The dom of love. There have been dark periods friend earnestly and severely lectured him in the history of man, when the feeble ray for his unkind and unjust conduct. of religious instruction paled before the torch culprit li tened with a gloomy ai, and then of his generous philanthropy. The praise replied: "Your reproaches are pe fectly which the great critic pronounced upon his just: I condemn my own conduct far more excellence in oratory, may be justly extend-strongly than you can do, and I make many ed to the qualities of his heart, and even in resolutions of amendment, but without our enlightened days, it may be held no avail. My unhappy temper is too strong mean advance in virtue to venerate the mas- for me; and constantly in a few hours after ter of Roman philosophy." the bitterest repenta nce, I find myself again breaking out. 'Tis terrible!" "CORRECT THYSELF!” FROM THE FRENCH. SOME years ago, there lived in the neighborhood of Paris a retired military officer of high rank and large fortune. Possessed of many valuable qualities-brave, just. and honorable, there were two sad drawbacks to his character—he was violent-tempered and avaricious. He married a beautiful and gentle girl, whom he fondly loved, but who, nevertheless, often sought her chamber, weeping bitterly at the harsh and unjust reproaches which her husband heaped on her when the merest trifle had excited his ungoverned temper. Often, indeed she felt terrified lest his violence should be more than verbal; and although his fits of rage were regularly followed by penitent apologies, she trembled at the thought that he might some day forget himself so far as to strike her. It was very sad to see the happiness of a union formed under the most promising auspices thus destroyed by brutal and unmeaning fits of rage, which each day became more frequent. It required all the young wife's tenderness and fidelity to sustain her beneath the constant grief and terror which she felt. One day when the husband, in the presence of several visitors, had given way to a more than usually outrageous explosion of temper, he retired to his own apartment, whither he was followed by one of his friends-a true friend, who never shrank from administering a faithful reproof. With out regarding the officer's anger, the dying embers of which still glowed fiercely, this "It is, indeed, very terrible!" "I have need of a strong lesson, and I shall give myself one." So saying, he took several turns up and down the room, pacing with a determined step, his eyes bent on the ground, and his lips firmly closed. Evidently some strong internal conflict was going on. Suddenly he stopped, opened a casket which lay in his scrutoire, and took from it a bank-note of a thousand francs.— His friend watched him with curiosity, not knowing what he was about to do. He twisted the bank-note, applied one end to a lighted taper, and then throwing it on the hearthstone, watched until the curling flame had quite devoured the light and precious paper. His friend, amazed at an action which for any one, but espe would seem strange cially for one whose parsimony was notorious, ran to him and caught his arm. "Let me alone!" said the officer in a hoarse voice." "Are you mad?" Then "Do you know what you have done?” "I do: I have punished myself." when no trace of the note remained, save a little light dust, the hero, for so we may call him, added firmly: "I solemnly vow that, whenever I lose my temper, I will inflict punishment on my love of money." "I admire your conduct, and approve of your sacrifice," said his friend. The promise was faithfully kept. From that time the avaricious man paid for the faults of the ill-tempered husband. After every outbreak, h ppeared before his own tribunal, and submitted to its selfimposed penalty. The condemned culprit then opened his casket, and, pale and trembling with suppressed agitation, took out a note and burned it. The expiation was always in proportion to the crime: there was a regular scale of penalties, varying, according to the nature of the offence, from 100 to 1000 francs. A few of these chastisements had the happiest effect on both the defective phases of our hero's character. By degrees he became not only mild and good-tempered, but generous, ready to dispense his treasures in ways which, if more agreeable to his friends,, could not, however, be esteemed more useful to himself than the notes which he had bravely consigned to the flames. THE ELECTRIC TELEGRAPH. Hark! the warning needles click, Sing who will of Orphean lyre, Eloquent, though all unheard, Now of cunning, now of crime, Now of trade in wane or prime, Sing who will of Orphean lyre, Now what stirring news it brings, Rising from their knees at length: Sing who will of Orphean lyre, Speak the word, and think the thought, Quick 'tis as with lightning caught, Over-under-lands or seas, To the far antipodes. Now o'er cities thronged with men, Forest now or lonely glen; Now where busy Commerce broods, Now in wildest solitudes; Now where Christian temples stand, Here again as soon as gone, Making all the earth as one. Moscow speaks at twelve o'clock, Intellect hath Conquered Time! Sing who will of Orphean lyre, Flash all ignorance away, Sing who will of Orphean lyre, WISHES. WISHES! what are wishes? roses of the tongue; Flowers of speech whose beauty never last us long! Wishes! what are wishes-easy things to say, Fancies of a moment!-Phrases of a day! For the Miscellany. EXTRACTS OF CORRESPONDENCE. INDEPENDENCE HALL. BY ALBERT PARLIMAN. and excited multitude, and long before the delegates assembled, the streets and squares adjoining the Hall, were densely crowded by those who waited for, yet feared the result of that day's legislation. That fear deepened as the hours passed on, and no announcement was made. Conversation was carried on, at first, in an under tone, as though each were fearful of breaking the death-like stillness, until, at length, no whispered sound, or aught, save the beating of their own hearts, or the wild throbbing of their own pulses, as the hot blood rapidly coursed their veins, disturbed the solemn silence that everywhere reigned. The sun reached the meridian-declined-all eyes were turned to the belfry, where stood that aged man who was to herald the tidings; and as he surveyed that sea of up-turned faces, he shook FROM Walnut street, I traversed the square, which is finely ornamented with trees, and passing along the graveled walk, stood before Independence Hall-a building whose foundations were laid ere yet we were a nation. Its walls and general appearance bear the impress of colonial times. The body of the building is two stories in height, and built of brick. The ground floor is equally divided into two parts, by a hall passing through it. On one side is Independence Hall; on the other, a court-room. Our friend conducted us up the stairs lead-his whitened locks, in fear of the result; but ing to the belfry. They are much worn by suddenly he starts-listens-he hears the the tread of the multitude who daily visit joyous shout of the boy-sentinel he himself this sacred shrine of Liberty. placed, and scarcely had the words—“ Ring! stepped over the wooden railing, and stood beside the Ring!" met his ear, ere the iron tongue was bell whose iron tongue first pealed forth the hurled rapidly against the sides of the bell, whose tones, echoing o'er hill and valley,pronotes of Freedom, which were borne upon claimed Liberty throughout all the land.the breezes, to every hamlet within our The long pent-up feelings of the multitude country's bounds. The diameter at the burst forth; and shouts and joyful acclamarim, is about five feet. It is ornamented tions were mingled with the booming of cannon and the rolling of drums; but high over all, floated the clear, silvery notes of that bell. The inhabitants of valley and mountain-top, as they listened to its chimes, started to their feet, shook off the fetters of the Despot, and with uncovered head,thanked God that they were FREE. stood The fine near the crown, by two fillets, upon which is the inscription "Proclaim Liberty Throughout The Land, Unto All The Inhabitants Thereof." Faithfully and well did it perform its holy bidding. I stood where, three-quarters of a century ago, the aged bell-ringer, upon that memorable fourth of July, anxiously awaiting the pasReluctantly I left the place. sage of that act, which declared us a free and independent nation. It seemed a charmed prospect from thence, possessed no charms spot, and imagination reverted to the thrill- for me, although my polite friend endeavoring scenes of '76. A protracted debate had ed, by pointing out the various attractions delayed the passage of the act, until the of the city, to interest me. My mind was feelings of the populace were wrought to the all absorbed with scenes long gone by. Eahighest pitch of intense excitement. Anxi- gerly I descended to the Hall. ety was depicted on every countenance, and struction of the belfry, framing of the roof, as it was known that on this day, final ac- the quaint devices and carvings over the tion would be taken on the bill, the first doors, all speak of olden times. We entered blush of Aurora, as it tinged the eastern ho- the Hall, a spacious apartment, whose plainrizon, witnessed the gathering of the eagerly finished walls are nearly destitute of The con adornments. A marble statue of Washing-of applause arose from all parts of the room. Tears filled the eyes of many unused to weep, and the irresolute resolved to be men. But the illusion vanished, and fancy, after ton, standing upon a pedestal, with one foot resting upon a portion of the sill of the window from which the Declaration was read to the people outside, comprises the sculp-e-acting the scenes of '76, was recalled, and ture. The arrangements of the room are the I found myself alone in the now deserted same, excepting the seats, as when it was apartment. used as a hall of Congress. Long I gazed upon these sacred mementoes, until, like the swift phantasy of a dream, the past came all brightly back. Forth from the wainscotted walls, emerged the desks, beside which appeared many a familiar historic face. In the foreground, and occupying a conspicuous place, sat a man of majestic and dignified mien. It was the President, John Hancock-he from whom the proffers of clemency made by the Royal Governors, were withheld. Near him sat the benign and affable patriot, Samuel Adams, whose transgressions, like those of the President, merited "condign punishment," and like him, proscribed. The tall, gaunt figure of the then youthful Jefferson-the stoical Franklin, with spectacles in handthe eloquent and classical Lee-the stalwart Harrison, dauntless Rutledge, and aged Hopkins, were amidst that assembly conspicuous. Others names endeared to the American people-names inseparably connected with the history of our country-were seated around, some with countenances expressive of anxiety, others of doubt, and the more timorous, of alarm. Yet the attention of all was fixed upon the speaker, who was eloquently urging the passage of the Declaration of Independence, and whose tones seemed to inspire confidence; and, as he proceeded, anxiety and doubt gave place to hope, and the timorous seemed inspired with courage; and, warming with the subject, his manly form seemed to dilate and assume a colossal proportion, while a more than mortal radiance clothed his countenance, and the fires of his determined spirit shone from his eyes, as, raising his arms, and elevating his voice to its highest pitch, he concluded N Yes, sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish, I am for the Declaration." Murmurs Seventy-five years have passed since these scenes were enacted, and, of that noble band of signers, not one remains. All are buried on the soil by them made free. All "slep with their fathers." A just and merciful God lengthened their lives, until the entire band saw the consummation of their devous wishes. All saw the rising glory, and many of them the perfect day of our country's prosperity. A Providence seemed to watch over them. Pure and spotless patriots in their youth, honored and revered in their old age, heaven-guided and heaven-protected, none, by word or deed, ever did aught to sully his proud name. PHILADELPHIA, 1851. AN IMPORTANT DISCOVERY An important discovery, even better than Mr. Phillip's famous extinguisher, is the fire varnish recently brought out by a Spaniard, Don Jose de Gueseda. It was first tried a Matanzas, in the presence of the governor and city authorities, and succeeded to the admiration of everybody. It has since been tried at Madrid. Five small houses covered with tar and turpentine, were erected on an open square. Two of these houses were covered with the varnish, and the other two were not. The latter were reduced to ashes almost as soon as they were set on fire, whereas the former, in spite of the tar and turpentine, remained perfectly uninjured to the end of the trial, which lasted two hours The trial was the most severe as the five houses were close together, and all of them were on fire in the inside, but the flames did not break out at all from the varnished houses; besides this, in the midst of the conflagration, two gallons of some strong es drive to despondency the young advocate.— Having no friends,and plenty of enemies, he surely had to breast the storm of oppression alone. He was, however, studious, and, sence was thrown upon the varnished houses From the Templar's Magazine. The evening passed away, as was usual in that section of the State upon like occasions. The guests assembled--the parson camethe commotion, and then the deep pervading silence at the approach of the bridal pair, the THE BRIDE'S ERROR AND WIFE'S marriage, the supper, the dance, and the flow CORRECTION. BY L'ENGENE. The sun was fast sinking to rest beneath the western hills, on a sweet summer evening. Nature smiled on the landscape; the heart beat with thrilling interest, as, for the moment, it was forgetting the more serious cares of life, while the eye drank in the prospects presented by the lovely scenes of nature; the green foliage waving in the breeze, the lowings of the herd and the bleatings of the lambs, fell witchingly, yet softly, on the ear, while the soul joined in sympathetic union with nature, and paid homage to the Mest High for his blessing. of wit and wine. After a few waltzes, the parson again made his appearance, (being about to leave,) and, walking up to and slipping his arm into that of young Henderson, advanced to the sideboard, and proposed drinking the health of the bride in a glass of wine, which was readily acceded to. "Don't do it, William," said Sarah, at his elbow; "I thought you never drank. Did you not tell me so a few weeks ago ?" "Ah, yes, my dear Sarah; but your charms have made me a willing prisoner to your predilections. Did you not then offer me wine yourself, Sarah ?" said William-the last sentence by way of a banter. "Yes; but I did not intend you should become a tippler," tartly replied the bride. "Oh, well, Sarah, only when you say so; it's a bad habit.” "Well, I am glad that you are so obedient; it is only when you are in fashionable company that I wish you to drink,” replied Sarah, as she left him for a waltz with Mr. Murray. * It was, indeed, a lovely summer evening in Alabama. The interest of this evening was still further enhanced even to joyfulness, from the fact that, at eight o'clock, William Henderson and Sarah Wilson were to be united in the holy bands of wedlock. The village was still astir; friend congratulating friend, the old women prophesying, and the young looking forward with a pleasing anticipation Ten years had elapsed. Let us again look to the time when they should be likewise upon the same parties. Sarah is the mother blessed. All the villagers had been invited, of three children; and we might naturally with the exception of Henry Hartford and conclude, without a knowledge of the events wife. Hartford was a young man of fine during the intervening time, that she ought talents, but of poor parentage; true, he had to be a happy wife and mother. But, alas ! lately married a lady of some little proper- such is not the case? The seed sown unty. He had commenced the practice of law, der the auspices of first love, consummated had acquitted himself with credit in the by marriage, tilled and nurtured by the man management of his first cause, and was likely of God, had germinated and grown to be a to become a formidable rival to older heads. huge monster. The property of her husband, Hence, jealousy, slights, contempts, and ev-as well as her marriage portion, was gone; ery unhallowed contumely, combined to the peace and joy of her youthful heart had Vol. 6, No. 3-9. |