Her heart leaps to her throat in fear, And shape with beauty warm? "Tis Hope, bright Hope, all fair and glowing, Her wings of heavenly azure showing, And spreading to the wind. Then fair Pandora, freed from fear, Ran with swift steps to where young Hope And clasped her to her breast; GRAVE YARDS. BY CATHARINE COWLES. Nature whispers us continually that death is not the termination of our existence; and, would we read its pages, earth is one mighty volume, whose every line tells us this is not our homethat we must sleep in silence with those who have gone before us. Revelation tells us that the voice of the archangel will one day wake us from that sleep, and summon us to rise from the dust, clothed in immortality. Unnumbered multitudes, of every age and character, are slumbering around me, and I know not whether they acted wisely or unwisely their part in the great drama of life. Shaded by trees and clustering vines, their's is a sweet restingplace; it speaks volumes in favor of the surviving. It is sweet to know that when the cold tomb has received us, we shall not rest forgotten by those whom we have loved and honored; and with whom we have wept and rejoiced on earth; but that those loved ones will twine, with their own hands, the sweet vine around our tombs-will teach the fair flowers to wave over our graves; and will water them from the pure fountain of friendship and af So much may be learned of the character of a fection. How many hopes, and joys, and sorrows, people, as well as of individuals, by the resting-lie buried with the silent sleepers! Here, the place of their dead, that I resolved, before I should sculptured marble tells me that the loved, the honleave this city of a Southern clime, to visit the ored and the aged have been gathered to their place consecrated to the repose of the departed. fathers; that although they have passed silently And who can ever visit a burial-place, where the and peacefully away, their memory still lives in rank weed, the broken turf, or fallen monument, the hearts of survivors; and the remembrance of tells of the neglect or forgetfulness of friends-their virtues, like the sweet incense of flowers, where no overshadowing foliage nor humble flower lingers long after the heart has ceased to beat. is waving over the tomb, to whisper of the undying love of the surviving-without feeling in his heart he would not die among that people? Again it tells me of the youth taken in the sweet spring-time of existence, like a young bough pat ting forth its green leaves in the beauty and proIt was an Autumn twilight; the mellow radiance mise of May-of an infant plucked like a bud from of a setting sun was thrown over that silent con- its parent stem, to bloom a sweeter flower in a gregation of the dead. Who has not felt, at this fairer clime. A little removed from these, stands a hour, the holy influence which penetrates the soul-simple monument of white marble, bearing the insoftens and subdues the feelings, and wafts the scription " Rest here in peace." It marks the grave thoughts upward to the fountain of peace and love? of a stranger. He had left a home endeared by a The groves the streams--the fields, unite in softer thousand tender recollections, and friends bound to numbers, and send up sweeter notes of praise to the God of nature. The very turf beneath our feet scem'st bent in silent prayer, care; in vain ; him by the strongest ties of love and friendship, to sleep afar from his kindred-land in the stranger's earth. 'Twas the voice of the stranger that fell on his dying ear; 'twas the hand of the stranger that closed his eye; that bore him to his last resting-place; that reared the monument which marks the place of his repose, and traced the brief inscription "Rest here in peace." Friends of the sleeper, the gentle breeze is sighing a soft, sweet dirge over the low resting-place of your loved and lost onethe stars look nightly down upon his tomb-the green turf is wet with the tears of the night, as if tendering their sympathies to the bereaved. Rest, stranger, until earth's graves yield their treasures up The varied tones that sweetly fall upon the listening ear, Seem like the echoed notes of praise from yonder blissful sphereFrom angel bands who wake the lyre beneath their radiant "Rest here in peace!" in the grave where thou'rt sleeping, bowers, And sweetly repose in thy vine-covered tomb; And wreath for aye their golden harps with amaranthine No mourner's pale form a vigil is keeping; flowers. Wild flowers shed round thee their sweetest perfume; The clematis droops, the willow is bending To kiss the green sod that covers thy breast; The last rose of Summer its perfume is lending, And the first sigh of Autumn is breathed for thy rest. NEW LIGHTS. The quickstep march of modern mind The cripple only can get in! The sure of foot and sound of limb It goes ahead, (no matter how,) With such a fifty savan-power, -On the high pressure plan of teaching: to see, at the same time, a disposition manifested to ridicule this lubricous patriot. A spirit of satire, instigated no doubt by the spermaceti interest at Nantucket, or by the holders of hog's fat at Cincinnati, has already sprung up, as it is always sure to do when deep discoveries are made known, and great genius developes itself. We care not for others, and shall always make up our own estimate of great men upon our individual responsibility, without stopping to inquire into the opinions of contemporaneous criticism. It would have been a great thing for Galileo if he could have had the benefit of our countenance and encouragement, when the besotted ignoramuses around him voted his philosophy a bore and an imposture. We should have seen at once into his philosophy, and beaten all the boobies out of their opposition to the "new lights." Just so we intend to act on the present occasion. It is our intention to take this Western philosopher and his Castor candles under our special protection, and permit none of the false philosophers to blow them out, till the world blazes into an illumination as bright and as brilliant as the prairie which was set fire to, by a stray spark from the imagination of Mr. Fennimore Cooper. It will never do to tell us that there is any humbug in this business, or even that it is a mere lightning-bug. We have more faith, and have better studied the "lights of the age," than to cramp the inventive faculties of Mr. Marsh, the illustrious inventor. We just as much believe that he can make good summer candles from Castor Oil as we believe in a great many other "improvements," ancient as well as modern. The philosopher of Laputa believed he could extract very good sunshine (or moonshine, we really do not recollect which,) from cucumbers; and we have very little doubt he did, though Swift leaves us in the dark as to the final success of that sublime experiment. We have heard of another gentleman of "an ingenious turn of mind," who proposed to concoct Congressional speeches of "thrilling eloquence" from the "brawler's common-place book;" and of another, who took out a patent for making rainbows from the sediment of a chimney sweeper's tumbler of sour ale. It is understood that an Eastern savan, "located" somewhere among the granite hills of New-Hampshire, has nearly brought to Some friend of the human family at the West-perfection a cheap plan of digging double the quanone of your Utilitarian gentlemen, who are con- tity of potatoes out of a hill that could ever be stantly upon the qui vive for a chance to extract coaxed to grow in it; an intelligent operative the "essential oil" of mortal happiness from those at Lowell has actually extracted an excellent cough grosser productions of nature, which seem in their candy from the devil's own turnip; and a gentleman crude state to be little better than so many fungi of "great scientific acquirements," in one of the upon her fair face-announces the fact that he can Hoosier towns, has contracted to light the streets manufacture first rate candles from Castor Oil, and with gas obtained from the natural deposites of the local newspapers express a conviction, as clear as the wick of one of the inventor's own fabric, that they are abundantly better than the bay-berry, sperm, wax, or even mutton tallow! We are sorry Lay of the Last Tom Toddle. CASTOR OIL CANDLES. the village stable. We have even heard it asserted, and we believe it as religiously as we believe in Castor Oil candles, that there is a fellow "down east" who can make first rate quince jelly from a Cape Cod halibut; and we have ourselves seen a philosopher from the same region who was engaged several years in an effort to extract the Prussian blue from a toper's nose-he never succeeded very satisfactorily, we believe, but it would have been all the better for the beauty of the patient's proboscis if he had. One of his neighbors is making experiments which promise better success-having undertaken to furnish the New-Haven astronomers with a new meteor made from a North-Stonington cheese-warranting it not to fall more than three miles from West Rock, and not to have any "skippers in it till Professor Olmstead has analyzed the particles, and settled the precise position in which it first made its appearance in the heavens." All these things being believed in with the implicit faith professed by ourselves, we should like to know whether there is going to be any doubt on our part as to the authenticity of the candles! Not exactly, we reckon. If the Western gentleman had invented a method of converting Sal Volatile or the effervescence of a beer bottle into wax torch lights, we would have believed in the reality of the discovery with just about as plenary faith as we have now! How, under heaven, could credulity carry its convictions much farther? There is, however, a more practical view of this subject. The Castor Oil candles will create a new era in literary life. The midnight lucubrations of the magazine writers will answer the double purpose of mental and bobily cathartics. The concocter of "interesting tales," and the munipulator of "touching verses"-we call him munipulator, because he counts his spondees upon his fingers, and generally miscounts them-almost always operate" upon the sensibilities of those to whom they administer, by an appeal to his stomach. The use of these medicinal lights will account for the phenomena, and there will be no loss among the doctors hereafter, as to the proper remedy. 66 There have been a good many cases lately, which would have been more speedily cured if the cause of the calamity had been known. We have seen more than one poet and an indefinite number of novel writers, within a year or two past, who have inoculated a numerous population with an alarming disease, and produced a nausea-a sort of epidemic "milk sickness," or rather milk-and-water disease, which the regular practitioners could not account for. The public stomach has been subjected to a disturbance, and the popular brain been whirled about by a vertigo, that had well nigh upset the entire body politic. We never could account for it before; but a light has broken in upon us. The poets and the poetasters, the premium tragedy writers and the authorlings in the " penny line," have been physicking the public, by making up their prescriptions from the light of the Castor Oil Candles. With the skill of an Orpheus to soften the brute; * This poem, by Lord Byron, appeared many years since in the New-England Galaxy. It commemorates the visit of George IV. to Ireland, and is stated in the Galaxy to have been given by the author to West, the painter, from whom the correspondent of the Galaxy derived it. It is rot contained in any edition of Byron's works that we have seen.-Ed. Mess. Wear, Fingal, thy trapping! O'Connell proclaim His accomplishments! His!! and thy country convince Half an age's contempt was an error of fame, XXVI. Sport, drink, feast and flatter! Oh Erin, how low Wert thou sunk by misfortune and tyranny, till Thy welcome of tyrants hath plunged thee below The depth of thy deep, in a deeper gulph still. XXVII. My voice, though but humble, was raised for thy right, XXVIII. Yes, I loved thee and thine, though thou art not my land; XXIX. For happy are they now reposing afar, XXX. Yes, happy are they in their cold English graves! Their shades cannot start at thy shouts of to-dayNor the steps of enslavers and chain-kissing slaves, Be stamped in the turf o'er the fetterless clay. XXXI. And that Hal is the rascallest, sweetest young prince !" Till now, I had envied thy sons and thy shore, XVIII. Will thy yard of blue ribbon, poor Fingal, recall Or has it not bound thee the fastest of all, The slaves who now hail their betrayer with hymns? ΧΙΧ. Aye, "build him a dwelling!" let each give his mite, XX. Spread-spread for Vitellius the revel repast, XXI. Let the tables be loaded with feasts till they groan! XXII. Bat let not his name be thine idol alone- XXIII. Till now, when the isle which should blush for his birth, XXIV. Without one single ray of her genius, without XXV. If she did let her long-boasted proverb be hushed, Which proclaims that from Erin no reptile can springSee the cold blooded serpent with venom full flushed, Still warming its folds in the breast of a king! VOL. VIII-26 Though their virtues were hunted, their liberties fled, There was something so warm and sublime in the core Of an Irishman's heart that I envy-thy dead. XXXII. Or, if aught in my bosom can quench for an hour CABBAGE. Cabbage! Many there are, who have never heard of Indian corn, or salsify, egg-plants, okra, artichokes, sweet potatoes, or even of asparagus; but never yet was there one who had not heard of cabbage, or had never eaten it in some shape or other. Beau Brummel had his conceits about it; and much did silly people, for a time, affect to despise it; but this lasted only till he himself grew out of fashion; and then this excellent and nutritious vegetable modestly made its appearance on our table again. I scarcely know at what period of its curious and eventful history to commence; for it is of great antiquity, and embraces within its infancy and present maturity-(quere, is it in its maturity yet?)-the rise and fall of empires, theories and tastes; with all, and each, it is mixed up, and bears a conspicuous part. With its merits and virtues I have long been acquainted; so long, and so early, in fact, that it never before struck me to investigate its character. I should as soon have thought of investigating the character of a familiar friend, one that I was in the habit of seeing daily; and, how could it occur to me to inquire about the beginning of a thing,| which I knew was never to have an end? But, if I were thus unconscious of my delinquency; careless of the reputation of an esculent that had always filled up so large a gap on my table, and had so often come to my aid when an unexpected guest claimed hospitality; if I went about the world, star-gazing, or wool-gathering, picking up meteoric stones, and giving philosophers nuts to crack, while such a vast cabbagetical field lay unexplored, there was one at least who did not slumber; he did not remain idle or indifferent. In all my little etymological difficulties,—and a searcher after truth has many,-I only had to say sesame, and a vast store-house, a deep reservoir, an inexhaustible mine, was opened to me, from which I could extract what I would,—iron, silver, gold, and diamonds, just as they were required for present use. In an idle moment, I carelessly inquired about the origin of the word Kale. Good heavens! what a light burst in upon me, what a flood of long forgotten thoughts rushed in, when the answer came. And I have eaten and raised cabbages all my life, thought I, without knowing how large a space it filled in history, politics, religion and literature ! "We left Koko-Noor and went off to the west, Was not the most bloody sea fight ever known caused by the cupidity of one of the admirals, who wanted to possess himself of forty barrels of sour krout, which the rival squadron had on board one of its vessels? 46 They laid aside the pipe and joke, And before crossing the Alps, according to Polybius, did not Hannibal refresh his troops with the abundance of sea Kale, which grew on the borders of the Doria Balta? Thus saith the poetGreat Hannibal in military tactics skilled, In the art of war his valorous soldiers drilled, And in that art he included wholesome fare Which, with small cost to Carthage, was both good and rare; Each soldier had at meals a mess of beef and Kale, Flanked with a generous flagon of the Ivrean ale.” Was not Sesostrus nourished by the delicate Why did I not recollect, in the earliest sonnet Broccoli?, was not his spirits raised by the warm extant, "That tender bud, which thrust its head, Up from its mellow, briny bed, And when in steaming kettle cast, Came forth to grace the rich repast?" There too was the battle between the monks, in which cabbage had such peaceful effects-when The Abbot, with the Sacristan, Came near them with a smoking pan, Who has not read of the calumet, the pipe of peace? And do we not all know, that the word is derived from "calimus, a root, which is of the cabbage tribe ?" that originally, it was the dried root itself, which was used long before tobacco was known; and that calumet means the bland perfume of the root? Hear what the bard has sung "The fragrant calamus the Indians dried; And when the rival chiefs sat side by side, Into each pipe the Sachem gravely laidThe herb of grace, which angry passions staid, And if the rival warriors smoked in peace, It was the signal that the war should cease." Have we not read of the Calmucs, originally Calimas, or Khalemiks? and is not this derived from stomachic, Calamus? did he not plant the Kale and the Calamus wherever he planted an obelisk and have not the former remained to testify his worth, while the latter has perished? "All of male kind-so ancient sybils write- I could go on and fill every page in the Messenger with quotations from ancient and modern writers and bards, who have been loud in the praise of Cabbage and all its varieties; but I must content myself with an extract-the answer to the question before mentioned, respecting the origin of sea Kale,—knowing that it will not only enlighten my readers, but raise the writer of that extract in their estimation. At some future time, with the permis sion of this ripe scholar and ingenious critic,-this kind, golden sesame-I will give to the world, his etymology of the word Webster-a difficulty which he has most satisfactorily solved; but to the extract: "Is not Kale of the same family with the German Kohl, (cabbage,) with which our English terms Cole, Colewort, or cauliflower, are connected? the root Calamus? Does not this mean separated, Cabbage appears to have been a favorite article just as the fibres of the dried Calamus are separated, of food with our northern ancestors; the following like the tobacco that is cut in shreds-and like may amuse you- the cole-slaw of the table, cut into vermicular tortuosity?-listen to the song of the Calmuc German-Kohl. Dutch-Kool. |