01; DM Pel ANNUM, INVARIABLY IN ADVANCE. TOWANDA: Satnrfcan flljntinn, fUarcl) 22. ISofj. YES, WE MISS THEE AT HOME. y e a, we n:i-s thee at home: yes, we miss thee ; The hours sfliito slowly away, With fond dreams of thee, as thou roamcst, And weary regrets at thy stay. The fire->ii!c circle is broken, H- me pleasures are mingled with pain. As orer the past, we still linger, And long Dr thy presence again. Ye 3, we miss thee at lmmc, r.nd how lonely Tue evening-, that onec were so gay ; Tit m'i#ic has lost half its gladness— The melody gone from the lay. ihwh heart still remembers the absent, J - with thee, in joy and in enre, Jn, ->-irit. we wander to meet thee— [a spirit thy pilgrimage share. Y< we miss thee at home ; yes, we miss thee, At morning, at noon, and at night; At m ruing, we waft thee a blessing ; At evening, a tender good-night. And, oh! in thy wanderings far distant, Though joyous where'er tlion dost roam, Doth uot memory recall scenes of pleasure And dreams of the loved ones at home. Jit let hi Cult. ill-ATIiICE LANCASTER DY MIRIAM F. HAMILTON". CHATTER I. It V.T.S late in the afternoon. A long row of irirls and boys stood in a regular line be ;■ their teacher, in the little red sehoolhou.se, r„ . i tr their spelling lesson, while the remain uerof the pupils fidgeted in their seats, piled and re-piled tlair books on their desks, and cast r--tlcss, eager glances out at the open and then at the teacher's face, for it was • ;,:!v time for dismissal, and, weary of a long afternoon's confinement, the children could •:-ir.i!v wait for the tinkle of the bell—thesig *ii'-ir release. At last the spelling-class • : t'.-ir seats, the bell sounded, and instant 'nere was a scene of confusion—boys rush edoofu f of tim door, and gave vent to their : -T;t-iip spirits in whoops, yells and somersets ; id girls more quietly, but not less gaily, ran it into the open air. Soon merry voices died aw a v in the distance, and the teacher was left a! ■in that just now crowded school-room. She wn-- a young and striking-looking girl. Her form was erect, her step stately, and her • i'.'os, though irregular, were pleasing ; her abundant raven hair was wound in a sort of c canal around her head, in a singular but • ■ unlu'coining fashion ; her complexion was a clear olive, and her mouth firm in it" expres - MI. almost unpleasantly so when closed, but when -h ■ sniil-'d she was positively beautiful ; • '-a lx r whole countenance chauged ; her large. (L>ry eyes grew -oft and tender, and the [•ride and hauteur that spoke in her every lin eament, marring her otherwise almost perfect beauty, disapj 'aired. Just n>w on of those beaming smiles light "d no her countenance : site stood bv her desk, in her n-::al erect position, holding a note, yet unopened, in her hand. It had been brought t" ti." -ehool-room during the session, and now ' at -dm was alone, she prepared to read it.— -"cnu'd in no haste to break the seal. She -i at the bold firm hand-writing, and press "l it to her lips ; then, slowly unfolding it, sae read: i umetirno past, Beatrice, I have been d'l'f- . vou have observed it, and to your in- T', ri'-> as to its cause, I have given false and ■ vp replies, but I can deceive myself and pi no longer. 1 sought you last night with the determination to lull you all, but 1 could "•' at r the words that would, I felt, give ton so much pain. But I must do it. What try tongue refused to tell, I must intrust my P'n. I* is useless to hesitate: the sooner all "knoiv-i the better for us both. Beatrice, I •■•■•'■ at I have mistaken the nature of my rigs towards you As (rod is my witness, n \v-wi re betrothed I thought I loved 1 ' ! I still appreciate your rare loveliness, ' " r <til!, yonr many excellencies of mind i boart : hut our affections are beyond our : and. much as there is admirable about 1 n > longer love yon. At first I deter never to acquaint you with the change : iibim 11. but I shrank from a lifetime •veit. 1 could not at the altar perjure '''•' ! .'• taking those solemn vows, and I • " •v. too. that you would spurn the ottered 1!ll l w.diout the heart accompanied it. I i •, ry wrong in hastily entering upon •'"('Bwajr, ment without a proper knowledge L.i feelings towards you. I was ' ■•r::iP(i hv your beauty, dazzled by your wit, "'"acted by your virtue ; I mistook the " loi emotions I felt for love. But it is ""■ r h>r nie lo acknowledge my fault, than "'iiait a sin iu leading you lo the altar !v 'mart is another's. Forgive me and - t me. Farewell, and may you soon find more worthy of your love than your you will still allow me to claim that Loir? MEREDITH." rv particle of color forsook Beatrice's •s- us dip read—her lips were white, her to-milled so violently she could scarcely ■l'tter, a death-like faintness stole : " and she sank into a chair and buried r • 1,- e in her hands. 1 n tnr. not a moan escaped her • she " re ''l silence, motionless as a statue, liut !) e rt w "at a whirlwind of emotions was A ; Ibiw long she sat there she hardly f • when at last she looked up. the twi £'' ,la ''vppening, and she rose with a start •"r seal j i cr countenance bore the tra '• ! 'T suffering— looked haggard and >:.r' those few hours had chang •'l 'by, but her eves flashed with n 1 their usual fire, and her lips were firmly com pressed together. She drew herself up proud ly, as if she despised herself for her weakness, crushed the letter, which had fallen from her trembling finger", contemptuously under her foot, ami then picked it up with a look of dis gust, as if it had been some loathsome thing, and putting on her hot and shawl, she walked out of the room. She went rapidly on till she readied a low, white cottage ; she entered it, und passed quickly through the little sitting-room to her own apartment. Here she took from an in luid box a package of letters, and adding that she had last received to the number, she hasti ly collected every memento, however trifling, which had beeu the gilt of Louis Meredith, and placed thorn securely together in readiness to return to him. Then carefully arranging her toilet, she returned to the sitting-room An old lady dressed with scrupulous nicety, was its ouly occupant ; she was quieTv knit ting. The table was spread for the evening's meal, and she had evidently been waiting i'or her daughter's return. "You are late to night, Beatrice," she said, " but I suppose Louis came for you to go to walk. It is so foolish to take such unreasona ble hours for his walks. Tea has beeu waiting this half-hour." " I am sorry to have kept you waiting, mother," returned her daughter's silvery voice; " but those long walks will trouble you no lon ger. Louis Meredith and I are parted forev or ** The old lady dropped her knitting work in her lap, and looked at her daughter in aston ishment ; at length she spoke : " Oh, 1 see ; a lover's quarrel. But you will make it up in a nay or two, and be all the happier for it. Well, well—better disagree before than after marriage." " Mother," said Beatrice, " listen to me. I shall never marry Louis Meredith. .Nothing on earth could induce me lo do so. As I said we are parted forever; and now let me beg you never agaiu mention his name to me ; let the subject never again be alluded to between us ;—let all be as if we had never known him." Her voice softened. " You will not be sorry, mother dear, 10 have your Beatrice again all your own ?" And she took her parent's shriv eled hand fondlv between her own. Mrs. Lancaster was touched by this expres sion of tenderness ; for Beatrice, though a most devoted daughter, in fact the only sup port of her poor and widowed mother, rarely inade any demonstration of her attachment, and this caress, slight as it was, filled the mother's heart with joy. She drew her child to her side, and kissed'her tenderly, but Bea trice escaped from her embrace, and saying cheerfully, " Are we never going to have sup per ?" led the way to the table. She talked gaily during the meal, and, though she ate little, succeeded in withdrawing her mother's attention from her want of appetite Not the most watchful eye could have de tected a shade of sadness in her face or man ner that evening ; indeed, she wns gayer than usual. No wonder that her mother—good, unobservant soul—believed that she was hap py in her release from the tie that had bound her. A few evenings had passed, and Beatrice stood in the little sitting-room, dressed for a party. Never had she looked more beautiful than now, in her simple white dress, with its crimson ribbons, and a red rose-bud in her hair. Mrs. Lancaster looked at her in admiration ; nor was she alone in her appreciation of her child's loveliness. .She was the belle of the evening at -Nlrdt Mercer's, and not even the youthful heiress, in honor of whom the party had been made, and to whom Louis Meredith was said to be affi anced, could divide the honors of be lie-ship with her. It hail been well known throughout the village that Beatrice and Louis had beeu en gaged, and the fact of their separation was equally well understood ; bnt, though she was narrowly watched, no look or gesture betrayed that she had beeu moved by the sundering of the tie. She was surrounded by admirers ; she had a smile for this one, a command for a second, and merry words for others ; and, as if attracted by some irresistible charm, Louis Meredith hoveici near her—even when talking with his affianced bride, Therese Benedict, lie heard every word that fell from Beatrice's lips, and saw her every motion. His eyes flashed angrily as he saw her smil ingly receiving the attentions off'-red her, and contrasted her mariner towards all with the careless "Good evening" with which she met him ; her cheek had not flushed at his greet ing, her hand had not trembled in his grasp, and he wns piqued by h< r evident indifference; he was jealous, too, and almost gnashed his teeth with rage when he saw her apparently listening with the deepest attention lo the half whispered words of Ralph Mercer, the only son of their host—the wealthiest man in the village. Louis looked at Beatrice, and then at The rese—the one a poor village school belcher, and the other the wealthy daughter of a dis tinguished lawyer —ami he conld but acknowl edge how far superior, in beauty, grace and talent, was the humble teacher he had discard ed to his affianced bride. His eyes were opened. He knew that lie still loved Beatrice, and that without her mon ey Therese would have been utterly indifferent to him. He could bear it no longer. He stole as soon as possible, to Beatrice's side, and said a few words ou her coquetry and heartlm-Miess. She turned her 'urge flashing eyes full upon him with a look of contempt. " Mr. Meredith forgets himself," she replied, coldly ; " liis opinion is utterly indifferent to me. What right has he to criticise my con duct ?" She waved her hand in token of dismissal ; and he left her, with a strange mixture of love and anger in his heart as he saw her again— j the centre of a circle of admirers —full of life ; and animation. Tiia hours flew rapidly, and | when at Ia t the gay < ompany departed, f.ou.s PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY AT TOIVANDA, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA.. BY E. O'MEARA GOODRICH. saw, with bitter jealousy, that Ralph Mercer was the devoted attendant of his discarded Beatrice ; and lie sought his home, aogry with himself and the world. The excitement of the evening was over, and alone in her chamber Beatrice thought of all that had passed. She had triumphed ; but alas ! what an aeiiing heart had been hidden under that gav exterior ! She had loved Louis Meredith with ail the ardor of her passionate, but reserved, nature, I ft "d not so easily could she thrust him from her heart, 'ihe struggle to appear happy to deceive all about her ' with a show of indiifl'er j euoe, was too much lor her. She louged to be j away, and right gladly she accepted a lucra tive offer to take charge of a school in the large town of Mont ford, where she might escape the sight of Louis, the reports of his approaching marriage, and the Argus eyes of . a whole village. Mrs. Lancaster made no objections to the proposed removal, and ere long Beatrice and her mother left Langdon forever. CHAPTER 11. Is Mr. Irving in ?" asked a young man, evidently a stranger, entering the large estab- i lishment of Messrs. Irving <k Co., the most sue-1 epssful of the many successful merchants in Montford. " lie is, sir," was the reply of the clerk ad dressed. " Step this way, sir, and I will show you to the counting-room." [ Treading his way through boxes and bales i of goods, the gentleman followed his guide,and was ushered into the room Mr. Irvincr was seated at his desk, busily en gaged in writing, lie looked up as the boy approached him, and seeing the stranger, ex claimed : " Ah, Meredith, how are you ? Take a seat and I will be ut your service in a few mo ments." He turned again to his desk, and rapidlv sealing the letter he had been writing, gave that, with several others, to the boy in wait ing, and then turned to the new comer. He looked at him searchingly ; then, bursting into a fit of laughter, exclaimed, " What's the mat ter now ? Have you lost your last friend, or have you got a heavy note* fulling due, and no thing to meet it, hey ?" Meredith shook his head. " Only my old complaint," he said ; " a touch of the" blue devils, und so I dropped in here to see if you couldn't exorcise them as usual. You are al ways so happy, notwithstanding you are so busv." " Notarithstanding /" interrupted Irving.— " Because I'm so busy, you might say, and come nearer the truth. Take my advice ; go to work yourself, and I'll wager you'll be no more troubled with the blues than I am." '• The remedy is worse than the disease," said Meredith. " Why should I care to make mo ney ? You know very well tht my poor The me left me more than I know what to do with. I am much obliged for your prescription, but must dccliue following it." \\ ell, I won't get offended, like most friends, if you won't take my advice, but I'll prescribe again. This is Mrs. Bigelow's re ception eveuing ; go with me there, and I'll promise a release Irom your blue tormentors for one evening at least." " A party 1" exclaimed Louis, shrugging his shoulders. " That's worse and worse 1" "It is n't like an ordinary party," persisted his friend, " where you go to be stifled in a crowd, and eruui yourself with delicacies. It is an unceremonious assemblage of agreeable people, drawn together by a desire to meet each other in part, but I must confess the most powerful magnet is Bigelows's nieec—the love liest creature you ever beheld." " A belle !" sneered Meredith ; " I detest the whole tribes of empty-headed coquettes." " It's plain you haven't seen the belle of Montford," rejoined lrviug. " You've read Bianca, haven't von " Yes, I have, and it surely was a glorious work." " VTell, our belle wrote that." " Indeed !" said Meredith, with a start, and a look of animation that made his fine but im passive features doubly beautiful ; then relaps ing into his old manner, he said, " A belle ! From all ink-bedaubed dames, good Lord, de liver us I" " I see you are determined not to be pleas ed with anything," said his companion. "But I'll defy von to resist, our belle and blue, if you but see her. Will you go to the party or not? Say yes or no, Louis, for J must dismiss you rather unceremoniously, as I have a business engagement at four, and it lacks only a quar ter of that hour." " Yes, then," yawned Louis, as he slowly sauntered off. Mrs. Bigelow's splendid parlors were a blaze of light as the two gentlemen entered, that evening, and paid their respects to their host ess. At a little distance from her stood a young and queenly-looking girl, talking gaily with a knot of gentlemen ; she was richly at tired, and her robe of rose colored silk contras ted well with her clear olive complexion. She did not observe the new comers till they had joined the group around her ; then, with easy elegance, she welcomed Mr. Irving, and bowed with much grace to Mr. Meredith on his intro duction to Miss Lancaster. For once Louis Meredith was startled out of his usunal apathy. " Beatrice," trembled on his lips ; for it was she,more lovely, if pos sible, than when he had seen her five years be fore. Could it be that she was the author of that wonderful book that had thrilled the hearts of a nation ? He could hardly believe the evidence of his own senses, and, bewilder ed by his emotions, he stood almost speechless for "several moments. Then recovering him self, he was again the polished man of the world. Beatrice, neither by word nor look betrayed her recollection of him, and he did uot ven ture to recall the past. She treated him with easy politeness, and hd half vexed at the pow er she had over him, yet unable to resist her fascination.", war, as constant an attendant " REGARDLESS OF DENUNCIATION FROM ANT QUARTER." upon her as her shadow during the whole even ing. His friends rallied him on his surrender to the belle and the blue, und Louis said but lit tle in reply ; but from that time he was a con stant visitor ut Mrs. Bigelow's, where Beatrice, since the death of her mother, had resided.— With Mrs. Bigelow he soon became a favorite, but Beatrice, though studiously polite, was equally cold ; yet, notwithstanding all her cold ness, Louis was more madly in love with her than ever. Week after week lie lingered in Montford, and at every opportunity lie was at her aide. She appeared utterly unconscious of his devo tion, ami by her manner, effectually prevent ed his uttering nuy expressions of affection.— He longed to, yet dared not, learn his fate, and in alternations of hope and fear passed his time. At last, he could not bear it any longer; he resolved to know the worst, and vvent one af ternoon lo see her, with the determination to offer his hand and heart. Fortune favored him ; she was alone in the library, and he was shown there at once. She was sitting with her head a little turned aside, as he entered,but lie saw the blood rush to her cheeks and her eyes sparkle, as he half started forward to meet him ; then resuming her olden stately manner, she received him with dignity, and sank into her seat. Ho had seen and "hoped much from her emotion. " Beatrice !" he exclaimed, unable to restrain himself, " thank God, I see you once more alone. How I have longed for this opportu nity. Nav, Beatrice," he said, as she was about to speak, " you must hear me. I love you with my whole heart and soul—with a love snch a no other can offer you. Will you be mine ?" She looked at him coldlv. Mr. Meredith has, doubtless, been misin formed," she said ; " my uucle is wealthy, but I am not his heiress." " Cruel as your words are, I deserve them," lie said, " for my dastardly conduct long ago. But hear me : 1 was young, proud and poor ; daily stung by inv poverty—cramped by it. struggling vaiuh; to overcome the obstacles it placed in my way. Just then my evil genius threw Therese in my path. Her evident par tiality for rm* flattered me, her wealth dazzled me, and iu an unlucky moment, I yielded to temptation, and secured her but lost you. No sooner was it done than I regretted it. Even then had you treated ine less proudly, less con temptuously, I would have resigned her and claimed you ; but I felt you would have none of me, and blindly I was led on to a marriage without love. I never ceased to love you, Beatrice ; even when my wife's arms were twined round ine, and her voice whispering tender words in my ear, your form would glide between us, and I cursed the fate that hod ta ken you from me. But yet I was a kind hus band to Therese—so she and all the world said. I paid her all the attention due her. I gave her all but my heart, and that was always votirs. " At last she died, and left me all her wealth. I was free, and instantly my heart turned to you. I then sought for you everywhere, and at last I have found von. " God lie praised that yon are poor, so that I may prove my disinterested attachment to you. 1 offer you my heart, hand and fortune. I offer you a love that has increased in fer vor every vear. Be mine, mv Beatrice—mv wife." lie took her hand as he spoke ; she with drew it instantly. " Louis Meredith," she said, " I give you credit for rare candor. Few would confess that they sold themselves for money—but how dare you offer nie the wages of your shame Her eyes flashed lire ! ' Never, sir, would I be come the wife of a dastard, such as you declar ed yourself ; vou have vour answer." She turned to leave the room, but he pre vented her. " Beatrice," he said, I know yoti well ! I forgive you your cruel words, for it is your pride forbade you to show any regret at. our separation. In your heart of hearts you love me even now, when with bitter words iu your pride you send me from yon. Your eyes spar kled at mv coming, Beatrice ; your heart plead for ine when your resolute will stilled its voice. Oh ! do not, my Beatrice, for such a hollow triumph, prepare a lifetime of misery for your self and me." She drew up her tall figure to its full height. " Yes, Louis Meredith, I did love you once," she said, " though 1 blush to own it ; I loved you for what i thought you were—a noble and true man. It was the ideal, not the real man that 1 loved. Thanks to you, yon opeued my eyes—long since I ceased to love YOU. And vou could flatter yourself that von had power to move me ! No, sir, your coining could nei ther bring the blood to my cheek, quicken im pulses, or make mv heart beat. I did start at your entrance, but it was because I expected momentarily the entrance of him whom I do love with my whole heart—-my affianced hus band—whose step 1 hear even now approach ing. Remain, if you choose, and I will show you a MAN, siicii us you must become ere you win the heart of a true woman. Forgive, ine, if 1 have been too harsh, but learn this lesson, that lie who sells himself for money, sinks be low the level of a man. and forfeits all claims to be treated as such." Without a word Louis Meredith bowed and withdrew, a sadder if not a wiser man, ns the betrothed of Beatrice entered the apartment. A few weeks later, in those spacious parlors, surrounded by her friends, Beatrice.gave her hand where she had long since gave her heart. Never had she looked so lovely as now, when, with a holy confidence, she intrusted her hap piness to the keeping of the man of her choice, and never during a long life of mingled pros perity and adversity did she have occasion to regret It. Their love was founded on a rock,and though " the rain descended, auk the floods came, and the winds blew, it fell not," for it rested on the sure foundation of trunt in each other and in God. An Arkansas Legislator. A member elect of the lower chamber of the Legislature of Arkansas, was persuaded by some wags iu the neighborhood, that if he did not reach the Slate House at ten o'clock on the day of assembling, he could not be sworn, and would lose his seat. He immediately mounted, with hunting frock, rifle and bowie knife, and spurred till he got to the capitol, where he hitched his nag. A crowd was in the chamber of the lower House, on the ground ttoor, walking about, with their huts on, and smoking segars. These he passed, ran up stairs into the Seuate Chamber, set his rille against the wall, and bawled out : " Strangers, whar's the man that swars me in ?" at the same time taking out his creden tials. " Walk this way," said the clerk, who was at the moment ingnitiuga Principe, and he was sworn without inquiry. When the teller came to count noses, he found there was one Senator too many present. The mistake was soon discovered,' and the huntsman w as informed that he did not belong there. " Fool who, with your corn bread ?" he roar ed ; " you can't flunk this child, no how you can fix it—l'm elected to this 'ere Legislator', and I'll go agin all banks and eternul improve ments, und if there's any of your oratory gen tlemen wants to get skinned, just say the word, and I'M light upon you like a uigger ou a wood chuck. My constituents sent me here, and if you want to floor this two-legged animal, hop on just as soon as like, for though I'm from the back country, I'm a little smarter than any quadruped you can turn out of this 'ere drove !" After this admirable harangue, he put Lis bowie knife between his teeth and took np his rille with, " Gome here, old Sake ! stand by me !" at the same time pointing to the Chair man, who, however, had seen such people be fore. After some expostulation, the man was persuaded that he belonged to the lower cham ber, upon which he sheathed his knife, flung his gnu on his shoulder, and with a profound arngte, remarked—" Gentlemen, I beg your pardon : but if I did n't think that lower room was a groggery, may I be shot !" FOOT-PRINTS OF REPTILES IN THE COAL STRA TA or PENNSYLVANIA. —At the October meet ing of the Boston Society of Natural History, Professor Wyiuan read an article on the foot priuts recently discovered in the coal strata of Pennsylvania. The Boston Traveler says : " Prof. Jefferies Wyman read a part of a memoir on the foot-prints discovered by Prof. Henry D. Rogers in the Carboniferous Stra ta of Pennsylvania. (Vide proceedings of the meeting of April 4th, 1855.) He gave on an analysis of the anatomical characters by which reptiles and fishes are distinguished from each other, and attempted to demoustrate that, although there arc but few characters which taken by themselves, are of absolute value, yet w hen the combinations of characters which ex ist in any given instance, are considered, there can be but little room for doubt, as to the true Zoological affinities. There exist no known forms of recent or os sil reptiles orTishes which, where all their os teological details are known, cannot be refer red unequivocally to one of these classes. A comparison of the Ichthyoid Reptiles and Sau roid Fishes shows, that although it is through them that the two classes approach nearest to each other, yet there nre no forms so com pletely intermediate as to bridge over the space that separates them. He made comparisons between the form and structure of reptiles and the tins of fishes, allow ing that although they resemble each other as regards their functions, yet morphologically, they are always distinct. There is no knowu fish, recent or fossil, the pectoral or rental fins of which could produce a series of tracks like those discovered in the coal strata of Pennsyl vania bv Mr. Lea and Professor Rogers. Although among Lophoid fishes the pectoral fins are used for locomotion on the shores, yet they in every instance conform to the fish type —are fins and not feet. An analogous con dition of things is fouud among cetacean and marine saurian*, where the limbs serve the par pose of paddles, and may be compared to tins, yet morphologically they can be referred only to tue mammalian or reptalian types. Prof. YVyuian therefore thought that, in the present state of knowledge, there was no ground for denying that all the quadruped tracks found in the cua! formations were made by reptiles." A IV.crsn ILLUSTRATION. —A country girl, several of whose sisters had married badly was about, herself, to take the noose. " How dare you to get married," asked a cousin of hers, " after having before you the unfortunate example of your sisters ?" " A fudge for the example of niv sisters," exclaimed the girl, with spirit—" I choose to make trial myself. Did you ever see a parcel of pigs running to a trough of hot swill ? The first one sticks in his nose, gets it scalded, and then draws back and squeals. The second burns his nose, and stands squealing in the same manner. The third follows suit, and he squeals too. But still it makes no difference with tiiose behind. They never take warning of tiiose before ; but all, in turn, thrust in their noses, just ns if tiie first hadn't got burnt or squealed at all. So it is with girls in regard to matrimony—and now, cousin, I hope you're satisfied." IdT" An Eastern Editor announces the death of a lady of his acquaintance, and tonchingly adds—" In her decease the sick have lost.an invaluable friend. Long will she seem to stand at their bedside, as she was won*, with the balm of consolation in one hand and a cup of rhubarb in the other." Hoops look well on beer barrels, but when worn around the persons of beautiful girls we can't say we like them. If the dear creatures contemplate bursting, it is right, utherwi, o the fashion ir .a hollow one. VOI,. xvr.—NO. 41. " Jesus Wept." Among tlio lovely traits exhibited in the character of Jesus Christ, none shine forth in greater splendor, than his sympathy for suffer ing humanity. In his pilgrimage here on earth, he frequently came in contact with objerts in distress, which touched his heart with feelings of compassion. Uehold him approach the tomb where his friend Lazarus was laid, and as he hears the lamentations of the bereaved relatives and weeping friends, "He groaned in the spirit, and was troubled." And as he hears them mourning as those who " would not be eom fortcd," his heart was made full to overflow ing, and l.is tears mingled with those around him. " Jesus ll r ept " Here wo have a striking illustration of "Got! manifested in the flesh." He was susceptible of being " touched with the feelings of our in firmities," and his yearning soul flowed out in sacred tears for the suffering and distressed. Is it any wonder those who gazed upon the affecting scene, cried out, " Behold how ho lored him." Although the stoical philosopher mighf dare pronounce it ueakness in the Son of God to weep ; yet the compassionate Jesus thought it not a shame to suffer his benevo lent heart to be touched by feelings of pitv, and give vent to his pent-up sorrow, by a gush ing of tears. And this is the affection he bears all his friends on earth. Although their hearts mav be wrung by bitter anguish ; yet there is one dear friend, who shares their grief, and com miserates their suffering. Have you experienced the loss of friends? Has death entered the domestic circle, and claimed some loved object for his own ! nave you felt your heart-strings snapping asunder, as the dear idol of your heart hits been torn away by the griin destroyer? Have you wept, and do you still weep for the departed ! Then indeed you are acquainted with grief, and you have tasted the " wormwood and the gall" of life's fluctuating water. But amid this general desolation of thy soul, suffer ono reflection to quell the raging billows of thy troubled heart—Jesus, there above is thy friend, he looks down in tender compassion upon thy distress, and feels deep solicitude in all thy trials. Dry up thy tears thou child of sorrow, for Jesus has gone to prepare a place for thee.— Soon shalt thou quit this " low ground of sin and sorrow," to reign with him above. There shall he " wipe away all tears from thine eyes, and there shall no more death, neither sorrow nor crying." There shall you bask in the smiles of thy llecdecmer, and enjoy Heaven's uusullicd bliss, for ever and ever. ECONOMY OF Feci,.—A correspondent of the Philadelphia Ledger gives some account of a simple apparatus for wanning houses, lately set up in New York on the premises of Mr. Ileeker, which, if correct, throws grates, stores, furnaces, &c, into the shade. The writer says : lie now warms his whole prem ises, consisting of a block of three houses, with out-houses ami stables, nt a weekly expense for coal of three dollars and fifty cents, therebv warming the whole with hot vapor, produced from two barrels of water, which lasts a week. The same v\hen arrived at its highest eleva tion, is there conlcnsed and returns again as water to the small reservoir below where it. again forms vapor, to ascend for the warming process. The same premises before cost sixty dollars per week, for the necessary quantities of coal then consumed. The new apparatus costs but little, and is capable of being set up in ull dwelling houses, and manufactories, &c. The proprietor is quite free to exhibit and ex plain his great improvement, to all persons who desire to visit and see its operation, &<\ It produces a very pleasant and healthful heat. DO\'r TIC DISCOURAGED. —Tt is N fine remark of Fenelon, " B<ar with yourself in correcting fau is as you wo ild with others.' 1 We can not do all at once. But by constant pruning away of little faults, and cultivating humble virtues, we shall grow towards perfection. This sim ple rule—not to be discouraged at slow pro gress, but to persevere, overcoming evil habits one by one, Mich as sloth, negligence, or bad temper ; and adding one excellence after an other—to fath, virtue ; and to virtue, know ledge ; and to knowledge, temperance ; and to temperance, patience ; and to patience, godli ness ; and to godliness, brotherly kindness ; awl to brotherly kindness, charity—will con duct the slowest Christiau at last to high reli gious attainments. CWUIN'T TEIJ. TIIE DIFFERENCE.—A loafer got hold of a green persimmon which (before they are ripeued by the frost) arc said to bo tlie most bittcry and puckery fruit known.— He took the persiuimou outside the garden and commenced upon it by seizing a generous mouthful of the fruit which appeared to be in a state to frizzle his lips and tongue most pro vokinglv. " How do you like ?" enquired the owner of the garden who had been watching him. The saliva was oozing from the corner of the fellow's month and lie was able only to reply : " ITow do I look, Xabor ? am T wbislin' or singiu'." " Halloo Steward !" exclaimed a fel low in one of the steamboats, after having re tired to bed. '"Here, massa." " lJring me the way-bill." "What for, massa?" "1 want to see if these lied bugs put down their names for this berth before I did ; if not, 1 want 'em turned out." India Rubber Ladders don't answer as well as was supposed. There is a drawback connected with them, yon can climb all day withont getting up auy. what color dose a flogging change a bor 7 It makes him veil O !
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