TO THE NORTH STAR.

BY CHARLES R. CLARKE.

LONE, peerless sentinel! thy watchful eye
Still coldly beams upon me, as enthroned
Above thy kingly fellows of the North,
Thou mak'st night beautiful!

Old Ocean writhes in agony; his waves
Surge proudly high, and angry tempests sweep
The rifted sail; the mariners cling

In speechless terror to the heaving ship;

Proud masts are swiftly splintered; bulwarks fall;
While through the driven darkness, boding cries
Assail each wakeful ear: the pilot stands

In awful silence at the faithful helm.

All eyes are turned on him, while his are bent
Alone on thee, as if he sought thine aid
In mediation with the God of Storms!
There is an anchor in thy wondrous beam,
Which parts not in the clutch of elements;
It holds the vessel safe: its name is HOPE.

The wand'rer in the pathless desert wild,
Afar from human kind, still looks to thee;
Still, through the ling'ring watches of the night.
Though strange and fearful howlings fill his ear,
And nameless shapes rise up beside his path
In ever-wild succession; and the dawn
Is not more welcome to his wearied sense
Than thou companion of his peril-hour!
For darkness summons from her wizard caves
Dim phantoms forth to lead the traveller astray,
But thy calm eye still guides him on aright.

The Soul's broad sky was rayless, cold and dark,
Discordant voices told a chaos there;
It knew nor form, nor void; confusion reigned,
And Hope seemed buried in eternal Night;
But lo! a strain of melody divine
Burst from its broken harp, and far above
The ceaseless war of Passion, there arose
A form of dazzling light, and all became
As God designed it fair and beautiful!

Methought I heard, as borne from upper air,
An echoing sound. It fell upon my soul
With such a pure and melting tenderness,
I dreamed it came from Heaven's open gates:
The Cross! the load-star of the soul!

Rochester, (N. Y.,) Oct., 1849.

MOUNT SAVAGE

RAMBLINGS.

NUMBER

TWO.

A RIDE TO FROSTBURG.

THERE had been a sprinkle of rain during the night, which laid the dust; and the sky was just overcast enough to make it not cheerless nor too hot, when a friend, whom I shall call Leonardus, made his appearance to escort me to Frostburg. We had already been to the mines, you know, but they are under the hill, while Frostburg is on the top of it. So, mounted on our nags, we trotted along at a very steady rate, up-hill most of the way, occasionally wheeling round to enjoy the prospect, discoursing on the want of good roads in Maryland and Virginia; the superior enterprise of Yankeedom, the prospects of the iron business and the habits of the miners. They all use tobacco for chewing and smoking, and, like Jack, would rather go without their dinner than their quid.

'What creatures of habit we are!' said Leonardus; ' tobacco and brandy are universally distasteful to the palate of a child, but the moment they throw off nature they begin to like such things, and they get into the habit, simply to do as others do. Almost every country has some drink which seems to be created for man's use. In England the hop grows better than any thing else, and is fit for nothing but to make beer; in France, and in all the continental countries, there are grapes which are of but little use except to make wine. Well, the ale in England and the wine in France is a natural drink, and don't hurt when drunk on the spot; but we have no natural drink in this country. Apples grow freely, but they are rather for eating than drinking; and so of rye; though, if there's any spirituous drink that is healthy, it is good old Monongahela. And they keep it very good up at Frostburg. It goes through, and do n't bind you up as brandy does.'

This winding-up of Leonardus, who is quite a temperate man, reminded me of an incident on board a steamship on its way to England. Dr. S, a celebrated writer on temperance, was on board, and was looked up to with profound veneration by several'advocates of the cause,' clergymen and others, who were fellow-passengers. The temperance men had a table almost exclusively to themselves, where a thicked-necked fanatical sort of personage, who called himself a 'preacher,' and was going out to collect funds for a negro-college in Canada, daily descanted on the merits of cold-water, and the folly of those who at the other tables were imbibing so much 'poison.' The pop of a cork sounded to him like a knell of approaching pestilence, and he was on all occasions appealing to the doctor for confirmation of his statements relative to the effect of alcohol on the system. On the last day of the voyage the captain, as is usual, sent champaigne

to all the tables. Our Canada passenger shook his head with the remark, 'It's a waste of your ice to put it in our glasses,' when to his astonishment, he saw the great apostle himself, the doctor, raise his glass, fill it to the brim, and drink off the sparkling liquid with a perfect gusto, following it up with the remark, Champaigne never does me any harm. It goes right through me.'

'It does, does it?' exclaimed Canada. Well, Sir, the sooner a dagger goes through your heart, the better for your soul and for our cause.'

No sooner was it known in the cabin that the doctor had taken a glass, than the waggish passengers began to send their decanters, first to the doctor and then to the Canada man, with Mr. So-and-So's respects, etc. In spite of all his protestations, the doctor and the Canada man were completely enclosed in glasses of various kinds of wine, which however, I believe, remained unsipped.

But it goes right through you,' was henceforth considered a good excuse for drinking champaigne; and I believe the doctor got well lashed for it in some of the tee-total papers at home.

Well,' says Leonardus, 'I think the doctor was right. I don't believe any pledge binds you not to drink good wine on the ocean, or in the wine countries of Europe. But as I was saying, we 've no natural drink in this country. And as for the stimulus of tobacco, I think the fact that it uses up the soil, is an argument that it was n't intended for general use. However, when you 've got into habit of using it it's a great comfort. It's a very slow poison' with me.

Here Leonardus took a fresh quid, and here we came to the Maryland Mining Company's shaft. It is much like that at Frostburg, though not quite so free from dampness. Here is the usual collection of miner's huts, and here too is a little chapel, which enjoys the afternoon services of our parson of whom I told you. Well, after climbing sundry hills, riding through close forests, and stopping to chat with a fat and merry farmer, who had just discovered a vein of coal in the neighborhood of his house, so as to save all coal-hauling to his domestic hearths, after all this, I say, we came to Frostburg. It is a village of perhaps four hundred inhabitants, on the top of a hill, overlooking a wide extent of country, which you take in to great advantage from the back porch of the principal hotel. And a right good hotel it is said to be, much resorted to by families from Baltimore and Cumberland in the summer season. It is about ten miles from the latter place, and being on the National Road, all the stages stop here on their way across the mountains. The place derives its name from Mr. Frost, the owner of the mines we visited the other day, which are distant about half a mile.

We concluded to try that old rye' Leonardus told about. There was some left in the decanter in which two or three flies had met a spiritual grave. The bar-keeper turned it out into a tumbler which was two-thirds filled, remarking that it would do for the drivers.' Soon afterward a driver came in, and putting a big lump of sugar between his teeth, raised the tumbler to his mouth and allowed the liquor to drain through the sugar, then, rinsing his mouth with a little

water, pressed his stomach with a comfortable twinkle of the eye, as much as to say, 'It feels good! Water is very well for an occasional drink, but for an ordinary drink, give me whiskey!'

It was along this region that Braddock travelled with his army when he went to attack Fort Du Quesne, now Pittsburgh. You cross the road he made as you travel on the National Road, and the whole line of it is still visible through the woods. It is a better road than you would have supposed could have been cut merely for the passage of an army. WASHINGTON was the engineer who laid out the track, and the fact that the engineers of the National Road followed nearly the same track, attests the accuracy of the Pater-Patriæ. Braddock was buried on the road about thirty miles above here, on his return from his unfortunate expedition. It was at Fort Du Quesne that the Indian pronounced WASHINGTON bullet-proof, as he had seventeen fair shots at him and could not bring him to the ground.

There are deer in these woods, they say; and at the everglades, some miles from here, they shoot them in sufficient numbers to make a business of it. What delicate creatures they are, when young! A live fawn was caught by some dogs the other day, at the cost of a tooth-wound in one of his hind legs. He was given to Walley, who fed him with milk, and made him, next to the baby, the show of the house to all visiters. His hide was covered with white spots, which they said would disappear as soon as he grew older; and then, they said, he would be too troublesome, for any thing else but venison. But they do not well brook confinement, and poor Sylva, after lingering awhile and licking his wounded leg, laid himself down and died.

As we trotted home, we indulged in speculations on the probable appearance of this region a few years hence; and Leonardus thus discoursed:

'It will be a great business, Sir, that coal. Frostburg and all around it will be covered with miner's huts; and perhaps the iron-business will go-up! Its awfully solemn to see great manufactories shut up. People do n't look half as cheerful down at Mount Savage as they

do

up here, for that reason; and yet these very fellows who are begging for work will go to the polls and deliberately vote against a tariff which they know would set the works a-going. That's what they call 'going for principle.' These Irish are an ungrateful set, any how.'

Then followed a discourse upon beards and shaving, occasioned by the luxuriant growth of hair about my companion's face. He never shaves at all, and his face always looks the same, while I am always shaving, and my face never looks smooth. And verily, could we always live among people who, like those at Mount Savage, don't mind your savage looks, it would be a luxury not to use the razor at all, especially in the winter. In the summer the perspiration rolling on a hairy upper-lip is not so pleasant, and I must confess to sharing a little in the prejudice so common in our country against those who wear the moustache. No reflections on Leonardus; this being intended merely to show that a man may do as he pleases at Mount Savage, which is one of its recommendations.

V.

HAYING-TIME.

As we entered the gate of the lawn, we saw a singular procession entering on the opposite side. First, on a spare-boned Rosinante, rode a burly farmer with rosy cheeks, in brown-linen frock; behind him came a row of hands who carried scythes upon their shoulders; and last of all the faithful Robert, walking with rapid strides, anxious to see that all was right. It was farmer E. and his hands, who had been mowing the grass that morning, and who informed me that they had got along famously, and with five scythes in a row, would in weeks' time do-up the twenty-five acres.

'We think it most hadvisable to heat our dinners hin the 'eat of the day, and come back punctewally.'

Form a line; there they go! and as they march forward, with regular step, the swath falls down behind. What a graceful swing it is, that of the scythe! and it seems very easy, too; but let a green one try it, and he'll soon find his mistake. The hardest kind of work too, especially when the hot sun is beating down upon you. The fact is, working on a farm is no joke. Suddenly one of the mowers gave a yell, and hopped back in double quick time. He had fallen upon a copper-headed snake, which was raised upon his scythe and pitched into his face. However, no harm was done, except to the snake, who was speedily despatched, for they've got no friends. Even the deer will always stop to cut them in pieces with their fore-hoofs. The hogs find them dainty food, and have a shield against their poison in their fatty covering. Wherever these animals are allowed to run they are seldom seen. It is only the snake in the grass' that is to be feared. Several others were killed during the day. The people about here do not appear to feel much apprehension from the effects of their bite, several remedies, such as herbs, hartshorn, etc., having been used with success.

Toward evening, as the group of mowers were gathering up their tools, I heard a dissertation on ghosts, that would answer for a modern play of Hamlet.

And did ye hear about the ghost, Sir?'

'No, Patrick; what of it?'

Last avening, as the men was a-watching at the rowling-mill, they saw the man that was kilt last fall.'

'Anant!' said Robert, ''t will be gude campanie for 'em.'

'Sure you would n't talk in that way about it. Didn't the men say it with their own eyes!'

'I 'av 'eard,' said Farmer E, 'that they allers comes back punctewally. So if you've a mind to watch, Robert

'I wad nae fear all the ghaists that iver was kenned the darkest

night in the world.'

Put do n't you pelieve there is such things?"

'I dinna think was iver one seen, except aibleens in a dream.'

'Mayhap they were a drahming.'