lAm mean ißßl 3 a luntf tr. • . “OUR XT A WAYS. BB.BXCffIT-iBUT, RIGHT OR WRONG, OUR COUNTRY.” • * -j • ■ V. : ~ ' . ian'” - —. , nil, j H onuif/ i .-<3 to i fl n^ y6»*~ N 'B; ..a|P^' I ißiK> -y®^' -aDC*’* * I a P ” $ JB^b ... *o U’^H 1 i w^mi VOL. 47. AMERICAN VOLUNTEER PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY MORNINO BY iOHW B. BRATTON. . Sudbciption.— One Dollar and Fifty Cents, .paid n Two Dollars if paid .within the year;, ind Two Dollars and Fifty Cents, if not paid within he year. ; Those terms will,ho rigidly adhered ta in iVery instance. No subscription discontinued until ill arrearages are paid unless at 'the option of the Siditor..: . v \ . by thecAsn, and kot .exceeding oho square,'will bo. inserted throe imos foi; Oho Dollar, and twenty-five coats forcooh. iddltiohal insertion. Those of a greater length in. roportlon. ’ ■ i' • joo-PniTTTiNG—Suohna Hand-bills, Posting-bills, Pamphlets, Blanks, Labels, Ac, Ac.,, executed.,with accuracy and at the shortest notice. 1 ; Wilhelm and Mary sat down by a stream/. Where a beo in the wildflowers reveled— . Where the porfumo.lingered some sweet dream, And the vinos hung in festoons disheveled; ' And the old sjiory told of alotc that should last ■: Through, -a lifetime, of gladness or sorrow— - And memory beamed through the gloom of the pasi And Hope promised Joy for each morrow; She tfhs fair as tbe.snow, and pure as the dew. And her hair hung in rich golden tresses I 110 was noble and bravo—-unswerving and true . With a.bright eye that lovingly blesses. Ho oaltadJioritho sweetest and rarest of flowers; , She sang to him.songs of love’s sweetness— •„ And thus passed the. summer in happiest hours— But alas! Joy’s companion is fleetnoss. 1 Ero tbo summer bad faded tbo rpso- 1 - Ero the greenwood was stripped of its beauty- Ho slept* thoswpefc sloop of quiet repose, And death taught her lift’s saddest duty.. Tbov buriedbim where the pale daisy sleeps, ‘ ; Whore his favorite stream flovra serenely—, They bariodfhim-where tho wild cataract leaps, .' And the rainbow .enthroned sits so queenly. ;Bnt years,havonow fled since this trial of yoqth. . • Took from. Mttry life's best, richest treasure*- '. Her song is still sweet—and unsuHiedher truth, For her spirit to his sings its measure. Her footfall is slow and. dimmed In her eye, And silvered are those golden tresses— . .. .. . HoVsmHois still.bright—hop'thoughts are on high, ■ Jor she knows that'a spirit-land blesses.. i^ho.knowa tbat thedbycdwliobavo gone before us at Heaycn’bhHißht portal— 1 That the loved an dthqjpst will; moot once more—• Tbatjs>ur ar « contrived as if tley X nooVnnH S f!t th6 . flo ''’« ra : ™ru bost , bands in Germi hear it in, the garden. aippTng coft 4 while, or yewmaygo into a well-lighted room! provided- with every newspaper in ovory lam Byou could desire, fitted up like the most ous drawing-room. You niay also re mark'in the one long .street of which the town of Sohlossenbourg consists, that every other house is a banker’s or money-changer’s,'where all Jcihds'of- facilities for obtaining or chang ing money.orb"offered. • “ How rich and prosperous the little town must he,” you remark; “ what a beneficent government ;” for nil these luxuries are given for nothing, • Noyisitor isasked to payforthe expensive garden that surrounds his lodgings, or the.gas,- or thoynusio, or the newspapers, or the sofas—all is generously provided by some 1 invisible power; Let us walk into the noble saloon, with its lofty painted ceilings, past .tho soft-seated news-room, and we shall see the munificent provider of flowers and mu- Sio—the Board of green cloth, the bank and its directors, the rouge et noir, and the roulette table.. ;;'. ~ ~ ~' The bank is obliged to layout a certain por tion of its ehormous-profits every year qn the place; the gardens," the. conservatories, and every luxury are kept Up to render attractive the temple of the blind.goddess. It iS a mistake to look for fiery passions, deep despairs among the players; most wear an outward oalin : there isonlya sort of fixed, .deggard look and contraction of the mouth, |«ometimes to be detected, that speaks as with [an inward curse. ' ~ ,i . cemeito Sohlossenbourg as-the inedi- : cal attendant of an old and valued friend as TEItM.S. fort Iffll.- BUL.IL*. PHOU THE OERUAN. well as patient • l had no money to; risk, and I was determined not to be seduced by that strange, chink of gold, and the atmosphere of excitement pervading the rooms:' My friend, Harry Melville,found medn the reading-room one evening.'' “ Come,” said he, “Halford; as. you are a philosopher, and be hold, the oddest Specimen yon ever Set eyes on, and.help mo to make her out," We went to the roulette-table. “ There she is,” said Har ry; “between the hat with, the scarlet feather and tho old snufiy Grafin. There; she has won again. Look at her little hands gather ing up the silver florins—they are like a Child’s hands; but her face—did you ever see such a face ?”• ■ "I can see nothing,” said I, “but spectacles and a false front, and a large old-fashioned bon-1 net, and a little wizened figure. What can it be?”-. , “ There; she loses now. See how she clasps i her little hands, but plays boldly again, with out a moment’s hesitation; only she seems to I consult somo_ written notes on a cord. Lost' again; poor little old lady I it is evident she is not a witch.”:' ; The heap of winnings was now reduced to a single gold piece, a double 1 Frederick d’or.— The little old woman seemed to hesitate; she looked eagerly at her notes, then took up the money and disappeared so rapidly that I did not see her leave the room. , ’ : I should scarcely have remembered the cir cumstance or the personage who seemed to' have impressed Harry so strongly, but for the appearance of the mysterious little old woman again at . the table, two or three days after wards., This time, I was determined,to watch her ; it was, in the afternoon, rather dusk, but before the tables. Were lighted.. She had an umbrella; oh which she leaned with a limping gait, the old bonnet, and a large dark shawl. She went straight up to the table, and with out hesitation placed a.double Frederick d’or. on a single number—l. think it was three.— I looked at lief as the table turned; her hands • were tightly clasped, her heck stretched out. The umbrella on which she leaned for, a ; walk ing-stick had fallen , down,. and she did not seem aware of it. : “ Ello.nefoui'no plus—trois!” said the crou pier. The . little witch had, ,won thirty-six double.Fredericks.' ' She gave an unmistakable shout of ecstasy, “O. beautiful 1” said a, clear,' shrill child’s Voice, and she.snatched up the golden pieces, I and actually ran out of the saloon. I turned, to follow, but she had disappeared, leaving the umbrella bii the floor. 11 picked it up, think ing it might lead to Some acquaintance with the mysterious little-person., ■ ■ V ./My'invalid had become worse, and I was much taken up with him, and did not go to the , Curaaol for some days. Sitting one afternoon in the garden with him, we were listlessly , watching some children; both German and En glish, in a, game of hide-and-seek, chasing each other found the trees. A little girl; .whose remarkably graceful movements find caught my attention, suddenly exclaimed; wfth a laugh and a shout: “,0 beautiful 1” . • The voice': 'tßke'l6^,ii , ith'tfiai'of,‘fheliftl&’bld'wdmdhtof the Cursaal,' I was’ determined to be convin- 1 oed of the fact, and when ! again looked at the perfectly chiHish creature of eleven yiiafs old, I could not behove her to be the same. .' I rose, from my seat ns she came: near, but was ra ther puzzled how to. accost her. I have an odd sort of shyness with children, Ifeel'so afraid of encountering either of the two ex tremes, of, shyness or peftness.', At last I be thought me'of the umbrella; " ' “ Stop, my little .lady," fcaid I, very timid r ly. She looked roiihd wondering, and with the softest blue eyes in the world, “Have you not lost something lately, the other evening in the Cursaal?”; , i/', ■; Poor little thing 1 all her fun and frolic were gone; She blushed and hung her head and I saw the ready childish tears swelling under her eyelids. • “ I don’t know, I” she murmured; and I felt so guilty in tempting her to an untruth, that I said at once:, “ You dropped.your um brella when you were dressed up the other evening.” She came.quite close up to mo; allher shy ness was gone. “O sir,” she said, “ifyou have found me out, don’t tell upon me,, pray; don’t. Never mind the umbrella; and, sir, if you should see mo again, so, dressed like an old woman, don’t take any notice.” “But, my dear little girl, or my dear old lady, I cannot'promise anything, because ! am sure I should laugh. What can be the rea son of such a disguise?” ; She had not the shadow of a smile as she answered: “ I cannot and may not tell you: and perhaps I was wrong not,to say at once, “ No, it was not my umbrella”—rand yet that would be a story. .It is so hard to know what is right, isn’t it, sir, sometimes ?’’ . ... 'Her companions here come to call her, to play, hut she said in German—which she spoke like a natiye—“ No, I must go homo now.”—! Thotrlurning to me with a.soft of involuntary: | o,otiftd'ehce, , she said: “ Thefe is nobody but |mo now to attend to poor papa,-and it was ; very wrong indeed of mo to stay, playing here.” . : . / “ I wish,” said I, “ you would tell me‘some thing more of yourself; I might help you, per haps, and your papa too." ' She shook her head sadly. ..“I daro not,” she said. “It would vex him so much, that he^ might die. We don’t want anything now —just now, I mean ; only, if you see me again (here, don’t toll anybody; for, you Jmow : —this she said in a whisper—they won’t let children P>“y-” ■■ , ••' •, She wont away out of the garden with a se date stop, andhop face, thin; and pale when not animated, had lost its childish expression. 1 1 watched her, and longed to follow and know what the mystery ;was. .Shei stopped, and looked back hesitating, and. I instantly joined her. “ Shall I send your umbrella,’* said 1/1 “ or bring it to you here to-morrow . “Never mind that," she said. .“If you will only tell me where you live—l may—l don’t know ; but papa won’t let anybody come, and we may—o sirfwe uiay want a friend 1” She burst into tears, and then with ah effort to re- press her. sobs, said; “ Toll,we whore you ive?” , . r„• J I readily gave her my, card, and 'pressed her, slight little hand fan away. ■A : few days after that,'in’ the'Oufsaal, I again saw the , strange little; figure.; I went and stood, opposite to her, but I believe she did not see, me. She had, as before, a double Frederick d’or, which she changed into silver, and began to play first cautiously, and consul ting some, written directions', and winning eve ry time; she then staked gdld-pioces, and again. Won. Then she grew more reckless, and placed high stakes on a single number— she lost; staked again—lost again, and then her last remaining gold pieces were raked off, I could not see her face for the absurd dis guise, but as I.saw her glide from the table, I instinctively followed. She rushed down the stops, and into the garden., Wheal oamoup, she had thrown herself on o ghfdßii-seat, fead torn off her disguise, and-With’ Her childish hands covering her face, was sobbing in the * bitterest despair. When she looked up, on hearing my stop, it "was sad. to,’see such wild sorrow in a child’s face. , “My poor Child," said.l,.going up to her* “.whatffl it?"-X \ - ;“,0 sir, p. sir," she sobbed,'. “.that' cruel man!” .Then a'sudden idea seized bet; she sprung up.' “ Don’t you think, for once, only once, he, would give me back a little, money, and me try again ?" • ; “ Ithink not,’’ I said. “ HoW is it that you do this,and know so little? Tellnne all,.and let me, perhaps help you."' . She looked wistfully in my face, “If you would lend me n Frederick'd’or, I should be sure to win this time.” l . 1 . “ I will lend it to you,” I said, “tut not;to piny—take it home." She hung;back; and blushed; “ I dare not —I cannot go home.” Then she burst into a passion, of, sobs;- exclaiming; ,“.0 no;- papa would die ; it would kill him to see me come home.with nothing—all-lost 1” “Let me go home with you,” said I. “I am a doctor; if your father is ill,' I may be of use to him." She hesitated, and then, with a sudden reso lution,_took my hand, and led me on. ; It was a turning not far, from the Cursaal; down a lane, arid into a yard, whpro there was a stand of donkeys at one.end, and a washerwoman at the other. The door of the mean house; stood open, and my little guide'asked me to stop at the bottom of the stairs, while she first' went up to her father. I watched her light, step and saw hempen a door very cautiouslythen a shriek of alarm and terror rang through the' house, and I awaited.no further summons to: rush to the room. . : . ■ Thesight that presented itself was indeed, appalling: on 'the bed lay a man apparently lifeless, the pillow and the sheets.covered with blood. I immediately raised, his head,, and found the bleeding proceeded,from the mouth and hose—he had broken a blood-vessel.- The shrieks of thefchild bad brought more assist • ance; than enough, and by dismissing some, and making use of others, I succeeded at last in restoring consciousness to the invalid, , and calmness to. his poor little’daughter. 'While'applying*remedies, X was obliged to stop every attempt to speak on the part of the patient j but he smiled at Alice, whose every faculty seemed absorbed in watchinghim, and turned his eyes, towards the table by the side of the bed. / On the table wCrca pack of cards and a pair of much-used ,dice, a note-book to prick the numbers, aadmnothor with a pencil by its side, and tilled with calculations.,. ;The man’s face washaggard and. emaciated,' evi* dently in the last stages of consumption, ,b,ut of finely chiseled features; his hands, were al so delicately’formed. He was.making.efforts to apeak,.and,tried to point still to the” table, whoh.Alice’s quick eye fell bn a letter, which' he. must have received in ker absence. .She held it out to him. I saw the hectic mount to his cheek ; and with a flash of the,eye and a violent 'effort i to raise, himself and to seize it, he exclaimed: Gcd! I have not ru ined-my little, AKco. . ; , JtJs all her luck, andahe .deserves it ni1.”,., The effort hrougliSon a re turn p_Ohe,hlce,di.ng ;,;he fell back, exhausted,, land neverspoke again. . , . :,'v' The letter, whose perusal had so strongly affeoted,him, proved, to bo the announcement of a considerable fortune, which had been long in litigation, having been adjudged to him, and at his death, to his daughter Alice., ,’His name and family ,were discovered by this and other papers. • ' The rest we could only guess; his fatal pro pensity to gambling, his illness,:and his send ing his child, when unable to go to the table Himself—living thus, by what her called her wonderful luck, sometimes in case, sometimes bn the very verge of starvation ; and, the'end Of the feverish fitful life coming as; I have said.,, Poor, desolate little Alice did not now ■want friends; aunts and cousins who had ignored her. .existence, and avoided her gambling 'fa rther, how disputed with each other so yiolentr ly for her bringing up, that she stood a chance of being torn up by the roots altogether. I did not lose sight of her - ; and when, many years after, I mot the graceful, somewhat pen: sive girl—for she always retained a shade of melancholy—she had never forgotten her friend the doctor of Bad-Sohlosseribourg. Singing to Her Babe. ’ I passed a-dwelling in Duke street. The I front door was open, and close by the step sat a young wife singing-to her,babe. There was a low, sweet melody in her voice. True, the words were wery simple, but all the fascina tion of song was there. The little babe, not yet ablo 'to make the adventurous circuit of the room, lay quietly upon her lap ; its little hands were folded across the breast, and its soft, beautiful eyes seemed to dilate with joy and wonderment, as-.the musical so.unds fell upon I its: cars,. ' ■ . f Singing to her babe! A scone, indeed, to touch the sdul with quiet pleasure. A moth er’s: heart wrapped up in.her first born; her joy, her light, her very life! Already she was dropping soft, welcome .sounds into the tea chable soul. I could not help murmuring “ Rich; though poor 1 That low.-roofed cottage ia this hour a heaven, Music is in it—add thd song sho sings, .That awcofc>voicod wife arrests the ear • Of fche'young child awakoupon her knoe.l* . Singing to her babe I Would it be here to load these tiny feet into the way of rightous ness and by the river of everlasting life ? “She was ono who hold a treasure, •" '■ : A gem of wondrous cost; Did it mar,her heart’s deep pleasure, The four it might bo lost ?” She could instill in that young, impressible mind the knowledge of good and evil, the life toned integrity of the soul, the_ earnest faith that hopeth and believeth all things to Christ. As she watched its slow; yet delightful appre ciation of objects and words—ns she noticed its developing intellect—did she feel her .re sponsibility? Wasshe conscious that she held the silken cords in her ,own hand that were to bind the present to,the future? .... Singing to'her babe.?' Asl gozed upon the scene, I could not help wondering what the fate of that dear child;might be. , Would it treasure-her precepts, and follow her exam ple ? or would it drift idly about on the 1 sop of life,"oafeless■ whore its world of truth might he, and sinking at. laet into a dishonored grgve? Would it exclaim, when ago dined the dark looks with silver, and added ti tre mor to the voice— “ Yen, I. have 16ft the golden shore; ' Where ohilhocd 'midst thejroßos play’d ~ .Those sunny dreams will come no.more, That youth a long bright Snhhath made. ' , . Yet, while those dreams of memory's eye ; Arise'in nio'uy a glittering train, . t •, My soul goes buck to infancy, And hoars my mothers song again I” : . Saving Gbacb. —A blunt spoken; off-hand ed old gentleman, one day, previous to dinner, arose and delivered himself as follows • "*< For ,whot wa are about toreoeive, may the ; Lord make us truly thankful—what, wife! a plain hash again to-day 1” It was all; in the, same breath, and the effect was inexpressibly ludi crous. CARLISLE, PA, THDBSDAY, AUGUST 10, I 860; has been many years the I ,prosecution of military claims, fell iff; accidentally -with a case in which both .a ‘man and his 'wife re ceived, pensions for rfivolutionary services. Tho sinMlarity of struck him so forcibly that he instituted an inquiry, and elicited from-an’bldlady, the sole surviv ing descendant, 1 the??ollowing 'foots.' (We state them substantially,.‘hut our informant not beihg_ present. it' is, possible we may be incorrect in some insignificant particulars.) : Early,'in. .-war, a man named Lane (we thinfi) enlisted in a company raised in the neighterhodd of Manchester, to Serve three years. He.went, with his regi ment, to the North,'find there joined Wash ington’s army? Taking\part in all the previ oup .battles, he. waStfjjyriirely wounded nt.Bran dywine or j, and during the ba£ tie, and lifter, was taken care of. by a, Brother soldier, .to whom. ho . had become greatly . afr taohed, and who.belonged to the same compa ny with himself. ’ .The.term of service haying expired, these two,Soldiers were discharged, and returned home.'devbted and inseparable, friends. ; In' the* meantime, the tide of war rolled to the the couple had hardly reached their destination, when they, again enlisted to servo in’ General Lincoln’s, army, at thot time engaged ..'in. the seige of Savan nah.' Our. readers well know that Lincoln was afterward oooped'. up in Charleston, arid compelled to a long seige, to. the royal forces, under the command of Sir I Ilenry Clinton; ; ' • ' • . Throughout this ,'seige; Lane and his friend stood to their posts like heroes, and-did their, duty bravely. At Inst Lane’s comrade was wounded in turn. and .carried off the field in the arms of his friend." 'What must bavc been the amazement of Lane, on discovering that, the brave conjrade whojflad so lohg fought by his side, and had nursed’him so tenderly when ho was,wounded,'through the report of the attending surgeon,'-was a woman 1 Itap pears that she had accidentally,fallen in.with [ min "some where, and had formed a.strong at-. ■ tachinentto him., At. the same time,from [some cause or other, she had made so little impression upon hint, ! that he did riot recog nize her in the least when he afterwards mot her disguised as-p soldier.;. She was; in de spair when Lane enlisted, arid under the in fluence of that feeling, she fled from'her pa rents’ home, donned ilioContiriental uniform, and &llpwed ; him to'thh wpfae ; What followed was, a proper, finale to such a romance. -The wounded womari recovered, and as soon as the twain were released from captivity, they be came one. .They, lived,many years.happily together, and loft several children. Incidents of this riatrife-Vdiaguised damsels following their lovers to,'the wars in the ca pacity of pages—were great favorites with all the .old 'romance writers..;'. The "'readers of Shaknpcn.ro will lecoWeritthat one of his plays turns upon;something ofjtKe sntriesort. .Nev ertheless,'-we feel assured . that the tale is true both the man and his vrifo received pensions for Cervices rendered-.as-soldiers, until the days of their deaths, respectively. , • =■ ■ ■ ’ Richmond D’ :'v>' Frlie Mortified, I AM hall given in Prjraount, a celebrated watering place in Germany, the tutor of a I ypung count,’ a Gottingen student, requested a young lady to danoe with him. Just as the dance was about to commence, the lady inquired of him: Y “With whom have I the honor of dancing ?” I “I am the'tutor of Count Von Z—/' replied I her partner. ■ : -k : , “And a commoner, 1 presume she rejoin; ed, to which he answered in the affirmative. “Oh; then,” continued the lady, as she withdrew her hand from that of the tutor, “I beg -you will.exouso me, for my mamma has forbidden me to. dance with a commoner.” jj This rebuff completely threw the modest preceptor out of countenance, for on the con | tinent to be so deserted on the eve of a dance is’ to lose cast for the rest of*the night, if not longer. :It:is: supposed todndicate the exis tence of some moral taint discovered, by , the person whci|quits the: side of another, and which is exaggerated into something henibus bythe 1 company,; particularly if they are ig norant of what it is. ’ Tho young man quitted : the room, and sought’ the open .air to breathe more freely and collect himself. Hid pupil i followed him, and - learned the cause of his distress. • • ‘‘You shnll soon haye ample, satisfaction for this mortification, said the generous count, and hastened bach to the ball room, followed by his tutor. :• . The-moment was propitious.. Preparations, I were going forward for .another waltz; the? young, count requested the rejector .of his tii-> tor to be his partner in the dance, andjahei eagerly accepted the proposal; no doubt great ly rejoicing at ■ the immense - stride she had taken, from ranking with -the humble tutor to pairing off with the wealthy noble. - Just before the dance began, he addressed to her the question-which: she herself had I put: - , ■ “With whom have I the: honor of danc ing?". . '• ■ “With the Lady Von B—," she replied. I “Ob 1.1 beg your pardon,” said the Count, “but papa has . forbidden me to dance with any but countesses, and instantly quitted ber side. , ’ , ’ , ' , , He had'the satisfaction, of Hearing that his conduct was applauded by every sensible per son in the room.’ ' Few will deny, that it was a well-merited punishment. - , .Wiiat is liife,— Tho raero sleep of;a year is riot life,.. To eat, and drink, and sleep—to bo exposed to darkness and the light—to pace round iri the-mill of habit, and turn thought into an implement of trade—this- is riot life. In. oil this hut a poor fraction of consoibus ness of humanity is awakened, and tljo sane-, titles still slumber which riiake it worth while to he. Knowledge, truth, love, beauty, good ness,faith,' alone can give vitality to the me chanism of existenoe. The: laugh of. mirth that vibrates through the . heart—the tears that freshen the' dry wastes within—the situ-, sic that brings child hoodhgok—the prayer that calls the future near—the doubt which makes us meditate—the death which startles' us with mystery—the hardship which forces us to struggle—the anxiety that ends in trust —are the ’true nourishment 'of bur natural"! being. - Fable.—A gourd had wound itself around a lofty palm, nnd in a few weeks climbed'to its'very 'iop.i "How old mayest thou-bo?” asked tho now comer, " About a hundred years." “About a hundred years, and no taller? Only look; I hove grown os togas you in fewer days than you con count “kknowthat well,", replied the pal™- ® J year of my life a gourd has climbed up round me. ns proud os tliou art, and as short lived os thou wilt be," ! One Ear at a Time. , Many extraordinary persons "who have fig ured in history as men Of action, have had a propensity to do their their thoughts rather than spedK'fbem, to convey, dr at least to en force,,their; meaning by some; significant, ac tion rather than by words. ' Sir Walter Scott relates of Napoleon that once, in a sharp altercation With ’his brother luoien/not being able to bow him to his will, he dashed on - the floor a magnificent watch which he Held in his hand, exclaiming, “I made your fortunes. I can shatter them to pieces easier than Ido that watch 1” • Everybody has heard the story of Canute the Great, Who, when his courtiers were ex tolling his power and good fortune as a kind of omnipotence over nature as well as man, quietly ordered his throno to be set on the sea beach.when the tideiwas out, and, when : the waves came rolling, playing around his seat, and irreverently throwing water and spray over his sacred person, he silently allowed the spectacle to rebuke their silly flattery. A good instance of this symbolism is related of Alexander, the Great.,; An accusation, was once presented to him against one of his offi cers. When the informer began his statement Alexander turned one ear towards him, and closed tbe’other firmly with his hand; imply ing that he who Would form a just judgment must not abandon himself altogether to . the party who gets the first .hearing •' but, while he gives one ear to the accusation, should re serve the other, Without bias or preposession, to the defence.. If .wo should shut "both ears when we hear an injurious report, in most cases no' harm would Kb done. But the least that fairness' requires is to keep one closed and reserve it for the other aide. For, who' does hot know (though inost' people forget) that there are two aides to every story? If we would only stick to the rule of one ear at a time, it would pre vent inany a fash judgment,-and spare many an injured reputation and many a wounded heart. : ’ Aunt llettv , on' Matbimont.—“ Novv, girls," said’Hotty, “ put down your einbroide-' ry ond worsted works; do something sensible, and; stop building.air castles, and talking of lovers ond honey-moons; it makes me sick,, it is perfectly .nntiraqnial. >. ,i ' 1 , " Lovo is a force, matrimony is a humbug,. husbands. ore domestic Napoleons, Neroes, Alexanders, and sighing for other hearts to ! conquer, after'they are sure, of yours.. , , ; The honey mqon is as short lived as a luci fer match; after, that you may wear your wed ding-dress, at th&wasn tub, and your husband won’t know-it. ... : _ . . • , , ‘‘ You may,pick up.your own pocket hand kerchief,: heipgyourself to a choir, and-split your gown news's the back reaching over the table: to' gist a piece of butter, while he'is lay ing in his breaMast .as if.it were the last meal ho should eat in the world. ' . ’ “■When bp gets through He will aid your digestion while you are. sipping your first cup .Olsraffep* dinner, whether the cold lamb was all ate yesterday, if the charcoal is all oiit, and what you gave for the last green tea you bought, ond where you got it. : : “ Then he gets up from the table, lights his oigar,with. the last .evening’s paper that yoii haye not.had A chance, to read)-gives two ot three whiffs of smoke, sure to give you' the headache for the ■afternoon’,' ahdjust as his i coat tail is vanishing through the door, npolo fizes for not doing that errand for you yester- I ay, he is so pressed with business. ■ . “ Hear of Him at 11 o’clock taking ice cream I with some ladies at Vinton’s while you are at homo new lining his coat sleeves. Children by the ears all day .can’t get out to take the air, feel as dizzy as a fly in a drum, husband combs home at night, nods a how d’ye do, Fan boxes little Charley’s ears, stands little Fanny in the corner, sits doWn in the easiest chair, latch. in.the corner, puts his feet up over the grate, shutting out all.the fire from view; “ The baby’s little png nose grows blue with the cold; he rends the newspaper all to him self, solaces the inner man with a cup of tea, 1 and just as you are laboring under the hul | lunciatipn that he will ask you to . take a mouthful offresh air with him, he puts on his dressing gown and slippers and begins to reck on up his family expenses 1 ~i “ After this he lays down on the sofa, and I you keep time with your needle while he snores till riine . - I ■“Next morning ask him to leave you a lit tle money: he looks at you as if to be sure you are in ybnr right mind, draws a sigh long and strong enough to inflate a pair of bellows, and asks you what you wantto.do with it, and if a half dollar won’t do.. “ Gracious king I as if these little shoos and stockings, and petticoats could be had for a half a dollar! “OH, girls! set your affections on poodles, I cats parrots or lap dogs, but let matrimony alone. It is the hardest way on earth of get ting a'.living; you never know when your work is done np. “ Think of carrying nine or ten children through the measels, chicken pox, mumps, ■rash and scarlet fever, some-of them twice over; it makes my head ache to think of it; “Oh, you may crimp and save, and twist and turn and dig. delve, and economize, and die, and. your husband will marry again, and take what : you have saved to dress his second wife with,’ and she’ll take your portrait for a fire-board; but what’s the use of talking ? . “I’ll warrant every one of you’ll try it the first chance you gotthere is a sort of bewitch ment about it somehow. I wish one half the world warn’t fools,, and t'other idiots, I do, oh, dear me!’’.. [ (O* In Paris the gallery of the theatre is called Paradise. The Duchess of Orleans took a fancy to go to the play one night with only a fills de chambre, and sit there. A young officer who sat next her, was very free in hie addresses, and when the play was over, concluded by offering her a supper, which she seemed to accept. He accompanied her down stairs but was confounded when he saw her attendants and equippage, and her name, — Keobyering, however, his presence of mind, ho banded her into the carriage; bowed in si lence, and was retiring, when she called out, “ Where is the enpper_ybu promised ■ He bowed and replied,Try Paradise wo are alt .'equals; but lam not insensible ortho respect I owe yon, madamo. on' earth. This P ro P'P t and proper reply obtained for him a place ln the Duchess’s carriage and at her table. ' 'rr~y~ Why tshoulfl man bo bo terrified at the admission of eight air into any of his apart mental It is nature s ever flowing current, and never carries the’destroying angel with, it. See how soundly the delicate little wren and tender robin sleep under its full and im mediate influence, aha how fresh, and vigor ous, and joyous they rise nmidthe surround ing dewdrops of the morning.' ex posed all. night long; to the 1 air of heaven, their fungfj aro never out of order; and this wo know by the daily repetition of their song. The Necessity of labor. The notion is falspthat genius. can secure its aims without,labor. - All the great minds who have left their marks upon the history of j the world’s progress, have paid for their suc cess and notoriety by the price of onrelnittihg toil and labor.' r, - 1 | . Napoleon'Bonaparte worked hard and in-. ceSsantly, and has been known to exhaust the energies of several secretaries at one time. Charles l Xll.'of Sweden, frequently tired out pll his officers. The Duke of Wellington was . the hardest working man in the. Peninsula; his energies never flagged. - , ' Milton, from his ydnth, applied himself with such indefatigable application' to' the' study of letters that it occasioned.-weakness Of sight and ultimate blindness. The labor of Sir Walter Scott is evident in the number of his literary productions, and it is apparent toevery reader thet the immense masses of genoral.mformation which abound throughout his multitudinous .works' could only have been acquired by dint of many' years’ hard study. Byron was in the habit of reading even at hismeols. : Luther made it a rule to translate' a verse of the Bible every day. This.soon brought , him to the .completion of his labors, and it was a.matter of astonishment to Europe, that in the multiplicity of his other labors, besides travelling, ho could find the time to prepare such a surprising work. ' - Newton and Locke pursued their studies with, tireless efforts, and Pope sought retire , ment so that he might pursue his literary op erations without interruption and distraction. ■ Industry is essential to all;. by forming the habit of doing: something useful every, day, a man increases his own amount of happiness and enlarges that of others about him. ' Many a one, by judicious use of •the odd moments,"-those little vacancies in every day life which .occur to. all, have rendered, them selves famous among their fellows. Nature is preserved in its proper working condition ; by constant exertion, and man, to keep a healthful condition of mind and body, must exert 1 his mental and physical faculties'; the constant employment ,of the first will give the strength of character, so. that it is capable of thinking on any subject at any time; and by active bodily- exertion; be preserves his. health, fortune, and-worldly position. , The Marquis of Spinola .once asked Sir Horace Vere “of what his brother died ?" :“He died, sir,’ 1 replied Sit Horace,“of-hav ing nothing to do." • “Alas! sir,” said Spihpla, “that is enough to kill any general of us all.” • - | ■ Take Care ot year Eyes, , One of;tho most eminent American divines, who has .for some time been compelled‘to forego the. pleaeure of reading, has'spent some i thousands-Uf dollarsiin vain, and lost years of time,;:in • consequence of. getting up several 1 hoprs before day and studying by artificial Ilighti’Hisseye&Will never getr well; 1 1: of men,mpd, women have, their eyes weak for life, the too . free use of eyesight in reading, fine.print and doing ‘fine sewing; [,ln view of these things, it will be well to ob serve the following, rules in the use. of the eyes: - . . ', Avoid aU sudden ohangos .botween light and darkness/ . . ■ I Never begin to read, write or sew, for sev- I eral minutes after coming from' darkness .into I a bright light. ; - ; ■. ;; , : Never read, by’twilight, or mooplight, or bn a very cloudy day. . I Never, read or sew directly In front of the light, of .window, or door. .’ ~ ■ ' ( - It is best to have the light fall frbmobove obliquely, over the left shoulder. Never sleep so that; on the first awakening the eye shall open on the light of a window. Do_ not usb the eyesight by light so scant that it requires an effort to discriminate. The> moment you are instinctively urged to rub the eyes, that moment cease using them.: , , • If the eyelids ore glued together on waking up, do not forcibly open'them ;■ but apply the saliva with the finger—it is the speediest dilu tant in the world; then wash your eyes and face in warm water. . . • • Hall’s Jmimal of Health. CfIiBiCTEB. BT JAMES FONDA, In the training of hoys there are three ele ments of character that should bo carefully cultivated. .The first is the moral character; and from earliest childhood religious princi ples should be carefully planted and sedu lously nurtured; for the manifest reason that the religious training of boyhood generally forms the religious character of manhood. The second is physical culture. It is the muscle and not the brains that first needs de veloping, and . the parent or teacher who over tasks a child’s mental' capabilities, while ho stunts his physical growth, is worse than a barbarian. We have no doubt but that many a boy has been gent to a premature grave, be cause his physical nature has been overlooked in the attempt to cram knowledge in his brains.. For instance, a boy three or four years of age is sent to sohoolyand for hours he is confined in a close room, compelled to look upon a book if he starts at the sound of merry voices, or looks with eager interest at a kite sailing through the air.. A rap upon the teacher's desk admonishes him of his task, and thus dayaffysr day, and month after month, ho languishes away, and you see the crape upon the door hell, the little coffin carried in the house,' and you know, that he is dead. The third in order after full physical dovcl-1 opeinent is mental culture, That boy is sure I to be on the right road to future-success and 1 greatness, who is endeavoring to cultivate his / intellect. There is much, truth, in the old I proverb: “Just as the twig is bent the (peel inclines.” ' So when you see hoys thinking I only of amusements,.or devoting then time to , dress, you may depend upon it that whan they .. crow up to bo young men, you will find them hanging around billiard saloons and gaming ; tables, arid thus'running the road to ruin. , / While on the other hand the boy who spends j his time in .-intellectual.culture, .will in the [ end rise'to the loftiest station, and leave a. I namebehind which the world might well en vy. Siioh have boon the men whose names now adorn the pages. Of history. Men who! have left thp plough, the anvil, or the bench,; and have given to .the world such brilliant names os Ciay, Franklin, Kitto, Burritt, and ahostof others, whose'example like beacons direct us,tp the shores :of fame. ' tO* Every desire bears its death in every gratification. Curiosity languishes under re peated- stimulants, and novelties cease to ex cite surprise, until, at length, we cannot even wonder at a miracle. , 1C?" The streams of Rhode Island are so dry that in some places the manufactures have to stop work. fiJiflialDre . Philosophers* Who has hot-seen them? Who his not been puzzled by theirofl, but <(ueer interrog atories ? Has not every one ? Who, indeed, has been able to, .answer all .the queries of these, “miniature profundities?” Has any one? ; Never! But, says one, who are your “miniature' philosophers?"!.;; Who, indeed? Who don't Know.? , Don’tyou,'reader ? Well, we'll tell youl ; Children I Yc.s, children are the greatest of .natural philosophers. makes, all the trees ?" ’ lisps, tbe ;little' “three year old"—and “where does the,tbi|pcjer.come from?" says his elder by a year; Qod,ydu say; made the trees—but why don't you:'an swer from whence comes the thunder nnd lightning ? Perhaps you can’t 1 r ophers are sometimes nonplussed bytoe in terrogatories of ,thie yoUng t What dhiid. jlpes nof wish to know the pauses of all things un der its observation? “What is God?".says our “miniature." Who will answer? Sffch questions are the imteushings of Nature— 'springing spontaneously from the ‘ heart I Philosophical questions are common—ay, they are natural to children I Who has . never heard religion—religion of nature and reason —from tho lips of infanta . in their innocent ■ queries,. which would shame the forced ‘argu ments of “eloquehts?” To us! children seem to. be Nature personified 1 , The little dne'.'os soon as it begins to talk—rhegiris V philoso phize. Many a toy has suffered destruction by the “miniature” from his natural curiosity to find what’s contained therein‘l. With equal vigor the child strives to discover Ihej. machi nery of the rattle-box or . the shilling‘play thing, as does the- philosopher to ; investigate the causes of gravitatiop, and the meOhamsm of the natural world I Philosophy is simplic ity ; to simplicity is everythihg, however stu pendous, reduced by the question-asking child! Simple questions are the keys which will tin look the incomprehensible whole, of our,terres trial systems. The philosophic disooveriesof Newton and Galileo, are hut answers to the v simple questions of children of a larger growth I The boyish desire to investigate toe Wonder ful, caused Waits to philosophize on the pow er and. exprnsibility of steam. , The child that never queries regarding the works of Nature, will never be of a philosophic -turn of mind, and no matter how ■ brilliant an, intellect, ho may possess, he will be'superficial and de.ydid of the qualification, intensity of thought! To children! we owe many'of our' most simple sayings and most beautiful . thoughts,! , In their innocent prattle, the,- gems of- wisdom often sparkle with remarkable brilliancy Those little philosophers are Nature’s tongues, apeaking in simplicity,;and-in truth!- -Philo sophic little minds! Persuade them not from the paths of virtue in which they Walk,’and. soon toe gates of supprstitiotorWill'vanish'be fore tho. gigantic of . Nature’s noble men 1 1 ■ .a," '"/ , ■ ’ It is astonishing how. muohmay he acOdm plislied in, self culture by the energetic'tind and the persevering,, who are; carefulto avail themselves* of opportunities, and uaingup the fragments of spare time which' the idle pep td 'nm'td ■astronomy from the heavens whildwrapped in a sheepskin on the highland. - hills.; Thus Stone learned mathematics while working .as a journeyman gardndr; "thus' Drew' studied the highest philosophy in . the intervals of cobbling shoes; thus Sillier taught Himself geology while working as day laborer in a quarry by bringing their mind to. beat' upon knowledge in its various aspects, and careful ly using up the very odds and ends of their .time.,,. From the Boston Eienitig Traveler, July 31. J Amalgamation Case in Charlestown, Mass.' About two months ago, an aged couple, ab ate Neck, took into thoirservicc a girl of Irish parentage, belonging to Boston;Who shortly after began to receive the Visits b£ a smart-looking colored man, whose way had previously been prepared by the girl's state ment that though her mother was Irish,'her father was of mixed blood, &o. Still the 1 old folks were at first a little surprised at the sable hue of the aspiring beau, but tried to imagine that in the dark complexion of the girl a little of the race was apparent. ■ • ■ A.few days ago the couple wore seen in the street by some of the girl's friends, who’ re ported the fact to her : parents, and she whs called homo. What occurred;is hot:flilly known, except that after a week's confine ment in a room, in which love didn't laugh at the locks, the girl was given the liberty of the house, her bonnet and out-door apparel hav ing been put away that she' might not take .advantage of her liberty. But she slipped out between, two days,.and'before her jela- • tives wore aware of her absence, she was joined in the bonds of matrimony and had gone to Charlestown after her clothes. The old couple, had been unable to' account for her absence, which she explained by announc ing her marriage, and they,.not knowing that she had acted without the consent of her par rents,- gave the young couple a few and they departed. Fifteen minutes'had scarcely elapsed when the father, accompa nied by ah officer, appeared at the door. His rage, on learning of his daughter’s marriage; and that he had been represented by her-as part African, cannot be described.' The. girl is but seventeen years of age, though largo for her age, and. quite intollir gent. Her father, is Irish, has some wealth; owning one or two tenement houses in Bos ton. At last accounts the father had two offi cers in pursuit of the runaway, declaring that ho would shoot the first one ne got sight of, but ns two days have elapsed, and they have not boon found, it is conjectured they took the underground railroad tor partsunknown. CuhTivATtos or Temper.—lf happily wo are born of a good nature; if a liberal bdiicaj tion.hos formed in na_a generous disposition, well regulated appetites and worthy inclinai tions, 'tiswoll for us, and so indeed we esteem. it. But who is there endeavors togivotheso to himself, or to advance his portion of happi ness in this kind ? AVho thinks of improving, l or so much of preserving his share, in a world where it must of necessity run so great a ha zard, and whore we kuownnhonest nature is so easily corrupted? ■ All other things re-‘ dating, to us. are preserved with, pare, and have some act of, economy helongiug'to them; this, which is nearest related to us,-and on which our happiness depends, is alone cbmmitted-to: chance;, and temper is ■ the only thing ungo-. '.vbmed, while it governs all the rest.' The New Cor.—An oldolergymdn who had* 'an old tailor os his beadle for many years, re turning from a walk in which the “minis tor's man" was in the constant habit ot attending' him, thus addressed hisfellow traveler: “ Thm mas, I cannot tell how at is that our congrega-i tion should be getting thinner,; for,lamenrol I preach as well-os ever ! did,and must have gained a great deal of experience tinoo I first, crime among you.” “ Indeed, sir," replied Thomas, “ old parsons now-a-daya ore just like old tailors. lam sure I sew as well as ovenl•’ did, and the cloth is the same; but it’s the out, sir—the, now cut—that boats me." •> mm. ; ft » 4‘i ‘ ,w' . > n v? r 0 : NO. 10.