S. r. BLOAN, , Editor. VOLUME 20. 13gitut. 1101 V BATH BE LOV E:=l Unto him who hath loved us, and gave hi washed us from our sins in his own blooti."—Rli How bath he loved us? Ask thestar That on Hs wondrous loisSion spe hung trembling o'er that manger see Where Ile, the Denial, bowed Ilia He, who. of earth doth cent the dootu, l Found in her lowliest inn no room. Judea's mountains lift your voleC. legends of the daviour fraught; flpeak, fumed Olivet, so oft .. At midnight's prayerful hour sough ; And Cedron's brook, whose rippling live Frequent Ilia weary feet ilia lave. How bath he loved het Mk the ban That fled His woes with breathless baste; As the weak friend's denial tone. etaree by Ilk bitterest tears etfacel Ask the traitor's kiss and see What Jesus has endured for thee. Ask of Gethsemane, who:e den 0 Itihratik from that moistune strangely IVltich in that non melted bout , ofpai agonli.ing temples shed: The scourge, the thorn, it hose anguish Like the unanswering lamb, lle bore. lion; hath Ile loved us? Ask the crook The Itoman ■pear, the shrouded sky, l Ask of the sheeted dead, nit° burst Thett eereatents nt Ills fearful cry. Oh, tusk no more; but how- thy pride, And yield thy heart to Ilium who died. I THE DRUNKARD'S BY CHARLES MpIES9 WE will bo bold to say, that there is searcely a linan in tho constant habit of walking, day after daf,through any of tho crowded thoroughfares of London t who cannot recollect among the peoplo whom ho `knoT by sight,' to U3O a familiar phrase, some boing of ahjoet arid wretched appoaranco whom ha remembers to havo soon in a very diffsrent condition, whom he has observed I :inking lower and lower by almost imperceptible degrees, nd the shab binoss and utter destitution of whose appe4ance, at last, strikes forcibly and painfully upon him as he passos by.— is there any man who has mixed much with society, or whose avocations have caused hint to Mingle, at ono time or other, with a great number of people, who can not call to mind the time when some shabby; miserable wretch in rags and filth, who shuffles past him now in all the squalor of disease and poverty. waste respectablo tradesman, or a clerk, or a man following some thriving pursuit, with good prosposts and decent me s as';—or can not any of our readers call to mind from among tho list of their quandum acquaintance, somo fallen and degra ded man. who limmrs about Mc pavement in•linnger and misery—from whom every 000 turns coldly awes', and who preserves himself -from sheer starvation., nobody knows how? Vast such cases am too frimont occur rence to be rare items in any man's exporiouco; and but too often arise from one 'causo—drunkonnes—that fierce rage for tho slow, sure poison, that overstops every other consideration; that caste aside, wife, children, frien d s, happiness and stationt . and hurries its victims madly on to degradation and death . Some of those mon have bean impelled by misfortune and misery, to the vice that has dograd4 them. ,The ruin of worldly ospectations, tho death of those they lov ed, the sorrow that slowly consumes, but' Will not break the heart, has driven them wild; and thoY present the hideous spectacle of madmen, slowly dying by their own hands. But, by far tlio greater part have iwilfully, and with open oyes, plunged into the gulf from which the than who ouco enters it foyer rises more, hut into which ho sinks doOpor and deeper down, until recorory is hope:. less. _ Such a man as this once stood by tho bed side of 104 dying wife. while his children knelt around, l and mingled low bursts of grief with their innocent prayers. The room was scantily and meanly furnished; arid it needed but a glance at the pale form from which t h light of life was fast passing away, to know that grief, and want, and anxious care, had been bury at tho heart for many a wea ry year. Au elderly female, with her faCe bathed in tears, was supporting the head of the dying Woman—her daughter—on bor arm. But it was not towardalier that the wan face turned; it was not her hand that the cold and trembling fingers clasped; they pressed the hus- band's arm; the eyes so soon to bo closed in death, roiled on his face; and the man shook beneath their gaze. His dress was slovenly and disordered, his Paco innaimedi his eyes bloodshot and heavy. He had been t summoned spine wild debauch to (ho bed of sorrow and of death. I , A shaded lamp by the bed side cast a clinilight on the figures around, and left the remainder of the room in thick, deep shadow. The silence of night prevailed Without the house, and the stillness of death was in the chamber. A watch hung over the mandesbelf; its low ticking was the only sound that broke the prefouud quiet. but it was a solemn one; for well they knew. who hoard it, that before it had recorded the passing of another hour, it would beat the knell of a departed spirit. It is a dreadful thing to wait and watch for the op preach of death; to know that hope is gone and recov ery . impossible; and to sit end count the dreary hours through long, long nights—such nights as only watchers by the bed of sickness know. It chills the blood to hear the dearest secrets of the heart—the pent up, hidden secrets of many years, poured forth by the unconscious helpless being before you; and to think how little the reserve and cunning of a whole life will avail, when fever and dole ram tear off the mask at last. Strange tales Itav , o been told iuilho wanderings of dying men; tales so full of guil t , and crime, that those who 'stood by the nick person's conch have fled iu horror and affright, lest they should be scared to madness by what they heard and saw; and many a wretch has died alone, raving of deeds, the very name of which has driven the boldest man away. But no such ravings wore to be heard at the bed side by which the children knelt.' The half stifled sobs and moaning. alone broke the silence of the lonely chamber. And when at last the mother's grasp relaxed; and turn ing one look from the children to their father, she vainly strove to speak, and fell backward'on the pillow, all was so calm) and tranquil that she seemed hq sink to sleep.— They leaned over her; they called upon her naino, softly at first and then in the loud and piercing tones of des peration. But there was uo reply. They liatoaed for hat breath, but no sound cams. They felt for thepelpi toile's of the heart, but no faint throb tespouded to the touch. That heart was broken, and she was dead! The husband sunk into a chair by the bed side, and clon e d his baud. upon his burning forehead. tie gazed from child to child, but when a weeping eye met his, he quailed beneath, its look. No word of comfort was whis pered in his oar, no look of kindnesislighted on his (ace, All shrunk r hollb him, and avoided him; and when at lest ho 6 teggored from the room, ne one sought to foliose, er console the widower. , •.: F'1 ...,.•, ORSERVER •._. ,„, ED ‘713. moll' far us, and CM t‘tit EATH. The thee had been when many a friend would have crowded round him in his affliction, and many a heart felt condolence would have met him in his grief. Where were they now? One by ono, friends, relations, the commonest acquaintance even, had fallen off from and desortedthe drunkard. , His wife alone had clung to him in grout evil, in sickness and poverty; and how had he rewarded her? He had reeled from the tavern to her bed side, in time to see her die. Ile rushed from tho house and walked swiftly through the streets. Remorse, fear, shame. all crowded on hie mind. Stupified with drink, and bewildered with the scone he had just witnessed, lie re-entered the tavern he had quitted shortly before. Glass succeeded glass.— Ilia blood mounted and his brain whirled round. Death! Every ono must die, and why not she? She was too good for him; her rotations had often told him so.— Curses on them! Had they not deserted her, and left her to whine away the time at home? Well, she was dead, and happy perhaps. It was bettor. at it was.— Another glass—one more; Hurrah! 'lt was a merry lifo while it lasted r and he would make tile most of it. Time wont ont• the three children who were loft to him grow up. and were - children no longer; the fattier re mained the same—poorer, shabbier, land more disoltite looking. but the some confirmed and irreclaimable drunk ard. The boys had, long ago, run Wild in the streets; and let him; the girl alone remained, but ahe worked hard, and words or blows could alivays procure him something for the tavern. So lie went ou in the old course, and a merry life he sled. Ono night, as early as ton o'clock—for the girl had been sick for many days, and there was, consequently little to spend at the public house—he bent his steps homeward, bethinking himself that if ho would hove her able to earn money, it would be as *ell to apply to the parish surgeon, or, at all events, to take tho trouble of inquiring what ailed her. which ho had not yet thought it worth while to 41e. It was a wet December night; the wind blew piercing cold, and the rain poured heavily down. He begged a few half pence from a passer by. and having bought a small loaf, (for it was his interest to keep the girl alive, if lie couldy he shuffled onwards as fast as the wind and rain would let him. At the back of Fleol street. uncilying betweeikit and the waterside, are several mean and narrow courts, which form a portion of White friars; it was !to ono of these he directed his slops. The alloy into which ho turned Might for filth and misery, have competed with the darkest corner of this ancient sanctuary in its dirtiest and most lawless time. The houses. varying from two stories in height to four, were stained with every indescribable, hue that long ex posure to the weather, damp, and rottenness can impart to tenements cotuosed originally of the roughest and coarsest materials. The windows wore patched with paper, and stuffed with the foulest rags; tho doors were falling,from their hinges; poles with lines on which to dry clothes, projected from every casement, and soulls of quarrelling and drunkenness issued from every room. Tho solitary oil lamp in the center or the court had been blown out, either, by the violence of the wind or the act of some inhabitant who had excellent reasons for ob jecting to his residence being rendered too conspicuous; and the only light which fell upon ihe broken-and une ven pavement, was aormvea Min mu miserable calleleig that hero and there twinkled in the rooms of such of the more fortunate residents as could afford to indulge in so expensive a luxury. A gutter ran down the center of the Alley—all the sluggish dors of wlsielthad boon call ed forth by the rain; and as the wind whistled through the old houses, the, doors and shit ttcrs creaked upon their hinges, and tho winaows shook in their frames, with a violence which every moment seemed to threaten the destruction of the whole place. • The min whom WJ L I,IN faoWtHr) nto this don, walk ed on in darkness, sometimes stumbling into the 'nein gutter, and at others into some branch rettbitories of garbage which had been formed by the rain, until he reached the last home in the court. The door, or rather what was left of it, stood ajar, for the convenience of the numerous lodgers; and lie proceeded to groups his way up the old and broken stair to the attic story. Ile was within a stop or two of his room door, when it opened, and a girl whose miserable and emaciated appearance was only to be equalled by that off the candle which she shaded with her hand, peeped anxiously out. "Is that you, father!" said the girl. "Who else should it bo?" replied he gr_uMy.`. "What are you trembling at? It's littlo enough that I've had to drink to-day, for there's no drink without the money, and no money without work. What' the dev ire the mat ter with the girl?" "1 ant not well—not at all woll," said tho girl, bursting into tears. "Ah!" replied the man, hi ateno of a person who is compelled to admit a very unploasatit feet, to which he would rather remain blind, if ha could. "You. must got better somehow, for we must havo money. ' Toil go to the parish doctor, and make him give you some medicine. They're paid for it, damn' em. Mat aro you 'etanding before t he door for? Let me come in, can't pin." "Fathor," whisporod tho girl, shutting tho door behind her, and placing horaolf before it, "William has come baGk.l • "Who? "said tho man, with a start. •'1Ius1i;" replica tho girl. biritlier William." "And what he does ho want?" said the man, with au effort at composuro—Money: meal! drink? llo's come to the wrong shop for that, if ho (loos. Give me the candle, fool; I ain't going to hurt him." lie snatched, the candle from her hand, and walked into the room. " Sitting on an old box, with his head resting on his hand and his eyes fixed on a wretched cinder firo that was smouldering on the hearth, was a young,man 01 4. about two-and-twenty, miserably clad iu an old coarse jacket and trousers. lie started up when his father entered. • "Fasteri the door. Mary." said tho young man hastily —"fasten the door. You look as if you did,'nt know me, father. It's long °Rough since you drove me from home; you may wall forgot me." "And what do you want bore now?" said the father seating him Self on a stool, on the other nick of the fire place. "What do you want here 'now?" I "Shelter." replied theson, inrouble, that's enough. If I'm caught, I shall swing; that's certain. Caught I be, unless I stop hero; that's as certain. And thecr's an cud 'to it." "You moan to say, you've boon robbing, or mnidoriug, than?" \ said the father. "Yes, I do," replied the son. "Does it surprise you, father?" Ho looked steadily In the man's face. but' he withdrew his eyes, and bent them on the ground. "Where's your brother's?" he'said after along pause. "Where they'll never trouble yon." replied his son: "Joint's gone to America, and Henry's dead•" "Dead:" said the father, with a shudder. which oven he could not repress. "Doad," replied the young man. "Ho died in my prnts ..—shot like-a dog, by a game-keeper. He staggered back. I caught him. and his blood trickled down my. hande.— It poured out from his side liko water. He was weak. • and it blinded him, bathe* threw himself, down on his kueos. on the grass, and prayed to God, that if his moth; er was in )(leaven. Ho would hear her prayers for pardon for her youngest son. "I was her favorite b o y. VOip.,, lit said, "and I oun_glad to tblnk, _Tian!, that wheo,.abo was dying. though I was a ,very young child.Aen. and, my little Mid was almost bursting, I knelt down at the i foot of the bed, and tbankedGad for having madarnopo SATURDAY MORNING, DECEMBER 1, 1849. fond her as to have never done any thing to bring the tears into her eyes. Oh, Will, why Was she taken away and father left:" There's his dying words; father." said the young man; "make the best you . can of 'em. You ■truck hint across the face, in a drunken fit, the morning wo ran away; and here's the end of it." The girl wept aloud; and the father, sinking his bead upon 'his knees, reeked himself to and fro. . "If I an taken," sail the young man, "I shalt be car ried back into the country, and hung for that man's mar• der. They cannot trace me hoar without your assistance, father. For aught I know, you may give mo up to justice; ,but unleSs you do, hero I stop, until I can venture to cscapo abroad." For two whole days. all throe remained in the wretched room, without stirring out. On the third evening, however, the girl ,was worse than she had been yet, and the few scraps of food they had wore gone., It was in dive nsibly necessary that some body should go ant and as the girl was too weak and ill, the father went. just at nightfall. Ho got soma medicine for the girl, and a trifle in the way of pecuniiiry assistance. On his way, back, he earn - ea six-perice by holding a horse; and' he turned home wards with enough money to supply their most pressing wants for two or three days to come. He had to pass the public'house. - lie lingered for an instant,: walked past it, turned back again, lingered once more, and finally slunk in. Two men whom ho had not observcid were on the watch. They were on the point - of giving ip their search in despair, when his lotoring attracted their ettentin; and when ho entered the public house, they followed him. "You'll drink with me, master," said ono of them, proffering him a glass of liquor. "And me, too," said tho other, replenishing the glass as soon as it was drained of its contents. The man thought of his hungry children; and his son's danger. But they were nothing to the drunkard. Ho did drink: and his reason loft him. "A wet night, Warden," whispored one of the men in his oar, as ho at length turned to go away. afterspen. ding in liquor one-half of tho money on which, perhaps, his daughter's life depended. "Tho right sort of a night for our friends in hiding. Mester Warden." whispered the othet. "Sit down herb," said the ono who had ',spoken first, do:awing him into a corner. "Wo: been been looking arter the young un. Wo camo to tell him it's• all right now, but we couldn't find him 'cause we hadn't got the precise direction. But that ain't strange. for I don't think ho-know'd it himself, when he conic) to London, did ho?" "No, ho didn't," replied the father. The two men exchanged glance!. "There's a vessel down at tho docks, to soil al mid night. when it's high water," resumed the firstspoaker, "and we'll put him on board. His passago is taken in another namo, and what's better than that, it's paid for. It's luoky wo mot you." "Very," Reid tho 'second. “Copital luck," said The first, with a wink to hie com panion. ...Greet." replied the second, with a alight nod of Intel- ligeneo. "Another glass,here; quicki"—said the first, speaker.— And in five minutei mors r tha father , I;4.l';ii.cteliciiiludiii yielded up his own son into the hangman's hands. Slowly and heavily the time dragged along, as the brother and sister, in their miseareble hiding place, lis tened in anxious suspense to the slightest sound. At length, a heavy footstep was heard upon the stairs; it'ap preached nearer; it reached the landing; and the fatlier staggered into the room. Tho girl saw that ho was intoxicated, and advanced with tho candlo in her hand to moot him; ' she stopped short;gave a loud scream,and fell senseless on the ground. She had caugh t sight of the shadow of a man, reflected on the floor. They both rushed in, and in another in stant the young man was a prisoner, and handcuffed. "Very quietly done,"•said one of the men to his com panion, "thanks to the old man.—Lift up the girl, Tom— come, come, It's no use crying, young woman. It's all over now. 4nd can't be holped." The young men stooped for an instant over the girl, and than turned fiercely round upon his father, who had reeled against the wall, and was gazing on tho group with drunken stupidity. "Listen to me fathor," he said, in a tone that made the drunkard's flesh creep. • "My brother's blood, and mine, is on your head; I never had a kind look, or word, or care, from you, and alive or i dead,l never will forgive you. Die when you,will, or how. 1 will be with you. I speak as a dead man now, and 1 warn you, father. that assuredly as you must ono day stand before your Maker. so surely shall your children bo there. hand in bend, to cry for judgment against you." He raised his manacled hands in a threatening attitude, flied his eyes on his shrinking parimt, and slowly left the room; and neither father nor sister everbeheld him more on this side of the grave. • When tho dim and misty light of a winter's morning penetrated into the' narrow 'court; and struggled through the begrimed window of the wretched room', Warden awoke from hie lieitvy sleep, and found himaelf alone. He rose and looked round him; tho old flock' tnattrass on the floor was undisturbed; every thing was just \ ns he romemborodto have seen it last, and there wore no signs of any one, save himself, having occvied tbo room du ring the night. Ho inquired of the other lodgers and of tho neighbors; but his daughter had not been seen or heard of. Ho rambled through the streets, and scruti nized each wrenched face among the crowds that throng ed them, with anxious eyes. But his search was fruit loss, and he'returned to the garret when night came on, desolate and weary. For many days ho occupied himself in 'the same man ner, but no traces of his daughter did ho meet with, and no word of her reached his °era At hingth ho gave up the pursuit as hopeless. Ho had long thought of the pro bability of her leaving him, and endeavoring to gain her broad in quiet elsewhere.' Sho had let him last to starve alone. He ground his teeth, and cursod her! Ho begged his bread from door to door.—Every half penny he could wring from the pity or credulity of those to whom he addressed himself, was spent in the old way. A year passed over his head; the roof of a jail was the only- one that had sheltered him for many•rnonths. Ho slept under archways, and brick Gelds—any where, whom there was some warmth or sbelterfrom tho cold or rain. But is tho last stage • of poverty, disease. and houseless want, he was a drunkard still. At last ono bitter night, he sunk down on a• door-step. faint and ill. The prematuro decay ,of vice end profli gacy had worn him into the- bone. His cheeks were hollow and livid;• his oyes were earthen. and their eight was dim.-a-Elis logs trembled beneath his:weight, and a cold shiver ran through. very - And now tho long-forgotten emotive of's ; misepent life, crowded thick and fitional* him—He thought of the time whoa Ito had a home—a happy. &cheerful home-p-and of these who peopled it. and flocked about him then. WWI. the._ forms of the elder children seemed to T4011'0133 the grave. and , stand -about ,him; -so-plain. so clear. and so distinct they were.-that ha could tough endfeel them. Leeks that AIS bad long forgotten were fixed upon him once more; velem bug eine. hushed in death found ed In 'deems like - the inqaits*thet village boUa,, But It. WO only for MI initElthe rain beat heavily 9P04 binn and Cold and hOntor. were iram!ing at WOWS. Pin' • ,` is Me. Ind dragged hie foroblo- Ander.? 'dew Pow , !other. Tb, street,was silent end imptyr, the few-1441' rro NW ARD gangers who passed by, at that iate hour, hurried quick. ly on, and his trumuloue voice wag lost iq tho violence of the storm. Again, that heavy chill struck through hie frame; and hie blood Seemed to stagnato beneath it. I/0 coiled himself up in eprojecting doorway,. and tried to sleep. But sloop had fled from his dull and glazed eyes. Hi mind wandered strangely, but he was awake, and con scions. The well-known shout of drunken mirth sound ed In his ear, the glass was at his lips, the board we covered with, choice rich food: they were before him; It could see thetn all, ho had but to reach out his hand, an take them; and, though the illusion was reality itself, hu: knew that he was sitting alone in the deserted street; watching the, rain-drops as the pattered on the stones, that death' was coming upon him by inches; and thero • was none to care for.or help him. Suddenly, he started up in the extremity ofterror. Ho had heard his own voice shouting in the night air, ho knew not what, or why.—Hark groan!-- i anotlicri His senses wore leaving him; half-formed - end incohe rent words burst from his lips. and his hands sought to tear and lacerate his flesh. He was going mad, and ho shrieked for help till his•voico fulled hint. Ho raised his head, and looked up the long, dismal street. He recollected that outcasts like himself, con demned to wander day and night in those dreadful streets, had sometimes gone distracted with leis own loneliness. He remembered. to have hoard many years before, that a homeless wretch had onco been found in a solita ry corner, sharpening a rusty knife to plunge into his own heart, preferring death to that endless, weary wan dering to and fro. In an instant his resolve was taken; his limbs received now life; ho ran•quickly trotn the spot, and paused not for breath ho reached the river side . He crept slowly down the steep stone stairs that lead from the commencement of Waterloo Bridge. down to the water's level. lie crouched into a corner, and held his breath, as the patrol passed. Never did a prisoner's heart throb with the hope of liber i ty and life half so eager ly as did that of the wretched man at the prospect of death. Tho watch passed close to him, but he remained unobserved; after waiting till the sound of footsteps had died away in the distance, he cautiously descended. and stood beneath the gloomy arch that tonna the landing place of the river. The tide was in, and the water flowed at his feet. The rain had ceased, the wind was lulled, and all was for a moment, still and quiet—so quiet that the slight est sound ou the opposite bank, oven tho rippling of the water against the barges that were moored there. was distinctly audible to the ear. The stream stele languidly and sluggishly on. n Ettrango and fantastic forms rose to the surface, and beckoned him to approach; desk gleam ing eyes peered from the water, and seemed to mock his hesitation, while hollow murmurs from behind urged him onwards. He returned a few paces, took a short run, a desperate leap, and plunged into the Aver. Not five minutes had passed when he rose to the wa ter's surface—but what a change had taken place in that short time, in all his thoughts and feelings! Life—life in any form.' poverty. misery, starvation—anything but death. lie fought and struggled with the water that clog tuLgver hie load. and screamed in agonies of terror. The curse of his Own sun rang in his ears. The shore—but cue foot of dry ground ho could almost touch the step. Oue baud's breadth nearer, and ho was saved—but the tido born him onward, under the dark arches of the bridge. and he sank to the bottom. Again ha rose. and struggled forlife. For one-instant —for one:brief instant—the buildings on the river's Wilke, the lights on the bridge,' through which the current had born him, the black %rater, and the fast flying clouds, were distinctly visible —once more he sunk and once again ho rose. Bright flamos of fire shot up from earth to heaven, and reeled . before his eyes, while tho water thundered in his cars, and stunned him with its furious EZI2 A week afterwards the body was washed ashore. some miles below tho bridge. 'a swollen and disfigured mass. Unrecognized and unpitied. it was boruo to the grave. and there it has long since mouldered! - • The sponge of commerce is found attached to rocks in various depths. between three fathoms and thirty. When alive it is of a dull bluish black above. and of a dirty white beneath. There are several qualities. possibly indicating as many distinct species. The best aro taken among the Cyclades. The sponge divers, however. aro mostly people from the islands of the Cation coast; from Calym nous, and the islands between Calyinnor and Rhodos. They go in little Recta of calques. each of six or seven tone burden, and maned by six or eight men. The lea sers for the fishery lasts from May until - September.—Ali the men dive in turn. They remain under weir from one to three minutes. They descend to the battens at various depths, between five fathoms and twenty, or even. though rarely, thirty. Very feW of the Archipelago di vers can descend so debp as the last named depth. and it is doubtful whether they can work in such a case. Mum years ago a diver asserted he had bent a rope round the beam' o( a Turkish frigate. sunk in thirty fa thoms water off' Scio .Mr. Love, when engaged in raia - big the guns of seine of the susiken.ships, confirmed his statement, by finding the rope still bent round the beam. In deep water a repo ;voiglied by a atone islet down, by which the divan; ascend when ,they hare gathered the sponges. They carry nothing about their person but a netted bag, which is attached to a hoop suspended round theirriecks; in this they place the sponge. In a good locality a diver may bring up filly okes or sponges in a day. A very large sponge may weigh two okes. The weight is calculated from the sponges whou they ars dri ed. A sponge is dried in the sun, slur being cleansed in sea woter; fresh miter rots it. and turns It black. The slimy or animal manor is stsmped out by tho diver's feet. When dried tho sponges are strung in circles.—Tbm. are sold at twenty-five drachms an oke—Tho chief maitre, aro flutyrna. Rhodos. and Napoli. . • ' The sponge fisheries were probably conducted among the ancient Greeks as they aro now.—tio nce, informa tion being obtainable with faciLty, we find a full account Of the sponge in tha,svritings of Aristotle. He appears to have been deeplyinterested in its history, on account pf the link it seemed to present between animal and veg. etable.natures. Therefore. the question whether sponges possessed sensation is discussed by him more than once, and left undecided... l Th° statements for and against their capacity of feeling aro however, fairly put for Ward. The name question is debated among naturalists oldie present day. and, as anciently. there are not wanting advocates for either view: Aristotle distinguishes sponges under twOheads;--these that might be cleaned. end those that could not: Of the last, ho says that their substance wa. compact; but perforated by large canals. They were mere viscous than other sponges. and'whso dried remain ed black. The description exactly applies to , the corn mon coast line sponges of the Zgests. useless for scone inictil purposes., • .• • • His account of the-sponge of commerce is more detail ed., Re distinguiehes three varieties, these which are lax and porous: those 6f thick and close texture; . and a third kind. called sponges of Achilles. finer. more corn- Putts' and stronger than the :either*. Theie last were rarest. and used to be placed in hamlets and 41a:iota; as Protections from preisure for the bend and feet.Thev all grow on the rocks, Miliaria* not by rine, point - only, nor by the Whale' iurface.' but by ' the coast. which *eine suddenly deep.' He attributes lho'sriperior' fineness of torture in those deep'seit kinds le the greater'eniformity of temperature of the water Mauch plaeore;—When alive Rea before.tharate.wasbed.lkey are black. •• Their• ca- UoleuSe ogee lehabited.by lildoccuetacea. Such are the leudingpointe of 'the account given - of. sponges 41 the fiftibook.of the History,sor i Aniruids.- , •freas Pratt, and ntioessi Lietit: • " ' THE SPONGE gelert portal a 0 Zion) EL POPULAR ORML I CY CIIsIILFI P. 11111U111. Dhoti and dollars! dollars and dimes! An empty pocket's the worst of crimes: If a mnn is down, give him a thrust— Trample the beater into the dust! Presumptous poverty's quite appalling— Knock him wter! kick him for falling: If a alma is on, oh! lift him higher! Yunr soul's fbr sale and be Is buyer— Mince rind dollars! dollars and dimes! An empty pocket's the worst of crimes! I know a poor, hut worthy youth, Whose hopes ar etatilt oti a Maiden's trot But the maiden will break her rows whit et For a .wooer tomcat whose claims are them A holiow heart an empty head, A face well tinged it WI the brandy red, A soul well trained in villain's school— Awl Cash—sweet Cash!—lte kuoweth the Dimetand dollars! dollars and dimes! Au empty pocket's the worst of crimes! I know a bold and honest man. Who strives to live on the Christain plan Dot i,ouf be Is, and poor will be. A ecortied and hated wretch Is he: Al home he in :etetli a stor yin; wre Abroad he 'cadet!, the leeper'S life Theystrugglcagrinst a fearful odds Who LL ill not boo to the people's 'gods! Dimes and dollars: dollars and dimes! Anew )t) pocket's the worst of crimes Bo get ) c wealth, no matter-bow! "No question asked" of the rielt I trove Steel by night, and steal by day, (Doing it all in a legal way) Juln the Church and never forsake her. Learn to cant and insult your Makin he hypocrite. har. knave and fool, nut don't be pohr—resnewher the rules lIIC4 awl dollars: Jolla san.] dunes! - An Nopty pocked the wont ()fed ONE OF THE WEDD'NGS A few days ago, there arrived, at a hotel i. couple front Rhode Island, who came to get etly, in the bondsof matrimony. As soon fairly domicilated, the would-be t •bridegroom, rough, but apparently honest .. specimen of t Yankoo, sent for the proprietor of the hotel, answered his summons. • **Say, lan'lord." proposed the stranger, ph modest dulcinea, in the corner of the parlor; young 'oeinan. Neon., wu've oum all the Rode Island, and we want to be spliced. ininister;will yen? Want it dun up rite strait Tho lundlord smildd and wont out, and afterward a licensed minister made his apps i the obliging boat, with one or two waggish f called in, as witnesses to the "scene." • "New, Mr. Stiggings."'said the Yankee, broom', and youro Money's ready;" and to reverend gentleman commenced by directing to join their hands. The Yankee stuck up to ing ladylove,-like a sick kitten hugging a seized her hand, and was as - much pleased • might ho supposed to bo with two tails. "You promise. Mr. A.;" said the parson this woman—" "Yalu." said the Yankee, et once. ..To your.lawfal and lof:J(l,Ni wiro." "Yaws—vam." "That you will cling to her, and to her on as both of sou shall live." "Yeas. Indeed—n*4llin' dee!" continued th l iu tho most delighted and ofiaripzst , manner; b reverend gentleman halted, much to the Inv , present. and more especially to tho annoyane comfittire of the intended bridegroom. "Yeas—yeas, I said." added the Yankea. "One moment. my friend," responded the 'lowly. for it suddenly occurred to him that t Altetachusetts did not permit of this'performa out the Oservanco of a "publishment." etc., min length of time. "I.Vi.ten thunder's tho :natter. mister? DJ3 go on—put 'or throu. Nothin's split. eh? mister. be yer?" '•Just of this moment, my friend, I have th yoI can't bo married in Massaeliseietts—" , "Can't! wot'n nature's the reason? lik •', likes me; wot's to bander?" "You haven't boon published, air. I think • "Ilaint a gain' to be. norther! 'at's wot w fur. On the sly; Go on—go on old feller." "1 really, sir—" said the parson. "Reilly! Wel. go ahead! 'Tain't fair, you is I swaovi; you've married me. and hein't tec Go on—dean% stop 'ere! 'at aint jos' the thi by grashus 'toilet!" "I will sonsult—" "No veu wont—no yeti don't—consult .;no nobuddy, till this 'aro business is concluded. n I toll ye!" said Jonathan. rosotutely—and in ho had turned the key in and out of the lock, tittering of tho l'eritnesso,t." who were near with merriment. "Noaw Say, inkier, as we ware—" continue kee, seizing Ws intended by the band again rite strait !rum ;rare yeu of; yea can's c this half•wsy hieness with this child; so put and no &Agin.. It'll all he rite—go it!'' into parson refloctcd a mon►eut. and con risk, continued— "You promise, madam, to take this matt lawful husband?" !'Yaws." said tho Yankee, as the lady bewe "That you will love, honor sail obey—" "Thent's urn!" said Jonathan, as the la again. "'And that you will cling to hint so long a shall live?" ”That's the talk!" .aid John; and the lady s again. "Thou, in the presence of these witnesses, you man and wife—" "Hoorah!" shouted Jonathan. leaping nes' ceiling. with joy. Irud what God huth joined together, let a • nder." *Hoorah!" continued John. "Wet'a the pri nt eht spit it aout—don't be Mimed—you dun I a • uk, old feller!—'eres aV; never mind the • se • ' for a hack, lan'lord. give no yetir • -- ail Columby. happy land!" roared the • • en irely unable to control ,liis joy; and ten wine' w rd, he was on his way itgairs to Providence dl wife, the happiest lola out of jail. We heard the details of the above acene fro.) witness of the ceremony. and we could not inroi it down tie on, of the weddintte.--:Anterisan Um, A MAIDEN LADY'S EIOLII.O4UW.:,ViII WetOM' strange I bore great the change since I was io my Mena they I had M 1 beau and billet-dous. and joined the gay t scones. But lovers now have ceased to vow no way ey now contrive--to poison. hang or drown theinselv becalms I'm thirty-4y/. pace, if the night was e'er s bright. t i nnier abroad could roam. without r -A•The ha, the honor. Miss. of, Seeing you safe home." Bet ow Igo through rhip abd aitowfullegund and-scam alive.— throughnll the dark,, a apart because I'" thiity- Si 50 A irmAn, in adiaisce. IBM BEE IMPORTANCE OF IYELL•Dtuecrcr, LABOIL—A single stroks of an axe it of latla consequence; yet by the con tinial application of that small power, properly directed, what amazing effcets are produced! The sturdy oak and lofty pine do not simply own . its power, but whole forests lie before it,"and the wilderness becomes a garden: Intl. Ptilustry.'well directed, will give a man a competency in a few years. The greatest industry suisapplied is useless. As an example there is my neighbor, Se h Steady, the bleckstnih, is not only an industrious me , but his industry is applied to one object. His hammer is heard at dawn of (ley. and the fire blazes iu his shop. during the eienlngs, from the "nth of September to the 20th of March. Go to his shop at any time of the day for any kind of work, you are sure to be waited upon. The consequence is, his purse is tilled with dollars, end his cellar well filled with provision; and that's what I call quite comfortable. Although suitably liberal, and enjoying the good things of this life as he goes on. ten years of health will enable him to buy a pretty good farm._ As a contrast, there is my friend Nat Notional, the most bu eieSt and most industrious mortal in existence; as the old saying is, "he has too many irons. in the fire," and with all his industry. ho goes belaindhand. 1 Ile has a fi ne farm, but instead of pursuing theleulti vntion of it, he flies 011, and seizes on every new project that occurs. I=a A few years ago, ho concluded to ,give up the dairy business, in consequence of the low price of butte r , and cheeps; sold his cows at a low figure,and purchased sheep at a high rate, fur wool then demanded a high price. By the time he got fairly into the raising of wool, down wont the price of wool, and up went the price of butter and cheese, lie then sold his sheep, and purchased cows again, for cheese was up and wool was down. Arid filially ho chauged his business so often, because ho wasn't con tenled to thrive, little by little as Seth Steady did, that ha got completely used up, and is now only fit for California, or some other wool-gathering project. Su you see that well-directed labor is MO to meet its reward; while he who keeps a dozen Irons in the fire. and none of them hot, will as surely meet the fate of poor Nat Notional. Reslan CA,. Boston, a roiaed, they were ho was a - A Larrtt ANECDOTE' run Ltmes.—Wo remember somewhere to have road a story of a youth, who hesita ting in his choice between two young ladies , by both of whom he was loved, was brought to a decision by means of a rose. It happened one day, as all' the three were wandering in a garden, Allot one of the girliin her haste to pluck a new WWII rose, wounded her finger with a therm. it bled freely; and applying the petals of the white rose to the wound, she said, smiling, "I am a second Venus; I have dyed the Otitis rose red." At that mo- - ment, they heard a scream; and fearing - the other young lady, who loitered behind, had met with an accident, hastened back to assist her. The fair one's scream bid been c.illed faith by no worsb au accident than had be fallen her coinpanion. She had angrily thrown away the offending flower, and made so pertinacious and fret ful a lamentation over her wounded finger, that the youth, after A little retlectien; resolved on a speedy union with the least handsome, but more amianle of the two feting friendly._ floppy would it be for manylt kind-hearted wentati, did clue know by what seeming trifles the lace (lett of those whom she loves may be confirmed or alien , ated forever.—Albany Knickerbocker. is country i ho quickly tin to his .this is my way from end for a. r lf t." an hour raucr, and ends were 'deu it up thwith tho he parties his blush 'et brick. a raccoon "to lake Fun Ymuvo flacrictiorts.—Our admirable sculpture. Hiram Powers. willing to a frienJof what !maple call the folly of mareyi.ig without tha means of supporting family, expresses frankly his own foam when he found himself in fairs very position; hut, ha adds, with charac teristic candor and good Reuse: so long • Yankee, here the rise of all s and dis- "To tell the t nth. however. family and poverty hero done more to support me than I have, to support them- - Tits). have compelled mo to make exertions that I hardly thonght myself cap ibis of; and often, when on the ova of despairing. they havo forced me. like a coward in a corner, to fight - like a hero, not for myself, but fur my wife and little ones." minister. to laws or co. with for a err- Tho feet it that tho expense of matrimony need net ho inure than the expenses of living, as many of our young mon do, and if all tho luoso change which they waste in a thousand Ways were economically managed by nice; wife, they would find that it would cost less for two than fur ono—that a man could actually save money and Ivaco tip nico wife besides. I stop— Aint sick. tight that In short, marri ego lo a youngll. is everything. T. elderly men it may,bo politic or expedient- 7 o men la middle life it in rya comf. r. and be a solace. Bat teyoung men it is salvation itself tempofally. It is the great spring of manly and honorably effort. It is the safeguard against a thourand -temptations and follies, and, in the higheit some or SJlonma's drelaration, that young rum) who finds a god wife, finds a gotst! thing. her. alio CUM 'eTC C. vteiu'L ed her!— g, :now, thin', net. .aw mind • n instant amid the or choked Pueblo San Joso situated about five miles from the southern extremity of the Bay of San Francisco. and lit the mouth of the beautiful valley of San Jose, is one of the most flourishing inland towns in California. The Valley, 15 miles in breadth, is well watered, and may be made to produce the finest wheat crop in the world. It is perfectly level, at.d dotted all over its surface with clumps of magnificent oaks. cypresses aid sycamores.-- A few miles westwari there is a large forest of redwood. or California cypress, and the quicksilver mines of the Santa Clara aro iu the same vicinity. Sheltere'd from tho cold winds of the sea, the clitnato is like that of It. sly. The air is a Quid balm. The town is a collection of adobe houses, with tents and a few clapboard dwellings, of this ■eason's growth, scattered over a square half mile. Ow Yan "go on, in 0110 '0 or threu, uding to o be your y bowed A lluai VI, BODY AND . THE 110Ull us' DAY.—Scat youi. self at a table. Attach a piece of metal (ray a shilling) to a thread. Having placed your elbow on the table. hold the thread between the points of tho thuMb and foreifin. ger; and allow t he shilling to hang in the centre of a glass tumbler; the pulse will itn mediately causo the shil ling to vibrato hke a pendulum, and tho vibrations will increase until the shilling strikes the side of the gloss; and suppose the time of the experiment be the hour of seven, or half past seven, the pendulum will strike the glass seven times, end then loose its momentum and re turnto the centre; if Sou hold the thread a sufficiinit length of time the effect will be, repeated; but not until a sufficient space of time has elapsed to convince you that the experiment Is most complete. 7 need not add that the thread mu* bo held with a steady hand; otherwise the vibrating motion will he counteracted. At whatever hour of the day or night. the experiment is made, the coincidence will be the 'same. you both d ,a)ce.,, ronounce y to the men put e? haow km' like hange— got her! r lellow. • dier •pot with an aye putting "We'll have a bill of exception.' said Elam Rice to a client, in Ranbolph. who had been convicted of murder t o the second degree. and sentenced to the penitentiary for fifteen years. 'Not by my consent.' replied the hap py fellow; •I'll stand on Otis hand; they might hang rue nest timel'.—Citambers (Ala.) Tribune. NUMBER 29. THE C LIFORNIA CAN: AL—Otte of Bayard T.:3lzeg late letters to the Tribune, given die fellowine . descrirtion . of the Pueblo of San Jog; which was, according to the last account; sclated bf the State Constitutional Cori veution as the Capital of California: Tho-Dutch havo a Singular contrivance 43 euro laziness. r If a pauper. who Is able. refus.ns to work, they pat him into &cistern. and lot in a sluice of water. It myosin jot so fast that. by briskly pb, ing a pump, With which the cistern is furnished. he keeps himself from downing. - • I I=
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers