The North-Carolinian., 1850-06-29

The following lines are a capital satire upon
those who resist the progress Of the age-de-
nounce everything that is out of the old order Of
things, and think that the way their grandfathers
went is good enough for them. Well, the old
order of things we'll enough in its time but
change, that annihilator Of every thing human,
is as irresistible the will Of the Great Jehovah
Even if it possible, it is perfectly ridicul-
ous resist it it is for the toad in his cell to
deem that the world is standing still while he is
dreaming his dreams.
The spirit Of the age demands Improvement,
and improvement is the order of the day; and
those who will not avail themselves of the im-
provements of the age, will find themselves far
in the Of fortune and intelligence. Let no
man think to prosper, while tarrapin like, he
shuts himself up in the shell of his own conceit,
and with his feeble antediluyianisn1s attempts
to compete with the youthful vigor Of the spirit
offhe age:
THE PHILOSOPHER TOAD.
MRS. II. NICHOLS.
Down deep in a hollow, 80 damp and so cold,
Where oaks by ivy o'ergrown,
The grey and Icheu creep over the mould .
Lying loose on ponderous stone.
Now, within this huge stone, like king on his
throne,
A toad has been sitting more years than is known
And strange it seems yet he constantly deems,
The world standing still while he's dreaming his
Does this wonderful toad in his cheerful abod
I In the innermost heart of that f1inty old stone,
By the gray haired and the lichen o'ergrown.
Down deep in the hollow, from morning till
Dun shadows glide over the ground,
Where a water-course once, it sparkled with
! light,
Turned ruined old 1nill-wheel around:
! Ionp have bv ItS bee
dry,
And the trees grow close, scarce glimpse Of
| the sky
Is seen in the hollew, SO dark and so damp,
Where the glow-worm at MONDAY is trimming
his lamp,
And hardly sound from the theket around
| Where the rabbit and squirrel leap over the
ground,
Is heard by the toad in his spacious abode
| In the innermost heart OF that ponderous stone,
By the ay-hair'd moss and the lnchen over
| grown.
Down deep in that hollow the bees never come
The shade is too black for flower
| And jewel winged birds, with their musical hum,
Never fash in the night Of that bower
| But the cold blooded snake in the edge of the
Lies amid the rank grass half asleep, half awake;
And the ashen-whte snail, with the slime in
its tail
Meves YEARLY on like life's tedious tale,
Yet disturbs not the toad in his spacious abode,
In the nnermost heart of that finty old stone,
By the gray y-haired moss and the Hnchen over
| grown.
Down deep in a hollow some wisacres sit,
Like the toad in his CELL in the stone;
Around them in daylight the blind owlets fit
And their creeds with ivy o'ergrown:--
| Their streams may go dry, and the wheels cease
toply
And their glmpses be few of the and the sky,
Still they hug to their breast every time honored
| guest,
And slumber and doze in glorious rest.
| For no progress they find in the wide sphere ct
mind,
And the worlds standing still with all of their
kind;
Contented to dwell deep down in the well.
| Or move like the snail in the crust of his shell
Or live like the toad in his narrow abode,
| With their souls closely wedged IA thick wall
| of stone,
By the gray weeds ofprejudice ranky o'ersrown