the sublime,) presents a queer array
Of three most interesting species--Dutch,
Yankee and mongrel--and this triple mixture
Form when they meet a very curious picture.

They call one "smart" who's keen at overreaching,
"Tonguey" the babbler of the loudest din,
They'll travel miles on Sunday to a "preaching,"
And seek next day to "take their neighbor in,"
And the word "deacon," in this charming region,
Covers, like charity, of sins a legion.

And there's another race, "half flesh, half fish,"
That live where rolls the Delaware its flood,
Ready to fight or drink as others wish,
Not as they care; whose speech is loud and rude,
Half oath half boast, and think that all things slumber
When "Philadelfy" markets fall in "lumber."

Their toil is pastime when the river leaps
On, like a war-horse foaming in his wrath,
With thundering hoof and flashing mane, and sweeps
The forest fragments on its roaring path,
What time the Spring-rains its mild current thresh,
And make what vulgarly is called a "fresh."

Then from deep eddy and from winding creek
His mammoth platform the bold raftsman steers,
And, as his giant oar he pushes quick,
With song and jest his wearying labor cheers,
Whilst confident in skill he fearless drifts
By swamping islands and o'er staving rifts.

From rafts we glance to saw-mills--oft you meet
Their pine-slab roofs and board-piles by some brook,
And, with the splashing wheel and watery sheet
Flinging its curtain o'er the dam, they look,
(When tired of gazing at the endless woods,)
Though saw-mills, pleasant in their solitudes.

[Footnote 1: The Indian (Delaware) name for the Delaware River.]

THE EXHAUSTED TOPIC.

BY CAROLINE C----.

What shall I write about? A sensible question enough for me to address
to you, good reader, were I a worn-out school-girl, with a mind quite
like an "exhausted receiver" on the one subject, frightful, dismal,
and hated at all times to _her_. But, thanks be to Time, I am _no_
school-girl--and it is rather a foolish question, this same one I have
proposed, considering that for sixty long seconds my mind has been
fully determined as to _what_ I will write about this morning.

I have been looking over a file of old magazines, which are now
scattered about me in most beautiful confusion, for the sole purpose
of