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i',riLooK Ahead; or the First Stroke and the By A. S. Roe, author of James Moan
treaders of James Mountjoy, especially all 1- r»;>-r«adera. will welcome this new work. It . •* tame characteristics that marked Mr. Roe's mplicity of style—naturalness of :e painting, and high moral purpose. Ia.-an is a lad of humble life, who is the archiaeof bU own fortune, and who by industry and p-i conduct wins his way to wealth and high so
e know of no one who writes such purely Jacricao aturie* as Mr. Roe. He deals not with a-iueal but the real. His characters are all native «i» soil and such as we meet with in every-day b> He describes what he has seen, and his deK . sons have a peculiar vividness. How graphic i,-rumple ia the account of the house-moving.
heartily commend'this story to our readers, «s«!allv 10 the boys. It will set before them u iiero, one who is not ashamed to labor with his who in every position is honest, manly, nntl faithful, and it will shew them too, that Ii'lbc inward that moulds the outward to its own ague;" that refinement of spirit will tell under all -a:»«ntagf s of position ; and that a noble purpose f«es dignity to every kind of labor. We cannot an* too many Charles Lovells amongst us.
ft add the following extract as a specimen of t> t*jok- Our hero is about to go a bourding >c '-/y-fashion in the family of Capt. Halliday who din described:
?ipisio Halliday, the gentleman whose family he •u about, to introduce himself to, bad retired the aaa a few years since, aud had settled at •wgrove, for the purpose not only of enjoying on sal ibe sight and smell of water, but also that he sfbt enjoy those comforts and that independence vbch the more expensive habits of the city would fcntfird from his moderate fortune. It was not btateotion to have involved himself either in the am or labor* of a farm, but overruled by the adfee of frieods be had purchased with bis house, a km of 200 acres, being assured by bis advisers Ifcen remonstrating with them against laying ont ae-third of his property in this way, "that the kit* waa dog cheap," that the house could not be wilt for eight thousand dollars aud that for the ten :imsaod, which the whole was offered fur, he could ;ci all his living and lay up money. The Captain is visited by some city friends, ibose reception is thus described: The good Captain had been harraased that day T'ii the blunders of some of bis bands, and the nau of others, and had forgotten all about visim until on his approach home near supper time. !*aen just on the brow of the terraced plot that »' back of his house he saw a company assembled, so looking round very complacently upon the pnods and scenery. Being too near to retreat in pier to save appearance he made his way towards '2erc.
Captain Halliday, how do yoo do?" and a (atlesoan with a lady leaning on his arm, stepped raaiy up and took bis hand, aud shook it with "a cordiality as quite astonished the old Captain, a-bis sailor's heart was just susceptible enough • as touched with such a greeting. "So he as-corto'7 returned the salutation. "Glad to aee you sir; glad to see yon ; your sern*. toadam," bowing politely to the lady, k "an. Windham, Captain Halliday." The Cap's lowed again to the lady, "glad to see you
t jump up here," and a fat. full-headed I of about sixteen, sprang up from a rock *a»bieo he was sitting. "Come here George; }Vis tins is my Sod George." ,
do you do sir; your son looks in good -nr." "Wei/, George does not enjoy good -.sir, and it ia mainly ou his account we have *:alethe country so late in the season, just for 'I?
r with his
stomach, Captain, and we have tried most every thing snd it seems to do no good. Sol told Mrs. Windham that I had long wanted to make you a visit up here, as you and I nad heen old friends, and I have heard so much said about your situation. I thought we would just ruu up and see bow your country bread and butter and fresh air would agree with George.
"Glad to see you sir; are those the rest of your children?" "Ah yes; come here you romps; this is Jane, and here is Susan, and here ia Ellen; here nurse bring the baby. Captain I want to show you a sight. What do you think of that t" taking off' a gauze shawl and exposing to view a little chub of a thing that looked as though it had been stuffing from the day of its birth. "What do you say to that Captain?"
"Fat child, sir,—fat child. City air seems to agree with your children."
"With all but our son George; don't you feel like taking a little bread and milk 7 You kuow mamma be ate nothing for dinner but that lamb chop. He wouldu't touch the dessert. I suppose milk you make no account of here, Captain 7"
"Oh no, sir," the captain could honestly say that there was so little came in, after the calves had been supplied that it was not worth thinking of.
"I thought so. Nurse, you go in and take the baby, I guess she would like some too; and see that George has stale bread in his milk. I am afraid fresh bread might disagree with him.
"What a glorious life you must have of it here. Captain Halliday! Every thing within yourself; and this air," taking in a long breath, "it makes one feel ten years younger. You have a charming place here sir," added Mrs. Windham. As the Captain made no reply to her husband, bis mind being probably absorbed with the thought how Master George was to be supplied with milk, knowing as he did, that there was scarcely enough for the milk pitcher. "Such an extended view! 8uch picturesque landscape! and there is such a delightful stillness and quiet withall; it seems as if nothing could ever trouble one here."
Trouble! my dear wife, they don't know any thing about trouble in such a place as this.
It must be very delightful for you, Captain, after the storms of the ocean, to find yourself iu such a sunny harbor."
The Captain could have told him a different story, but he merely replied,
"Yes sir, yes madam, it is so."
From Woolfert'i Root!.
The English and the French,
BT WASHINGTON IRVIKG.
The French intellect is quick and active. It flashes its way into a subject with the rapidity of lightning; seizes upon remote conclusions with a sudden bound, and its deductions are almost intuisffc*. The English intellect, is less rapid, but more persevering; less sudden, but more sure in its deductions. The quickness and mobility of the French enables tbem to find enjoyment in the multiplicity of sensations. Tbey speak and act more from immediate impressions than from reflection aud meditation. They are therefore more social and communicative; more fond of society, and of places of public resort and amusement. An Englishman is more reflective in his habits. He lives in the world of his own thoughts, and seems more self-existent and self-dependes% He loves the quiet of his own apartment; even when abroad, he in a manner makes a little solitude around him by his sileuco and reserve; he moves about shy and solitary, and as it were) buttoned up, body and soul.
The French are good optimists; they seize npon every good as it flies, and revel in the passing pleasure. The Englishman is too apt to neglect the present good, in preparing against the possible evil. However adversities may lower, let the snn shine but for a moment and forth sallies the mercurial Frenchman, in holiday dress and holiday spirits, gay as a butterfly, as though his sunshine was perpetual ; but let the sun beam ever so brightly, so there be but a cloud in the horizon, the war lishman ventures forth distrustfully, with brella in his hand.
The Frenchman has a wonderful facility at taming small things to advantage. No one can be gay and luxurious on smaller means; no one requires to be happy. He practices a kind of
gilding in his style of living and hammers out every guinea into gold-leaf. The Englishman, on the contrary, is expensive in his habits, and expensive in his enjoyments. He values everything, whether useful or ornamental, by what it cost. He has no satisfaction in show, unless it be solid and complete. Everything goes with him by the square foot. Whatever display be makes, the depths are sure to equal the surface.
The Frenchman's habitation, like himself, ia open, cheerful, bustling, and noisy. He lives in a part of a great hotel, with wide portal, paved court, a spacious dirty stone staircase, and a family on every floor. All is clatter aud chatter. He is good humored and talkative with his servants,sociable with his neighbors, and complaisant to all the world.— Anybody has access to himself and his apartments; his very bedroom is open to visitors, whatever may be its state ef confusion: and all this not from any particular hospitable feeling, but from that communicative habit which predominates over bis character.
The Englishman, on the contrary, ensconces himself in a snug brick mansion, which be has all to himself; locks the front door; puts broken bottle* along bis walls, and spring guns and man traps in bis gardens; shrouds himself with trees and window curtains; exults in his privacy, and seems disposed to keep out noise, daylight, and company.— His house, like himself, has a reserved, inhospitable exterior; yet whoever gains admittance,is apt to find a warm heart and warm fireside within.
The French excel in wit; the English in humor; the French have gayer fancy, the English richer imaginations. The former are full of sensibility, easily moved, and prone to sudden and great excitement; but their excitement is not durable; the English are more phlegmatic; not so readily affected; but capable of being aroused to great enthusiasm. The faults of these opposite temperaments are, that the vivacity of the French is apt to sparkle up and be frothy, the gravity of the English to settle down and grow muddy. When the two characters can be fixed in a medium, the French kept from effervescence and the Euglish from stagnation, both will be found excellent.
This contrast of character may also be noticed in the great concerns of the two nstions. The ardent Frenchman is aajfor military renown ; he fights for glory, that is unaWor success in arms. For provided the national nag be victorious, he cares little about the expense, the injustice, or the inutility of the war. It is wonderful how the poorest Frenchman will revel on a triumphant bulletin; a great victory is meat and drink to him; and at the sight of a military sovereign, bringing home captured cannon and captured standards, ne throws up his greasy cap in the air, and is ready to jump out of his wooden shoes for joy.
John Bull on the contrary, is a reasoning considerate person. If ha does wrong, it is in the most rational way imaginable. He fights because the good of the world requires it. He is a moral person, and makes war upon his neighbor on sound principles. He is a money-making personage, and fights for the prosperity of commerce and manufactures. Thus the two nations have been fighting, time out of miud, for glory and good. The French in pursuit of glory, have had their capital twice taken; and Johu, in pursuit of good, has run himself over bead and ears in debt.
A Formidable Undertaking.—A contemporary puts the tobacco question into the following shape: "Suppose a tobacco chewer is addicted to the habit of chewing tobacco fifty years of his life, and that each day of that time he consumes two inches of solid plug, it amounts to six thousand four bundrad and seventy-five feet, making nearly one mile and a quarter in length of solid tobacco, half an inch thick and two inches broad. Now what would the young beginner think if he had the whole amount stretched out before him, and were told to chew it would be one of the exercises of his life, and also that it wonld tax his income to the amount of two thousaud and ninety-four dollars V'-~L,ift R
In Sullivsn county, Ohio, one of the candidates for Connty Clerk was pledged to give one half the proceeds of the office to the widow of the late clerk, and the other promised in the ewsot of his elegtjou to starry (As vidua
A Faithful Girl.—A case of woman's devotion
has recently been brought lo our knowledge which certainly equals anything that we have ever met with in the realms of romance. The circumstances occurred in thii city, and are perfectly well authenticated. While the small pox was raging here a few weeks ago, a young man employed in a store on Lake street, was seized with the disease. It was, of course, improper for him to remain there, and the people with whom be lived, who were distant relatives of his, refused to permit him to slay in their bouse. The result was, that be was taken to the pest house,
It so happened that be was engBged to be married to a most estimable and amiable young lady.— No sooner did she hear of his condition than she determined at once that she would nurse bim. 8be underwent vaccination, and then went where they bad taken her betrothed to the peat bouse. Here she found him, alone, sick, wretched, deserted by all the world. And here she remained', like a ministering angel waiting beside his bed of pain, soothing bis distresses and attending to his wants. He died. But bow consoling must have been his last moment.
Though all the world had forsaken him, she, whom he loved better than all the world, remained faithful to the last. Her baud it was that smoothed his pillow; her eyes beamed upon him with mournful out unabated affection; into ber ear be poured his last words of love, of sorrow, and of hopes that in this world might never be fulfilled.
It recalled to our mind, when we beard it, the words that Buiwer puts in tbe moulb of one of bis characters :—"To be watched and tended by the one we love, wbo would not walk blind and barefoot over the world."—Chicago Tribune, March 6.
8it UrmoHT.—'sit upright! sit upright, my son!' said a lady to her son, George, who had formed a wretched habit of bending whenever he sat down to read. His mother had told h'm that he could not breathe right unless he sat upright. But it was no nse; bend over he would, iu spite of all bis mother could say.
'Sit upright, Master George!' cried his teacher, as George bent over his copy book at school. 'If you don't sit upright like Master Charles, you will ruin your health, and possibly die of consumption.'
This started Master George. JM0s%A Dot wai" to die, and be felt alarmed. §»Man school be said to bis teacher. 'Fleas* sir, explain to me bow bending over when I sit cau cause me to have the consumption 7'
'That I will, George,' replied his teacher, with a cordial smile. 'There is an element in the air called oxygen, which is necessary to make your blood circulate, and to help it purify itself by tbrowiug off what is called its carbon. When you stoop yoa cannot take in a sufficient quantity of air to accomplish these purposes; beoce, the blood remains bad, and the air cells in your lungs inflame. Tbe cough comes on. Next, the lungs ulcerate, and then you die. Give the lungs room to inspire plenty of air, and you will not be injured by study. Du you understand the matter now. George!'
*X think I do, sir, and I wiU try to sit upright hereafter,' said George.
Tax Aqe To Begin School—Children are generally seut to school too young. This is the testimony of all experienced teachers. Children sent to school at four years of age, and those sent at seven, will be, in almost all cases equnlly advanced at nine, with the advantages for further progress all in favor of tbe latter. Thousands of young minds are stunted and permanently dwarfed, by too early application to study, and thoussnds of young hearts receive an irradicable taint of moral corruption by too early exposure to the evil influences unavoidably found in a promiscuous gathering of older children.—Michigan Journal of Education.
The other day one of widow B.'s admirers was complaining of the toothache. Mrs. B.'s boy immediately spoke up:
"Well, sir, why don't you do as ma does? She takes her teeth out and puts 'em back whenever she wants |a"
L'few tnittntwafter wards the boy was whipped
A Nautical Incident.—During our recent war with Mexico it was found necessary lo call on tbe marines and sailors, serving in the Pucific squadron, to serve on shore, aud a large number of salts w ere accordingly placed under command of Gen. Kearney. During one of their 'shore fights,' as Jack termed it, a body of 'Greasers' were discovered firing from a large stone barn, aud it being neceasnry to get lo its rear, iu order to effect an entrance, tbe marine officer in command of tbe salts gave the order, 'By the right flank file left, forward!' The blue jackets, in a high stale of excitement 'tried it on,'but couldn't don; in fact,'they got all in a heap,' as a spectator describes it; wben Lieut. St—w—y, of the Navy, seeing some of bis lads in confusioo, came running up with, 'What in thuudvr is the matter t' 'I cau't get your men to obey roe,' answers Mr. Marine. 'Give tbe order,' says 8., 'and I'll see they do.' Accordingly, 'By the right flank.' cfcc. was yelled out, but worse and worse was poor Jack's puzzle, wben S. sang out, 'Hang it, sir, that's no way lo talk to my men. Luff, you lubbers, nud weather that barn!' You had better believe il was done in no time.—Corretpondcnl of Spirit of the Timet.
Prosperity And Adversity.—Tbe virtue of prosperity is temperance; that of adversity fortitude. Prosperity is the blessing of tbe Old Testament; adversity that of the New, which carrietb the greater benediction and the clearer revelation of God's favor. Yet even in the Old Testament, if you listen to David's harp, you shall hear as many hearse-like airs as carols; and the pencil of tbe Holy GhoBt bath labored more in describing the afflictions of Job than tbe felicities of Solomon,— Prosperity is not without many fears and distastes; and adversity is not without comforts and hopes.— We see in needleworks and embroideries it is more pleasing to have a lively work upon a sad and solemn ground, than to have a dark aud melancholy work upon a lightsome ground ; judge therefore oj the pleasure of the heart by the pleasure of tbe eye. Certainly, virtue is like precious odors, more fragrant where they are incensed or crushed; for prosperity doth best discover vice, but adversity doth best discover virtue.—Lord Bacon.
"subjects."—A bill in the Maine legislature to surrender the bodies of paupers and criminals to surgeons for dissection, was humorously opposed on the ground that the rich and good and learned should set the example of giving their bodies after death for the benefit or science;, tbe following amendments were offered:
"Whenever any citizen of this State shall die, being the owner of real and personal estate amounting to $100,000. his body shall be delivered to any surgeon who shall demand tbe same fur dissection."
"To strike out the classes named in the bill, and insert 'members of the legislature, governor and cous^il, and heads of executive departments, and also all know nothings in good standing.1"
It is strange how we shrink instinctively from the power of cold; and yet when we once nerve our energies to breast it, what a victorious delight there is iu it, worth hours of the pusillanimous comforts of the fire-side. He wbo breasts such a storm, who plows bis way through its drjven heaps and breathes its inspiring breath, inly chide* himself for his fire-side slolnfulness, and seems to have come out into a grander part. Cold, and storm, and snow, are like labor, self-denial and affliction. We shiver at them, shrink from them, but once plunged into companionship with them, tbe heroic pail of our nature awakes with joy such as our softer pleasures cannot give.
A Good Sill.—A clergyman having on a certain occasion, delivered himself of what is called a flue address, was met by one of his hearers the next day, when in the course of the conversation, allusion was made to il; lh-* parishioner remarked that be had a book containing every word of it, and had heard it before. To this the clergyman boldly asserted that the address was wrilleu by himself the week previous to its delivery, and therefore tbe assertion could not be correct. Tbe next day be received a epispdid copy of Webster'* .f
V> '• ■ • • it wen* -K . '•
Jthx Catechism Revised—In a household whe-r the good old puiitau custom of catechising lh family is still observed, the following amusing inci denl is said to have lately occurred:
The father asked his eldest son, a boy of alxai fifteen summers, who had just finished reading "Th Conflict of Ages.' 'John, wbo was tbe^rst man T'The boy hesitated a moment and then said—1 Di Edward Beecher, of Boston.'
* What '.' thundered the old gentleman iu astoi ishment.
'Father.' said John, 'I should think he wae, fo he claims to have existed long before. God create Adam.'—Bost. PostPunch very slanderously makes use of the follov ing :—"The sun is called masculine, from ila su| porting and sustaining tbe moon, and finding when withal to shitie away as she does of a nigbt, an from its being obliged to keep such a family of atui beside. The moon is feminine, because she is coi stantly changing, just as a ship is blown about b every wind. The church is feminine because sfc is married lo the stale. And time is masculine b< cause he is trifled with by^ll the ladies."
Vkrmount Deiatk.—Is pumpkin pize pizen, c am they wholesum vittalsT Decided in the negative.
Which is tbe most profitable, to heal a corn c toe a boot 7
If a man should see his father hanging bimse) and bis mother sticking herself with a fork, whic would he save first 7
Decided in the affirmative, unanimously.
Which is generally the easiest, to file a newepe per or saw.
Decided to be undecidable, any bow.
To wbich might be added, which is tbe most us« ful to mankind, the rim of a cart wheel or tb spokes.
Every day in the week is, by different nations devoted to the public celebration of Divine Service Sunday by the Christians. Monday by tbe Greeki Tuesday by the Persians, Wednesday by the Assyr ans, Thursday by the Egyptians, Friday by th Turks, and Saturday by the Jews.
What a melancholy spectacle it is when a youn man is seen wandering through the streets of strange city, alone in the crowds, solitary in thetnu titudes, meeting no extended hand, no smile of we ci me, destitute of money and friends, and—wii corns and tight boots on his feet.
"What did you hang that oat for, Isaac 7" askei the school ma'am. The boy looked up. and with grave look answered—"Forsaoctiny, ma'am." H bad fifty marks immediately put down against h: name.
You are at all times what God sees you to be :yn are not at any time what man judges you to b. only so far as bis judgment is in agreement with til Divine light. This is a most interesting consider! tion,
"Have you much fish in your bag 7" asked a pe son of a fisherman, who was returning home. "Ye a good eel," was the slippery reply.
The rich man lives happily, so long as he uses h I riches temporarily; and tbe poor man, who palien * ly endureth bis wants, is rich enough.
He that is not content in any (tale, will be cot tent in no state; for tbe fault is not in the thing, bi in tbe mind.
If you have as many diseases in yonr body as bill of mortality contains, this one receipt of lev perance-will cure them all.
The philosopher Bias being asked—What aniro he thought the most hurtful? replied—That ef wi creatures, a tyrant; aud of tame ones, a flatterer.
Let your prayers be as frequent as your want and your thanksgivings as your blessings.
the mind on a rich thi oi
A good conscience, seats of lastiug'quiet. but horro
rror waits upon a guilty aoi
Young^ men, when they are once dyed in pleaaa and vanity, will scarcely take any other colour.
When men will not be reasoned out of vault they must be ridiculed out of H
it in to cheat your tnilor, snteel to be a sailor; is to fight a due), But not genteel to cut your fuel;
Genteel it Is to cat rich cake, Bat not genteel to cook and bake; G«oteel it is to have the blues, But not genteel to wear thick shoes; Genteel it is to roll in wealth. But not genteel to have good health; Genteel M is to cut a friend, But not genteel your ckrthes to mend; Genteel it Is to make a show, But not genteel poor folks to know; Oenteel it is to run away. But not genteel at home to stay; Genteel It is to smirk and smile, But not genteel to shun all gnile; Genteel it is to be a knave, Bat not genteel your cash to save; Genteel it is to moke a bet. But not genteel to pay a debt; Genteel it is to play at dice, But not genteel to take advice; Genteel it Is to cifrse and swear, But not genteel plain clothes to wear; Genteel It is to know a lord, Bat not genteel to pay your board; Geoteel it Is to skip and hop, Bat not genteel to Veep a shop; Genteel it Is to waste your life, But not genteel to love yonr wife. I cannot tell what I may do, Or what bad scenes may yet pass through t I may. perchance, tnrn deaf and blind, The pity of all human kind; J may perhaps be doomed to beg, Or hop about upon one leg: Or even 1 may cotoe to steal. But may I never be genteel!
s joy or sorrow, weal or wo,
Won't Kill the Birds.
As spring advances, our youthful Nimrods feel the influence strong upon them to pop away their old fowling pieces at the birds. Not that they want them for food—not that they do not relish their songs—but simply to gratify that innate propensity to destruction that marks our Yankee youth.
But we beg of the boys to refrain. The little irds are becoming alarmingly scarce in the vicinity of Hartford. Wo say alarmingly—for the araieg of the palmer worm, caterpillar, and canker rm arc alarmingly on tho increase. The little Sards are the farmer's best friends. They destroy the kngs and the worms that infest his crops and his (retards. The blackbird may occasionally root •p a few bills of corn, but he daily gathers awe destructive insects, as he travels over the ploughed fields, than all the corn is worth 'lich he destroys, ten times over. The robin may kfa a few of your spare cherries, but he is only
taking pay for tho worms he swallows which would have mado your garden a desolate waste. The farmer cannot do without tho little birds. They are his best friends. We have no doubt that the late ravages of various insects are owing to tho wholesale dstruction of their enemies the birds.
So important is this subject considered by Agriculturists, that the Secretary of the board of Agriculture in Massachusetts, Mr. Flint, has issued a circular urging upon farmers and others the execution of the stringent law there is in that State against killing such birds. We have a similar law in this State, and we trust our farmers will sec rigidly to the prosecution of all breakers of it. Their coming crops will reap the benefit of sparing the little birds.
At a meeting of the Corjwralors, held at the Court Room, in this City, on the 20th day of February 1855, the Hartford Hospital was organized under the act of incorporation procured from tho Legislature of 1854, by choosing the following board of Directors, viz:—
David Watkinson, A. S. Beckwith, Samuel Colt, Thomas Smith, Francis Parsons, William T. Lee, Albert Day, S. S. Ward, G. W. Russell, Chester Adams, G. B. Hawley, James G. Bolles, Myron W. Wilson, Jonathan Goodwin, and Lucius F. Robinson.
By said act of incorporation tho Mayor of the City of Hartford, for the time being, together with the gentlemen chosen directors, shall constitute tho board of Directors for the present year.
At a subsequent meeting of the Directors held nt the same place on the 27th day of February, 1855, Francis Parsons, Esq., was unanimously chosen President; William T. Lee, Vice President; F. A. Brown, Secretary and Treasurer; Chester Adams, G. B. Hawley, and L. F. Robinson, were chosen an Executive Committee.
At a meeting of the Directors held on tho 4th day of April, 1855, the following named Physicians and Surgeons were appointed to take charge and attend to the medical and surgical department of the Institution, viz: S. B. Bcrcsford, G. W. Russell G. B. Hawley, E. K. Hunt, M. W. Wilson, and A.' W. Barrows.
The board of Director^ also adopted By-Laws for the regulation and management of said Corporation, and authorized the Executive Committee to take the care and management of the Hospital.
Accordingly, we the undersigned, Executive Committee as aforesaid, do hereby inform the Citizens of Hartford, that for the present, we have rented the House near the South Green, which for the last three years has been used by the Society for providing a Home for the Sick, (said Society having ceased to exist since tho organization of the Hartford Hospital) and are now ready to receive patients. Any person may be admitted as a patient by presenting a certificate to either of the Executive Committee, from one of the above named Physicians, and giving sufficient security for the payment of liia board.
The lowest price of board is three dollars per week,, higher prices may be charged, according to
accommodations received, and as tho Committee may determine.
The board includes nursing, medical attendance, washing and all other attention which may be necessary for the comfort and recover}- of the Patients. It is not designed to admit persons having contagious or infectious diseases into the same bnilding with other patients; arrangements arc being inadc to provide for small pox and other contagious diseases, in another part of the city, and to be under the control of those having the charge of the Hartford Hospital. A superintendant has been selected with great care, and every effort will be made to render the Institution acceptable to the public and a blessing to the unfortunate.
For further information relating to the Hospital tho admission of patients, or anything connected therewith, the public are respectfully invited to call upon cither of the undersigned Executive Committee. Chester Adams, G. B. Hawi.ev,
Hartford, April 9, 1855. L. F. Robinson.
From Godey's Toady's Book for March.
BY T. S. ARTHUR.
'Another'S^r's work is done, thank fortune !' said Mr. Peterkin, throwing himself, with an air of careless satisfaction in a reclining attitude on a bench. !l'm not a lazy man, but I do feel glad, these hot June days, when the sun goes down.'
A few minutes only did Mr. Peterkin remain in this position. Rising up quickly, as a thought crossed his mind, he added—
'Woman's work, it is truly said, is never done. I must hurry off home, and sec how i>oor Mary is getting along. She did not seem at all well when I left her at dinner time.'
'You don't expect to cook your supper, do you V remarked an employe in the establishment where Mr. Peterkin was engaged, speaking with a slightly sneering expression.
'If cook should happen to be out, and wifey sick,' was the smiling answer, 'the kettle will not fail to reach the boiling point through my neglect or indifference. That's a fact.'
'Every man to his taste,' said the other. 'But I'm no Betty. I suppose you could dress the baby, on a pinch 1'
'Haven't tried it yet; but we are never loo old to learn, you know. Shouldn't object to an experiment in that line—for I love babies—if there was no woman's gentler and more skilful hand ready to do the work,' cheerfully returned Peterkin.
The other tossed his head in a half contemptuous manner, replying that his babies would go a long time without washing and dressing, if they waited for him to do it. For his part, he despised woman's work.
'You don't despise women also, I hope 1' said Peterkin, looking so steadily and meaningly at his companion that he appeared slightly confused.
'They are well enough in their place, and exceedingly useful,' was answered in a tone of affected gayety. Then he added, more seriously, as if to do away with any unfavorable impression in regard to his home relations that his words and manner might have created. 'I leave to my wife the entire management of the kitchen and nursery, and never trespass an inch on her prerogative. It's as much as I can do to maintain the household. Her department is entirely distinct from mine. She never interferes with me, and I award to her a like immunity.'
'How is it if a meal is late or badly cooked V asked Peterkin.
'I grumble, of course—perhaps scold,' said the other. 'If I find the money to buy good food, and it is spoiled in cooking, I think I'v a right to grumble. I should like to know what you do under similar circumstances V
'I haven't the trial often,' returned Peterkin.
'You're lucky then, that's all I have to say. I suppose you raise such a storm when there is any defect, that your wife receives a lesson which she does not care often to have repeated. I think I shall try your remedy.'
'It might be better, perhaps, if you would,' said Peterkin smiling.
'Well, that is your remedy, precisely 1 What do you say, and how do you say it V
'When a meal is late or badly cooked, you mean V
'I take several things fbr granted, in the outset" answered Peterkin. 'What are they V
'In the first place, I give my wife credit for good intentions. I know that she meant to have all right. This, of course, stifles impatience and a disposition to complain. In the second place, I know that she is sufficiently annoyed at the defect. To iucreaso this annoyance by fault-finding or fretfulncss, would not only be selfish and cruel on my part, but create a state of feeling in my wife that must increase her unhappiness, and cloud the whole atmosphere of . home.'
'And you say nothing about it V exclaimed the other in surprise.
'Not a word. The pleasures of mere eating and drinking do not constitute the whole of domestic enjoyment. If the meal is not quite so good as expected, so much the more necessity to increase, rather than diminish, good feeling, which also has its office of recreating and strengthening. But I must not stand talking here,' added Peterkin. 'They will be looking for me at home. Mary, as I said, was not well when I left at dinner time. She has a new girl in the kitchen, too; one, in my opinion, not much to be relied on. Goflff evening, all.'
And the young man started off with a light quick step. The one with whom he had been talking felt strongly inclined to utter a sneering commentary on the declaration of Peterkin; but certain contrasts between his own home conduct and that of his business companion, were presented so vividly before his mind that, in very shame, he kept silent.
The day had been unusually hot and sultry, and the duties of Mr. Peterkin of an exhausting nature. Cbeerful as he appeared, and lightly as he moved away, under the temporary excitement of mind occasioned by the little interview just mentioned, he found himself weak and weary before reaching home. Hungry, too, he was, and quite ready for a comfortable evening meal.
'It can't be seven o'clock, Henry,' said his wife, as he entered; and she seemed slightly worried.
'Yes, and ten minutes past,' answered Petcrkin; and he sat down, with an exhausted air, and commenced fanning himself with the broad brim of his Panama, which he still held in his hand. 1 What a trying day it has been,' he remarked. 'The hottest of the season.'
'Oct your father a cool drink of water, Anna,' said Mrs. Peterkin to their little daughter, as soon as she perceived how weary and heated her husband was.
The glass of water was quickly brought, for love in that household was ever prompt, in action.
'Thank you, dear,' said the father, with a smile, as he received the water. 'Ah, this is refreshing!' he added as he took the glass from his lips. 'I feel a hundred per cent, better already. Hang up my hat, Carry; How's baby 1 She wasn't at all well when I left, homo this morning.' .
'Poor little dear! She's been fretful all day,' replied Mrs. Peterkin. 'Jt has been so warm; and I think she's cutting a tooth. I've had her in my arms nearly the whole afternoon. Hush! There, she is awake again. I was in hopes she would rest the evening through. Oh, dear, I'm quite worn out! Carry, go up to your sister, and try lo amuse her, while I see about supper. The new girl isn't to be depended upon.'
Mrs. Petcrkin went to the kitchen, where she found the prospect of an early tea even worse than she anticipated. But there was a kind of magic in her presence, that quickly gave a new aspect to everything. A slight but skilful re-arangcment of the fire caused it to burn clearer, and a few prompt directions to the cook brightened the ideas of that individual wonderfully. Just as Mrs. Petcrkin's hands were fairly in her work, the babe, which had at first been partially quieted by Carry's efforts, began to scream violently.
'0, dear, dear!' exclaimed the mother, whose nerves were already so excited that she only maintained exterior composure through the most earnest effort. 'What is to be done 1 I can't bear to hear that poor sick child's cries; and, if I leavo here, there's no telling when tea will be ready'
It only needed an impatient word from her husband to destroy the equilibrium for which Mrs. Peterkin was so bravely struggling. With him, at that moment^ rested the happiness of his little household. He was depressed in body from weariness and hunger. He had looked forward to the evening meal with pleasure, and had expected to find it, as usual, on the table. Instead of this, he found his wife in a slightly worried state, and the supper he was so fully prepared to enjoy far from being ready. It had cost him a little effort to hide his disappointment on discovering the aspect of affairs, when he came in; but he gave utterance to cheerful words, and these restored cheerful feelings. Left alone, after his wife had gone to see after the evening meal, and his little daughter to quiet the baby, Mr. Peterkin's thoughts diverged into rather an unusual channel for himself, ' A little forecast on wifey's part would have prevented this,' when the baby's loud screams disturbed him. It was rarely that he suffered any thing to annoy him at home. Now, however, he did feel worried. An exhausted body left an exhausted mind. Over his countenance flitted a fretful expression, and a few contracting lines shadowed his forehead. For a little while he sat, the screams of the baby fluttering his nerves. Then he arose, and was about passing to the kitchen to say, half-impatiently,' Do let supper alone, and go up to the baby,' when a better thought was born of a better purpose; and, instead of doing as at first inclined, he ascended to to the chamber, and, taking the child, quickly sooth cd it with gentle tones and loving words.
What a magic power to awaken discord or produce harmony is possessed by the husband and father in that little point of time! The good and the evil impulse were for a moment or two evenly balanced, but good preponderated, and a calmness fell upon the slightly troubled waters of his household. And such power every husband and father possesses; yet how few uso their influence at all times well and wisely!
So interested did Mr. Peterkin soon become in tho now interested and quiet babe, that he forgot all about his hunger and weariness; and, when supper was at length announced, he took his place at the table in a pleasant frame of mind, and communicated to all a measure of his cheerful spirit. If he noticed that the tea was a little smoked, or the toast burned at the edge, he did not speak of it, and so relieved the mind of his wife, who felt worried at these little dcActs in their evening meal.
Baby cried no more. After tea, she fell off into a natural sleep, and did not awaken until the next morning.
'Don't sew this evening, Mary,' said Mr. Peterkin as his wife took her work-basket and drew up to the table on which she had just placed a lamp.
'Its only a little mending,' she replied, with a grateful look at her husband for his kind consideration; 'and it must bo done to-night. It won't take me long.'
'Woman's work is never done,' said Mr. Peterkin. "I wish I could help you; but plying the needle is out of my line.'
'You can read, however,' answered his wife, with one of her pleasant smiles, 'and that we can both enjoy.'
Mrs. Peterkin, although it was an hour before she put up her needle, experienced no weariness of body during the time, for the deep interest she felt in the volume from which her husband read.
Peace drew that night around this humble family the curtains of repose. They were not rich in
worldly goods ; they were not honored among men; and yet few arose with a more cheerful spirit when the day dawned, or retired with calmer hearts when night called them to refreshing slumber. And why 1 We need not answer the question.
'And this is your 'good model' of a husband!' we hear some fine young lady, or 'accomplished gentleman, say, with a captious toss of the head. 'So a man must nurse the baby, and stay at home and read to his wife every night while she darns the stockings, or else he is not a good husband, according to your wonderfully elevated standard.
And this is the spirit in which you have read 1 Well, we don't feel inclined to discuss the matter with you. Here is a 'model;' we have called it a good one. It is taken from humble life. If all husbands in every social grade, from the highest to tho lowest, will bear towards their wives the same unselfish regard that Mr. Peterkin bore toward his, there will be light in many dwellings where all now is darkness and discontent.
Doctor George Sumner.
Tho following notice is understood to come from the pen of. Bishop Burgess of Maine.
The late Dr. Sumner, of Hartford, was a man whose Christian worth was such as should nut ]>ass from this world without a wider commemoration than is afforded by the funeral honors in which a grateful city has united. His professional eminence will be duly recorded by those who, from kindred pursuits and constant association, could appreciate it best; and it is understood that a just tribute to his general excellence will appear in one of our Church publications. The present notice is but the dictate of private friendship, aud the memorial of many years of affectionate intercourse in circumstances which developed fully his admirable character.
George Sumner, M. D. was born at Pomfrct, Conn, in the year 1793, and was a grandson of the revolutionary General Putnam. His academic education was at Yale College; aud after the completion of his medical course, he was established in the practice of his profession, for a short time at Providence, and then for the remainder of his days at Hartford. There, where the remembrance of men like Cogswell and Todd is still fresh, Dr. Sumner maintained, at the very head of his profession, through more than thirty years, the highest standard of professional and private excellence; and was, whatever skill and intelligence, cultivation and taste, honor and uubcuding rectitude, gentleness and kindness, disinterestedness and unbounded benevolence, can render a christian physician in a community which knew how to hold such an one in honor.
In his early professional life, he published a work on Botany, which with him was qhvays a favorite study; and after the foundationt^Trinity College, he held the Professorship of that department of natural history; which was eventually rendered, but honorary, by the pressure of other duties. He had an elegance and refinement of mind, however, which could never permit his cultivation to limit itself to the scientific prosecution of professional studies, even in his days of most uninterrupted occupation. From those anxious or painful scenes of the sick chamber to which he was compelled to give so much of the feelings of a sensitive heart, he sought a genial relief in every department of intelligent inquiry and of taste. He loved and read the book of nature; he delighted in the noblest authors of our language; he prized the society of the wise and good, alike in real life and in the intercourse of his library. In his latter years, with a. view to the improvement of his health, he visited. Europe, and saw many scenes with which his reading had long made him more familiar than the most of travellers become even by personal observation. But the acquisitions of Dr. Sumner were alt veiled by a modesty so characteristic as to give then* a peculiar charm; and distinguished as he was, it. was difficult not to think of him chiefly as the goodl and amiable man, rather than as the man of science , skill or literary cultivation.
How unspeakable a blessing to a large circle of his fellow-men is that 'beloved physician' in whotr* thorough knowledge, sagacious perception, thesoundest judgment and the gentlest hand are joiuocl to a large, true, kind aud conscientious benevolence _ Such a man, pre-eminently, was r>r. Sumner; the confidence wliich leaned upon him included no mixture of regret that, in any respect lie was not otherwise, or of apprehension lest he should fail when even more than medical aid might be demanded.— He was the friend of every patient, the cheerful and cheering visitor; the faithful counsellor who could dissipate imaginary dangers with kindness, and tenderly appreciate the dread which real ones might inspire. The utter absence of all display of learning and of all which could he mistaken for pretence, was everywhere felt to be, when united to his undoubted attainments, the surest pledge for the well weighed correctness of his opinion; and men reposed npon him as upon a brother.
When still a young man, he became a communicant of the Church; and gave it, through life, the service of a ready mind and heart. Under the pressure of calls which left but a small part of the Lord's day "unoccupied, he found time for habitual attendance, in the house of God and at the Lord's table, a glad hearer and a devout worshipper. He read our great divines, and loved them; and few members of the Protestant Episcopal Church better understood its character and its interests. While his own mind tended always towards the wider and more charitable construction, he could never become the follower of any school, hut endeavored to hold his own course "in all godliness and quietness of living."
It has been the lot of very few laymen who have not been members of the public councils of the Church, to enjoy the intimacy of so many of the more prominent of our clergy. Besides Bishops Chase and Wainwright, Dr. Wheaton, Bishops Burgess and Clark, who had been successively his parish ministers, and all of whom were his dear friends; besides the Bishop and Assistant Bishop of Connecticut, to both of whom his house was almost a home; many others were, from time to time, the welcome guests of his frank hospitality, or preserved with him the occasional correspondence which had sprung from former association. The late Dr. Croswcll, of Boston, when he was Editor of the Episcopal Watchman, formed a friendship for Dr. Sumner and his family, which was never interrupted, and which sparkled afresh on his last visit a few days before his death. The two eminent brothers who now preside over the Dioceses of Pennsylvania and New York; the Bishop of New Jersey; and the Rector of Calvary Church, New York, are amongst those who will recall many hours passed beneath that roof in delightful conference, and in social enjoyment; hours refined by christian intelligence, and overshadowed, as it were, by the fear of God; hours of which Croswell spoke as "amongst the dearest of departed joys."
At the end of the year 1844, Dr. Sumner was deprived, by a sudden stroke, of the companion of his days and the light of his dwelling; one, so inexhaustibly rich in all warm and true affections that many could well understand how such a man as Wiiliam Groswell, and not he alone, could name her "the trnesH)earfcd friend in whom God ever allowed .1 sinful "roan like me to rejoice." The bereaved husband was not left alone; but surrounded by affectionate children and relatives, pursued his round of honorable usefulness, though with a maimed spirit. For the last few years his own health had declined, step by step; and patience had its perfect work, and hope its peaceful triumph. He drank the cup which his Father gave him, desiring to "be of the same mind which was in Christ Jesus;" and to in God's good time, fell asleep.
Hfe death took place on the morning of Tuesday the 20th ofFebruary. after he had reached the age of of sixty-one. • _
If the just man here dftws to himself such love, what joy must await those w-ho shalf be joined forever to the assembly of ^ust men made perfect!
The Painter-Poet of Hartford—William Roderick Lawrence.
A few rods from the State House square, in the beautiful city of Hartford, Connecticut, and on the comer of Maine and Pearl Streets, stands a large, tiree-story brick building, built many years since, lid known as the "Union Hall Building." The spper part of it is occupied as a place of worship, far that .singular set of believers denominated "Spiritualists/' or "Davisites." The second story » wed for offices, and a suite of rooms occupied by
Colonel Colt, the notable projector of revolving firearms, while the first story is used for stores. Entering the side entrance in Pearl Street, you go up a flight of stairs, and at the second right hand door you stop and read on a slate " W. R. Lawrence, Stumo." You rap at the door, and a very pleasant looking, slight-built, classical featured young man greets you with a smile and bids you enter.— The room is hung around with works of art tastefully arranged, paintings finished, unfinished, and just commenced—superb crayon heads—works of the young artist before you—beautifully executed and well worth the time you spend in examining them. On an easel midway the room stands an unfinished picture. A River scene—the artist's own native Connecticut, exquisitely colored. Near the window is a portrait of Henry W. Longfellow, said to bo the best in the country, and was copied by our young artist several years since. Under it hangs a scriptural subject, "Moses on Mount Pisgah," a splendid chef d'auvre of art.
On a table a few feet from the door are piles of new books—and in the centre of it is a human skull to whioh'is attached a rosary. On this table Mr. Lawrence usually writes his ]>octry and prose articles, many of which can bo found in the most popular Magazines of the day, such as the Knickerbocker, Putnam, and the Ladies National. Various fugitive pieces appear from time to time in the numerous Journals of America.
Mr. Lawrence is somewhat of an antiquarian.— He has the largest collection of ancient coins in the Union—besides many curiosities from all parts of the world. His collection of autographs is among the most extensive in America.
Mr. Lawrence was born in New York, but moved at an early ago to Connecticut, which is now his permanent place of residence. He is a member of the National Academy of Design, and for several years has been chairman of the committee on fine arts in the Hartford County Agricultural Society.
In figure, the painter-poet is slightly built—very erect—about medium stature—clear complexion— with brilliant black eyes and glossy hair. He is rather nervous in his temperament—very active— polite and agreeable in his manners. In the capacities of literature and the arts he ranks high. He is only twenty-two years of age, and has but within two or three years attracted the notice of the public.
The literary labors of Mr. Lawrence commenced with the Excelsior, published some three years since in Hartford, and then the onjy literary paper in the State. Mr. Lawrence edited it some two years, when it was sold, since which time he has been connected with the Waveriy Magazine. He has written some very interesting letters, one of which, "a Letter from an Artist, is contained in N. P. Willis' new book entitled the IdlewHd Letters. Mr. Lawrence is the author of that beautiful song " Bessie Grey," published by Oliver Ditson of Boston. It 'appeared in the Home Journal a short time since. The following poem, which is highly praised, is now going the rounds of the papers. Mrs. Lydia H. Sigourncy admired it greatly. It is entitled—"Oive me a Loving Heart:"—
"Give me a loving heart!
'Tin hotter far than fame;
The breathing of a name.
Wbon flowers In beanty bloom,
Boon wither in the tomb.
"Give me a loving heart 1
Moro precious far than gold;
Yea! India's wealth twice told.
Or kingly diadems,
The purest of earth's gema f
"Give mo a loving heart!
To cheer mo on ray way
To ono of endless day.
Or holier balm impart!
Than one true, loving heart.'1
Mr. Lawrence numbers among his friends many of the literati of Europe and America—from whom he has received many presents. The Russian Minister, (Gov. Seymour, a native of Hartford,) has just
sent him a magnificent breastpin—the head of one of the Ptolemies of Egypt, cut in Lava, and snrrounded by twenty-two very brilliant diamonds, for a New Year's Gift. Quite a magnificent present!
Surrounded by friends and prosperity, the painter-poet bids fair to become one of the most popular literary men of New England.— Waveriy Magazine.
.A Young Hero.
A sergeant-major, now in Washington barracks, who has recently returned from the Crimea, has sent us the followhigenthusiasticaccountof the conduct of a young soldier, only ten years old, named Thomas Keep, of the third battalion Grenadier Guards, under the command of Colonel Thomas Wood. The writer states that this boy accompanied the army to the heights of the Alma, preserving the most undaunted demeanor throughout the battle. At one time a twonty-four-pounder passed on each side of him, and shot and sholi fell about him like hail, but notwithstanding the weariness of the day, present dangers, or the horrid sight, the poor boy's heart beat with tenderness towards the poor wounded. Instead of going into a tent to take care of himself after the battle was over, he refused to take rest, but was seen venturing his life for the good of his comrades in the battle Held.
This boy was seen carefully stepping over one dead body after another, collecting all the broken muskets he could find, and making a fire in the night to procure hot water. He made tea for the poor sufferers, and saved the life of Sergeant Russel, and some of the soldiers who were nearly exhausted for want. Thus did this youth spend the night. At the battle of Balaklava, he again assisted the wounded. The boy did his duty by day and worked in the trenches by night. He received one shot, which went through his coat and out at the leg of his trowsers, but Providence again preserved him unhurt. He helped with all the bravery of a man to get in the wounded, and rested not until the poor sufferers were made as comforable as he could make them. He waited on the Doctor while extracting the shot from the men, and waited on the men before and after. 'Thus did this youth,' says the writer, 'do any thing to any one who needed help. Some of the wounded say that they should not have been alive now, had it not been for this unwearied watchfulness in their hours of helplessness. This boy has been recommended by Colonol Robinson and Colonel Wood and others in her Majesty's service.'— London News, Feb. 26.
Natural And Mechanical Power.—Theamonnt of water power in the United States is greater than in any other country. Mechanical power is above all price, and yet the amount given out by inanimate matter that might be used is utterly incalculable. That which is ever running to waste in waterfalls and rapids is inconceivable great. It is within the range of possibilities that the ocean's resistless waves may eventually bo used to aid in the propulsion of vessels, and to do other work, by compressing air into chambers opened to receive their impulso —that is, to employ them as rising and falling pistons, in inverted cylinders, for urging it into proper reservoirs. Then again, in fields and forests, what power is lost, though presented in forms more tangible and accessible than in waves. A plan is wanted for collecting it from swaying boles and branches: one possessing the properties of an alleged discovery of an old inventor, by which, in whatever directions the primum-mobile moved, up and down, sideways and every way, the desired result followed; a device which, working day and night, might accumulate power for planters and others while they slept. Trees, while in motion, give out more power in a windy day than would cut them down when at rest; and in all cases power proportioned to their magnitudes. Doubtless the idea of using such power will appear to many puerile and visionary; but for all that, it is practicable, and some day, if not in ours, will, wc think, be turned to account. Farmers then will not neglect long swinging-levers radiating from poles around their homesteads, but make them serve as pumphandles for raising water for their families and cattle, and for other purposes. Movable wind mills have at great expense been put to do what a single stout stem, or two or more united, could perform.