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MONUMENTS OF NEW-YORK.

BY B

MONUMENTS of any description are beauti- | The first is that of the patriot Emmet,* the fully expressive of a mourner's loss; but in a metropolis like our own we find, alas! more emblems of the follies of the living than of the virtues of the dead. New-York has indeed evinced a deficiency of gratitude for the services of many of her best and noblest sons. The erection of a statue or an honorary tomb over the remains of the immortal Fulton* would alone add much to her present reputation. Since the year 1815 they have remained in the Livingston vault in Trinity churchyard. No star of honor emblazoned upon his breast, and no column, let us repeat, standing above his grave, records to him a nation's gratitude.

Time, 'tis true, has brought about many sad and momentous changes. A large and magnificent city has encircled the once vacant-like plots which, in "the days that tried men's souls," were devoted to the dead. It has created many improvements in and about these old and venerated grounds. In the churchyard just named we find a monument to the memory of Lawrence and Ludlow. The present one was erected by the vestry of Trinity Church, and designed by Mr. Upjohn, the architect of that noble building. The original monument was built of brick, and encased with marble; but even this memento of their fame was with apparent indifference allowed to crumble. The bodies of these illustrious men were first buried in Halifax; from thence they were removed to Salem, Massachusetts, and afterwards interred in Trinity churchyard. A monument to Hamilton is adjacent thereto, and in the vestry-room of the church is a like token to the memory of the pious, the gifted, and the beloved Hobart.

In the cemetery of Saint Paul's we next find several of the prominent monuments which the great city of New-York is able to boast of.

Fulton died on the 15th of February, 1815, at his residence, No. 1 State-street. His body was followed to the grave by the officers of the national and State governments.

melancholy countenance of whom now looks
forth in marble from the garden of the
church upon the thronging multitudes of the
city whose adopted son he was.
A man, also,
whose intellectual efforts were the pure ema-
nations of a mighty, ardent and upright soul.
In the front wall of the chapel is a statue,
erected by order of the State legislature, to
the memory of General Montgomery; and
amidst the old altar tombs, and the weeping-
willows of the cemetery may be seen monu-
ments to Cooke, and Rochambeau, surrounded
by the graves of many patriotic citizens who
have long since mixed their ashes with the
moldering dust.

Within the church stands an elegant monument to the memory of John Wells, ‡ a member of the New-York Bar. He was a ripe scholar, a profound lawyer, an eloquent advocate, a firm but temperate politician, a finished gentleman, and a sincere, generous, and steadfast friend. Like the renowned Colden, to whose memory a mural monument has been erected in Grace Church, he commanded the confidence and attachment of his fellow-citizens.

Small in number as are the monuments of New-York, they recall, nevertheless, to our remembrance, many examples of duty, and of their beautiful as well as triumphant results. We undoubtedly miss the society of great and good men, but are consoled with the reflection that they whose lives have been spent in useful pursuits, cannot be said to have lived in vain.

This column was taken from a quarry at East Chester, and it was moved from the North River, previous to its completion, by being placed on rollers, to which were

attached five yoke of oxen.

The wife of General Montgomery was a daughter of the Hon. R. R. Livingston, Chancellor of New-York. After the death of her husband, she visited the city of Dublin, where the people greatly sympathized with her.

Lawyer Wells died in 1823, at his residence on Brooklyn Heights Cadwallader D. Colden was for several years Mayor of this city, a State senator, and a representative in the Congress of the United States.

POWHATTAN AND HIS TRIBE.

[From Childs' Treasury of Knowledge.]

POWHATTAN, the most powerful of the Indian | brown when they are of any age, but they are kings, was Sachem of the tribes in Virginia and the neighboring territory. He was a bold savage polite and patriotic. He saw at once that the whites would soon control his country if they were not destroyed, and he set about to effect this; but, by the prudence and prowess of Captain John Smith, he was baffled in all his schemes for this purpose.

Powhattan was called crafty, insidious and cruel, but he was no more so than other patriotic aboriginals. These sons of the forest loved their country, and they had sagacity enough to see that it would soon be taken from them if they did not make a struggle to rid themselves of the new-comers. After the marriage of his daughter, Pocahontas, to Mr. Rolfe, Powhattan lived in peace with the English until his death. If the Indians are seen through the medium of taste, they are loathsome; but if we view them as warriors, patriots and philosophers, they are as brave as those of the phalanx, and as patriotic as Epaminondas; and the stoic of the woods is as indifferent to fate as the stoic of schools.

Captain Smith's account of the Virginia Indians is curious, and unquestionably faithful.* "The land is not populous, for the men be few; their far greater number is women and children. Within sixty miles of Jamestown there are about some five thousand people, but of able men fit for their wars, scarce fifteen hundred. To nourish so many together they have yet no means, because they make so small a benefit of their land, be it never so fertile. Six or seven hundred have been the most hath been seen together, when they gathered themselves to have surprised me at Pamaunkee, having but fifteen to withstand the worst of their fury. As small as the proportion of ground that hath yet been discovered is, in comparison of that yet unknown, the people differ very much in stature, especially in language, as before is expressed. Some being very great, as the Sasquesahanocks; others very little, as the Wighcocomocoes; but generally tall and straight, of a comely proportion, and of a color

We have taken the liberty to modernize the orthography of Captain Smith's text.

born white. Their hair is generally black, but few have any beards. The men wear half their beards shaven, the other half long; for barbers they use their women, who, with two shells, will grate away the hair, of any fashion they please. The women are cut in many fashions, agreeable to their years, but ever some part remaineth long. They are very strong, of able body, and full of agility, able to endure, to lie in the woods, under a tree, by the fire, in the worst of winter, or in the weeds and grass, in ambuscado, in summer. They are inconstant in everything, but when fear constraineth them to keep-crafty, timorous, quick of apprehension and very ingenious.— Some are of dispositions fearful, some bold, most cautious, all savage; generally covetous of copper, beads and such like trash. They are soon moved to anger, and so malicious that they seldom forget an injury. They seldom steal from one another, lest their conjurers should reveal it, and so they are pursued and punished. That they are thus feared is certain, but that any one can reveal their offences by conjuration, I am doubtful.

"Their women are careful not to be sus

pected of dishonesty without the leave of their husbands. Each household knoweth their own lands and gardens, and most live of their own labors. For their apparel they are sometimes covered with the skins of wild beasts, which, in winter, are dressed with the hair, but in summer without. The better sort use large mantles of deer-skins, not much different in fashion from the Irish mantles. Some embroidered with white beads, some with copper others painted after their manner. But the common sort scarce cover their nakedness, but with grass, the leaves of trees and such like. We have seen some use mantles made of turkey feathers, so prettily wrought and woven with threads that nothing could be discerned but the feathers. That was exceeding warm and very handsome. But the women are always covered about their middles with a skin, and very shameful to be seen bare.They adorn themselves most with copper beads and paintings.

"Their women, some have their legs, hands, breasts and face, cunningly embroidered with divers works, as beasts, serpents, artificially wrought into their flesh with black spots. In each ear commonly they have three great holes, whereat they hang chains, bracelets or copper. Some of their men wear, in those holes a small green and yellow-colored snake,

near half a yard in length, which crawling and lapping herself about his neck, oftentimes familiarly, would kiss his lips. Others wear a dead rat tied by the tail. Some on their heads wear the wing of a bird, or some large feather with a rattle. Those rattles are somewhat like the shape of a rapier, but less, which they take from the tail of a snake."

THINGS WORTH KEEPING BY HEART.

WIFE, MISTRESS, LADY.-Who marries from love, takes a wife; who marries for the sake of convenience, takes a mistress; who marries from consideration, takes a lady. You are loved by your wife, regarded by your mistress, tolerated by your lady. You have a wife for yourself, a mistress for your house and its friends, a lady for the world. Your wife will agree with you, your mistress will accommodate you, your lady will manage you. Your wife will take care of your household; your mistress, of your house; your lady, of appearances. If you are sick, your wife will nurse you, your mistress will visit you, and your lady will inquire after your health. You take a walk with your wife, a ride with your mistress, and join parties with your lady. Your wife will share your grief, your mistress your money, and your lady your debts. If you are dead your wife will shed tears, your mistress lament, and your lady wear mourning. A year after your death marries again your wife; in six months, your mistress; and in six weeks, or sooner, when mourning is over, your lady.-Mirror.

INFLUENCE OF GENIUS.-There are authors in approaching whom we are conscious of an access of intellectual strength. A "virtue goes out" from them. Sometimes a single word, spoken by the voice of genius, goes far into the heart. A hint, a suggestion, an undefined delicacy of expression, teaches more than we gather from volumes of less gifted men.

WHAT IS BEAUTY --We discover great beauty in those who are not beautiful, if they possess genuine truthfulness, simplicity, and sincerity. No deformity is present where vanity and affectation are absent; and we are unconscious of the want of charms in those who have the power of fascinating us by something more real and permanent than external attractions and transitory shows.

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FLIRTATION, Whether seriously or lightly considered, is injurious to a woman as well as exceedingly unbecoming in her. It is a broad, unblushing confession, which the individual makes of her desire to attract the notice of men.

[Here is something from an Emperor, which, being intrinsically good, is none the worse for its authority: he who uttered it was a man of the world, a keen observer, a philosopher, and, as our readers must admit, a true prophet.]

NAPOLEON'S ADVICE TO A YOUNG AMERICAN. -You soon depart for the Western, and I for the Eastern hemisphere. A new career of action is now opened before me, and I hope to unite my name with new and great events, and with the unrivaled greatness of the republic; you go to unite yourself once more with a people among whom I behold at once the simple manners of the first ages of Rome, and the luxury of her decline: where I see the taste, the sensibility and science of Athens, with her factions; and the valor of Sparta, without her discipline. As a citizen of the world, I would address your country in the following language: Every man and every nation is ambitious, and ambition grows with power, as the blaze of a vertical sun is the most fierce. Cherish, therefore, a national strengthstrengthen your political institutions-remember that armies and navies are of the same use in the world as the police in London or Paris, and soldiers are not made, like potters' vessels, in a minute-cultivate union, or your Empire will be like a colossus of gold, fallen on the earth, broken in pieces, and the prey of foreign and domestic Saracens. If you are wise, your republic will be permanent; and, perhaps, Washington will be hailed as the founder of a glorious and happy Empire, when the name of Bonaparte shall be obscured by succeeding revolu tions.

JENNY LIND.

BY REV. RALPH HOYT.

The following sweet poem appeared in the Literary World, under another tle. We have received it from the author, with his correction, and republish it as appropriate to the return of the "Nightingale" to this city.

'Tis said, sweet Mercy from above –—–
Came down to teach us how to love,
And long she strove with mystic skill
Her holy mission to fulfill.
Her angel-pinions knew no rest,

For wafting her to every breast:
No cottage-home, nor palace fair,

Nor crowded mart, but she was there.
Yet street, and lane, and park, and green,
She haunted still, though all unseen;
Still whispering low to every ear,
Help, help to wipe away a tear;
Some mourner's blessing to secure,

Oh, soothe the sad, supply the poor!
Nor vain her prayer; for tear and sigh
She drew from many a passer-by:
Made each reluctant purse to feel
The magic of her sweet appeal,
Till every child of sorrow there
Could tell her wing was in the air.

Yet could not still her gentle sway
Compel the sordid to obey;
The streams of love to amply pour,

Till duty could demand no more.
How strove she with her heavenly art
To touch the spring of every heart,
And open every portal wide

For sympathy's outflowing tide.
But ah! the generous hearts were few
That helped her hallowed task to do.
Her piteous tale the more she told,

Remoter seemed the hoards of gold;
Nor prayer, nor tear, nor Christian name,
Constrained to cancel Mercy's claim.
In grief, as saith the further tale,

That love on earth could not prevail, Her radiant wings she heavenward spread, Breathed a despairing sigh, and sped.

Long, the celestial hills among,

In pensive melodies had sung
The sister angels, many a lay

Of her, the fairest, far away;
Yet mingling oft a joyous strain
For earth, by her made glad again:
Man only coveting to know

Where he a blessing may bestow;
Each rivalling other but to prove

Heroic most in deeds of love.
None now to grasp with selfish might
The widow's and the orphan's right;
None to withhold the hireling's meed,
And stint him in his hour of need;
None, for the toil of woman fair,

By day's long sun, and taper's glare,
With breaking heart and weary eye,
To grant her only-leave to die;
Imploring penury no more

Unkindly spurned from every door;

But all fraternal, as above,

Since mercy taught the law of love. So mused the angel bands, when lo, Came soaring mournfully and slow, Bright in the awful depths afar, As 't were, a lonely, Wandering Star! Was silent each seraphic lyre;

Seemed not a bosom to respire; Intent to mark that wonder's flight, Up-speeding to the world of light. But rapture thrilled all harps anew, As nearer still the vision drew, And each discerning, eager eye,

Could Mercy's matchless form descry; A mighty shout shook heaven's dome, Hail, weary sister!-welcome home! Alas, that mortal wrong should rise, To sadden e'en the sinless skies: Safe came the voyager at last,

Yet instant shadows wide o'ercast
The sunny landscapes where the blest
Were wont to find serenest rest.

A tear in heaven! oh, precious gem!
World, for thy fallen diadem,
Couldst thou the regal emblem wear,
And let the jewel glitter there;
The pearl from Mercy's eye that fell,
And told the grief she could not tell.
Electric love! One stroke of woe,

And furthest heaven felt the blow!
All heedless, or of rank, or birth,
Archangel, and the babe of earth,
Forth from their haunts by hill and dell,
Swift to a countless throng they swell,
Each some immortal balm to pour,

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To bid one bosom-sigh no more. August in conclave. The high quest, Shall Mercy more be Mortal's guest; Or, doth it seem to heavenly ken

How she may move the hearts of men? Then beautiful, from her repose, The missionary angel rose. Soft accents, too divinely sweet For bard of earth to e'er repeat, Raining around in fragrant showers, As budding trees their ripened flowers.

Ah, leave not yon apostate race,

To mourn the forfeit of your grace; But me with one new power inspire; Then pausing, touched her golden lyre, And far the listening ranks along,

Poured a full tide of rapturous song, Till heaven's remotest valley rang

With the sweet song that Mercy sang; That power which thus but angels know, Grant me on mortals to bestow, And down again to cleave my way

To win them by the mighty sway,

Of love and melody combined,

The heaven of brotherhood to find. She ceased. And swift approval ran, Let Mercy strive again with man, And lend the strains she warbles here,

To melt the heart, and start the tear, Till rivers of relief shall flow,

For every child of want and woe. Then joyful sprang the glorious maid, Aloft, in robes of light arrayed; Her banner,-Peace on Earth, unfurled, And sped again to bless the world. As icy winter yields to spring, When southern winds are on the wing; Or, as in summer's fond embrace

Warm blushes tint fair nature's face; So nations felt the glow of love,

And pure emotions from above, As from the happy realms on high Descending Mercy hovered nigh, Inclining potently the soul

To fervent charity's control;

And shed her holy influence o'er

The myriad hearts so hard before. She trode again the terrene sphere, Dispensing solace far and near; Imparting oft the gifts of song,

In meet degrees, her course along; Till softly on an humble child,

She laid her gentle hand, and smiled, And said,-Receive, fair sister mine, The might of Melody divine! Be thine, with peerless seraph-voice, To make the sorrowing earth rejoice; The chiefest mission still to be,

A glorious Almoner for me! Then hand in hand they twain advanced, And earth and air, and sea entranced! And still, resistless, side by side, With holy purpose, on they glide, A mortal, and immortal, pair; All viewless one, and one all fair, By love and melody, made brave, A world to bless, delight, and save.

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