(Hi DOLLAR PER ANNUM, INVARIABLY IN ADVANCE. X>A.: Gatntbiin fUormttn, D;ccmbcr 8, 1855. JJoetrjr. [Kr-iiu the National Era.] THE rtIOST ICING. BY ANN St'MXER DRAKE. TV Winter months have come a^ain, rue dreary mouth; of the Frost King's reign ; TV List November day has passed, And chill Ileecmlicr has couie at l.x-t. I w.u imd the sun go down last eve. And he lingered long as if loth to lcavo The eiiict earth and cloudless sky ; He lingered long, for a foe wasitigli. He lingered long, but went at last, Ami soon there came 011 a northern blast, V, !i fearful shriek, and rushing wing, And waving banners, the dark Frost King. His sceptre touched a passing cloud. And there fell to earth a snowy slimud : it iay on the fields and the garden bowers ; And hid with its folds the autumnal tlowers. He p.is-'-J through the paths of the forest bare, Aud bung out the folds of liis banner there ; lie pa-sed where the sparkling waters gleam, And iii ill hv his icy breath congealed. ji :• ; the forest and frozen plain, 1-.,:. irrrg • his el mdy car again ; 'ih : k hi- way to the crowo-d town, •! : the v its of brick defied his frown. 1! • k at the door, but knocked in vain ; II !< to the window, and wrote on the pane ; ■ ;r. Vg away from the rich man's door, 11 - l.t the In use of the humble poor. i .. tf the poor,'twas an open shed, V r:. '.-tht p| -ed his entrance there, : t d.u \ ah'le of want and care. i. " ati l a motiu r and babe within— To r .- were pale, and their garments thin : A ; ...let -trow was their only bed-, A- ihi; lay .t-irtp in that lowly shed. ijr H.v.;.- 1' .I to.l had the mother lowed, iv . lo'ie, "mid the heartless crowd, T t fur . d the city and passed her door, •st t r cared Tor the widowed poor. s ; ~1 hu-hed her moaning babe that night, V v tl- "g .1 land that is always bright, Wiicr* the wt try pilgrim will find a home, ■ biirr.- hunger and cold ean never come. A A' 1 ' a : i| sleep on her eyelids pressed, *" h •" 1 s Aim 1 tii.it safe in the land of rest, V i t reiiant baud, with husband anil child, > 1 vi-'t • length : and the dreamer smiled. ' ui itiie: s;n,leil, and iTuo l;. pressed 1 in;. ;nt that .-lumbered upon her breast; A • 0 the cruel Fro.-t King passed that way. H ru—rd the threshold ; die lic;ir ves tli it w -re n—d to watch and weep, A II - .!".! w.th a slnin'oer calm and deep. fi H•. -ri'-.l away t his t :sk again : A: . -wict i'.'i\i ie rest by the Frost King given, jjf at 111 rung's dawn they awoke in heaven. ■ %£r a c (Laic. Tiie Majesty of the Law. • '.• r- little. ]rhaps nothing, how Wi l - i o 11K' to l>e so sadly reduced in her , v v cii" ; istanccs, as to resolve 0110 fine ;;• iH-grnin-r upon placing her eldest daugh ■'hai ly in service. Such, however, was the f; ' i 3!1, 1 though it had cost the poor Widow (I •; a pang-, the more she thought of it, the 1 ' - ' felt convinced that, if she would ward ;' rvjtp.n or the ' Union 7 from her house i, 1 " *' i-rdi-c io stem necessity was not the a tlic fact of the family having for■ •u in c:i>v circumstances. The wrecks a ■ 'h' c might have Been, and still may ■ - a?' r-d about their stricken home. )w of departed gentility hovered t. and though some of their less neighbors declared they were vain :f• . not be truly said that they 117 !J: n attend to the niceties of dress ■ ■; r.'ity of nianner. They were always w ■ ' until their most pinching poverty; frequently clad in what would of ■ !l dowdy u]x>n many, they contrived :: - to appear neat and clean. ■ V;l " fot old, barely fourteen, yet she ;fl .. j f !.' ir better days ; she had not " , n *!c house and beautiful garden; H "• 'h.-thi, t recollection of her many *** ■ a ,„] ppetty ribbons; and a ■ of the ancient regime was os* l H . - ->; on of oncof the junior nicin huibly. to be looked at, but not tkH ■ . j' had been early taught to I I ars past had toiled hard and 110* ■ , 7r b> r young sisters and brothers. y with her mother, slie retained ,sri I of the past : and though th * •" r be ju)or, felt she was not of !; ; 1 '' 7 line, somehow, to tend a prct- ' n - a P 111 of a place, and besides, , I : ply her needle. "The cn s ■ f ;a.."'.'.' lnti,l . v declared that the Walshes oli- ■- "S to dress like fine folk ; but little Emily's fairy fingers ■ .;•■ _ l ,r nny ribbon at her magic touch , v "' , 7 he mot costly article from Jfor ■ humble etlging was made to BK- "'"lift of Valenciennes. Then ■ \ v ami had a light graceful li ft. H - , "j'b cay. hafipy way that " i;^f - the roses in her own gar- THE BRADFORD REPORTER, A\ c have said it was autumn. It was ; and it was'the prospect of a hard and long winter that determined the widow upon placing her daughter out in the world. Hut where was she to go '{ Their village was but a score of inili a from London, yet they were as much strangers to it as though a thousand leagues distant ; in their own neighborhood there ap peared to be no opening for her, At length, a friend amongst the neighbors undertook to write to a friend in the great metropolis ; and before a week had expired, the said friend in London found a place for Emily iu a family as nursery maid. The salary, it was true, was small enough—-just a shilling a week, to be paid every seventh day—but it was a beginning.and who could say what it might lead to. What, indeed ! The Sharpes, to whom Elmily was now en gftged, were what is ordinarily termed 'respec table people that is to say, they kept a jrigl and Mr. Sharj>e had an ottice, not a shop, somewhere near the Monument, up a very nar row, business-like lane. He was in the hard ware or Birmingham line of business ; and not only so in profession, but in nature. Had he been cast and bronzed instead of having been born, he could scarcely have assumed a harder texture and disposition. He appeared metal lie in all his movements ; perhaps it happened that, having lost his heart when courting Mrs. Sharpe, he had ordered a bran new one from a Birmingham foundry. However, Emily made very good progress, notwithstanding her cast-iron master. Mrs. Minrpe was a great invalid, and quite satisfied to leave the nursery entirely iu her charge. She could scarcely have done better. It was quite delightful, or rather it would have been, to any but the Sharpes, to see what a marvelous change the widow's daughter wrought amongst that young family. How she loved them, play ed with them, watched over them, worked for them as though they had been her own bro thers and sisters. 1 can scarcely hope to re late as it deserves to be told. How they found a new life with her ; and how much neater and prettier they all appeared with less actual cost to their Birmingham parents, who in re turn doled out the weekly shilling as reluc tantly as though it l.a I been a c >iu of purest gold. Weeks, months passed away, and Christmas came. There had never been such a holiday time in the Sharpes' house ever since it had been a house. W hv, little Emily, pretty, fair lingered Emily, made as many beautiful things for the Christmas tree as would have furnish ed many a small fancy bazaar. People won dered how she managed to find time for so much work. Emily was not the least happy of all that merry throng ; it would have done you good to have seen how light hearted she was, and how much prettier slie looked when from the poverty aud core of her village home. W inter passed aw ay • spring game, and with it the bright sunshine and brighter tlowers.— But 110 blossom in the broad sunlight wore a brighter, sweeter look than did Emily amidst the little children 011 the Her happv laugh rung amongst the shrubs and fiowers"; her pretty figure might be seen darting along the gravel walks in pursuit*of some recreant little Sharpe; and altogether the widow's daughter scattered so much mirth and happi ness around, and appeared so essential to the domestic welfare, that the great difficulty was to imagine how how they had ever contrived to live without her. At h ngth spring waned, and birds and sun ny cloudless skies gave promise of a joyous summer. /lust then, Emily was flung into an ecstacy of delight by the arrival of a cousin and former schoolmate and companion of voung er and better days, who, having learned her new abode, came to renew the old friendship. Hugh was now an artist, and had passed some years in Paris, where, besides his professional education, he had acquired many elegant arts and accomplishments, which were well calcula ted to find favor with one so young and impres sible as Emily. It was not difficult to sec that they were mutually pleased with the renewal of their acquaintance ; she with her simple, happy, winning ways ; he with his gay and polished manners. They parted, resolved to meet again, and often. From that day a new life dawned upon the widow's daughter. Hugh was in allhertho'ts and aspirations. She dreamed of him ; slie thought of him ; she talked about him to the children. He was so finished in dress and manner, and had seen so much of what she had not even heard ; and when Emily con trasted her own simple scant dress with his ample and fashionable garments, a blush of Vexation stole across her face, aud dimmed her blue eyes. Hugh had asked her to accompany him to see some flower-gardens in the neighborhood and enjoy a stroll through the parks ; and as her mistress had given her jiennission, Emily prepared for that delightful evening. She look ed through her scanty wardrobe, to see what she could wear. Had she been less regardful of appearance, had she loved and admired Hugh less, or had her own person been less attrac tive, she might have felt contented with the humble dress and a few simple adornments she possessed. Unhappily, it occurred to her as she looked over her little store of wearing ap parel, that a now ribbon on her bonnet would greatly improve her appearance ; that, in fact, she could scarcely walk out with her cousin, so gaily, and herself wearing such a poor, faded, weather-beaten ribbon as was then on her bon net. 15ut the difficulty lay in obtaining this new ribbon. Her last month's salary, save a few pence kept back for the children, had been sent to her mother, and she should have no further means until the following week. Pondering this in her mind, it occurred to her how easy it would be to obtain what she required at the shop whore her master dealt, in the next street, if asked for in his name : she could pay for tlio ribbon next week, and no one would !>e the wiser. Without allowing herself time to weigh the dishonesty of the act, she put her plan in execution. She was known at the haberdash er's and had no difficulty in obtaining the rib PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY AT TOWANDA, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA., BY E. O'MEARA GOODRICH. " RESARDLESS OF DENUNCIATION FROM ANY QUARTER." bon : so easy did the process seem, that she j Was tempted into taking a new pair of gloves and a handkerchief for the neck to match the ribbon, all of which were charged to the ac-. count of Mr. Sharpe ; whilst Emily left the I shop,thinking only of the happy morrow even ing, fiud the walk with her cousin. That evening came, with a gorgeous sunset and a mellow summer air. They strolled thro' the parks, and passed the most magnificent gardens ; but Emily had beard and seen noth ing but her cousin, who had entertained her with such delightful stories of so many charm ing places and people, that she jwas perfectly amazed and disappointed whetAshe found her self back at the Sharpcs' door, shaking hands, and bidding adieu—her last—to Hugh. He was to set out on the following day for Ger many ; and with many protestations of regard and remembrance, they parted—he 011 his tra vels, aud she on a journey she had but little anticipated. What could Mr. Sharpc want with her in his library next morning early ! Alone, seat ed at his desk, with a more than usual Bir mingham face, he bade her close the door, with a hard metallic echo in his voice that made it sound like a human gong. Flinging on the table the fatal purchases of the day previous— ribbon, gloves and handkerchief—the metal voice inquired when he had given her authori ty to use his name at the haberdasher's and how many more swindling transactions of a like character she had been concerned in. The wrong she had committed, the ofTenec against the law, worked out by her in that thoughtless evil hour, came full, and vividly, and painfully before her, magnified even beyond its proper proportion by her ignorance. Confusion gave place to terror, vague and oppressive ; and sink ing into a chair, she buried her face iu her hands, and gave full vent to her passion iu a flood of tears. Mr. Sharpe, being a very virtuous and re markably upright and good man—in his way— delivered himself of a long oration upon the depravity of human nature as existing iu the lower orders, and upon the great necessity which existed for nipping in the bud every germ of vice and crime amongst the said orders.— He laid some emphasis upon the duty which men at the head of families and of eleVated stations—like himself, for instance—owed to society in general, and to themselves and chil dren in particular ; and although Emily, amidst her tears and terrors, could understand but lit tle of all this harangue, she caught the sound of the words ' felon,' and 'jail,' and 'majestv of the law.' Some people would have been weak enough and silly enough to have seut the weeping girl to her room, with an injunction as to her fu ture conduct, under the impression that justice would gladly have connived at such an arrange ment. But, then, how could the ' majesty of the law ' have been upheld ? How was "out raged society to have been vindicated ? True, we bad forgotten that. The Birmingham mas ter did not, however. His memory, like his wares, was of an enduring kind ; and he did not in this instance forget to stand up for the outraged grades of society against the criminal enormity before him. The children cried a good deal ; Mrs. Sharpc did not know what she should do ; and the ser vants declared it was monstrous, when they learned that poor pretty little Emily had gone off in a cab to a terrible prison, it so hap pened that just at that identical time the ses sions were on, and Mr. Serjeant Kain was in the thick of his very flourishing business, busiiv engaged in upholding the majesty of the law. The widow was not long in making her wav to her poor child's side ; and a sad scene was that of their meeting, even for jailers and such sto ny people to witness. The terrible, dreaded day of trial came.— Euiily was led into court in a state of hysteri cal terror, which Mr. Serjeant Kain, in the fulness of his judicial wisdom, pronounced the very essence of hypocrisy. Her mother remain ed as near to her as she dared, whispering in her ear comfort that she herself scarcely dared to feel. The process of hearing the case was not by any means a tedious one, and might have been quickly despatched, had the bare facts only been gone into. But the learned Serjeant having been just previously defrauded of two noted piek|ockets, whom he had inward ly reckoned on as his particular property, de termined to wreak his disappointed 'majesty' upou the next comer, which, unfortunately, happened to be Eiuilv. There were no witnesses beyond the trades man and the master, and their story was soon told. The prisoner did not deny the aet of obtaining the goods under false pretences— which was the charge—and would have said more, but was too terrified. The foreman of the jury—a mild looking man, no doubt the father of a family—began to observe that the case was scarcely such a one as should have been brought on ; but was cut short and frown ed down by the Serjeant, who, trembling for the safety of justice and the legal majesty aforesaid, proceeded to sum up the evidence— not a very abstruse affair one would suppose. But Mr. Serjeant Kain worked it up so artis tically, judicially, and threw in such a heap of horrors and monstrosities, that the gentlemen of the jury scarcely recognized the case. A Surrey dramatist, or a Whitecliapel tragedian might have 1 arncd a few things from that charge. When people listened to the learned Serjeant's denunciation of serpents, and vipers, ami pests of society, and at the same time cast their eyes upon the youthful form and sorrow ful face of the prisoner at the bar, they must have thought it one of the least-venomous spe cimens of the seqxMit tribe they had ever read or heard of, or seen in picture-books. But Serjeant Kain was not the man to be humbugged by crime, simply because it cried when detected. He knew what the world was made of; and he maintained that it was per fectly shoe-king to see young women of her age, seventeen years or more—the widow shrieked ont, 'scarcely fifteen but Serjeant Kain fr wned her down very indignantly, as though he did not know the prisoner's age much better than her mother, and repeated with emphasis, ' seventeen'—to sec such voung women so liar dened in the practices of vice ; .but the jury would of course do their duty—in fact, they had no choice in the matter, for the creature had confessed her guilt. Amidst the most profound and painful si lence in the court, the futal word 'guilty !' was I pronounced ; but jieople breathed more freely as*the foremau of the jury, with trembling lips t aud moistened eyes, added, ' with a strong re- I commendation to mercy !' Again the court I was hushed, and only the hysterical sobbing of . the prisoner was heard, whilst the Serjeant pro | coeded to pass sentence : " Si.Vmonths impris i oument, with hard labor !" The foreman of the jury groaned and wept like a child ; and there was scarcely a dry eye beyond those of the Birmingham prosecutor and the Birming ham judge, as the prisoner—the convict, was carried fainting from the court. The same evening, the foreman sought the prison in which poor Emily was confined. The governor of the place had fortunately a better heart than the judge, und had seen the nature of the case at a glance. Risking all consequen ces, he had conveyed the young prisoner to his own room ; and when the juryman arrived, he found her surrounded by kind friends and watchful nurses. Early on the following day, the kind jury man posted in a cab to Whitehall, and obtain ed an iustaut interview with the Secretary of State. His lordship had no sooner heard an outline of the case, than he decided what course to adopt. There was no doubt in his mind ; and a " free pardon" was mentioned as a matter of certainty, greatly to the joy of the kind-hearted foreman. He posted back, radiant with genuine de light, and reaching the governor's house, had the pleasure of kissing the poor weeping Emily. He tried to rouse her from her lethargic stu por by whispering the words: "pardon from the Queen !" but, alas ! it came too late. The majesty of the law had been too quick and po tent for the majesty of mercy ; and though the broken-hearted girl rallied for a few minutes, opened her eyes, and pronounced the words : " Mother !—Hugh !" the struggle between life and death was soon over. She was buried in the quiet village church yard : every villager far and near followed the sad procession to the grave, headed by the fore man and others of the jury. Reader, this is no idle fiction, no tale of fan cy. Emily's green resting-place may be seen any day in that country burial-ground. Roses blossom upon her early grave, while the Ser jeant still upholds the stern " Majestv of the Law !" WHY THF.RE is NO RAIN* IS PERU.— In Peru. South America, rain is unknown. The coast of Peru is within the region of perpetual southeast trade winds. Though the Peruvian shores are on the verge of the great South Sea boiler, yet it never rains there. The rea son is plain. The southeast trade winds in the Atlantic ocean first strike the water on the coast of Africa. Travelling to the northwest they blow obliquely across the ocean until they reach the coast of Brazil. By this time they are heavily laden with vapor, which they continue to bear along across tiic continent, depositing it as they go, and supplying with it the sources of the Rio de la Plata and the southern tributaries of the Amazon. Finally they reach the snow capped Andes, ami here is wrung from them the very last particle of moisture that the very low temperature can extract. Reaching the summit they now tum ble down as cool and dry winds on the pacific slopes beyond. Meeting with no evaporating surface, and with no temperature colder than that to which they were subjected on the mountain tops, they reach the ocean before they become charged with fresh vapor, and before, therefore, they have any which the Peruvian climate can extract. Thus we see how the top of the Andes becomes the reser voir from which are supplied the rivers of Chili and Peru.— Maury's Geography of the Sea. ANECDOTE OF NAPOLEON.—A characteristic story is told of Napoleon at Eulaw. In one of the charges thousands were wounded ; at last the serried lines of the French gave way, and retreated by a series of manoeuvres, in one of which, amongst dead and dying, a'surgeon was seen, suddenly called to a General terribly wounded. A large artery was open ; cold and harrasscd, the surgeon kneeled by his patient ; shouts were raised on all sides for him to save himself ; the battalions of the enemv literally rode over him ; the bullets of the opposing ar my whistled in hundreds by his ears ; still he pressed on the artery, aud ultimately saved the life of the young officer. A bitter cold night followed a more frightful day ; the surgeon cronehed the snow in his hand, and applied *t to the wound. Napoleon seeing him next day, took from his breast a diamond star, and plac ed it on that of the young medical officer. A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION. —Two preachers were recently in the same pulpit in Georgia. While one was preaching he happened to say, "When Abraham built the ark." The one behind him strove to correct his blunder by saying out loud, " Abraham irarn't thar " But the speaker pushed on, heedless of the inter ruption, and only took occasion shortly to re peat, still more decidedly, " I say, when Abra ham built the ark" " And I say," cried out the other," Abraham icarn't thar." The preacher was too hard to be beaten down in this way, and addressing the people, exclaimed, with great indignation, " 1 say Abraham was thar or thar ABOUTS 1" teg"* A veritable entry made by the IL S. of a Division of the Sous of Temperance.reads thus : " After gwinc through the yewzel fawms, there was a collcekshin taked up, but not bin' was taked in " te*y~ A false friend is like a shadow upon a dial—it appears in clear weather, but vani shes a- -oou as a cloud appears. Oar Country —The Past and the Future. An Estimate for 1940. The truly extraordinary progress of this country in power, population and resources, is calculated to excite wild and sometimes vision ary speculations as to the future. Our na tional existence is a thing of yesterday, com pared with some of the older nations. ' And yet State after State has grown up, million upon million has been added to our population, and not a year goes by that additional thous ands and tens of thousands are poured in upon us from the Old World. The discovery of steam, and its application to the purposes of navigation and railroad travelling, have given a new impulse to our progress. We are now, by the agency of Atlantic steamers, within the distance of a fortnight, if we measure dis tance by time, of several of the crowded cities of Europe. The emigrant, moreover, may land at one of our Atlantic ports, and by the agency of railroads, pass westward through half a dozen of our States in the course of a few days. Thus the adventurer on the other side of the Atlantic may, before setting out, calculate within a short time, the exact sum that it will be necessary .to expend, and the precise amount of time that will be consumed in transferring his little family to Wisconsin, lowa, Texas, or some other flourishing point of the far West or South. The dangers and the difficulties of the enterprise, which years ago were considered to be almost insurmount able, have in u great measure disappeared.— A vast multitude have already passed the trackless ocean, and written back to their friends in a cheerful and encouraging spirit. Thus it is that one emigrant makes another, and that the tide continues to swell. Who then under these circumstances will venture to read the future't Who will venture to give a picture of this Republic with its teeming millions as it shall appear a hundred years hence ? A hundred years ! What changes may take place within such a period ! How many new States may be carved out of the wilderness and redeemed to civilization ! We some days since saw a paragraph in one of the public journals, announcing that fifteen or twenty years ago, six young men left the neighborhood of Lexington, Ky., to seek their fortunes further west—aud that the whole six would meet together at Washington during the next session of Congress, as representatives of the new States of the Republic. What a commentary upon our progress, our people and our institutions ! Wiiat an inducement to others in like circumstances—the young, the ardent, the energetic and the enthusiastic, to imitate the example, and also to become pio-1 neers, patriots, aud legislators. True, all do not succeed. Many perish by the wavside. Many, unable to wrestle against difficulties incident to new settlements, or to resist the effects of a new climate, sicken and die. But the complexion of the now House of Repre sentatives, if closely analyzed, would, perhaps, form the most eloquent commentary upon tiiis subject that could be given. We are indeed advancing with rapid strides. We are emi nently favored by Providence. But while in the enjoyment of so many national blessings, while ba-kiug in the light of prosj crity, ami dwelling happily in a land that teems with abundance, we should not forget our duties.— Truth, honor, and honesty should form our characteristics. As we* increase in jiower and prosperity, so also should we increase in justice i virtue, and magnanimity. We are working i out the mighty experiment of a people gov-! eruing themselves. We are testing on a grand scale the beauty of republicanism. This world j is looking on. Despotism watches with fear aud trembling, the lovers of liberty with aux-, ions solicitude. When we commit an error, the tyrauts of the earth, who would keep the masses in a state of dependence and serfdom, exult aud point their fingers with scorn.— When we prove false to our mission, the friends of libertv and humanity weep tears of blood, j M ucli has been accomplished, and yet we are i by no means perfect. Liberty ;ometimcs de generates into licentiousness, and a violation of law is sometimes mistaken for freedom.— But we must live and learn. Our sages, pa triots and philosophers must exercise a sleep less vigilance. There are here, as in all other parts of the earth, demagogues, ambitious, vicious and dangerous men, —men who for self, would thrall and trample upon the masses, would sacrifice a world. Let these be watch ed and guarded against, Let us at least strive to improve, not only morally and intellectually but politically. Then and then only will our future be glorious. Then and then only will ; we prove true to the mighty mission that has j been confided to us. But, when we commenced this article, we merely intended to invite atten tion to the Following extract from a late num ber of Hunt's Merchants' Magazine. It furn ishes a startling estimate of the future popu lation of the American Union. " In 1840, the United States had a popu lation of 17.008,966. Allowing its future in crease to be at the rate of 33 1-3 per cent, for each succeeding 10 years, we shall number in 1040, 302.101.041. Past experience war rants us to expect this increase. In 1700 onr ; number was 3,037,827. Supposing it to have 1 increased each decade in the ratio of 13 1-2 ! per cent, it would in 1840 have amounted to j 16,000,250, being more than half a million ' less than our actual number as shown bv the census. With 500.000,000 we should have less than 120 to the square mile for onr whole territory, and but *220 to the square mile for our organized States and Territories. Eng land his 300 to the square raiie. It does not then seem probable that our progressive in crease will be materially checked within the one hundred years under consideration. At the end of that period, Canada will probably number at least 20,000,000. If we suppose the period of our country east and west of the Appalachian and the Rocky n ointains, and between the Gulf of Mexico and Canada, and for the country west of the Rocky mountains. Allowing the o:cgon Territory 10,000,000, there xv ill be left 250,000.000 for that portion the Ameiicnn Ftitcs lying in the basins of the M'.bil\ Mbsi Cppi an I .8t Lawrence.— VOL. XVI. —XO. £6. f to these we add 20,U00,U00 for Canada, we have 270.000,000, as the probable number ihnt will inhabit the North American valley at \he end of one hundred years, commencing in 1840. If we suppose one third, or 00,- 000,000 of this number to reside in the coun try as cultivators and artisans, there will be 180,000,000 1 f. for t lie towns, cuough to people 3GO each . containing' half a million. This does not seem as incredible as that the valley of the Nile, Scarcely twelve mil* broad, should have once, as historians tell us, contained 20,000 cities."— Jiicknrll. MRS. PARTINGTON AT THE CATTLE SHOW.— " This is a very beautiful sight for a per.sou with a refined beastly taste," said Mrs. Par ting at the agricultural show, looking at the big sheep, addressing a tall young man bv her side, lie responded " yes'm." "Is that'a hy draulic ram ?" she asked, with great simpl.ci ty, provoking a smile on the young man's face, and a loud laugh from outsiders, who were at tracted by the black bonnet. The voungmaa informed her that it was a long wooleu sheep, from which very long yarn was spun. "Ah !"' said she ; "you are very kind; but can you ted me if the pope has sent any of his bulls over here to this show !" " No," said he, smiling tremendously, " but among the swine is a de scendant of the great Boanerges." Neither Mrs. Partington nor any one near knew what he meant, but he laughed loudly, and those outside laughed louder than he, much to his satisfaction. They laughed even louder when he found swinging from his button behind, a tag bearing the inscription : " Vermont Boy," with age and weight given, but he didn't. And Ike was looking so innocently all the while, trying to make the ram sneeze by tickling his nose with a straw ! — Boston Post. ENEMIES.—A man who has no enemies L seldom good for anything. He is made of that kind of material, of which is so easiiv worked that every one tries a hand at it. A sterling character—one who speaks for himself and speaks what he thinks—is always sure to have enemies. They are as necessarv to him as fresh air. They keep him alive and active. A cele brated person, who was surrounded by enemies, used to say : " They are sparks, which, if yoa do do not blow them, go out of themselves." Let this be your feeling while endeavoring to live down the scandal of those who are bitter against you. If you stop to dispute, vou do but as they desire, and open the way for mom abuse. Let the poor fellows talk. There will be a re-action, if you do but perform vourduty, and hundreds who were once alienated from you will fioek to you and acknowledge their error. (toon.—Paddy M'Shane was annoyed ex ceedingly by a strange dog. On a cold win ter night, the wind cutting like a knife, after the dog had been turned out of doors no less than three times, Pat was awakened by a ra ther expensive fracture of the glass. The dog was in the house again. Paddy waited upon him out, and both wore absent some fifteen mi nutes, so that his old woman becoming alarm ed at such prolonged absence, rose and went to the window. " What are yecs doing out there, Paddy acushla ?" said she. There was such a clattering of teeth that the answer was for some time somewhat unin telligible, at last it came : " I am trying to fraze the divilish baste to death." feaT It has been observed with much sig nificance, that every morning we enter upon a new day, carrying still an unknown future in its bosom. How pregnant and stirring the reflection 1 Thoughts may he born to day which may never die 1 Feelings may be awa kened to-day which may never be extinguish ed ! Hope-may be excited to-day which may never expire ! Acts may be performed to-day the consequences of which may not be realized until eternity ! These are sublime and solemn thoughts worthy of being deeply impressed on every mind. PRICES OF WHEAT SPROUTING IN THE WEST. —We met, on Wednesday, a very industrious, worthy, ami usually entirely sober man, who by some strange chance was at that time con siderably the worse for liquor. lie addressed ns, and explained his situation. "Last har vest," said he, "I thought my wheat was—hie spoiled, d'ye sec, because 'twas sp-proutcd, but come to seil it, I find that the p-price has sprouted too—a d sight more than tho wheat—see here"—and he held out some £l2OO which he had just received for his crop. Pet roil Advertiser, At, v. 10. A PHRENOLOGIST POSED. — An itinerant phre nologist stopped at a rustic farm house, the proprietor of which was busily engaged in threshing. " Sir. I am a phrenologist. Would you like to have me examine the heads of your children ? I will do it cheap." " Wall," said the farmer, pausing between two strokes. ' I rayther guess they don't need it. 'Theold woman combs in irith a fine tooth comb once a tree.': /" True knowledge eniarges the dominion of truth and happiness. ]> ings without knowledge are as men walking in the dark. How many of the follies of mankind appear to ns ludicrous and grotesque, only because know ledge has shed around about us a light, alto gether unknown to the actors of the farce. J6FEr Were prosperity always to shine on in, what a wandering star would man become ! It is sometimes good for us to be afflicted. No man, perhaps, can bear with humility a continual course of prosperity. WANTED. —A good, strong, adhesive plaster, to make 1 usy-bodies stick to their own business. Anger may continue with you for an 1 our, but it ought not to repose with you for a u rht.