and operated as an emetic so sudden-
ly, that he escaped death. He has been quite
sick, ho“$\'evcr. \Ve hope he will live long enough
to repent the sin and folly of dying for love.--
Aside from its great wickedness, the young man
should know that it is quite out of fashion. Ifa
lady refuses, now-a-tla_V,'s, the gentleman merely
requests her to cliaiige the subject, and it is all
0V'(3l’.-—I’IZl1llp.3lll1‘C Gazette.
EXTR.-\.0I‘.DIE€;‘iltY.——TllC annals of physical
science do not probalily present another in-
stance in kind so rein irkable, as that of a man
in perfect lmalili losing f:-.;m 50 to (50 lbs. offlesh
.«.‘y.*-:-.=.', as the It has l‘-ecu with Mr. \Vil1ard
I‘:‘lSill.'l', of Cesa<.lagzi, {hr the last six years. Mr.
I.‘ . informs us in Sept. last, he weighed 24-7,
and on the first ofJaiiuary, 280 lbs. and should
lie contiiiue to improve, as has been usual for
him during the winter months for the six years
past, he will by the first of I)'I1li‘C‘l1 next reach
300, vvlieii he will l.-egin to fall away again and
his health all the time unimparcd. His weight
at his birth was ll" lbs. only, and _Y"§t at the age
of three years he weighed 10l— lbs. (ind from
that period until the age of sixteen his averag-
iiicrease was 10 lbs. :1 year. His greatest weiglffi
was at the age of 19. when he weighed 310 lbs.
His ptcseiit age is 2G.——L‘unkirk Vi/'liig.
PLIZ.-.si::c: Dniarn I-‘IIOM’ CoLn.—-The long
goiitinncd action of snow or cold on the animal
frame is inevitable death, and that of the most
pleasing kind. At the first a degree of languor
is felt; to this succeeds an irresistible drowsi-
ness, which if indulged in, is surely fatal—-
tlie sufferer passing, without motion or pain, from
the slumber of death, leaving the countenance
as calm and placid as iftlic pulse of existence
still '.'ibrated tlirough the frame, while volunta-
ry muscular power was quiescent under the de-
liglitfiil ciijoyiiieiit of profound repose. Those
who feel the pleasurable moments which inter-
veiie between the ll‘iO1l)Clll'SlOfCODSCIOIISUCSS and
uncoiiciousucss on approacliing sleep, when in-
distinct visions, and indescribable emotions are
experienced by the guilcless, may readily con-
ceive the exquisite mode in which the sopliorific
influence of the frost softens the iron grasp of the
griiii tyi'ant.—I\Iai'tin’s History of the British
Colonies.
A Jo:;i‘..——Capt. Yai'<lsticl<, who traded in
Massacliusctts, contrived to make himself rich
on the patronage ofa fiw, by exacting an unheard
of percentage on the sale of his goods. One
inoriiiiig going to his store, he observed a hole
cut through his door near where the bar passed.
He iiiimediately made an alarm that his shop
had been broken and robbed ; but upon exam-
ination he missed no article, not even a pin from
from his cushion, or a cent from his drawer. A
suit. however, was coiiinicnced against a young
man for biii'glary, who confessed the act and
was flcqlzittei] ! but before being disc-liarged, lie
was asked why in; r.‘.Z.'l ..:.i take some of the goods,
to wliidli he replied, ‘I found they were all mark-
ed so high that I eouldii’t get ’em oil‘ my hands,
so (‘i'}l)ClU(lCtI not to liave any x1.'mg in do with
them.’-—”\"t'. 1* rec 'i‘r;-‘ss.
Powi-zrtrur. CURRENT or Am IN TE.‘-’ERIFFE.
—1tis stated in Ure’.-3 Geology, that on the top of
the Peak of Tciieriffe, the wind blows for the
most part so strongly from southwest, that ii per-
son finds tlifliciiltyiii standing upriglit against it.
This current may be a part ofthe current which
is supposed to be constantly flowing from the tro-
pics toward the poles in the elevated regions of
the air, caused by the rarefaction of the atmos-
phere on the earth’s surface by the sun. The
rarefied air of course rises, and then flows over
on either side. F mm a south, it becomes a
soutliwcsterly current, in consequence of the
diminishiii g velocity of those portions of the earth
over which it passes, the wind retaining the mo-
ineiitimi which it had acquired at the equator in
moving with the cartli’s surface in an easterly
course.
ANi:cno'rF.—-on Iime.——-Two brothers, named
Josiah and \Villiam, full grown boys, happened
in at a store one evening, where the attention of
the company was somewhat attracted by a very
long watch-chain dangling at the fore quarters
of Josiah. One of the company asked, “\Vhat’s
the time, Josiah?” \Vith no small ceremony,
Josiah drew out his watch, and after examining
it some time referred to his brother, and said,
“Brother ‘William, is this figury nine or figury
’leven?” \Villiam, after a few moments.’ de-
liberation, declared it to be ‘figury seven.’ “\Vell,
tlieii," replied Josiah, “itlacks about halfan inch
of eight.” '
Fisiins IIATCHED UNDER l?‘owLs.-—-The Chi-
nese have taken a fancy to hatch fish under
fowls. For this purpose they collect from riv-
ers and ponds the gelatinous matter which con-
tains the eggs of fish, put it into vessels, and sell
it to the proprietors of ponds. \Vhen the hatch-
ing season arrives. a fowl’s egg is emptied of its
usual contents and this gelatinous matter is put
in. The entrance is lieriiietrically sealed, and
it is put under a lien. After some days the egg
is opened, and placed in a vessel of water heat-
ed by the sun. This is kept in his rays until
the little fisli become strong enough to bear the
external tempei'ature.—Biill. Univ. 1820 p. 85
NOT AT Honie.-——“Is Mr. Bluster within ?"
‘No he is out of town,’ remarketl the servant.--
t;i\'Vlle[l can I see him ?” ‘I don’t know: have
you any special business witli Mr. .Bluster ?”
“Yes, there is a small bill which I wish to set-
tle.” "\Vell,’ said the servant, ‘I don’t know
wlicllierlic will return this week or not.’ “But
I wish to pay the bill, as I am to leave town im-
mediately.” ‘Oli ! you wish to pay linn some
money? he is tip stairs I'm thinking;—I will
call him ! Please to walk into the drawingroorn.
Take a (_‘ll.'-Ill‘ sir, yourliat, if you please, Mr.
Bluster will be with you in a moment !”
P.ux'r:No on GL.-iss.——A I3-russ_els paper men-
tions the discoverv of a manuscript bearing the
date of 1527, which explains ilie ancient method
ofextractiiig colors from metals, minerals, herbs
and flowers, for the purpose of panning on glass.
It also shows the manner in which these colors
are to be applied, and describes the way in which
glass destined to receive the colors is to be pre-
pared. The discovery of this process is 0f50m6
interest; for, after all the modern discoveries in
cliemistry, there are colors to be found in ancient
stained glass which we cannot approach.
. 1«‘,u,_=m Bosoiiis.—“\Vife,” said a tyrrannical
liusbaud to his _abiised consort, “I wish you to,
make me a pair of false bosonis.” “I should
think,” replied she, “that one bosom as false as
yours is, would be sut’ficient.”
A Si-:Ns1BLI~: D1rrEtu:isciz.—A gentleman
presenting ayoung lady to his mother, said—
“Madam, this is Miss F. and she is not so greactj:
afool as she looks to be.” ‘ There. madam. 831
the young lady, ‘liesthe difference between I0“?
son and iris,’ .
Norwalk Chronicler