White Nails, Turning Iron, White Wolf, Rumbling Thunder, the Dancer, the Big Tree, the Big-eared Dog, the Buffalo with one horn, the Iron Cloud, the White Face, the Negro, the Thief, the Belly-Ache, the Doctor!

Anecdote of Washington.-In debate, in the house of delegates of Virginia, 1817, on the bill relative to a map of the state, in which something was said of military roads, Mr. Mercer, (L) related and applied an anecdote of general Washington, which he had received from a member of the convention that formed the constitution of the United States. The subject of power to be given the new congress, relative to a standing army, was on the tapis. A member made a motion that congress should be restricted to a standing army not exceeding five thousand, at any one time. General Washington, who, being chairman, could not offer a motion, whispered to a member from Maryland, to amend the motion, by providing that no foreign enemy should invade the United States, at any one time, with more than three thousand troops.

Burning Springs.-About three quarters of a mile east of Portland, on lake Erie, is a small stream, which, in the lapse of time, has worn an irregular trough, of ten or fifteen feet in depth, and of greater width, into a body of soft, argillaceous slate. At the bottom of this trough, in a situation of romantic scenery, about sixty rods from the lake, there are several apertures, from which continually issues an inflammable gas. The writer of this article lately visited this spot, at a time when there was but little water in the brook. He found one of the apertures covered with a flame eighteen inches high; and by putting a blaze to three other apertures, the gas immediately caught, and flashed like spirits of wine. The heat is sufficient to make water boil. The stones placed about the spring, found on fire, were nearly red hot. At one of these apertures, a circular hole of about a quarter of an inch in diameter, a current of air, like that from the nose of a bellows, was constantly emitted. A strong scent is perceived, in approaching these gaseous springs, not unlike that which issues from foaming pit-coal.

New Musical Instrument.-Mr. Peasley, an ingenious mechanician, in Middle-street, Boston, has lately invented a musical instrument, of a different construction, we believe, from any which has been produced among all the novel curiosities of the musical artificers. It resembles the organ, so far as it is supplied with wind from a bellows, and is played upon by a regular set of keys; but the sound is produced upon the principle of the vibration of the spring, and, in this respect, differs from all other musical instruments, except the humble Jews harp. The interior construction is extremely simple:-a long brass plate is perforated with a gradation of orifices, of a rectangular form, which extend from one end to the other. Immediately over each of these holes, an elastic or vibrating tongue is firmly placed, by means of a screw

at one end, like the spring of the Jews harp. The bellows below creates a wind, which, rushing through these cavities, produces the vibration upon the spring. The principles which govern the vibration, in this case, are the same as those which apply to the pendulum; so that the quickness of vibration, in the present instance, is in the inverse proportion of the length of the spring. A spring, therefore, which is an octave higher than another, will necessarily vibrate with twice its rapidity. This simple principle being pursued, the inventor has produced an instrument of much value to the musical professor.

Statement of monies collected for the relief of sick and disabled seamen, and the amount expended in relation thereto, from the year 1802 to 1815, inclusive, as per report on that subject to the house of representatives,

ரா

1809

1810

1811

1812
1813

1814

1815

58,210 98 58,005 98 66,820 01 61,474 47 36,515 44 74,192 42 54,309 31 54,586 34 52,421 46 21,789 57 10,280 73 28,306 16

Total $731,300 65

53,376 87

45,226 50

43,651 55

$719,212 38

There is now living, in the town of Guilderland, in New York, a venerable farmer, by the name of George Rheelman, who was born in Germany, on the 8th of March, 1707. He married in 1740, and came to this country in 1748. He has been a soldier in his time, having served in two campaigns in Germany, and two in America. His campaigns in America were in the war of 1756, and the American revolution. He has had seven children, two of whom survive, a son and a daughter: the latter is married. The son is a bachelor, living with his father, and is seventy-six years of age. He appears to be older than his father. We have these facts from a gentleman of this city, of the strictest veracity, who visited Mr. Rheelman last week, and saw him and his son together; and saw, at the same time, the inscription of their names and births in an old German family bible, printed in the seventeenth century. The old man is cheerful, and possesses all his faculties. Reader, would you know the secret of this man's longevity? It lies in two words--temperance--industry.

VOL. III.

ORIGINAL POETRY.-FOR THE PORT FOLIO.

MORE TOUCHES At the times."

MANKIND ('tis said) have one decided aim;
Th' attractive magnet is the "court of fame!"
Tho' all thro' life a diff'rent course pursue,
The light-wing'd goddess still they keep in view!
The modern hero makes his grand eclat,
In all the dazzling panoply of war;

"Arm'd at all points," with strut "la militaire,"
He makes his hourly tour through Cornhill square.
With seven cornelian seals his watch is grac'd,
His glitt'ring dirk suspended at his waist,
By golden chains festoon'd and interlac'd,
He looks complacent at himself and you,

To claim the glance of admiration due.
To Fancy's eye he seems some truant ape,

With joy exulting at his late escape,

Who runs at large, tho' fetter'd in his chain,

And grins and looks, grins and looks, and grins again!

Next mark, in yonder solitary room,

Where one dim taper cheers the silent gloom,
The pensive student sits, profound in thought,
How Ossian sung, and how great Cæsar fought,
Recites a page-now proudly turns his eye,
Where, in huge piles, his mental labours lie.
Oh! for that envied bliss-an author's name,
Emblazon'd on the ample lists of fame!
His sanguine bosom heaves an ardent sigh;
Not old "Timotheus, elevated high,"
Look'd more transported, as he swept his lyre,
Than our young poet, with his eye of fire!
His high-born fancy seeks the sacred shades,
And fondly woos the Heliconian maids!
First, a soft sonnet on some Delia's charms,
Then sends a sighing hero forth in arms!
Next with his pastorals-oh! ye rhyming powers!
Hills, dales, white cottages, and shady bowers,

With peace, and happiness, and calm content,
And forty other goods, the gods have sent!
Transplants Arcadia to our Yankee shores,
And gratis all the golden age restores!

He gives his shepherds all the-ball-room graces!

And blooming milk-maids charm in-silks and laces!
A CRITIC too! behold his long "reviews,"
Which editors (he knows not why) refuse;

For who would dare with him a war to wage?

This Homer, this Longinus of the age!

But mark th' improvement-what a change appears,

Within the course of two revolving years,
See! o'er that fragile form and youthful face,
Maturer manhood sheds a riper grace,
Engrafts a smile where Nature stampt a frown,
And Affectation calls him all "her own!"
Fled are the roses from his cheeks (I ween,)
Or else beneath his whiskers "blush unseen..'
Observe him now, reclin'd with studied ease,
Skill'd in the Chesterfieldian "art to please."
Fain would he seem the simple child of nature,
Altho' at heart a most designing creature;
He, like the spider, spreads his silken snare,
To lure the simple or unguarded fair;

And worse-for Nature prompts the spider's plan;
But nature blushes at the arts of man.
No more immur'd in Harvard's ancient halls,
He flies where'er the syren Pleasure calls;
No more with toil he thumbs the wonted page,
The classic lore of many a former age.
Oh! no 'tis his to "cultivate the graces!”
To be a connoisseur of pretty faces;

To fix his whole attention on the fair,
Unless, indeed, a looking-glass is near;
He, like the parrot, learns one splendid speech,
Which, in heroics, he repeats to each,
With air theatric, in address polite,

With gesture Francais-for his hands are white!

ぎ

All, all his study is to charm the eye,

To smile with art, and breathe the mimic sigh
The simple rustic, and the arch brunette,
The sentimental fair, or gay coquette,

To each, by turns, he owns her killing power!
And Caprice crowns her "goddess of an hour,”
Marks ev'ry item of the female dress;

One wants more jewels, and another less;
Commends this lady's form and graceful air,
And tells the origin of--curling hair!

From where old South* displays its ancient spire,
To the resort of justice, judge and 'squire,

Mark when you will, with Fashion's prettiest beaus,
This walking "critical review" of ladies' clothes!
Whether the atmosphere be cold or warm,
No outer garb conceals his graceful form!
Like garden statue ever to be view'd:

A hail-storm cannot hurt a head of wood!
Thrice happy" TIMES," long may "creation's lord,"
Their bright examples ever thus afford,

As sons of science, skill'd in classic lore,

May they impart, from their exhaustless store,
To us, weak creatures, all the good they can,
To fit us for th' associates of man!

AUGUSTA

TO A LADY WHO THREATENED TO MAKE THE AUTHOR AN APRIL

FOOL.

WHY strive, dear girl, to make a fool

Of one not wise before;

Yet, having 'scap'd from Folly's school,

Would fain go there no more?

Ah! if I must to school again,
Wilt thou my teacher be?
I'm sure no lesson will be vain,
Which thou canst give to me.

* Old South Church, Boston.