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 !