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LADIES' DEPARTMENT.

THE IDEA OF A PERFECT WIFE. Burke, the great English statesman, used repeatedly to declare that every care vanished the moment he entered his own house, He wrote the following beauti ful descriptive prose paper, 'The Idea of a Perfect Wife,' which he presented to Mrs. B., one morning, on the anniversary of their marriage, delicately heading the paper as below, leaving her to fill out the blank. Ladies' Garland.

THE CHARACTER OF MRS.

I mean to give you my idea of a woman. If it all answer an original, I shall be pleased, for if such a person as I would describe really exists, she must be far superior to my description, and such as I must love too well to be able to paint as I ought.

She is handsome; but it is beauty not arising from features, from complexion, or from shape; she has all three in a high degree, but it is not from these she touches the heart; it is all that sweetness of temper, benevolence, innocence and sensibility, which a face cannot express, that forms her beauty.

She has a face that just raises your attention at first sight; it grows on you every moment, and you wonder it did no more than raise your attention at first.

Her eyes have a mild light, but they awe you when she pleases; they command like a good man out of office, not by authority, but by vir

tue.

Her features are not exactly regular; that sort of exactness is more to be praised than to be

loved for it is never animated.

Her stature is not tall; she is made to be the

Her politeness seems rather to flow from a nat. || her numerous comforts and good cheer. Her ural disposition to oblige, than from any rules on parents followed out the benevolent suggestion; that subject, and threfore never fails to strike and a servant was soon despatched to her mean those who understand good breeding and those abode, with a plentiful supply. who do not.

She does not run with a girlish eagerness in. to new friendships, which as they have no foun. dation in reason, serve only to multiply and im. bitter disputes; it is long before she chooses, but then it is fixed forever, and the hours of roman. tic friendship are not warmer than hers after the lapse of years.

As she never disgraces her good nature by se. vere reflections on any body, so she never degrades her judgement by immoderate or ill praises, for every thing violent is contrary to her gentleness of disposition, and the evenness of

her virtue.

She has a steady and firm mind, which takes no more from the female character than the solidity of marble does from its polish and lustre.

She has such virtue as makes her value the truly great of our own sex; she has all the winning graces that make us love even the faults we see in the weak and beautiful of hers.

THE WIDOW'S GOD.

It was a cold and bleak evening in a most se

What a beautiful glimpse of the chain of canses, all fastened at the throne of God! An as. gel, with noiseless wing, came down and stirred the peaceful breast of a pure-hearted child, and, with no pomp or circumstance of the outward miracle, the widow's prayer was answered.

Christian Regista.

A SISTER'S LOVE. There is no purer feeling kindled upon the altar of human affections, than a sister's pure, uncontaminated love for her brother. It is unlike all other affections; so disconnected with selfish sensuality; so feminine in its development; so dignified, and yet withal, so fond, so devoted. Nothing can alter it, nothing can suppress it. The world may revolve, and its revolutions ef. fect changes in the fortunes, in the character,and in the disposition of the brother; yet if he wants, whose hand will so speedily stretch out as that of his sister; and if his character is maligned, whose voice will so readily swell in its advocacy. Next to a mother's unquenchable love, a sister's is pre-eminent. It rests so exclusively on the ties of consanguinity for its sustenance, it is so whol ly divested of passion, and springs from such a

vere winter. The snow, driven by the furious deep recess in the human bosom, that when a
north wind, was piled into broad and deep banks sister once fondly and deeply regards her broth-
along our streets. Few dared or were willinger, that affection is blended with her existence,
to venture abroad. It was a night which the
poor will not soon forget.

In a most miserable and shattered tenement, somewhat remote from any other habitation,

and the lamp that nourishes it expires only with

that existence. In all the annals of crime it is considered something anomalous to find the hand of a sister raised in anger against her brother,or her heart nurturing the seeds of hatred, envy, or

admiration of every body, but the happiness of there resided an aged widow, all alone-and yet revenge, in regard to that brother. In all the af

one.

She has all the firmness that does not exclude

not alone.

During the weary day, in her excessive weak

fections of woman there is a devotedness which

cannot be properly appreciated by man. In those

delicacy; she has all the softness that does not ness, she had been unable to step beyond her door regards where the passions are not at all neces

imply weakness.

There is often more of the coquette shown in an affected plainness than in tawdry finery. She is always clean, without preciseness or affectation. Her gravity is a gentle thoughtfulsness, that softens the features without discomposing them. She is usually grave.

Her smiles are inexpressible.

Her voice is a low soft music, not formed to rule in public assemblies, but to charm those who can distinguish a company from a crowd; it has this advantage-you must come close to hear it.

stone, or to communicate her wants to any friend. Her last morsel of bread had been

sary in increasing the strength of the affections, long since consumed-and none heeded her des- pected, than in such as are dependant upon each more sincere truth and pure feeling may be extitution. She sat, at evening, by her small fire, other for their duration as well as their felicities, half-famished with hunger-from exhaustion unable to speak-preparing to meet the dread-markable. There is no selfish gratification in its A sister's love, in this respect, is peculiarly reful fate from which she knew not how she should be spared.

She had prayed that morning in full faith, Give me this day my daily bread,' but the shad. ows of evening had now descended upon her, and her faithful prayer had been unanswered.

While such thoughts were passing through To describe her body, describes her mind; one her weary mind, she heard the door suddenly is the transcript of the other. The understand-open, and as suddenly close again; and found ing is not shown in the variety of matter it exerts itself upon, but in the goodness of the choice she makes. She does not display it so much in saying or doing striking things, as in avoiding|| such as she ought not to say or do.

She discovers the right or wrong of things not by reasoning, but sagacity; most women, and many good ones, have a closeness and something selfish in their dispositions; she has a true generosity of temper; the most extravagant cannot be more unbounded in their liberality, the most cautious in the distribution.

No person of so few years can know the world better; no person was ever less corrupted by that knowledge.

deposited in her entry by an unknown hand, a
basket crowded with all those articles of comfor-
table food, which are luxuries to the poor, which
had the sweetness of manna to her.

What were her feelings on that night, God
only knows! but they were such as rise up to
HIM, the great deliverer and provider, from ten
thousand hearts every day.

Many days elapsed, before the widow learnt through what messenger God had sent this timely aid. It was at the impulse of a little child, who on, that dismal night, seated at the cheerful fireside of her home, was led to express the generous wish that the poor widow, whom she had sometimes visited, could share some of

outpourings; it lives from the natural impulse; and personal charms are not in the slightest degree necessary to its birth or duration.

WOMAN.

To a young man whose feelings are yet unblasted by worldly experience, there is a charm even in the most unimpassioned intercourse with the other sex-woman! To him how vast a charm is comprised in the narrow compass of a word. In this single abstraction, unconnected it may be with any individual reality, are united all his purest dreams of happiness, all his bright. est conceptions of imaginary beauty-with no thought of grossness or sensuality comes to cor.taminate his fancy or heart. This is at once the portion and the penalty of grey-haired debauchery, the wormwood which mingles in the cup of pleasure, changing the sparkling contents of the goblet to bitterness and poison.

Contentment is a pearl of great price. Every lady who procures it, be it at the expense of ten thousand desires, makes a wise and happy pur chase.

THE CASKET.

EDITED BY E. B. KILLEY AND B. J. LOSSING,

POUGHKEEPSIE, SATURDAY, JULY 28, 1838.

POUGHKEEPSIE CASKET.

are 2,500,000 Jews, 140,000,000 Mahomedans, and 482,000,000 Pagans.

Christians are or have been divided into sixty-three different sects, viz: Trinitarians, Calvinists, Humanitarians, Athanasians, Sublapsarians, Subralapsarians, Socinians, Sabellians, Armenians, Neccessarians, Unitarians, Baxterians, Hugonots, Materialists, Arians, SOLAR ECLIPSE.-On the 18th of September next, Antinomians, Lutherans, Episcopalians, Dissenters, between three and six o'clock in the afternoon, there Kirk of Scotland, Seceders, Burghers, Anti-Burghers, will be an annular eclipse of the sun, visible throughout Scotch Reformationists, English Presbyterians, Indethe United States. This, astronomers compute to be pendents, Brownites, Baptists, Pædo-Baptists, Disthe last of a series of eclipses, total and annular, which senting Academies, Quakers, Shakers, Universalists, have occurred at frequent intervals during the present Methodists, New Methodists, Primitive Methodists or century. A similar eclipse will not again take place Ranters, Bryanites, Jumpers, Destructionists, Sabbattafor sixteen years, nor a total eclipse until a generation rians, Moravians, Sademanians, Hutchinsonians, Donshill have passed away. Therefore, to a large portionkers, New American Sect, Mystics, Mormons, Sweof the people of these states an opportunity will never denborgians, Haldamites, Free-thinking Christians, again offer to them to behold this sublime phenomenon Joanna Southcote, Muggletonians, Fifth Monarchy men, Saadhs, Jerkers, Barkers, Millenarians, New Di

Of these the United States contain 14,762,800, divided as follows:

of the heavens. An annular differs from a total eclipse in the appear-vinity men, Perfectionists. ance of a luminous ring, instead of the sun's being apparently blotted out from the heavens, and presents a sight far more interesting. The centre of the unbra or shadow cast by the moon upon the earth, will be considerably to the southward of us, and consequently we shall not be able to witness the ring so perfectly as those in the vicinity of Baltimore and Washington city. Here, one side of the ring, will appear but a finely defined line, and the other side much broader, giving it somewhat the appearance of new moon. The eclipse will end here about fifteen minutes before sunset.

The American Almanac for 1838 gives the following account of the eclipse, as far as the earth is concerned : "Beginning to be visible in the unknown regions near the north pole, the central annular eclipse will pass through Kanischatka in Asia, the British possessions in North America, not far west of Hudson's Bay, Lake Superior, Wisconsin Territory, Michigan, the northeast part of Ohio, the southeast part of Pennsylvania, the eastern part of Maryland, northeast part of Virginia, and into the Atlantic ocean: its course being from northwest to southeast. The eclipse will be annular over a space of 420 miles wide. The ring, in the places where it may be seen, will continue only from four to about six and a half minutes. At Baltimore the eclipse will begin at minutes past 3 P. M. The ring will be formed at 20 minutes past 4, and be central at 37 m. past 4. The eclipse will end at 40 minutes past 5. At Washington city and Richmond, the several places will be within a small fraction of a minute of the some time. At Raleigh, within about 2 minutes of the same time. But there will no ring appear. The sun will be a very slender crescent. This crescent will be wider and wider, with horns less and less sharp, as we go south and southwest, and north and northeast, from the path of the central eclipse.

Baptists
Methodists
Presbyterians
Congregationalists
Roman Catholics
Episcopolians
Universalists
Lutherans

Dutch Reformed
Christians
Friends, or Quakers
Unitarians

Mormonites
Donkers
Mongonians
Shakers
Swedenborgians

4,300,000

3,000,000

2,275,000

1,400,000

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The New Divinity men and Perfectionists are few.
We have not met with an estimate of them.

'THE YOUTH'S MAGAZINE,' is the title of a small octavo periodical, published monthly by Mason & Lane, New-York, for the Methodist Episcopal Church. The number before us is sent forth as a specimen, with a promise that each succeeding one shall fully equal it. It contains forty pages, and is embellished with two wood engravings. Terms, $1 per annum.

The Magazine is intended for the moral and religious edification of youth in general, and of the Methodist church in particular. The Rev. GEO. COLES is editor, and while under his charge none can doubt its efficacy to do good. Such publicatious, properly conducted, are capable of doing an incalculable amount of good, While the larger and more elaborate publications of the day are exerting their moral influence upon those of a maturer age, the youth of our land, of both sexes, are denied, to a great extent, the direct benefit of their influence. But a work devoted specially to them, and in

'This path first touches the earth at a point near the north pole, a little east of the meridian of Greenwich. In a few seconds afterwards it attains its greatest north. ern latitude, whilst for the first eight minutes it moves rapidly westward, until it is 98 degrees west of that meridian. In ten minutes after passing out of the Uni-language and sentiment addressed directly to their ted States into the Atlantic ocean, it leaves the earth at a point about 33 degrees north latitude, and 58 west longitude: just 1 hour 58 m, and 32 sec, after its first touching the earth; having traversed a somewhat circuitous track of 5000 miles in length: and, as we said before, the whole annular path being 420 miles in breadth. It reaches, in width, from Fairfield county, in Connecticut, nearly to Raleigh, in North-Carolina.

'This will be the last central eclipse of the sun visible in the United States, until May 26, 1854. The next total eclipse of the sun will be August 7, 1869.'

RELIGIOUS SECTS.-The world is at present divided into religious sects as follows. The grand divisions are Christian, Jew, Mahomedan, and Pagan. Of Christians there are 175,000,000; 65,000,000 of which are Protestants, 30,000,000 of the Greek and Eastern churches, and 80,000,000 of Roman Catholics. There

hearts and understanding, will not only make them feel
a pride in reading a work of their own, but will scatter
a vast quantity of precious seed in rich and fertile soil.

TO CORRESPONDENTS,-Acrostic,' by 'D. C., although well written, is respectfully declined. We cannot consent, at any time, to the admission into our columns of one of those literary trifles where a lady's name is the subject, without the acquiescence of the victim herself. Our correspondent will readily see the force of our objection. There re but few young ladies who would be willing to see their names thus publicly made the subject of remark, Modesty is the American female's beautiful characteristic.

The Review from the same pen, is also well written, and undoubtedly just; but never having seen the work in question, we cannot consistently use the article in the manner intended. Our criticisms, either laudatory

or censorious, shall always be the result of a thorough knowledge of the subject reviewed.

In the lines by 'W.' noticed in our last, the tautology spoken of is but the too frequent repetition of a single word. If he has a copy of the poem he will observe that 'sweetes',' substituted by some other word in two or three instances, would be a decided improvement. The effusion is well written, but such a correction we deem necessary.

The xylographic contribution of our esteemed Brooklyn friend, was received too late for this number.

'To Kate,' came too late, also, for this number. It will appear in our next,

VICTORIA ALEXANDRINA, the youthful Queen of Britain, was crowned on the twenty-eighth of June, with great pomp. She was but nineteen years of age on the twenty-fourth of May.

Mr, SEMIE LEE is authorized agent for the Casket in Albany.

THE CHAPLET OF COMUS.

A girl being lectured for going to sleep in church, excused herse f by saying that the words of the sermon fell so mystically-like upon the ear, that her limbs got into a sort of a kind of granda ious whirlimigification, which so intrancified her pericranious perceptions, that her head fairly reelified, and her eyes-became occluse, whilst her thoughts,being untrammellified by the weighty things of earth, flew upwards like a kite, and just as she was well seated among the spiritual saints in bliss, she was awakened to a sense of her real situation by receiving a darnation pir.ch on the ear, given to her by the tweaser-like looking fingers of that intermeddling, pious, wicked, good for nothing, horrific Kitty Pinkeye,

'Look here, Sam Jonsing, is you gwoing to the theaatre to-night? No, is you? Dat I is-don't you see de great 'traction dere on de bill?' 'Yes, I does. Say, nig what's de name of dat big piece down dere?" 'Well, I can't zactly specimify de name ob dat piece, but dey say it's one dat possesses de biggest kind of interestariety.' 'Dat's enough-dat last 'spression ob yours convinces me-I'm gwoin.'

A MAN OF ENLARGED IDEAS.-'Mister, where's your house?' asked a curious traveller of a half horse and half alligater' squatter. 'House, eh? Do you think I'm one of them sort, stranger? I'sleeps in the Government Purchase, I eats raw bear and buffalo, and drinks out of the Mississippi!'

'Where goin, Sambo?' 'Goin to court to testify. 'What for? Oh, gemmen stole a pair ob boots last night, and I 'greed to gib him good character for three and sixpence.'

A KNOTTY PUN.-Caleb Whiteford, of punning memory, once observed a young lady very earnestly at work, knotting fringe, asked her what she was doing. 'I can not, madam,' answered he. 'Knotting, sir,' replied she. Pray, Mr. Whiteford, can you knot?" Says Bill to Bob, 'Hard times are all my eye, I sells more oysters than the folks can fry.

THE KNOT.

MARRIED,

On the morning of the 19th ult., by the Rev. B. F. Wile, Mr. WM. L. GURNSEY, of Stanford, to Miss MARY ANN, daughter of Martin W. Collins, esq. of Pleasant Valley.

In Hyde Park by the Rev. J. C. Cruikshank, on the eldest daughter of Mr. Andrew Ostram. 2.d inst Mr.HARRISON HOLLIDAY, to Miss MARY ELIZA,

At Ameniaville on the 14th inst. by the Rev. L. W. Webster, Mr. DAVID P. PALMER, of Lexington K. Y. to Miss JULIA A. WESTFALL of Ameniaville, Dutchess couety N. Y.

At Veteran. Chemung co., June 3d, by the Rev. Mr. Story, Mr. ERASTUS MCKENNY, to Miss DEBBY ANN SLOCUM, formerly of Poughkeepsie.

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THE BOQUET.

For the Poughkeepsio Casket.
STANZAS.

They say the skies so clear to-day
Shall yield to storms hereafter,
And hearts-the youthful and the gay-
May change for grief, their laughter.
If these may be, then let me store

Aught free from time's dark shading,
An ivy bow'r and altar o'er
With looks whose greenness we adore,
When all besides is fading.

For while summer haunts the air,
now,

Round mem'ry's path is stealing
The looks of her who tempered there,
The cloquence of feeling;
Nor list I to the stream or bird,

With songs of June and gladness,
But chords, by mem'ry gently stirr'd,
That brings the very voice and word,
With not a tone of sadness,

And on the lone fields of the heart
The sunshine and the shower
Lies meetly, and the green leaves start
As in their early hour;

When every fount in sweet excess,

O'erflowed the stream of pleasure,

And storms which on the skies might pr,
Obscured no leaf of happiness

That still the heart would treasure.

I'll not believe that life is drear,

And smiles but to deceive us;
I'll not believe from aught that's dear,

E'er comes a frown to grieve us;
Nor doubt the deep, the ling'ring spell,
That keeps no brief of sorrow-
To-day hath told, and still can tell,
The feelings which I know full well
May be the same to-morrow.

Yes! while the prisoned thought goes free,
And on its wing rejoices,

Amid the full intensity

Hope swells her thousand voices;
And I awake-as from a trance,
By Fancy's spirit given-

To find in beauty's kindly glance,
The stars that gild life's pure expanse,
The gems that speak of heaven,
Albany, July, 1838.

T. H. C.

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For the Poughkeepsie Casket.
WOMAN'S EYE.
There's beauty in sunlight, there's beauty in towers,
There's beauty in clouds, and beauty in shows,
There's beauty in waters, or ruffled or still,
In mountain and torrent, in valley and hill;
There's beauty in storm, when lightnings a bright;
There's beauty in stars on a clear, soft nigh
i here's beauty in twilight, noontide and mo.
There's beauty in smiles, and in virtuous sc
But there's nothing so beautiful amid all of t
As the bright eye of Woman, say what you please!
There's beauty in crags and precipitous steeps,
Whence the bold eagle soars, and the catar leaps,
there's beauty in cavern, and moss-sprinkl. glen,
And solitudes, trod not by footsteps of men
There's beauty in meteors, flashing afar,
As if heaven itself were mingling in war,
There's a beauty in rainbows that span the sky's arch,
At the back thunder-clouds impetuous march
From the face of the sun, as he beameth on high;
But where can they show aught like Woman? bright
eye?

There's beauty in summer, when earth is diving
And dons her brig'.t vesture beneth the sunshi
There's beauty in autumn, when harvests so yellow
Wave over the fields, ripe, fragrant, and mellow;

There's beauty in winter, though the forests are sere,
And boisterous winds blow cold and severe,
And the sun's rays nigh powerless strike on the snow,
And dazzle, but warm not an object below;
There's beauty in spring-but these never can vie
With the eloquent light of Woman's bright eye!
There's beauty in sculpture, when softness and grace
Swell forth to the eye in each line of the face,
And there's beauty in painting when set in her glory
The landscape depicts, or the bright scenes of story;
There's beauty in gems, in silver and gold,
In things too numerous in verse to be told;
Earth, ocean and sky its presence reveal,
Who can behold these, and its powers not feel?
But where shall we seek, or below, or on high,
For aught to compare with Woman's bright eye?
Walnut Grove, July 10, 1838.

AUGUSTUS.

From the New Yorker.
TO MY MOTHER IN HEAVEN.
Lover and friend hast thou put far from me, and mine ac-
quaintance into darkness.
Psalm lxxxviii. 18.

And now my soul is poured out upon me; the days of af-
fliction have taken hold upon me.
Job xxix. 16.

My wives die, and I can replace them; my children perish, and others are born to me; but who can restore to me the mother who has passed away, and who is seen no more? The Osmanli.

I see thee not!-thou art not here, dear mother,
To speak affection to my broken heart;
And he who loves thee as he loves no other
Must live to love thee for the friend thou wert.

I see thee not when evening shades prevailing Calm the soft twilight of the dewy plain; And this deep memory would be unavailing, Had God not promised we shall meet again.

I see thee not!-thy spirit long hath tasted The liberal largess of that world sublime; While here thy ministry of love, unwasted, Shall be remembered in the after time.

I see thee not!-thy form is not before me,
As it was wont to be in days gone by;
But still thy spirit is now hov'ring o'er me,
In that immortal shape that cannot die.

I see thee not!-thou art in that dark prison
Wherein the voice of mourning cannot come,
And they dear soul above this world has risen,
To rest forever in its heavenly home.

I see thee not!-but thy dear name is written
High in the chronicles of ages past-
Full in the front of glory;-mine is smitten
Amid the playthings of this world at last!

I see thee not!the grave has ceased its yearning,
And thou art sleeping in thy last repose;
And we may mourn-but there is no returning
From that dim world until the night shall close,

I see thee not!-there is no eye can see thee,
And all our searchings in this world are vain;
And we may yearn from that bright world to free thee,
But we shall never greet thee here again.

I see thee not!-thou art like some great treasure
That earth hath yielded for an angel's crown,
Whose light has shone upon me without measure,
And whose great righteousness shall not down,
go

I see thee not!-thy face is hid for ever
From all the dear ones that now mourn with me;
But they were near thee—ail but him who never,
In this world, shall cease to grieve for thee.

T. H. CHIVERS.

He that his reason trusts to wit,
Will often lose his way:

As he that would by lightning walk,
Not by the beams of day.

SONG OF THE SUN.
Supreme of the sky-no throne so high-
I reign a monarch divine;
What have ye below that doth not owe
Its glory and lustre to mine?
Has beauty a charm I have not helped

Can a tint be spread-can a glance be shed

To nurture in freshness and bloom?

Like those I deign to illume?

Though ye mimic my beams, as ye do and ye will,
Like all galaxies meet, I am mightiest still!
The first red ray that heralds my way,
Just kisses the mountain top,
And splendor dwells in the cowslip bells
While I kindle each nectar drop:

I speed on my wide refulgent path,
And nature's homage is given;

All tones are poured to greet me adored
As I reach the blue mid-heaven,
And the sweetest and boldest, the truly free,
The lark and the eagle come nearest to me.
The glittering train so praised by man,

The moon, night's worshipped queen,
The silvery scud and the rainbow's span
Snatch from me their colors and sheen.
I know when my radiant streams are flung
Creation shows all that is bright,

But I'm jealous of none save the face of the young
Laughing back my noontide light:

I see nothing so pure or so dazzling on earth
As childhood's brow with its halo of mirth.

My strength goes down in the chrystal caves,
I gem the billow's wide curl,

I paint the dolphin and burnish the waves,
I tint the coral and pearl.

Love ye the flowers? what power save mine
Can the velvet rose unfold?
Who else can purple the grape on the vine
Or flush the wheat ear with gold?
Look on the beam-lit wilderness spot-
'Tis more fair than the palace where I come not.
Though giant clouds rise on the whirlwind's tide,
And gloom on the world may fall,

I yet flash on its gorgeous pride,
Untarnished above them all.

So the pure warm heart for awhile may appear
In probation of sorrow and sin,

To be dimmed and obscured, but trial or tear
Cannot darken the spirit within.

Let the breast keep its truth, and life's shadows may
roll,

But they quench not, they reach not, the sun nor the
Boul.

THE RETORT.

Old Nick, who taught the village school,
Wedded a maid of homespun habit;
He was as stubborn as a mule,

And she was playful as a rabbit.
Poor Jane had scarce become a wife,
Before her husband sought to make her
The pink of country-polished life,

And prim and formal as a quaker.
One day the tutor went abroad,
And simple Jenny sadly miss'd him;
When he returned, behind her lord
She slyly stole, and fondly kiss'd him!
The husband's anger rose !-and red
And white his face alternate grew!
'Less freedom, ma'am !'-Jane sigh'd and said,
'Oh dear! I did'nt know 'twas you!'

GEORGE P. MORRIS.

THE POUGHKEEPSIE CASKET, Is published every other SATURDAY, at the office of the POUGHKEEPSIE TELEGRAPH, Main-street, at ONE DOLLAR per annum, pay able in adronce. No subscriptions received for a less term han one year.

The CASKET will be devoted to LITERATURE, SCIENCE, and the ARTS; HISTORICAL and BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES: MORAL and UMOROUS TALES; ESSAYS, POETRY, and MISCELLANEOUS READING

Any person who will remit us FIVE DOLLARS, shall eceive six copies.

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THE ANTIQUARY.

of the cormorant, and the hiss of the deadly
serpent, fall upon the ear of the wondering
traveller.

the coffers of the Hebrew were opened, and the saw and hammer soon broke the silence of the desert.

Palmyra is spoken of by ancient writers as a city of merchants, and it is probable that it soon became a place where caravans from the east and west met to exchange goods. This trade, which must have been immense, made the Palmyrenes speedily rich, and gave to the city that splendor its ruins indicate. But, how long after the death of Solomon this city was retained by the Hebrews, is uncertain; but as Tadmor is not again mentioned in the sacred history of this people, it is probable that the feuds and internal divisions, and weakness of the empire, after Solomon's death, caused its transfer to more powerful neighbors.

For the Poughkeepsie Casket. PALMYRA. In scripture we read of Tadmor in the wilUpon a broad oasis in the Syrian desert, derness,' and all commentators and travellers which is spread out like a green island upon the agree that Tadmor and Palmyra are the same, bosom of the ocean, lies scattered the ruins of a as each name equally refers to the palms which once opulent city-the seat of a powerful em- once grew there. This city was built by King pire. There the tall palm once spread its um. Solomon, assisted probably by Hiram of Tyre, brageous branches, and gave a name to one of and the commercial Phonicans. Such a depot the most magnificent cities of antiquity. There in the wilderness must of necessity have been of pellucid streams of water burst from the exuber- vast importance to them all, as the oriental comant bosom of Earth, and administered comfort merce of that day was chiefly carried on by carand joy to the weary travellers through the de- avans, principally directed to Tyre. Laden sert, and their thirsty camels. Palace and tem-with the products of Eastern Asia, from the ple there sprung up like the work of an enchant. Persian Gulf and Babylon to Palmyra, Asia er's rod, and wealth flowed into the city in su-Minor and Tyre, the caravans were obliged to perabundance. But the whirlwind of destruc-pass directly through the Syrian desert, and In the time of Marcus Antoninus, Palmyra attion long since passed over this beautiful and hence, a resting place, where there was an a-tracted the attention of the Romans, and this magnificent spot, and palaces and temples, and bundant supply of wholesome water, was un-powerful general directed his armies against it, towering walls, all lie prostrate, and half buried in doubtedly considered a great desideratum. Sul- confident of the seizure of immense spoil. Adthe desert sands. The palm-trees no longer tan Solomon, who monopolized the whole mara-vised of his approach, the inhabitants fled with flourish, the bubbling springs have become stag-time commerce of the Red Sea and the Persian their wealth beyond the Euphrates, and thus nant pools, and where the merry laugh and gulf, readily saw the decided advantage which eluded the Roman's power. Pliny mentions that bounding step of Palmyrene maidens were seen would accrue to his revenue, by the establish. in his time it was the emporium of the eastern and heard, and the enchantment of music capti- ment of a fortified town like Palmyra. Like trade; and the wealth of two hostile nations, cated the princes of Jerusalem and the mer- the speculators of the present day, such con- the Romans and Parthians, poured into it. It vhants of Tyre, the yell of the jackall, the scream ceptions immediately prompted to action, and was then an independent city, but was soon af.

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the tyrants that oppressed it; and yet in that the second from impulse and reflection united. hopeless moment, you already proclaimed the The first proceeds in a measure from ignorance, truths that tyrants hold in abhorrance: mixing the second from knowledge. The first is born the dust of the proudest kings with that of the from an undoubting confidence in others, the meanest slaves, you called upon us to contem-second from a virtuous and well grounded reliplate this example of EQUALITY. From your ance on one's self. caverns, whither the musing and anxious love of LIBERTY led me, I saw escape its venerable shade, and with unexpected felicity direct its flight and marshal my steps the way to renovated France.

ter united to the Roman empire as a free city. Every favor was shown it by the Emperors, and at the time of Adrian it had attained the acme of its glory. But the ambition of Zenobia, a princess of unbounded popularity, struck the first fatal blow to its grandeur and independence. She threw off the authority of Rome, declared Palmyra an independent city, proclaimed her. self Empress thereof and of the East, and received from the people the most extravagant demonstrations of loyalty and submission to her will. But the ire of Rome was aroused, and Aurelian sent his cohorts against the proud Queen of Palmyra, who, after a brief interval of splendor, was taken captive, and her magnifi.ures; they turn from you with impatience, and, cent city laid in ruins. This was at the commencement of the fourth century.

'Tombs, what virtues and potency do you exhibit! Tyrants tremble at your aspect; you poison with secret alarm their impious pleas

coward like, endeavor to forget you amid the sumptuousness of their palaces. It is you that In the sixth century the Emperor Justinian bring home the rod of justice to the powerful fortified it, and placed a garrison in it to protect oppressor; it is you that wrest the ill-gotten the traders of the desert. It was soon after al. gold from the merciless extortioner, and avenge most entirely deserted by the descendants of the cause of him that has none to help; you its inhabitants in its palmy days; but so late as compensate the narrow enjoyments of the poor, the twelfth century, a Spanish traveller (Benja- by dashing with care the goblets of the rich; to min of Tudela, a Jew,) relates that about 4000 the unfortunate you offer a last and inviolable Jews were located there for the purposes of trade. asylum; in fine, you give to the soul that just He describes them as warlike, and in frequent equilibrium of strength and tenderness which hostility with the children of Edom,' or the constitutes the wisdom of the sage and the sciBedouin Arabs. In 1400 it was plundered by ence of life. The wise man looks towards you, the army of Tamerlane, who carried off 200,000 and scorns to amass vain grandeur and useless sheep, besides other treasures belonging to the riches with which he must soon part: you Jews. It is now the abode of a clan of miser-check his lawless flights, without disarming his

able Arabs, whose hovels are erected in the court adventure and his courage; he feels the necessiof a once splendid temple.

Volney, in his Travels in Syria,' thus speaks of the ruins of this great city: 'In the space covered by these ruins, we sometimes find a pal. ace, of which nothing remains but its court and walls; sometimes a temple whose perystile is half thrown down; and now a portico, a gallery, or triumphal arch. Here stands groups of columns, whose symmetry is destroyed by the fall of 'many of them; there we see them ranged in rows of such length that, similar to rows of trees, they deceive the sight, and assume the appearance of continued walls. If from this striking scene we cast our eyes upon the ground, another, almost as varied, presents itself; on all sides we behold nothing but subverted shafts, some whole, others shattered to pieces or dislocated in their joints: and on which side soever we look, the carth is strewed with vast stones, half buried, with broken entablatures, mutilated friezes, disfigured reliefs, effaced sculptures, violated tombs, and altars defiled by dust.'

What a sermon is this extract upon the insig. nificance of the mightiest of man's works! What lessons of humility has the finger of De. cay written upon each broken entablature and truncated column of that wreck of human grandeur! Scated among these tombs of the great, the rich, the powerful of the east, the traveller just referred to thus eloquently mused.

'Solitary ruins, sacred tombs, ye mouldering and silent walls, all hail! To you I address my invocation. While the vulgar shrink from your aspect with secret terror, my heart finds in the contemplation a thousand delicious sentiments, a thousand admirable recollections. Pregnant, I may truly call you, with useful lessons, with pathetic and irresistable advice to the man who knows how to consult you. A while ago the whole world bowed the neck in silence before

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ty of passing through the period assigned him, and he gives employment to his hours, and makes use of the goods that fortune has assigned him. Thus do you reign in the wild sallies of cupidity, calm the fever of tumultuous enjoyment, free the mind from the anarchy of the pas sions, and raise it above those little interests which torment the mass of mankind. We ascend the eminence you afford us, and viewing with one glance the limits of nations and the succession of ages, are incapable of any affec. tions but such as are sublime, and entertain no ideas but those of virtue and glory. Alas! when this uncertain dream of life shall be over, what then will avail all our busy passions, unless they have left behind them the footsteps of util. ity.

" 'Ye ruins, I will return once more to attend your lessons! I will resume my place in the midst of your wide spreading solitude. I will leave the tragic scene of the passions, will love my species rather from recollection than actual survey, will employ my activity in promoting their happiness, and compose my own happiness of the pleasing remembrance that I have hastened theirs.'

MISCELLANY.

FRANKNESS.

B. J. L.

Now, if you suppose this is the beginning of a sermon, or a fourth of July oration, you are ve. ry much mistaken; though I must confess it hath rather an uncertain sound. I merely prefaced it to a little sketch of character, and which you may look at if you please, though I am sure you will like it.

ALICE RAY was one of those beings whose communications are an index to her heart; whose conversation faithfully mirrored her in. most soul. She uttered a hundred things that you would conceal, and spoke them with that dignified assurance that made you wonder that you had ever hesitated to say them yourself. Nor did this unreservedness appear like the weakness of one who could not conceal, or a determination to make war on the forms of society. It was rather a calm, well guarded integ rity, regulated by a just sense of proprietyknowing when to be silent, but speaking the truth, when she spoke at all.

Her extraordinary frankness often beguiled superficial observers into supposing themselves

fully acquainted with her real character long be. fore they were, as the beautiful transparency of some lakes is said to deceive the eye as to their depth; yet the longer you knew her, the more variety and compass of character appeared through the same transparent medium.

But you may just visit Miss Alice for half an hour to-night, and judge for yourselves—you may walk into the little parlor. There is Miss Alice on the sofa, sewing a pair of lace sleeves into a satin dress-in which peculiar angelic employ. ment she may persevere until we have finished another little sketch.

So you see that pretty little lady, with sparkling eyes, elastic form, and beautiful hand and foot, that is sitting opposite to her? She is a belle, the character is written in her face-dimples in her smile, and pervades the whole woman.

But there, Alice has arisen, and has gone to the mirror, and is arranging the finest auburn hair in the world, in the most tasteful manner. The lit. tle lady watches every motion as comically as a kitten would watch a pin ball.

It is all vain to deny it, Alice, you are really anxious to look pretty this evening,' said she. 'I certainly am,' said Alice, quietly. 'Ay, and hope you shall please Mr. A. and Mr. B.,' said the little accusing angel.

'Certainly I do,' said Alice, as she twisted in her fingers a beautiful curl.

'Well, I would not tell it, Alice, if I did,' said the belle.

'Then you should not ask me,' said Alice. 'I declare! Alice?'

'And what do you declare ?'

'I never saw such a girl as you are.'

There is one kind of frankness which is the result of perfect unconsciousness, and which requires a measure of ignorance of the world and of life; this kind appeals to our generosity and tenderness. There is another, which is the frankness of a strong but pure mind, acquainted with life, clear in its discrimination, and upright in its intentions, yet above disguise or conWell, for my part,' said the little lady, 'I cealment; this kind excites respect and awe. would never take any pains to make any body The first seems to proceed simply from impulse, "like me-particularly a gentleman.'

'Very likely,' said Alice, stooping to pick up a pin.

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