famitg eh*.
THE ST NR-EN AMOURED.
Who dwell among the stars, mamma,
So mild, so fair, and bright,
As o'er us in the dusky night
They shed their lovely light?
Methinks a gentle beaming eye
In every ray I see,
A host of heavenly watchers set
To guide and counsel me.
The earth has many a flower, mamma,
And many a valley sweet,
To balm, the sense with fragrance riure :
And rest the weary feet
And many a kindly face, mamma,
We meet as here we roam,
The kindest, and the dearest, still
The nearer to our home.
But, ohl mamma, I long to be
A. creature of the sky,
To shine, and shine for evermore,
In yon bright place on high.
I long to be away—away—
From this pale prison free,
To look a long and tearless look
Of endless love on thee.
They say that angel forms, mamma,
Among these stars are seen,
In everlasting whiteness clad,
And never-dying sheen;
And kijailly looks they send to all
Whose hearts with grief are riven
A foretaste sweet of faith's reward
When called to dwell in heaven.
And might not I, a child, mamma,
Become a little star;
And shed my looks of light and love,
- From yonder fields afar?
. You might not know my beams, mamma,
But they should ever be
Directed with a fervent glance
Upon my home and thee.
Then let me go, mamma, and pray
That I may soar away,
And never lift my eyes again
Upon another day.
I long to be among the stars,
To feel their balmy light;
Oh! let me go and pray, mamma:
Good-nightl a long good-night!
The mother clasped her little child,
And tenderly she said,
Thou canst not be a star as yet,
My gentle little maid.
But when thy lovely life is o'er,
And God shall call His own,
I trust that thou wilt be a star,
The brightest round His throne.
Thou eaust not be a star as yet,
For there is many a one '
To whom thou art a light, my love,
Still shining softly on.
And if thy lustre from this life
Should suddenly depart,
'Twould quench thy mother's hopes on earth
'Twould break thy mother's heart.
But still the little lady pined,
And none might say her nay;
Her soul was with the stars by night,
Her heart the live-long day.
And on her infant pillow cold,
They found the little maid
In holy sleep, like angel's rest,
All beautifully laid.
Oh I who could see her as she lay,
In her mild beauty dressed,
Nor, feel a wish to share with her
That deep unbroken rest?
That faultless loveliness which speaks
A gentle seraph's birth—
A star, if ever star there were
Upon the dewy earth!
And now that mother looks for her,
Whene'er the silent night
Is gemmed with•countless stars, serene,
Intensely, purely bright.
But to the eye of faith alone,
That vision fair is given ;
That mother may not see her child
Until they meet in heaven.
I - Christian Treasury
[WRITTEN TOR OWL COLIIIINS.j
THE YOUNG BAVARIAN.
BY MISS S. WARNER, AUTHOR OF "DOL
LARS AND CENTS."
CHAPTER VI
If I were to ask you children, who
have homes, what sort of a place a
_palace is, you would tell me; doubtless,
that it is a great, great house, with
splendid furniture and pictures, with
gold, and satin, and velvet, and every
thing else ' that is beautiful, within
doors and without. Some of you
cOuld, perhaps, tell me that you had
seen pictures of the Queen's palaces in
England, or of the Emperor's in France;
and that you had read of the marble
halls, and gold dishes, and satin-cover
ed beds, to be seen there. You think
that your own house, maybe, would
look very mean along side of these,
and yet it would be a perfect palace
of comfort and delight to many a child
in that same great city where you live.
Hunger cares but little for a golden
dish, and homeless little ones can sleep
under something less dainty than silk,
and all the splendor in the world is
not to be compared with the shining
la a good fire, when you have been
spending the winter's day on the street
corner, or in a damp cellar.
And so it was, that the house to
which Mr. Mason led his young
charge, rose up like a very palace be
fore John's eyes. It was large and
well aired, with plenty of light, clean
windows, and there was a real little
bed where he might sleep, and a good
supper for him to eat. But Oh, what
a strange company was there 1 For
this was the very same Newsboys'
Lodging-house where Johnny More
had his headquarters for so long a
time; and, as usual, it was full.
Throngs of boys every night with
alArays some new ones who had never
`been there before. The newsboys, and
boot-blacks, and " baggage-smashers,"
who came in, some of whom had quite
a thriving trade of their own, were
expected ,to pay four cents for their
night's lodging, if they could afford it,
-to those who could not pay it was
free. Each One had a little bed to
himself; each one might go to the
bath-roorn and have a grand wash be
fore supper ; and for amusement, there
was a library of books arid a melodeon.
Every boy, ii;s6, had a lock-up place
for his little possessions, Whatever
they might be ; for some of these little
THE AMERICAN PRESBYTERIAN, THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 23, 1865.
wanderers bad never been taught to
obey the eighth commandment, ~which
is : " Thou shalt not steal."
The even,ings,were spent in differ
ent ways. Monday and Tuesday there
was a school for all the bo"ys who
came ; Wednesday evening, there was'
a lecture upon some interesting_ sub-.
ject; J'hursday,_ there was a prayer
meeting ; T'riday, .a singing lesson,
(which some of the boys liked best of
all) ; , and Saturday night, school again.
But, however the evening had been
passed, at the end of it. one of the
teachers read and prayed with the
boys before they went to bed.
Sunday was a great day. Even the
noisy city was a little hushed and
quiet, even business and money-get
ting were for a while pushed out of
sight. At the Lodging-house there
was a nice free dinner provided, which
every boy might enjoy upon one con
; dition—what do you think that was ?
That he would wash his face and
hands ?—that he would bring a good
appetite ?—not at all ; that would be
easy enough. But the dinner was
given free to every boy, who through
out the whole Sabbath-day would
obey the commandment of the Lord,
and do no work, for he has said:
" Remember the Sabbath-day, to keep
it holy." Untaught, uncared for, as
most of these poor 'children had been,
they knew very little about doing—
or not doing—everything, because
God had commanded it. But some of
them were now learning better, and
some, for the sake of the dinner, were
willing to forego work for one day ; so
that, of all the boys that jumped out
of their little beds at the Lodging!
house on Sunday morning, only about
one-half went into the streets to work.
And why did they go, do you think ?
Why did they not stay at home with
the others ? Ah, children, it is terrible,
but it is true,—they went because the
rich people tempted. them. You can
easily see the reason, any Sunday
morning on your way to church.
Here is a well-dressed .gentleman
standing on his door-step, looking up
'and down—there, he beckons with his
finger—and two or three ragged news
boys come running up, each striv
ing to be first. The gentleman buys
a paper from one, and the others run
bn, and presently find another gen
tleman on the watch for them,—and a
third stops on his way up the street,
and takes a copy of what ought to be
called " The Sunday Morning Evil"—
a maid-servant runs round the corner
and puts another two cents in the
newsboy's pocket, and carries back to
her master "Thee Sunday Tempta
tion." This is one thing that keeps so
many boys at work all through the
sweet Sabbath morning.
Now look at that carriage rolling by
in such a hurry. You see there is a
trunk on behind, and a man of busi
ness inside,—he is setting off on a
Sundayjourney. The ignorant driver
and the educated gentleman are break
ing the fourth commandment together ;
but that is not all. - Down at the
wharf the boat has her steam up, and
all hands are busy; and now the
traveller wants some, one to carry his
trunk from the carriage to the boat.
He looks round, and there are two of
our Lodging-house boys. They are
"baggage-smashers" by trade; and
all day long they linger about hotels,
or wharves, whence go Sunday boats,
or stations noisy with Sunday trains,
in hope of a job:
You may be sure that our young
Bavarian was not one of these. - It is
those who forget God, who do such
things; but John had learned that
God liveth ever." The quiet day
was very precious ; and quiet it was,
though some of the boys were pretty
restless. In the afternoon there was a
church service at the Lodging-house,
and at night a boys' meeting, when
the boys sang hymns, and one two
Christian men came to read, and
pray, and talk with them. And then
the boys went to bed,—and though
the little wooden bunks where they
slept would not look soft to you, little
love-pillowed children, yet these boys
enjoyed them very much, and only
complained at first of they're being
rather too soft—the stone steps where
they had- been used to sleep were so
much harder I
A PAINTING FROM LIFE.
[The January number of the Atlan
tic Monthly commences a serial under
the title of "Needle and Garden,"
which, drawing less upon the inven
tive than the observant faculty, pro
mises to become -too interesting, be
cause too truthful a story, of the com
mon things in the line of experience
from which it is drawn. From the
first chapter we take the following
paragraphs.]
At times my mother was employed
in making up clothing for what some
years ago were popularly called the
slop-shops, mostly situated in the lower
section of the city. These were shops
which kept supplies of ready-made
clothing for sailors and other transient
people who harbored along the wharves.
It was coarse work, and was made up
as cheaply as possible. At that time
the shipping of the port was much of
it congregated in the lower part of the
city, not far from our house.
When a little girl, I have often gone
with my mother when she wed, on her
errands to these shops, doing what I
could to help her in carrying her
heavy bundles to and fro; and more
than once I heard her rudely spoken
to by the pert young- tailor who re-.
ceived her work, and who examined it
as carefully as if the material had
been silk or cambric, instead of thOf
,coarse fabric which constitutes the
staple of such establishments. 4 thus
learned„_ata very early age, to know
something of the duties of needle
women) as well as of the mortifications
_and impositions to which their vocation
frequently subjects them.
My mother was aibeautiful sewer,
.and ,I am sure she n.eyer turned in a
garment that had in any way been
slighted... She knew how rude and
exacting this class of employers were,
and was nice and careful in conse
quence, so as to be sure of giving
satisfaction. But all this care availed
nothing, in many cases, to prevent
rudeness, and sometimes a - refusal to
pay the pitiful price she had been "pro
mised. Her disposition was too gentle
and yielding for her to resent these
impositions; she was unable to con
tend and argue with the rough crea
tures behind the counter; she there
fore submitted in silence, sometimes
even in tears. Twice, I can distinctly
remember when these heartless men
compelled her to leave her work at
less than the low price stipulated, I
have seen her tears fall in big drops
as she took up the mite thus grudg
ingly thrown down- to her, and leave
the shop, leading me by: the hand. I
could feel, young. as .I was, the hard
nature of this treatment. I heard the
rough language, 'though 'unable to
know how harshyit must have grated
on the soft feelings of the best, mother
that child was ever blessed .-with.
But I comprehended nothing beyond
what I saw and heard—nothing of the
merits :of -the -case--mothing .of the
nature and bearings of the business—
nothing of the severe laws of trade
which govern the conduct of buyer
and seller. I did not know that in a
large city there are always hundreds
of sewing-women begging from these
hard employers the privilege of toiling
all day, and half-way into the night,
in an ocenpation which never brings
even a reasonable compensation, while
many times the severity of their labors,
the confinement and privation, break
down the most risbust constitutions,
and hurry the weaker into a prema
ture grave.
I was too young to reason on these
subjects, though quick enough to feel
for my dear mother. When I saw her
full heart overflow in tears, I cried from
sympathy. When we got into the
street, and her tears dried up, and her
habitual cheerfulness returned, I also
ceased weeping, and soon forgot the
cause. 'The memory of a child is
blissfully fugitive. Indeed, among - the
blessings that ke, everywhere scattered.
along our pathway, is the readiness
with which we all forget sorrows that
nearly broke down the spirit .when
first they fell upon us. For if the
griefs of an entire life were to base
membered, all that we suffer from
childhood to mature age, the accumu
lation would be greater than we could
bear.
On one occasion, when with my
mother at the slop-shop, we found a
sewing-woman
,standing at.the counter
awaiting payment for the making of a
dozen summer vests. We came up to
the counter and stood beside her—for
there were no chairs on which a sew
ing-woman might rest herself, how
ever fatigued from'carr'ying a heavy
bundle for a mile or two in a hot day.
And even had there been such grate : .
ful conveniences, we should n'ot have
been invited to sit down'; and - Unless
invited, no sewing-womOn would risk
a provocation of the wrath of an ill
mannered sitopman by presuming to
occupy one. Few employers bestow
even a thought upon the comfort of
their sewing-women. They seldom
think how tired they become with over
work at home, before leaving it with
a heavy load for the shop, nor that the
bundle grows heavier and heavier
with every step that it is carried, or
that the weak and over-strained body
of the exhausted woman needs rest
the moment she sets foot within the
door.
The woman whom we found at 'the
counter was in the prime of life, plainly,
but neatly dressed—no doubt in her
best attire, as she was to be seen in
public, and. she knew that her whole
capital lay in her appearance. I
judged her to be an 'educated lady.
Though a stranger to my mother s yet
she accosted her so politely, - and in a
voice so musical, - that the gracefulness
of her manner and the softness of her
tones still linger in my memory. Look
ing down to me, then less than ten
years old, and addressing my mother,
she asked,—
" How many of them have, you. ?,,
" Only three, - Ma'am," was the reply.
"I have six of them to struggle
for," she said, adding, after a moment's
pause, " and it is hard to be obliged to
do it all."
I saw that she was, dressed in'newly
made mourning. I. knew what mourn
ing was-but,. not then what it was to
be a widow. My mother afterwards
told me she was such, and was there
fore in black. Other conversation
passed between the two, during, which
I looked up into the widow's face with
the unreflecting intensity of childish
interest. Her voice was so remarka
ble, so kind - , so gentle, so full of con
ciliation, that it yon my heart. There
was a sadness in her face which struck
me most forcibly and painfully. There
was an expression of care, of overwork,
and great privation. . Yet, for all this,
'the lines of her countenance were beau
tiful even in their painfulness.
While I thus stood gazing up into the
widow's face, the shopkeeper came for
ward from a distant window, by whose
light he_ had been examining the vests,
threw them roughly down upon the
counter in front of her, .and exclaimed
in a rough voice,—
" Can't pay for such work as this—
don't want it in the shop—never had
the like of it—look at that I'
He tossed. a vest toward my mother,
who 400 k it up, and examined it.
One end of it hung down low enough
for me to catch, and I also undertook
the business of inspection. I scanned
it closly, and was a sufficient judge of
sewing to see that it was made up
with a stitch as neat and regular as
that of my mother. She must have
thought so, too; for, on returning it to
the man, she said to him,—
"The work is equal to anything of
mine."
Hearing a new voice, he then diq
covered, that, "instead of tossing the
vest to the poor widow, he had inad
vertently thrown it to my mother.
Then, addressing the former, he said,
in;the same sharp tone,—
Can't, pay bill half price for this
kind of work; don't want any more
like -it. There's your money do you
want more work ?
He threw down the silver on the
counter. The whole price, or even
double would have been a mere pit
tance, the_ widow's mite indeed ; but
here was robbery of even that. What r
infuch a case, was this poor creature
to do ? She had six young and help
less children at home—no husband to
defend her—no friend to stand be
tween her and the man who thus
robbed - her. A resort to law were
futile. What had she wherewith to
pay either lawyer, or magistrate? and
was not continued employment a ne
cessity ? All these thoughts may have
flashed across her mind. But in the
terrible silence which she kept for
some, , minutes, still standing at the
counter, how many others must have
succeeded them! What happy images
of former comfort came knocking at
her heart ! what an agonizing sense of
present destitution ! what a contrast
between the brightness of the one and
the gloom of the other and then the
cries of hungry children ringing-im
portunately in.her ears ! I noticed her
all the time, and, child that I was, did
so merely because she aood still and
made no reply—utterly unconscious
that emotions of any kind were rack
ing her grief-smitten heart. I felt no
such emotions myself—how should I
suppose that they had even an exist
ence?
She made no answer to the man who
had thus wantonly outraged her,-but,
turning to my mother, loo.ked up into
her face as if for pity and advice.
-are they not equally helpless victims
on the
_altaro_f_a like domestic nece,s - .7
sity, and should not common trials
knit them together in the bonds of
common sympathy ? A new sadness
came over her yet beautiful counte
nance; but no tear gushed gratefully
to relieve her swelling heart. She
took up the money—l saw that her
hand was trembling—placed it in her
purse, lifted from the counter 'a bundle
containing a -second dozen of vests,
,and, .bidding my- mother a graceful
fa,rewell, left ,the scene of this cruel
imposition on one utterly powerless
either to, prevent it or to obtain re.
dress.' I have never forgotten the-in
cident.
GRINDING - THE DIAMOND.
BY REV. JOHN TODD, -D.D
The poor sufferer lay in severe pain
on her be& It had. been nearly twenty
years since she 'knew a. well day,—,
more than half that time since she had
walked -a step, and nearly two years
since she had sat up.`-Her limbs were
jerked by spasms, 'her back had deeti
sores on it from lying so long ; and
whenever one was relieved by a new
position of the body; another would
be made. She never complained,;,
and the cheerfulness-with which she
endured all this from day to day; and
from year to year, was a matter of
amazement to all. Her friends who'
saw the Bible always lying near her,
knew well from what springs she
drew water. They all said it was one
of the darkest providences they ever
witnessed.
One night, as the sufferer lay sleep
less from terrible pain, she began to
look back upon the past. What
,a
wreck life seemed, dating from her
bright school-days ! What a mystery
that she must be so helpless and such
a sufferer, while her school-companions
could walk, and move, and act, and
enjoy life ! What was the object of
her heavenly Father in putting ner
into this slow, hoi, long--continued fur
nace? As she lay there thus corn
mum:cating with herself, the room
seemed suddenly to fill with light, and
a beautiful form seemed to bend over
her. His face was calm and gentle,
but full of pity. She was not at all
frightened, nor deemed it strange that
he was there,- though she was aware
that she never saw him before.
"Daughter of sorrow.!" said he in. a
voice soft as the zephyr that just rocks
the -rose on, its stem, "art thou impa
tient ?"
"No; but I am full of pain and dis
ease, and I have so long been a suf-
ferer that I see no end to it,lpor ,can I
see why I must suffer thus.. I know
that I am a sinner ; but I have hoped
that Christ's Sufferings, and not mine,
would save me: Oh, why does God
deal thus with me?
"Come with me, daughter, and I
will show thee."
" But I can not walk."
" True, true I. There, gently, - , gent-
ly !"
He tenderly took her up in his arms,
and carried her away, far away, over
land and water, till he set her down in
a far-off city, and in the midst of a
large work-shop : the room was full of
windows ; and,- the workmen seemed
to be near the light, and each with his
own tools, and all so intent upon their
work, that they neither noticed the
new -comers, nor spoke to one another.
They- seemed to have small, brown
pebbles, which they were grinding
and shaping and polishing. Her guide
pointed her to one who seemegl to be
most earnestly at work. He held a
half-polished pebble, which was now
seen to be a diamond, in a pair of
strong. iron pincers. He seemed to
grasp the little thing as if he would
crush it, and to hold it, on the rough
stone without mercy. The stone
whirled, and the dust flew, and the
jewel grew smaller and lighter: Ever
and anon he would stop, hold it up to
the light, and examine it ,carefully.
"Workman," said the sufferer, " will
you please to tell me why you bear on,
and grind the jewel so hard ?"
" I want to grind off every flaw and
crack in it.'
" But don't you waste it ?"
" Yes ; but what left is worth so
much the, more. The fact is, this dia
mond, if it will bear, the wheel enough,
is to occupy , a very important place in
the crown we are making up for our
king. We takelnuch more pains with
such. We , have to grind and polish
them a great while ; but, when they
are done, they are very beautiful. The
king was here yesterday, and was
much pleased with our work, but
wanted this jewel, in particular, should
be ground and polished a great deal.
So you see how hard .I hold it down
on this stone: And see ! there is not
a crack or flaw in it! What a beauty
it will be!"
Gently, gently, the guide -lifted up
the poor sufferer, and again laid her
on her own bed of pain. "Daughter
of sorrow! dost tt r ou understand the
vision ?"
"'Oh, yes! but may I ask you one
question?"
"Certainly."
"Were you sent to me to show me
all this?"
"Assuredly."
"Oh! may I take to myself the con
solation that I am a diamond, and am
now in the hands of the. strong man,
who ispolishing it for the crown of the
Great King."
"Daughter of sorrow ! thou mayest
have that consolation; and every pang
of suffertifig -- shall—be--like—tr flaslr - 0
lightning in a dark night, revealing
eternity to thee; and hereafter_ thou
shalt 'inn without weariness and walk
without faintness,' and sing with those
who have ' come out.of great tribula
tion.' "—Tract Journal.
A HEROINE.
At Pilau ? in Prussia, now lives a
woman who has for some years come
crated her life to the noble and dan
gerous task of rescuing persons from
drowning.. Whenever a tempest
comes ,on, day or night, Catherine
Cleinfeldt, who is the widow of a sail
or, is.ready with a boat . ; in which she
puts out to sea, and frequently goes
further than any other, in order to
give help to .thosewho may be ship
wrecked.: 'More than three hundred
individuals have been saved by, her
efforts, and, accustomed for twenty
years to make voyages with her hus
band, she possesses a skill and hardi
hood:that renders those efforts unusu
ally successful. Whenever .she is
seen,.the. greatest respect paid , to
her and the sailors regard her as their
guardian angel; the very children of
the fishermen go upon their knee's to
h;r, and kiss the skirts of het dress.
The Trussiani and other governthents
shave;:decreed her medals, and the
Principality of Pilau. has made her an
honorary citizen for life. .She is
about sixty . years of age, with an ath
letiC figure and' great strength (a Grace
Darling enlarged into gigantic pro
portions); she has a' masculine coun
tenance, which, however, is softened
by the benevolent expression that it
constantly wears.
SENSIBLE MAXIMS.—Never speak
of your father as "the old man."
Never reply to the epithets of a
drunkard or a fool.
Never speak contemptuously of wo
mankind.
Never abuse one who was once youi
bosom friend, however bitter an enemy
now.
Never smile at the expense, of your
religion or, your Bible.
A. good word is as soon said as a
bad one.
Peace with heaven is the best friend
ship.
THE largest refracting telescope in
America has just been completed in
Cambridge., and purchased for the Chi ;
cago University for, $18,187. Its
weight is 6000 pounds, and the length
of the great tube 22 feet.
"NOT GRUDGINGLY, OR OP NECES-
&TY."
The Hand that strews the earth with flowers
Enriched the marriage feast with wine ;
The Hand once pierced for sins of ours -
This morning made the dew-drops shine ;
Makes'rain-clouda pals, es of art ;
Makes ice-drops beauteous as they freeze :
The heart - that bled to save—that heart
Sends countless gifts each day to please;
Spares no minute, refining touch.
To paint the flower, to crown flu feast;
Deeming no sacrifice too much,
Has care and leisure for the least;
Gives freely of its very best ;
Not barely what our need may be,
But for the joy of making blest:
Teach us to love and give like Thee!
Not narrowly men's claims to measure,
But question daily all our poWers,—
To whose cup can we add a pleasure?
Whose path can we tu ahe brightigith flowers
[irhor of Schonberg- Collo Family.
SCRIPTURE. AND HYGIENE,
Dr. Hall, of the Jouvaai ) I • . . , Health,
speaking of the importance of, ir-labit
ing houses in their structure - and sit
uation favorable to the health, says :
g There is more sound, practical hy
giene, on the subject of healthy
houses, in the 14th chapter of Leviti
ticus, from verse thirty-four, than in
all the skulls of health commissioners
and common councils of all the cities
of Christendom. Pity it is that we do
not read our Bible more, that great
book which contains the leading prin
ciples of what is indisputably, good
and useful and true in all
_that really
pertains to human happiness; and
what a pity it is that the Sunday news
paper, and the trashy weekly, and-the
enticing story books, ' for childhood
and hoary age, on subjects, pertaining
to the word, and party preaching, and
infidel peripatetic lectures, with new
fangled crudities for human amelior
ation, and their theories for elevating
the masses; pity it is, we say, that all
these things so attract attention. The
Bible, the best of all, the wisest in all
its theories, and in all its practices
sure, has become a sealed book to
the many ; and any Other book on
the centre or side-table would be
opened sooner that."
Still flow the waters for the leprous soul,
A sparkling tide ;
Abana, Pharpar, they are needed not,
Where this doth glide.
Still is the fount by one•kind angel stirred,
The fount of truth :
And whoso chooseth health may find it here
And fadeless youth.
Upon the pages of the Book so dear,
To souls renewed,
Is healing balm for every thorn's sharp wound..
Along life's road.
Read then the pages of the blessed Book,
Nor let it lie
Unnoticed, when your souls are vexed with things
Beneath the sky.
Aye, read it first; the only manna find
mornin g 'sln hour
And seek, when evening's shadows gather round,
Its soothing power.
Read on, and store thy memory with the words
Of promise rare,- .
-Then--forth into life's daily battle-lield 7
To do and dare.
[Mrs. T. H. Hanaford.
THE NORTH POLE,
To a person standing at the north
pole, the sun appears to sweep horizon
tally around the sky every twenty
four hours without any perceptible
variation during its circuit in its dis
tance from its horizon. On the 21st
of June it is 23 deg. 38 min. above the
horizon, a little more than one-fourth
pf the distance' to the zenith, the.highest
point that it ever reaches. From this
altitude it slowly _descends, its track
being represented by a spiral or screw
with a very fine thread, and in the
course of three months it worms its
way doWn to the horizon, which it
reaches on the 23d of September. On
this day it slowly sweeps around the
sky, with its face half hidden below the
icy sea. It still continues to descend,
and after it has entirely disappeared, it
is still so near the horizon that it carries
a:bright twilight around the heavens
in its daily circuit.
the sun sinks lower and lower.
this twilight gradually grows fainter
till it fades away. On the 20th of
December the sun is 23 deg. 38 min.
below the horizon, and this is the mid
night of the dark 'winter of the pole:
From this date the sun begins to as
cend, and after a time his return is
heralded by a faint dawn which circles
slowly around the horiz,on, completing
its circuit every • twenty-four hours.
This dawn grows gradually brighter,_
and on the 20th of March the peAks of
ice are gilded with the first le,vel rays
of - the six months' day, The' bririger
Of this long day continues to wind his
spiral way upward, till he reaches his
highest place on the 21st of June, and
his annual course is completed.—
Scientific American. ,
AN Irish hackman who carried Gen.
Grant to his hotel in New York spreads
himself as follows :---“ Here's to meself,
Dennis Connelly, the biggest man in
Ameriky but one. I've driven the
lieutenant general of the United States,
and it's more than Bobby Lee ever
did."
CONTENTMENT.—One who had ex
perienced.; a change of fortune,.said:—
'fWhen I was rich, I possessed God in
all things; and now I am poor, I pos
sess all things in God." Contentment
depends more on the dispoSition'of the
mind than-on the circumstances-of our
life.