ONE DOLLAR PER ANNUM, INVARIABLY IN ADVANCE.
TOWANDA:
Cimurtan fllominn, CRpril 28. 1833.
Sclectcir jjpodrn.
OUR CHILDHOOD.
BY 0. D. PRENTICE.
'TH sad—yet sweet—to listen
To tbe soft wind's gentle swell,
And think we hear the music
Our childhood knew so well;
To gaze out on the even
And the boundless fields of air,
And feel again our boyhood wish
To roam like an angel there!
There are many dreams of gladness
That cling around the past—
And from the tomb of feeling
Old thoughts come thronging fast—
The forms we loved so dearly,
In the happy days now gone,
The beautiful and lovely,
So fair to look upon.
Those bright and lovely maidens.
Who seemed so formed for bliss,
Too glorious and too heavenly
For such a world as this.
Whose soft, dark eyes seemed swimming
In a sea of liquid light,
And whose locks of gold were streaming
O'er brows so sunny bright.
Whose smiles were like the sunshine
In the spring-time of the year—
Like the changeful gleams of April
They followed every year!
They have passed—like hopes—away—
All their loveliness has lied—
Oh! many many a heart is mourning
That they are with the dead.
Like the bright buds of summer
Tliey have fallen from the stem—
Yet oh--it is a lovely death
To fade from earth like them !
And yet—the thought is saddening
To muse on such as tliey- -
Aud feel that all the beautiful
Are passing fast away !
That the fair ones whom we love
Grow to each loving brea-t,
Like tendrils of the Winging vine,
Then perish where they rest.
And can we but think of these
In the soft and gentle spring,
When the trees are waving o'er us,
And tiie flowers arc blossoming.
For we know that winter's coming
With his cold and stormy sky—
And the glorious beauty round us
Is blossoming but to die!
Setlttteb Citlt.
THE PASTOR'S ELECT.
" Now tell me about it, Weldon. lam so
anxious to hear the whole storv, and it's such
a nice evening for this, too. It is so great a
luxury to be all alone with yoa, that the rain
sounds really musical as it drops against the
panes." She had pushed a low ottoman to his
feet, and throwing herself on this, lifted her
sweet face, set in its frame-work of brown, soft
hair, to her brother's.
" So you have at last caught me, ami intend
my confessor—do you, little sis?" .smilinglyre
sponded the young clergyman, as he turned his
eyes from the anthracite blaze, where they had
Iveen dreamily fastened for the last half hour,
and a beautiful, almost dreamy tenderness
seemed to drift into them as they rested 011 his
sister.
" Yes. To think you arc really engaged,
Weldon ! What would your good parishioners
say, if they knew it, particularly the younger
portion of them ! I um somewhat apprehensive
their daily bequests of boquets und fruits would
be sensibly diminished. But about the lady—
i- she beautiful, Weldon ?"
" A woman's first query !" and again that
rich smile went like sunlight over the grave
hut handsome features of the young pastor.—
1 am not certain, Hattie, whether au artist
would think her so. Her features are not en
tirely regular, ami her cheeks less rosy than
your own ; but the emotion of her deep, gen
tie loving nature look out of her dark blue
. tyes, and there is a sweet heart chirograph)- in
[ the -wiles tiiat sparkle at times over her small
I fi ud rather pensive mouth."
YJU are drawing a charming Raphael pic
ture. brother mine. She is young, of course ?"
'Hardly twenty-one."
" And—no, J need not ask if her mind is
I v 'i cultivated, for I know your opinions re-
I 'P'Aing women too well to doubt this. But
I<• yie intellectual—in short, a book-worm ?"
I A ell, something of one. The formation
I " her head indicates a superior mental organ-
I -Nation, but ail the faculties are well balanced."
And—let me see—is she wealthy ?"
I 'hdy in the possession of those great jew-
I 1 ~ ' A hich are above all price."
I |>ut her parents—who are they ?"
I ' nover saw but one member oi' it, and he
I "'is a hpga r
I r) , "ldoti!" The little fingers that had been
I t fully braiding themselves with those of the
I Wau ' s were suddenly withdrawn, the
,flushed into the questioner's cheek,
*!' ,l io °h of mingled astonishment and dis
•Filled her brown eyes as she ejaculat
i you are not in earnest ?"
_ . > I 31", Hattie. You know I would
I 00 such a subject."
. , you took me so greatly by surprise.
iu',l an '' le ret * ,s tl 'embled for a
an 'l then the tears brimed over the
\, 'f' an 'l journeyed down the cheeks.
LTCH "f * doubled you too, Hattie ?" interro
anfl rw y°" n S man, as he leaned forward,
caressingly smoothed down the bright hair
'sister
no r?" 1 '°°k ?0 sorrowful, darling, as though
v bat i < at ° v '' k ;l( * chanced me ; but listen to
triip i B'll you, aud then see if your own
noble heart, unbiased by social dis
prejudice.-, docs not commend inv
THE BRADFORD REPORTER.
election. Will you do this, llattie, if not for
my sake, for Him who said that tile poor and
the rich were alike in His sight ?"
Sweet Hattie Marshall! Her one great
foible was her pride for her handsome, noble
hearted brother ; it was hardly a weakness,
for he was all that God had left her of the
household over whom the spring daises had
long spread their golden covering ; and for a
moment she had looked with the world's eyes
upon his betrothal to the sister of a mendicant.
But her brother's words had silenced the pride
whispers in her heart, for Hattie Marshall had
learned of Him who was meek and lowly iu
spirit.
I will do as you ask, Weldon. Forgive
me if I have done wrong," she whispered,
drawing up closer to her brother, and laying
her head in its old resting-place against his
heart; for very tenderly the brothes aud sister
loved each other.
A\ eldon Marshall drew his arm around his
sister's waist, and then, when the rain moaned
and the wind muttered around the windows,
and the anthracite fire mingled its ruddy glow
with the silver astral light and filled the par
sonage sittiug-room with a dreamy crimson
light, he told a story of the past, and his eyes
grew darker, his low, earnest tones full of pa
thetic eloquence as he told it :
" It is eight years next month, Hattie, and
I was iu New York, engaged in my collegiate
studies. You see it was three years after our
mother's death, and you were at that time with
uncle Havard attending school.
"It was a cold, wild, disagreeable night ; \
and I remember standing at the window of my !
snug sanctum, and looking out ruefully into the
darkness, for I had made an engagement to
meet several of my fellow students that even
ing in a distant portion of the city.
" Dear me, how the wind blows !" I solilo
quized, with a very feminine shrug of the shoul
ders, as I drew the curtains closer. " I've half
j a mind to throw myself on the lounge, which
! looks so provokinglv comfortable and cosy
i this evening, and not attempt an encounter
; with the elements. It's absurd to think they'll
! expect me such a night as tins'. In short, 1
won't tempt an iuflueaza by showing my face i
outside the door," was the conclusion of my
monologue.
" I remember that I wheeled up the sofa in i
comfortable proximity with the fire, located the
lamp so that the rays fell softly upon the vol
: ume I intended to commune with, and I had
settled myself for a long, quiet winter's evening, j
" But it would not do. My eyes wandered
1 listlessly along the pages ; tliey could not en
gage my attenton. A strange, unaccountable
i feeling of restlessness and anxiety seemed to j
! possess me. At last I resolutely closed the
: book, and a few minntes later I was in Broad- j
way, mentally censuring my folly in yielding to j
a feeling I could not resist.
" Ah, me ! looking back through the eight
years that lie between that dreary night and .
j the present, how clearly can I sec the great
! Father's love in it all !
" What is it yon want here, little boy ?" I
, sec him now just as though I had seen him this j
! morning, and the light from the tall window is
falling 011 him just as it fell then, revealing his ,
ragged dress and pale, pinched features, and
the cold rain is dripping off his thick, brown
curls, just as it did then. It is a strange,!
mournful picture—the dark night in the back-1
ground, and the little ragged boy, and the j
brilliant lights, and the great store with all 1
-orts of rare confections, in front. No wonder j
it touched my heart. The boy started as I I
laid my hand gently on his shoulder and looked
up with his wild, eager, bright eyes into mv
face.
"Oh, sir !" he said, after a moment's earnest
perusal of my features, "I was thinking if I
i only could carry one of those cakes home to El-
I len ; she is very sick, and—and (the little fel
j low's lips quivered) we haven't had anything
to eat for two days."
" I did not speak another word ; but I caught
hold of the child and pulled him after mc into
the store."
"Hand me down a plate of those cakes," I
cried to the astonished clerk, who turned with
more than ordinary alacrity to fulfil my request.
1 drew the boy iuto a small sitting-room at
one end of the establishment. "Now eat these
as fast as you can, and then tell mc who Ellen
is."
" His hungry look, the strange avidity with
which he grasped the food, almost wrung tears
from my eyes.
" Ellen is m v sister—my only sister since the
baby died. We are alone now. Last month,
just after they buried mother, she grew sick.
1 s'pose it was because she cried so much ; and
she's been growing worse all the time."
"And there is nobody to take care of her
now but you, my little fellow ?"
" Nobody but me—the money mother left is
ail gone, you see, sir, and though I sometimes
earn a sixpence by selling papers or cleaning
sidewalks, I couldn't leave Nelly for the last
week, she grew so much worse. O, sir, how
good these taste ! I can't thank you, but 1
want to."
" Well, you needn't, my boy. I want no
other thanks than your enjoyment of them."
" But mayn't I take the rest home to Nelly?
She'll be frightened I'm gone so long. O, sir,
if you'd only go with me !"
" I'll come and see you and Nelly to-morrow,"
I said, "if you'll tell mc where you live, nud
now while you are eating the reniainderof your
cakes, I'll get something that Nellv will like
better."
" I procured a basket which I saw well
stocked with a variety of fruits aud confections
most likely to tempt the appetite of an invalid,
and adding to these all the money I had with
me, I returned to the child.
"Go horne to Nelly with these as fast as you
can," I said, " and tell her that I will come to
see her to-morrow morning. Now be a man,
my little boy, and take good care of sister El
len, till then."
"And are all these for her?" said the child,
as his large, wondering bright eyes roamed over
the basket. "And she has been moaning in
her sleep after an orange for a whole week.—
O. lir, wc will pray God to bless you for all
PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY AT TOWANDA, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA., BY E. O'MEARA GOODRICH.
" REWARD LESS OF DENUNCIATION FROM ANY QUARTER."
this ; and 110 will, for inortlier used to say
lie would hold those in everlasting remem
brance who forgot not the widow and the or
phan," and tears of gratitude and delight were
showering fast down the little fellow's face as
we parted.
"The next morning, Hattie, I received that
letter which summoned me to my father's dying
bedside. I had, of course, 110 time to fulfil my
engagements with the little orphans, in whom !
had become so greatly interested ; iudeed, the
mournful circumstances which drew mc once
more to the home of my childhood, banished
them from my mind.
" If yon will look down to that time, my lit
tle sister, you will remember tliat April "was
weaving her green curpcts over the meadows
before we parted, and I returned to the city to
complete my studies, and then to enter that
service in which, before my father's dying bed,
I had solemnly pledged myself to spend all the
life that Uod should grant me.
" I had forgotteu the name of the boy's re
sidence, but I know that I made several at
temps to discover it after my return to the city,
all of which proved ineffectual.
"It was the sunset of a bright day in the
early May time, and even the great city looked I
fairer for the sunshine that plated the house- 1
tops with gold, and swept iu golden Rakes
and dimples along the pavements up which I
was passing with some fellow students to sup ;
per. _
" Now, Marshall, remember to call for us in j
time, for the lecture commences at seven, and '
it will certainly be crowded," called out one of 1
my companions, as we reached the corner where 1
our paths diverged.
" 1 bowed my assent and adieu, and was bur- i
rving forward, when my coat was suddenly
grasped, and an eager but timid voice said, —
" Please, sir, is your name Marshall ?"
" I turned and looked at the speaker. It
was a little girl, apparently about ten years
of age ; her long curls falling in a bright,
tangled mass about her small, sorrowful look
ing face, while her large blue eyes were fas-1
teued with a kind of panting eagerness upon '
my own.
•' Yes, that is my name. And what do you '
want with me, my little girl ?" I queried, great- j
Iv surprised at this singular encounter.
" 0, sir, do you remember a little boy whom
you met one evening last winter, who told he
had a sister Nell, and—." The mystery was
at once cleared up.
" Yes, yes, 1 remember it all,'" I interrupted.
" And you arc Nelly, I suppose ?" and I sur
veyed the child with enchanted interest. Her
ragged garments, her pale, mournful face, bore
a very legible history—a history of sharp
poverty and bitter suffering.
" O, I am so glad —so very glad, sir !" and
the light that broke into the little care-worn
face was beautiful to behold. " I was almost
sure it must be you when the gentleman called
yotir name, and looked just as AYilly suid you
did. 0, sir I have looked, and watched, and
waited for you so many days, thut I had almost
given up hoping."
" Poor child ! I have been out of town, or
I would have come to you as I promised. But
where is \\ illy now ? and what do you want
with me?" I was well nigh ashamed after the
latter question was asked, her poverty answer
ed it so plainly.
"O, sir, Willy is sick, very sick ; and las face
looks so white aud strange lately, I fear he is
going home to mother, sometimes. You sec I
got better after you sent me the cakes and
oranges, und Willy bought me some medicine
with the money you gave us, and we paid the
rent three months, so the woman let us stay
there. But one day, about a month ago, AVilly
was out all day in the cold rain selling papers,
and he's so altered now you'd hardly know him.
But he's wanted to see you so badly, and lie
talks about it all the time in his sleep, and for
the last two or three days he's grown almost
wild about it, and so I've been out keeping
watch for you Jtll day ; and I couldn't bear to
go home at night, for Wily would spring up
in the bed, and cry out so loud, " Nelly, have
you seen him?" and when I shook my head, he
would lie down with such a look, that I would
go off in one corner, and cry all alone, it made
iny heart ache so to see it. But now Willy
will be so glad ! O, please, sir, won't you go
aud see him ?"
" I see Hattie that your eyes are growing
moist with tears: and if you could have
heard the simple, but touching pathos with
which that child told that sad story, you would
have answered as I did, " Yes, Nelly, I will go
now."
*******
"Willy, Willy, I've brought him ! I'vebro't
him !" The little hand that had guided me so
carefully up the dilapidated stairs, was with
drawn as the little girl broke into that old at
tic chamber, her eager joyful tones making the
bare walls ring aguin—l've brought him ! I've
brought liirn !"
The dying daylight looked with a sweof,
solemn sinile into the room, whose entire desti
tution oue glance revealed to mc. I had not
time for another, for a child's head was lifted
from a miserable mat trass in one coruer. I
came forward, a pair of attenuated arms were
stretched out, and those large burning eves
fastened u moment on my face as though iife
or death rested on their testimony.
" Yes, yes, I knew you would come at last,"
and the little cold arms were wrapped aronnd
my neck. "O, I have watched, and prayed,
and hoped so long, and it seemed as if you
would never come ; but I knew you would to
day, for last night mamma came to me, look
ing so beautiful, with the flowers woven all
around her head, and a white robe flowing
dowu to her feet, and she smiled so 6\veetly,
aud said, " My little AVilly, he will come to you
to-morrow : and his coming will be a signal, for
then, I too, shall come for you."
My tears were falling fast on the boy's brown
curls"; but a sharp pang reached my heart as
he spoke these words. " No, no, AVilly, you were
only dreaming," I said, as I lifted up my head
and looked at him anxiously. One glance into
the rigid face told me enough—the mother had
come for hrr child.
" Bend down, quick." murmured the boy's
white lips. " Nelly will be alone when I leave
her; for there's nobody to take carc of her, you
sec. und I want to give her to you. You arc
so kind and good, 1 know you will take care of
her and never let her suffer : and mamma and
I will look down from our home in heaven and
bless you for it all, and may be we shall come
some time to take you to us. You will pro
mise me this, won't you ?—quick, for I cannot
see you," and his glazing eyes wandered over
my face.
" Yes, Willy, I promise it to God, your mo
ther in lwaven, and to you," I answered, so
lemnly.
" Nelly, you have heard what lie said—he
will take care of you. Kiss me ouce more, lit
tle sister. There, there, mother has come for
me. Good-bye!" The little cold fingers sought
our hands and drew them together—a smile
wandered over the stark, rigid face, and the
last light of that Mav-dav looked into that bare
attic, where the beautiful clay was lying on the
cold inat tress.
"O, sir is he dead?" questioned the little
girl, with her large, patlyjtic eyes wandering
from the dead face, to my own.
"My looks answered her, for my lips could
not
" Willy, Willy,comeback, comeback torae!"
she cried out in a voice whose exceeding an
guish will haunt mv heart till it has grown cold
as the one that then lay beneath me, and little
Ellen Evans lay senseless as her brother, in my
arms.
"Two days later, in a pleasant part of the
cemetery, the May violets were turned aside
and a child's coffin laid beneath them.
" For nine spring times have they laid their
crimson mantle over his bright head, and the
shadow of a marble monument has fallen softly
over them. ITpon this is sculptured a beauti
ful child, and an angel with outspread wings is
bending over him and pointing upward. Under
neath is graven, " His mother came for him at
twilight."
" It was with me a subject of much perplexi
ty where to place the lovely child, whom I ul
wuys felt thut Providence had especially confid
ed to my care. I was all on earth she had to i
love ; and as time brought its soothing balm :
to her heart, (he whole affection of her deep,
warm nature was poured on me, and even then,
with the exception of yourself, she lay close
within the foldings of her heart.
For a little while I placed her in the coun
try among simple people whose curiosity would i
be readily appeased ; for I was exceedingly de-'
sirous that the world should never become cog
nizant of the part I had borne in her life his
tory. I read well her sensitive nature, and 1
knew there might come a timo iu her later life
when it would cause her much annoyance if the
world knew our secret.
After much deliberation I resolved to confide
Ellen's history to Mrs. Whittlesey, the lady
with whom I boarded, and in whom I placed
entire confidence.
"She listened with intense interest, and her
womanly sympathies were at once enlisted in
behalf of mv protege. Besides this, she was a !
widow aud childless : and though by no means j
wealthy, her circumstances were such that she !
could surround Ellen with everything accessary •
to her well being and bapjaness.
" She proposed to adopt her in the place of
the children God had taken from her ; and to '
this proposition I joyfully assented, for there '
the religious, social and home atmosphere
would be all that I wished to be about mv
Ellen.
" I was anxious too, that she should no
longer be dependent on me—for I thought,
even then, a time might coinc when I should
ask her a question whose answer I would have
in no wise reguluted by her gratitude for the
past.
" You have ofteu, little sister, heard me
speak of Ellen Evans, Mrs. Whittlesey's adop
ted daughter ; but you little dreamed that I had j
such a great personal interest in ull that per- j
tained to her.
" Her character and person have developed
with more than all that rare loveliness which
her childhood had promised. The sister that 1
shall bring you, llattie, is an elegant, accom
plished, talented woman, and more than that,"
—and the young clergyman's eyes grew lus
trous with the almost holy light that beamed
out from their darkness—"my Ellen has the
ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, which is
above all price,
" And now, my llattie, you have heard her j
history, will you not welcome her to your .
heart ?
" I guessed well the pang which the know- j
ledge of my engagement would give you ; for I
as brother aud sister has seldom loved, do we !
love each other, and I know it must seem like
bringing another to take your place. But my
Ellen is very gentle, and she will never come
between us. .She knows too, the story of our
orphaned youth and of our affection for each
other ; and even now her heart goes out with
great love after you. "Tell her all," she said
to mc at the last interview, "and tell her thut
without her consent, I dare not become your
wife." When I return to her, and her ques
tioning eves m-k me if I have obtained it, uiay
I tell her you are ready to love aud welcome
her to our home ?"
And llattie Marshall lifted her brown, tear
filled eyes to her brother's face, and answered,
"Tell her, Weldon, that my heart is waiting
to welcome her to a vacant place—and it is
the one by your side."—Ladies Repository.
A FORMIDABLE UXDKKTAKING.—A
rary ruts the tobacco question into the follow
ing shape : —"Suppose a tobacco-chewer is ad
dicted to the habit of chewing tobacco fifty
years of his life, aud that each day of that time
"he consumes two inches of solid plug, it amounts
to six thousand fonr hundred and seventy-five
feet, making nearly oue mile and a quarter in
length of solid tobacco, half an inch thick, and
two inches broad. Now what would the young
beginner think, if ha had the whole amount
stretched out before, and were told that to
chew it would be oue of the exercises of his
life —and also, that it would tax his income
to the amount ot two thousand and ninctv-four
dollar:
A Little German Story.
A countryman one day returning from the
city, took home with him five of the finest
peaches one could possibly desire to see, and
as his children had never beheld the fruit be
fore, they rejoiced over them exceedingly, call
ing them fine apples, with rosy checks, and soft
plum like skins. The father divided them
among his four children, aud retained one for
their mother. In the evening, ere the children
retired to their chamber, their father question
ed them by asking :
" How did you like the rosy apples ?"
" A"erv much, indeed, dear father," said the
eldest boy; "it is a beautiful fruit, so acid, and
yet so nice*aud soft to the taste ; I have care
fully preserved the stone that I mav cultivate
a tree."
" Right and bravely done," said the father ;
" that speaks well for regarding the future with
care, as is becoming in a young husbandman."
" I have eaten mine ami thrown the stone
away," said the youngest, "besides which, mo
ther gave me half of hers. Oh ! it tasted so
sweet and melting in my mouth."
" Indeed," answered "the father, " thou hast
not been prudent. However, it was very nat
ural and child like, and displays wisdom enough
for your years."
" I have picked up the stone," said the se
cond son. "which my little brother threw awav,
cracked it. and eaten the kernel; it was sweet
to the taste, but my peach I have sold for so
much money, that when I go to the city I can
buy twelve of them."
The parent shook his head reprovingly, say
ing, " Beware, my boy, of avarice. Prudence
is all very well, but such conduct as yours is
unchiidlike and unnatural. Heaven guard
thee, my child, from the fate of a miser. And
von. Edmund ?" asked the father, turning to his
third son, who frankly replied,
" I have given my peach to the son of our
neighbor, the sick George, who had the fever.
He would not tuke it, so I left it on his bed,
and have just come away."
"Now," said the father, "who has done the
best with his peach ?"
" Brother Edmund I" the three exclaimed
aloud ; "brother Edmund !"
Edmund was still and silent; and tire mother
kissed him with tears 6f joy iu her eyes.
A GOOD APPETITE.— Deacon AYiggins, of the j
land of steady habits, was not only a good man
in his wuy, but a good liver, and withal, a great j
lover of order at his tabic. Mrs. Deacon AVig
gins was a notable housekeeper, and famous (
for her pumpkin pies, and other dainties. It
was the custom of this worthy couple, on ga- '
thcring their numerous family around the table
to bow themselves before the great Giver of
jncrcies, while the good deacon invoked a bles
sing. Thus glided away the peaceful days, '
weeks and years of their earthly pilgrimage.—
But their sense of propriety, iuwroaght though j
it was with the very elements of their existence, j
was destined to receive a shock ! A distant
relative of theirs, who was innocent of any fa
miliarity with religious ceremonies, and igno
rant of the conventionalism of refined society,
on making them a short visit, was invited to
partake of a substantial dinner with the dea
con's family. On seating himself at the tabic, j
he at once pitched into the good tilings before
him, thereby giving a practical illustration of
the passage of scripture, " whatsoever thine
hands find to do, that do with all thy might,"
The Deacon, amazed at so flagrant an act of
irreverence, raised his head and mildly observ
ed, "friend Jonathan, I have generally some-!
thing to say, before we commence eating."
" Have you !" exclaimed the incorrigible
Jonathan then go ahead, old fellow, all you
can say won't spoil my appetite /"
AGF. OF QYSTERS. — It is said that a London
oystermau can tell the ages of his tlo:k to a
nicety, though it is not by looking in its mouth, i
It bears its years upon its back. Everybody
who lias handled an oyster shell must have ob
served that it seemed as if composed of
successive layers or plates over lapping each
other. These are technically termed shoots,"
l and each of them makes a year's growth ; so
[.that-, by counting them, we can determine at a
I glance the year when the creature Came into '
the world. Up to the time of itsuiaturity the
shoots are regular and successive ; but after
that time they become irregular, and arc piled j
one over another, so that the shell becomes ;
more and more thickened and bulky. Judging •
from the great thickness to which some oyster i
shells have attained, this mollusc is capable, if
left to its natural changes unmolested, of
obtaining a patriarchal longevity.
SETTLING AN ARGUMENT.— Two argumeufive
characters were one day cruelly boreing a j
third party with a prosy discussion upqp the
philosophical correctness of Pope's famous ax- |
iotn, which asserts that " whatever is, is right." ;
The debate had been spun to every length im
aginable, embracing illustrations,' pro and eon,' j
derived from the numerous " ills that flesh is 1
heir to,"and the bouiitifnlness of a benignant \
Providence, when the individual who was pa- j
ticntly listening to the disputants brought the '
argument to a close by exclaiming, " Tom, you ;
say that Pope is correct ?" "Of coiir.se, sir," 1
said Tom, glad to fiud a new contestant in the i
arena ; " aud 1 will show you " " Wait a j
minute," interrupted his interlocutor, "'and tell !
me, if " whatever is, is right,' how you come
to have a left hand ?"
SEVEN FOOLS. —The nngrv man—who SETS
his own bouse on fire ; iu order that he may
burn bis neighbor's. The envious man—who
cannot enjoy life because others do. The
robber—who, for the consideration of a few
dollars, gives the world liberty to hang him.—
hypochondriac—whose highest happiness con
sists in rendering himself miserable. The
jealous man—who po'sons bis own banquet
and then cats of it. The miser—who starves
himself to death in order that his heir may
feast. The slanderer—who tells tales for tbe
i take of giving his enemy an opportunity of
I proring him a liar * <
VOL. XV. — NO. 46.
COKAL REEFS. —The coral reel's of the IV
•-ili** Ocean ure of amazing extent, and a new
eoiitiuont is in process of formation. All the
labor accomplished by zoophytes— insect.? ;
aud if we wish to form some conception of their
doings, we hnre but to remember thut the coral
formations of the Pacific occupy uu area of
four or five thousand miles, and to imagine
i what a picture the ocean would present were it
I suddenly druined. Wo should walk amid huge
i mounds which had been cased and capped with
j the stone these animals had secreted. Pro
j digious cones Would rise from the ground, all
| towering to the same altitude, reflecting the
i light of the sua from their white summits with
| dizzling intcusity. Here and there we should
see a huge platform, once a large island, whose
peaks as they sank were clothed in coral, and
then prolonged upwards until they before
us like the columns of some huge temple which
bad been commenced by the Auakins of an
antediluvian world. Chatnpollion has said of
the Egyptian edifices, that they seem to have
been designed by men fifty feet high. Here,
wandering among these strange monument'?, wo
might fancy that beings one hundred yards in
stature hud been planting the pillars "of some
colossal city they had never lived to complete.
The builders were worms, and the quarrv
whence they dug their masonry was the crvstal
wave. '
BUND PEOPLE. —Staatley, the organist, and
many blind musicians, have been the best
musicians of their time ; and a schoolmistress
in England could discover that two boys were
playing in u distant corner of the room instead
of studying, although a person using his eyes
could not detect the dighest sound. Prof.
Sanderson, who was blind, could in a few mo
ments, tell how many persons were in a mixed
company, aud of each sex. A blind French
lady could dance in figure dances, sew, and
thread her own needle. A blind man in Der
byshire, England, has actually been a surveyor
and planner of roads, his ear guiding him to
the distance as accurately as the eye of others;
uud the lute Justice Fielding, who was blind,
on waikmg ii.to a room lor the first time, after
speaking u few vv-.-rds, said " this room is about
twenty-two foot long, eighteen wide, and twelve
high," ell of which was revealed to him with
accuracy through the medium of his ear.
£C3 r " There are three things that never be
come rusty—the money of the benevolent, the
shoes of the butcher's horse, and a woman's
tongue.
Three things not easily done—to allay thirst
with fire, to dry wet with wuter, to please all
in every thing that is done.
Three things of short continuation—a lady's
lore, a chip fire, and a brook's flood.
Three things that ought never to be from
home—threat, the chimney, and the house
wife.
Three things in the peacock—the garb of an
angel, the walk of a thief, aud the voice of the
devil.
Three things i' is unwiso to boast of—the
flavor of thy ale, the beauty of thy wife, and
the contents of thy purse.
Three miseries of a man's house —a smoky
chimney, a dripping roof, and a scolding wife.
THE USE OF SNAIL®. —In the provinces of
France where the vine is cultivated, snails of
large size a! nuud. Tnev are gathered by the
peasants, put in smuil pens for a few days, salt
water thrown 0:1 them to cause them to dis
charge whatever their stomach may contain,
then boiled, taken out of the shell, and eaten
with a sauce. They are cousidered a luxury
by the vine dressers.
Cataract ou the eye is cured by applying a
drop of clear water tuken from the live* snail,
by piercing what might be termed the tail of
the snail shell with a pin. This application hu.s
the eflect of eating oil' the substance that grows
over the sight of the eve. A relative of mine
was thus cured ; the sight was totally eclipsed
of one eye p.y applying this water two or
three times a duv for some time, say two or thr o
months, the sight was lestored and remained
good. This was prescribed by a physician as
u last aesort.
A LAWYER'S OTIXION or LAW.— A learned
judge being once asked how he would act if a
man owed him ten pounds and refused to pay
him, replied : —" Ilather than bring an action,
with its costs and uncertainty, I would give
him a receipt in full of all demands—yea, and
I would send him moreover, five pounds to co
ver all possible costs."
UNAVOIDABLE INCIDENTS. —An editor "out
west," (of course) said that he hoped to be
able to present a marriage and a death as ori
ginal mutter for his columns, but unfortunately,
a thaw broke up the wedding, and the doctor
got sick, so the patient recovered.
a&T-A young lady recently from a boarding
school, being asked if she would take some
more cabbage, replied : "By no means, mad
amc—gastronomical satiety admonishe#me that
I have arrived at the ultimate of culinary de
glntination consistent with the code of Escula
pius."
tfa?* LAPSED, a French Chemist, asserts that,
if tea is ground like coffee, before hot water i
poured upon it, it will yield nearly double the
amount of exhilerating qualities.
$&" A debating society away down East is
discussing the following question : —" If a roan
builds a corn crib, does that give him a right
to crib corn ?
a very column thing to get marri
ed," said aunt Bethany.
" Yes, hut it's a great deal more solemn not
to," said her ueice.
fctjjr A person bciog asked what was meant
by the realities of hfe, answered, " Reel estate,
money, and—a real good *]'" n cr " That per
son was a materialist, head and heel..