-- „__-___ . . . . ' ...".... - •f.'.: .." ,P. f.':•• ° . i - ....I . , , . . . •t•.- ...- . . . , A _ ..... .., . „... ..... ~.r..... ._. ~_ . - . -- i • _ ....: •ti ~ ; . .... $•-- , .‘, . . ,c , "i"... .•,- -._ .-:. "I . ' i -.. 77, '-: • 4-• :.., r_l s: T R .... ~. . .„...,.. . ..,_;_ __ . ... SMEEITEL WEIGHT, Editor and Proprietor. VOLUME XXXIV, NUMBER 14.] 2IIBLISRED EVRLY SITURDAT MORNING. Qfficein Carpet fall, Nortle-toestcorner of Front and Locust streets. Terms of Subscription Awe Copy peranr.um,i f paidin advance, •. " if not paid withinth roe . .monthpfromcommencementoftho year, 200 4-Coasts Za. Cs Copy. ¶•o4 unscrimsonreceivedtor a iCSR time than six snontlis; and 110 paper will be d keontinued until oil ere , earagesurepaid,unlessat the optionofthe put.. •t<ho:. tErMoney ragbe•emittedb Tmail atthepublish tr a rssk. Rates of Advertising. qua rt[o ines]one week, . three weeks, each.ubsequentinsertion, 10 [l2 inesioneweek. 50 three weeks, 1 00 enelptubsequentinsertion. 25 I, l irgertdivertisementein proportion iherahliscountwillhe made to ounrterly.balf .o theio ,e.tr lyss. t.lertisersao are strictly confined r businev m lloftrg. Summer Evenings Long Ago sat behind my window-sill, In the hot and dusty town, The sun behind theaultry walls Was slowly sinking down. The breeze across my migaonette Came breathing sweet mad low, To wake sad-sleeping memories Or evenings long no! thought that I had driven back Such memories as these, Jut now they all return again On a whispering summer breeze, Tond words come ringing through my brain, That ail my heart with woe— O God! what brought them back to-night. Evenings of long ago? I see the green lanes where we swayed, Thy dear hand clasping mine; The same blest breeze that fans my cheek Sweeps softly over thine; And words of love pour from thy lips, Not measured, cold, and slow, As those I now hear. Ohl 1 pine' For the evenings long ago: I thought I had forgotten thee; Hod schooled my aching heart 'To pass through life as best I may, And act my weary part. Alas: the mocking vision 's o'er, To noon, alas: I know 'Twos but my loneliness that dreamed Of evenings long ago: Trust and Rest Fret not, poor soul; while doubt and fear Disturb thy breast. The pitying angel•, who can see How vain thy wild regret must be, Lay, trust und rest. Plan not, nor scheme—but cm mly wail; Ili-choke is host. While blind and erring is thy sight, His wisdom see. and jadgea right, So trial and rent. Strive not, nor struggle, thy pan igh t Can never wren' The meanest thing to serve thy will; All power in His atone, be stilt, And trust and rent. Desire not; self-love is strong Within thy breast And yet He loves thee better still. So let him do his loving will, And trust and rest. What doe( thou fear? Ms wisdom reigns Supreme confessed; His power is inCnite; ills love Thy deepest fondest dreams above— So trust and rest. gettttinms. A Flirtation. Mme. do Vitry bad been early left a wid ow; young, handsome and rich; suitors had not been wanting, but Mine. do . Vitry had refused every one; one experience of marriage had sufficed her, and she had con centrated all her affections on ber son. Ile was now about twenty-two and in every way calculated to gratify the van ity of a mother's heart. Mme. do Vitry, however, who appeared to have had within her heart some hidden history of life's ex perience, for her ostensible history was the simplest in the world, mourned in secret over the inactivity in which his life was passed and strove in all ways in her power to draw him from the life of useless pleasure end luxury he was leading. Rich and in the highest social position, all that Mme. de Vitry aimed at was a di plomatic appointment to some foreign court that should take him from Paris and by de grees infuse serious ideas into his head. Mme. do Vitry had every chance of ob taining what eho desired for a distant con nexion of hers, a young heiress whom she bad brought up, was married to her nephew and was the sister of the minister for for sign affairs then in power. Still, by some unamountablemeans Albert de Vitry's ap pointment seemed always to fail just at the very moment it appeared on the eve of suc cess. - At length, towards the close of the winter, the minister announced a grand ball. and Mme. de Vitryresolved to try her personal influence by appearing at it, and herself so liciting of the minister what she ardently wished. . She had been for some time in the crowd ed drawing rooms, not only without seeing the minister bat without meeting her son. Leaning on the arm of an old friend of her husband's she at length came into one of the anterooms distant from the fete to rest her self. '•I tell you, de Monconr," said she, as she seated herself comfortably on a sofa, "that there is some mystery in this inexplicable delay in Albert's app3intmeat. With the influence we have we should only have to ask to obtain; I am convinced that there is a plot against ma." , s 1 cannot think," replied do bloomer, "why it is that you desire to seperate your self from your son; he is all you have in the wor/d." "He is; but I cannot endure to see him in gilded idleness. I hate to see a fine, hearty, brawney young fellow get up at twelve o'clock, then smoke, then ride a little on horseback, talk a good deal of nonsense, smoke again, dine, change his dress for din ner, then re-smoke for the third time, put on a pair of yellow kid gloves, talk a little more nonsense at some theatre or ball, and go home to bed, concluding the day with a parting smoke. Do you think such a man as this when ho dies deserves an epitaph on hie tomb." $l5O =I "You had better ask Caroline, your ward, Favieres' wife, to get him appointed." "Caroline! why she has taken an absurd dislike to Albert, and refuses her influence; but I am waiting for Albert." "Here he comes and as I don't want to listen to your scolding, I will wish you good night." • "Well, really Albert, I think you might have found me out sooner," said Mme. de Vitry, trying to look angry, but the admir ation and love she felt for her son, peeping out spite of herself, "you should take some pity on your mother. Ali! my child you cannot think how we mothers feel, when after having for twenty years nursed you, watched you, cherished you, a mother sees her son cut loose from her and launet him self with all the heedlessness and impetuous ity of twenty into that mysterious and un known region in which young men spend their lives. Who knows what influences may counteract the principal we have in stilled; villa knows but all our work may be destroyed?" "Why, darling mother, you look so young and so handsome in this new dross of yours that it seems absurd to hear you preach liko a grandra other. What is worrying you? Always this same appointment?" "Yes; you don't want to kayo Paris, I see that, clearly." "Well, I confess I do not." "You aro in love?" "Perhaps." "Who is it, a young girl? Nut a married woman, I hope? Albert, that would make me very wretched." "Suppose it is with a widow?" "Oh, a widow can do as she likes. 'Du you mean to marry her?" "Candidly, no; but do not be angry; our love is of the most etherial kind, worthy of the ago of chivalry. Nu, but lam waiting for news from her." "News?" "Yes, you must know that this widow of mine has a gaurdian; so we have contrived a signal." "A Signal?" "Yes, a signal; the presence or absence of a certain ruby ring on the baud of this bus band—l mean guardian—" "Albert, do not strive to deceive me; I un derstand all; and you have made me even more wretched than before. Ah! surely, you must have heart and soul enough not to waste your life in an intrigue that will bring misery and disgrace on all." "Mother, I will try to obtain a mission to Madrid; it was offered to me last night." "Well, Caroline can obtain it for us. You have neglected her of late. I know she could do anything sho pleased with her brother, the mia6ter. You must collie and see her with me to•morrow." Albert bowed and turned away with a sot tof mysterious smile. At that moment an inner door, concealed by the draperies, opened, and M. de Favieres, the Secretary of State, appeared before them. Albert, glad of the opportunity to escape, seeing his mother had some one with her, slipped away and entered the ball-room, whilst M. de Favieres saluted his aunt. "Where do you come from—through that secret panel—like in a play?" "From my office. Dear aunt, I am over joyed to sea you." "One would scarcely think so, for I have been trying to get at you for a long time and always failed. How about Albert's ap pointment?" "Oh, it is not my fault. Albert quarolled with Caroline, or has not striven to concili ate her, else all would have been well. By the way, bow has be offended my wife?" "How should I know if you don't." "If I don't?—l am Foreign Secretary of State; the homo department is not mine.— Ask me what is going on in Sidney, in China, or in Japan, and I will tell you, bat here at home, in Paris, why I don't even know what o'clock it is." "That's all very well, my dear nephew. It may be very well for a statesman to know what's going on in Japan, but it strikes me that a married man had better know what is going on at home." "But I have no time." "I know you have interests in a great many countries." "In the five quarters of the globe." "There is a sixth ought to interest you a little?" "A sixth?" "Yes; the house inhabited by your wife, the Countess Caroline de Fsvieres." "I am less there than anywhere else." "Yon come to your office early?" "At dawn of day." "You breakfast—" "liens. I have no time to go home." "You dine here probably too?" "Only three times a week." "I wonder you go home to sleep." "NO ENTERTAINMENT SO CEAP AS READING, NOR ANY PLEASURE SO LASTING." COLUMBIA, PENNSYLVANIA, SATURDAY MORNING, NOVEMBER S, 1862. "I don't half the timeovaiting for tele graphs and dispatches." "Poor Caroline." "Why do you say poor Caroline? There is not a more loving or a more faithful wo man in all Paris." "Faithful; yes, you have no mistress, but do you think it makes any difference to Car oline whether you neglect her for politics or a pretty face. She is just as much neglected." "I assure you she does not feel neglected; we are as happy as the first day we were married; we have a thousand little atten tions for each other; even this very evening she made me a present; see this ruby ring, and she insisted on my wearing it." Alma. de Vary gazed for a minute, stu pefied, on the ring held before her. Albert's words concerning a ruby ring came back to her, and she felt that she had found the key of a great mystery. What was to be done? This was evidently the signal of a secret meeting. At all hazards. Albert must not see the ring. She pretended to admire it, and at last found courage to ask her nephew to lend it to her to get one like it. Scarce ly had she obtained it than she turned the conversation, recurring once more to the ap pointment. At length, when Albert re turned, M. de Faviers told his aunt chat he would proceed immediately that very eve ning to obtain the promise of the minister. "Well," said Albert, ''M. de Fosierves going without shaking hands wtth your cousin." "Scapegrace, we have been talking all the time of you, now let me go." "Mother," said klbeet, "I am going to leave the ball; good night." "So suddenly? Ah! I see the telegraph has not spoken. You have seen the man of the ruby ring, but minus the ring." "I have seen him as you say, minus the ruby ring, that is what makes me so happy." "So happy?" "Yes, fur the presence of the ring signi fied leave Paris; I have repented; I can never see you again; but the absence of the ring means come. I am alone, I wait for you. So lam off." "Good Gracious, Albert!" exclaimed Mine. do Vitry, in the greatest consternation; "Albert, you shall not go." At this moment M. do Faviores re-entered the room hastily, through the private door. "My deer aunt," said he, "the minister will receive you himself, and reply in per son to your demand; but pray do not lose an instant; go there, ho is yonder in the grand salooh; the British Minister is talking to him, if you let him finish, and somebody else gets hold of him, you will lose all chance." "But I cannot leavo Albert, he must not stir from hero." "Why, what an absurdity!" "An absurdity if you please, but much more important than all the affairs of Syd ney, Japan or China, I assure you. I'll take him with me." "No, that would spoil all; go, my dear aunt, I will keep guard over Albert." Meantime, Albert, much astonished nt this strange freak of his mother's, began to wonder whether she had guessed anything, but seeing her leave the room he made qui etly for the door. "No, no, my good fellow," said do Fa vieres, "I promised to keep you a prisoner on parole, and I'm going to do it: sit down and hold your tongue, here is a newspaper to amuse you•" "Hang the newspaper; either by the win dow or the door, I must go out." "Oh! old some love appointment, eh?" "Wall, yes; my mother suspects it, but what is it to her." "What, indeed; but have patience, when my aunt returns I will speak to her; it iti certainly very absurd in her." "I will not wait. Really de Favieros, for a serious politician, a secretary of state, you are playing a very singular part." "So it seems to me. Do I know the lady?" "No." "Never mind, the first appointment should always he kept; it is of no use to give time for scruples and reflections." "Particularly with a tender, susceptible nature—" "Driven no doubt to despair by the faults of the husband; eh! albert, they don't know that husbands are the best allies of all you gay Lotharios. But as really Ido not con sider that it is any of your mother's busi cess; why here, take this key, it opens yon der door, and off with you." Albert caught the key which his cousin threw to him, but the situation was such a strange One that even he hesitated, and gazed for a few moments silently on M. de Faviores; at length, seeing his mother ad vancing along the saloons, he rushed to the door. "Farewell," said he, I must atop at Mine. Provob's fur a bouquet on my road; I shall be late, and so he disappeared." "Where is Albert?" exclaimed Madame de Vitry. "Gone, my dear aunt, the bird is flown; why you really are ridiculous with this boy of yourr; he is twenty-three years old; yon don't know that at that age young men re quire liberty—" "And you gave it him?" "I did." "4313: Heavens, you do not know the mis chief you have done; the peace of a whole family destroyed; hie happiness, my own; he must not go to this meeting, for it is a rendezvous, I suppose you know?" "Yes, yes." "It is, I tell you, death, misery, digrace. Oh! why did ynu set him freer "I can find him, I can find him; he is gone fast to the Valais Royal; my carriage is below; be sure I will find him." With these words M. de Pavieres hurried away, leaving his aunt perplexed and alarm ed, and utterly undecided in which way to act. Meantime Caroline Countess do Favieres sat at home in her boudoir, alone. She had married M. de Favieres, loving him with all the enthusiasm of eighteen, and had pic tured to herself a life of enjoyment and hap piness. What had-dui:found:it, young and beautiful as she was? A life:of solitude, of weariness. She had not learned yet to hate her husband, hut she felt deeply irritated against him; and she had been balm to her wounded vanity to find that she bad inspired Albert with a passion be declared profound and eternal, and which evidently formed the principal interest of his life. What was she to bar husband? Nothing. Yet she had a yearning for love and happi ness; why should she refuse them—why? And so, in a moment of irritation, when de Favieres had again told her he was going to leave her, and could not even come back to her for this ball, she gave him the signal which was to bring one who adored her to her side. Now she •nat waiting for him, when all at once she heard on the stairs the voice of her husband, and then presently another voice —Albert's; yes, it is Albert's. Have they met, and have they quarreled? Caroline trembled as she heard them approach. "Caroline," exclaimed de Fa vieres, en tering, "you must excuse me for intruding on you, but I had a prisoner in my custody, and I didn't know to what prison to bring him but this." "Is M. de "Vary your prisoner?" "Yes; Albert de Vitry. I cannot toll you what horrible social revolution he was med itating, but his mother discovered it, and I promised to prevent his keeping a certain appointment. Now I have dune my duty, I have no more time to waste on him. He is here safe in your drawing-room; consider him your prisoner. I am off; watch over him, and try to be a little amiable to him. You have quarrelled, I believe; let me reconcile you." As ho spoke, M. do Favieres playfully seized his wife's hand and Albert's. and was about to join them when Caroline, looking at her husband's hand, exclaimed: "M. de Favieres, where is_the ruby ring I place,' on your finger a few hours ago?" "Well, if I must tell you the truth, my aunt took such n violent fancy to it that I lent it to her to get one made Like it. Do you forgive me?" "Yes, now I know what has become of it." "Well, then I will leave you. Take care of my prisoner." And sa M. de Favieres vanished. Scarcely was ho gone before Caroline, turning to Albert, exclaimed: "To what have I been exposed? But, thank heaven, you knew my better instincts had conquered; you knew I had determined 120 t to see you. Now leave me." "You forget that I em a prisoner on parole. Besides, Caroline, 11.1 ve you really determined to drive inc to dc-pair? Why reject to-day the conqolation and alfoction you were yesterday so inclined to accept?" "Affection is not possible between us. Ahl I felt, in the few moments my husband was here, that I could not live a life of de ceit. Your affection was love." "And, if it is, it is love without hope, without exactions; it required no sacrifices; it was content to live in the atmosphere that surrounds you." "That is but self-deception. I love my husband still. But, hark! surely that is Madame de Vitry's voice; yes." "Yes, it is my mother. She must not see me here." "Nov, "No; she might suspect. Here in this recess, behind these curtains, she will not see me." He had scarcely time to conceal himself before Mme. de Vitry entered. Nothing in her manner indicated that she had any sus picions, and Caroline; who in reality was innocent of all but a flirtation, soon recover ed her presence of mind, and conversed freely with her visitor. "My child," at length said Mme. de Vitry, "I have come to ask a favor of you. I want you to write to your brother and ob tain this appointment for Albert. I am very unhappy about him. Ile is, I am afraid, getting entangled in an intrigue that will lead to hie misery and mine. "An intrigue?" "Yes. He is in love with a married wo man. Ile is young—that is his excuse; but he does not know how terribly he will pay for his dangerous happiness. He, a man of honor, reduced to act a part of deceit, to clasp the hand of the man ho is dishonor. ing, to be toward him a living lie, to feel that he has forever destroyed his happiness' —oh! this is all horrible to think of; is it not, Caroline?" "Indeed it is." "The woman he loves, too, I know her also. She has a noble and a generous heart; but she is unhappy because life—her mar ried life—has not been to her all her young imagination pictured; but she could not en dure remorse or shame. But I will sure her from both, and one day, in years to. come, in her old age, when she is surround ed by respect and affection, then sho will bless me mud thank ire. You must help me." "I will do all I can," replied Caroline, l her voice trembling with emotion. "Then write to your brother, obtain this this appointment; let Albert leave Paris. Come, Caroline, sit down to your desk, I will go here, out on the balcony among the flowers in this calm moonlight; it will do me good, and I shall not interrupt you." Mme. de Vitry, as she spoke, stepped on to a sort of terrace, and turned her back to the room. Then Albert quickly, but noise lessly, rushed from his hiding-place, and darting across the room, seized Caroline's hand, pressed it to his lips, and whispering adieu in an accent of despair, disappeared from the room. Mme. de Vitry, who had seen the whole proceeding, breathed again, while Caroline, sitting down at the table, thinking herself unseen, buried her face in her handkerchief and wept. Then Mme. de Vitry stepped back again into the room, and going up to Caroline laid her hand on her shoulder. "Have courage, Caroline." "Ahl you knew all—and you so good, ever so virtuous, will despise me." "Do you think, Caroline, that because I am virtuous I do not know what virtue costs? Oo the contrary." "Ah! if I had only been loyal by my hus band as you were!" "As I was! Ah, Caroline, M. de Vitry was an excellent soldier, an engineer, and between his campaigns and his military in ventions, thought very little of me; hut the time of peril is past; you wire be as happy I am when you are my age." "Ile loved me! Ab, Madame de Vitry, he was in despair. D.) you think ho would commit any desperate act?" "Desperate act? Never fear, Caroline, he is like all young men, dramatizing his life after the most approved models; but here comes your husband again." "Victory," exclaimed M. do Favieres, as he entered; good news—Albert has his ap pointment." "Thank Heaven!" "Yes; he is enchanted." "Have you then seen him?" eagerly in. quired Caroline• "Yes, ha w.as just on the steps of the Opera House as I passed." Mme. do Vitry smiled as she glanced nt Caroline, for a look of disappointment over spread her face. She would rather have hoard ho had shot himself than that he was enjoying himself. "You don't ask me to where Albert is ap pointed; you have very little curiosity; to Madrid." "To Madrid? lan appointment? But is tiara not a new ambassador to be appoint ed?" "Ito is appointed." "Who is be?" "No less a person than myself. Mine. la Countess° de Favieres, aro you not glad to be an ambassadress?" "Certainly." "And you, my dear aunt, are you not happy to think that your son will be with us? I shall put him under Caroline's care. I assure you he will be safe." . Mme. do Vitry drew on her gloves and bit her lips. "Really," said she to herself, "it is no use my being his guardian angel; his evil genius is the strongest. Well, after all, this id only a flirtation—at least in Paris— what will it become in Madrid? What a pity my nephew does not use his diplomatic penetration at home, instead of prying into the affairs of Congo and Japan. Against fate there is no use in fighting—so I leave them them to chance." The Two Pictures A few years ago some persons of cultiva ted taste, and lovers of the fine arts, met at the house of a distinguished traveler. Du ring the evening a discussion arose among the guests respecting certain paintings, ned the comparative merits of the old masters. "I hear," said the host, turning to a friend at the table, "that you purchased the large picture that in days of yore adorned my ball." "Yes," was the reply, "and although I obtained it at a very moderate price, con sidering its great merit, it ultimately proved a very bad bargain for me." "I can tell you," said the gentleman, "a very singular adventure connected with that picture; but before I do so, pray tell me bow your afflictions arose." "It is a simple story, and I fear you will say—the story of a simpleton. The picture was greatly admired; and one day a gentle man expressed a great desire to iuspect it, and after giving utterance in glowing terms to his admiration,. be urged that it should be sent to a person ho named to be cleaned and repaired. I consented to confide it to this highly extolled artist, and after paying soma pounds for a suitable case, and divers other pounds for charges to and fro, and thirteen pounds to the knight of the brush for his labor, I again received my picture, but, in the interval, alterations in the house rendered so large a picture no longer ad missible; I therefore forwarded it to London for .sale. This was another expense. It was placed iu a ga:lery, and there for some time it remained; but the expenses becoming too heavy, I ordered it to be sold for what ever it would produce. For my consolation I received a letter informing me that I sent the painting to town in its original state, the writer would have given me two hun dred guinea, for 'it; but now ten pounds $1,50 PEE YEAR 7.:1( ADVANCE; $2,00 IF NOT IN ADVA was the utmost the p:eture was worth, and from this goodly sour must be deducted all the charges incurred, which meant, in other words, that I had to pay whatever sum was due over the said ten pounds. I settled the matter and bid adieu to my picture, and my advice to others is now exceedingly pru dential. I say to them—if you are rash enough to buy an old painting, at least be wise enough to shun all repairs and clean ing. It is like gilding a bronze, you waste your gold, and your bronze is spoilt. Now, my friend, that you have had your smile at my simplicity, let us hear your adventure." "It is soon told. When I was in Italy I had the oportunity of seeing many very choice pictures in private collections, and oar ray return to England I was astonished to learn that one of these collections had been sent to this country, and to be sold by an eminent auctioneer in Bond street. I took care to attend the sale, as there were two pictures which I desired to possesss; the one was the painting which caused your afflictions, and the other was a cabinet pic ture, very small, but delicately finished, and thought to be the best production of that master. The attendance was good, and the contest for the little painting W. 19 very spir ited, but stopped very suddenly when the last bidding had reached to nine hundred and fifty pounds. Upon this I advanced twenty-five pounds, and no one seemed, as I thought, willing to exceed that sum, when a Jew cried out a thousand pounds. I bid again twenty-five pounds, and felt assured that the picture would be mine; but, as the hammer was fulling, my opponent, the Jew, called out: "'Make it guineas.' "The bidding ceased, and the autioncer turned to me a first, a second, and even a third time, and almost entreated me not to lose the picture. I said 'I cannot go high er,' and the picture, the next iMoment, be came the property of the Jew. A very few minutes afterwards a foreigner entered the room in great haste, and coming up to rne inquired, in broken English, when the ea:- Met picture was to be soli, pointing to the catalogue. I replied: "'lt is already sold,' " 'What do you mean, sat?' he exclaimed. "'I mean,' was my reply, 'that you are too late; for the lot you mention has been put up at auction and sold. "The gentleman left me, but shortly etc?' came to me again: " do understand, sar,' ho said, 'that you have bought that picture.' "'You are misinformed, sir,' I replied. 'I bid for the picture, but I was not success ful. had I purchased the painting, it would have been added to my little collec tion; tut the person who has obtained it, if I am not in error, has bought it for sale, and the purchaser you will find standing in yonder corner. I may tell you for your guidance that my bid was one thousand and twenty-five pounds, and the successful offer was one thousand and fifty pounds.' "The foreigner expressed his thanks fur the information, and after a short time he returned to rue, I.ringing with him the buyer of the picture, and requested me to do him the favor to step aside to witness his ar raogement for the purchase of the painting. The terms agreed upon were that the for eigner was to pay the auctioneer the ono thousand and fifty pounds purehroo money, and whatever charges there might he, and to pay to the Jew ono thousand five hun dred pounds as profit upon the picture. When the terms were settled the fortunate Jew--finding That without drawing one pound from his purse he was to deposit one thousand five hundred pounds into it—could not conceal his delight, and in the exuber ance of his exultation, he laughed, and leaped, and rubbed his hand. The French gentleman, unable to comprehend this ac tive kind of mirth, mistook it for ridicule, and regarded it as an insult on the part of the Jew. The offended man's wrath rose to actual rage; when, clenching his Est at the Jew, he cried out: " 'You laugh nt me, cir, yon in insult me —yes, ear, you mock me because you have gained one thousand pounds by me. Now, ear, as you do make de sport of me, I will tell you something. I belong to de King of Holland, and my master say to me, 'There is such &picture to be sold in England; there are bat two of that kihd in de world, and I bare de one, and I desire very much to have de other. Now, you go directly to England, and buy that picture, and you hear me, ear,' said the king, 'you never come back to Holland if you do not bring that picture with you.' Why, ear, in place of giving you-two thousand and five hun dred pounds for de painting, I would have given you five thousand pounds if you had asked me that price for de picture—yes, ear, I would have given you five thousand pounds.' "No sooner bad the Jew hoard that be might have obtained two thousand five hun dred pounds above the price he had asked, than his joy vanished in a moment, and he set up a roar, wringing his hands in deep agony. The one thousand five hundred pounds profit already obtained was last sight of in the overwhelming grief of think ing that had it not:been for his modesty in asking, be might have walked oat of the room a richer man by four thommod pounds. The foreigner's triamph was complete, and if the Jew •be living,-it is move than proba ble that his chagrin continues to:tbisday, and what is worse, that he never- will for give himself while life lasts. =lf revenge = [WHOLE NUMBERI,6 1. were the angry Frenchman's object', never was revenge more effectually accomplished_ When I consider the opposite results to the' Jew and to spnri3clfp the two buyers 44liese pictures, I fear there is some truth in lion est Sancho's sentiment: 'that some men are born with a silver spoon in theirmoutha,7 and others with only a wooden ladle." A Talented Pig _ The Rev. J. G. Wood, in his "Animal Traits and Characteristics," thus glorifies ono:—"A carious animal is a pig, gentle men! Very cunning, too—a great deal more:- sensible than people give them credit for.— . I had a pig aboard my ship that was - too' knowing by half. All hands were fend of him, and there was not one on board wife would have seen him injured. There WWI a dog on board, too, and the pig and• he were capital friends; they ate out of -the same plate, walked about the decks -togeth er, and would lie down side by side undei-• the bulwarks in the sun. The only thing . they ever quarrelled about was lodging. The dog, you see, sir, had got a kennel for him self; the pig had nothing of the sort. Wu did not think he needed one; but he had his own notions upon that matter. Why should Toby be better housed of a night than he? Well, sir, he had somehowgot into his head that possession is nine parts of the law; and though Toby tried to show him the rights of the question; he was so pig-headed that , ho • either would not or could not understand:- , • So every night it came to be 'catch as onto!. can.' If the dog would get in first,-Ise would show his tooth, and the other bad to lie under the boat, or to find the softest plank where he could; if the pig was found in possosion the dog could not turn him out, but looked out fur his revenge next time.— One evening, gentlemen, it had been blow , ing hard all day, and I had jest ordered close-reefed top-sails, fur the gale was in- • creasing, and there was a good deal of sea running, and it was coming on to be wet; in short, I said to Myself, as I called down tbe companion-ladder for the boy to bring• mni pea jacket, 'We are a going to have dirty night.' The pig was slipping and'• tumbling about the decks, for the - ship lay over so much with the breeze, being cI hauled, that ho could not keep his hoofs.— At last, ho thought he would go and secaro. his berth for the night, though it Iw/cited a good bit to dusk. But, lo and behold! To'uy had been of the same mind, and there hu was safely housed. 'Graph, umpb!' says piggy, as ho turned and looked up at the black sky to windward; but 'TOby did not offer to move. At last, the pig seemed to g ive it up, and took a turn or two, as if lie was making up his mind which was the warmest corner. Presently, he trudges off . to the lee scuppers, where the in prate was lying that they ate their cold potatoes off. Pig takes up the plate in hisrmouth, and carries it to a part of the deck where the dog could see it, but some way from the kennel; then, turning his tail toward the dog, he begins to net as if ho was eating out of the plate, making it rattle, and _ranching, with his mouth pretty lend. 'What!' thinks Toby, 'has piggy got victuals there?' and he pricked up his ears and looked oat to ward the place, making a little:whining.— 'Champ, champ!' goes the pig, taking not the least notice of the dog; and down goes his mouth to the plate again. Toby couldet - etand that any longer; victuals, and ho not those! Out he runs, and comes up in front of thepir , with his mouth watering, and,„ • pushes Ins cold nose, Into the empty !plate, Like a shot, gentlemen, the pig turned tall, and was snug in the kerniel before Toby': well knew wether there was any in - cat ur not in the plate." skv-It is probable that the city of Jeru salem is a kind of architectural geology, whose various strata would record specs of HutuLn history. The Ilassian Government has ben building a grand cathedral and other works. In carrying out those, ground near the Holy Sepulchre has been excava ted to a depth 0k . 35 feet. Here the remains of pillars and porticoes, which formed part of the principle entrance to the Itchy Sep ulchre in Constantino's time, were found. Signor Pierotti, the Pasha's Engineer, has discovered that built upon successive tratu of ruins, the modern city rests upon '"deep ly levelled and enormous stones," which he attributes to the age of Solomon; that above it, to the age of Z mobabel; that following, to llerod's time. Super imposed upon this the remnants of the city of Justinian came to be hidden tarn by those from that of the Saracens and Cruse dere. Ile traced a series of conduits' or sewers leading Irons the "Demo of the Rook," a Mosque on the site,of the Altar of Sacri fice, in the Temple, to the Valley ofJcito.so pbat„ by means of which the priests were able to flood the whole temple area witirwa ter. and so carry off the blood and offal of the sacrifices to the Brook . licdran. ' Two years ago Signor Pierotti discovered a: foun— tain at Pool ofßethsaida,whick on. being. opened, has continued to flow._ Tke o .,Judis., were greatly excited by this disooceo; and regarded it as ominous of tbemoutiogagetheL. Messiah. The engineer .ifleolifiesr that built by Ilezekish sad. trefon:4 . l•Ay; Josephus.... , barna Bieghaurptoe Jeninsirin'eti;) . street* a new dietiotrary . . 7 gnierar term, aysbracis'iselsethillo 4 this is a sample, the naiedietibtialtPteilt comprehensive' eneisgh," at/ lettstiliu 444 B CIES rri ur tr“l 7
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