AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST. 
WHERE DWEELETH MUSIC? 
She seeks a wild home in the ocean’s roar, 
In the floating breezes she loves to soar, 
In the moaning wind, in the woterfall— 
Oh, the spirit of music dwells in them all. 
This fairy being hath many a tone, 
And ’tis by her freaks that her pathw ay rs know n, 
For the blackbird’s song in the rustling tree 
As the spirit passes grows firm and free. 
Her presence is felt with the deepest sway 
When the gorgeous daylight is passing away, 
And the ling'ring sunbeams their brightness cast, 
Each one in radiance out.vieing the last— 
They rest on the church, and its towering spire 
Glows to the eye with a brightening fire ; 
Then to the brook, as it dances so free, 
In the tiny streamlet a rainbow see. 
Though we can not see her, I know she is nigh 
When twinkling stars are gemming the sky, 
And the glorious moon in the silver-cloud 
Is sailing enwrap’d in her vestal shroud. 
Oh, there’s solemn music at daylight’s close 
In the hush of fair Nature’s calm repose ; 
Te need not search for that spirit fair, 
For the home of music is everywhere. 
i !lark Lane Express. 
MARCH WINDS—HIGHFALUTIN. 
Crabbed old poets have told us that wo¬ 
man is fickle ; others aver that the weather 
of April, its sunshine and showers, is the fit- 
tingest typical emblem of change without ob¬ 
ject; but either of these is inertia itself aside 
of the March wind, that roystering, rollick¬ 
ing old rough-and-tumble, that comes on the 
heel of the Winter, now chilling, now woo¬ 
ing the Spring. The man that last Saturday 
night was foredoomed to a stroll, or a floun¬ 
der more like, in Broadway, must for once 
in his life have been able to answer the in¬ 
definite query of “ What’s in the wind V ’ It 
was dust, dust, and nothing but dust; above 
and below, to the left, to the right, before 
and behind ; in the eyes, in the nose, in the 
ears, in the mouth, down the neck, up the 
leg, it was sifted and whisked and driven, by 
the fickelest, piercingest, ugliest wind of the 
season ; a wind that abundantly filled the 
description that Solomon gave, when he 
said, “ The wind goeth toward the south, and 
turneth about to the north ; it continually 
whirleth about, and returneth again to its 
circuit.” Such a whirling and twirling of 
dust, now mounting in clouds that invaded 
the true clouds of heaven, and sullied their 
aqueous purity; now raining like Etna’s 
hot ashes, till the struggling multitude 
thought of Pompeii, and the horrors ofliving 
entombment. It was dreadful, and not to 
be borne by mortality; so home hied the 
half frozen, dust-begrimed traveler, leaving 
the thoroughfares free to the wind, save here 
and there looming a vehicle, which like an 
animate sand hill toiled on, with driver and 
horses quite blind and half stifled. But the 
boisterous, blustering month is near ended ; 
and another such wind-wracked and desolate 
night we may hope is at least a full twelve- 
month ahead. Even yesterday raised a faint 
sun smile, as anxious to pass over lightly, and 
quickly forget that dirtiest of Saturday 
nights.— N. Y. Tribune , March , 2G. 
Past and Present. —In the days of the pa¬ 
triarchs, a young woman’s conduct was 
the index of her heart. When, for example, 
the father of Rebecca asked her if she would 
go with the servant of Isaac, she immediate¬ 
ly replied, “ I will go.” 
Now, had she been a daughter of the nine¬ 
teenth century, she would have poutingly 
answered, “Pshaw! go with him! Why, 
Mr. Isaac must be sick ! Go with him ? Of 
course I won’t!” But then she would go, 
after all. 
LAST WORDS OF NOTED PERSONS. 
There is an interest in the dying words of 
men that does not attach to them while liv¬ 
ing. They often give a clue to the whole 
history of the man. They still oftener give 
a significant intimation as to the state in 
which the departed expired. We give below 
the last words of a few of the great ones of 
the world. There is profit in pondering 
them. Our own may be recorded ere long : 
“A death bed’s a detector of the heart, 
Here tired dissimulation drops her mask, 
Through life’s grimace that mistress of the scene ; 
Here real and apparent are the same.” 
“ Head of the army.”—Napoleon. 
“ I must sleep Now.”—Byron. 
“ It matters little how the head lieth.”—Sir 
Walter Raleigh. 
“ Kiss me, Hardy.”—Lord Nelson. 
“ Don’t give up the ship.”—Lawrence. 
“ I’m shot if I don’t believe I’m dying.”— 
Chancellor Thurlow. 
“ Is this your fidelity ?”—Nero. 
“ Clasp my hand, my dear friend ; I die.”— 
Alfieri. 
“ Give Dayrocles a chair.”—Lord Chester¬ 
field. 
“God preserve the Emperor.”—Haydn. 
“The artery ceases to beat.”—Haller. 
“Let the light enter.”—Goethe. 
“All my possessions for a moment of time.” 
—Queen Elizabeth. 
“ What! is there no bribing death 1”—Car¬ 
dinal Beaufort. 
“ I have loved God, my father and liberty.” 
—Madam de Stael. 
“ Be serious.”—Grotius. 
“Into Thy hands, O Lord.”—Tasso. 
“ It is small, very small indeed,” (clasping 
her neck.)—Anne Boleyn. 
“ 1 pray you, see me safe up, and as for my 
coining down let me shift for myself,” 
(ascending the scaffold.)—Sir Thomas More. 
“ Don’t let that awkward squad fire over 
my grave.”—Robert Burns. 
“ I feel as if I were myself again.”—Sir 
Walter Scott. 
“ I resign my soul to God, and my daugh¬ 
ter to my country.”—Jefferson. 
“ It is well.”—Washington. 
“ Independence forever.”—Adams. 
“ It is the last of earth. I am content.”— 
J. Q. Adams. 
“ I wish you to understand the true princi¬ 
ples of the government. I wish them carried 
out. I ask no more.”—Harrison. 
“ I have endeavored to do my duty.”—Z. 
Taylor. 
“ There is not a drop of blood on my 
hands.”—Frederick V., of Denmark. 
“ You spoke of the refreshments, my Era- 
iiie ; take my last notes, sit down to my 
piano here, sing them with the hymn of your 
sainted mother ; let me hear once more those 
notes which have so long been my solace and 
delight.”—Mozart. 
“A dying man can do nothing easy.”— 
Franklin. 
“ Let not poor Nelly starve.”—Charles II. 
“Refresh me with a great thought.”— 
Herden. 
“ I feel the daisies growing over me.”— 
Keats. 
“ Let me die to the sound of delicious mu¬ 
sic.”—Mirabeau. 
There is a man down east said to _be so 
opposed to Catholicism, that he won’t travel 
on cross roads. 
Good Nature. —One can not imagine any 
quality, of the human mind whence greater 
advantages can arise to society than good 
nature ; seeing that man is a sociable being, 
not made for solitude, but conversation. 
Good nature not only lessens the sorrows 
of life, but increases its comforts. It is more 
agreeable than beauty, or even wit. It gives 
a pleasing expression to the countenance, 
and induces a multitude of the most amiable 
observations. It is, indeed, the origin of all 
society. Were it not for good nature, men 
would not exist together, nor hold inter¬ 
course with one another. For this reason, 
man invented that species of artificial urban¬ 
ity, called good breeding, which is nothing 
more than an imitation of good nature, for 
what is it but the reducing into a system of 
affability, complaisance, and easiness of 
temper,? )Good nature is an attitude of 
mind, on which objects act in an explicable 
way, and which discovers itself in universal 
benevolence to the whole creation. In it 
lies the foundation of all generous feeling to 
our neighbors, and of sympathy with every 
member of the human family. It is a por¬ 
tion of that love which is the attraction of 
the mental universe. It possesses a power, 
the progression of which will gradually 
banish slavery, tyranny, war, disease and 
vice, from the world, and unite man in one 
great brotherhood. 
A LITTLE WORD. 
A little word in kindness spoken, 
A motion or a tear, 
Has often healed the heart that’s broken, 
And made a friend sincere. Bfidell. 
PANG OF THE BETRAYED. 
Oh, colder than the wind that freezes 
Founts that but now in sunshine played, 
Is the congealing pang that seizes 
The trusting bosom when betrayed. 
Mooke. 
WINE AND TEA. 
If wine is poison, so is tea, 
Only in another shape ; 
What matter whether one is lolled 
By canister or grape. 
Good Wives. —That young lady will make 
a good wife who does not apologise when 
you find her at work in the kitchen, but con¬ 
tinues at her task until the work is finished. 
When I hear a lady say, “ I shall attend 
church and wear my old bonnet and every¬ 
day gown, for I fear we shall have a rain 
storm,” depend upon it she will be sure to 
make a good wife. When a daughter re¬ 
marks, “ I would not hire helps, for I can 
assist you in the kitchen,” set it down she 
will make somebody a good wife. When 
you overhear a young woman saying to her 
father, “ Don’t purchase a very expensive or 
showy dress for me, but one that will wear 
best,” you may always be certain she will 
make a good wife. When you see a female 
rise early, get breakfast, and do up her moth¬ 
er’s work in season, and then sit down and 
knit, depend upon it she will make a good 
wife. When you see a female anxious to 
learn a trade, so as to earn something to sup¬ 
port herself, and perhaps aged parents, you 
may be sure she will make one of the best 
of wives. The best qualities to look after 
in a wife are industry, humanity, neatness, 
gentleness, benevolence, and piety. When 
you find these there is no danger : you will 
obtain a treasure, and not regret your choice 
to the last period. 
“Grass widows” are so called because 
their husbands are roving blades. 
Perpetual motion—A woman’s tongue when 
talking about her baby. 
