w MU .A PER ANN'JM, INVARIABLY IN ADVANCE. TOWANDA: dhirs-htn fltorninn, Noocmbcr 27, 1850. Sflttteh soetrn. THE PRAYERLESS ONE. He ni*v?r priv* ! The God of heaven has watched o'er U hi* step*, and with that careful eye Which never rh-eps. has guarded him from death. \nd ehit'.ded him from danger. Through the honra, The thoughtless hours of youth, a hand unseen H„" guarded all his footsteps o'er all the wild \nJ thorny paths of li e, and led him on ta safety through them all. In later days, Still the same hand ha* ever been his guard Frem dingers seen and unseen. Clouds have lowered \nl tempests oft have burst above his head, itut tlut protecting hand has warded ofT The thunder stroke of death, and still he stands \ monument of mercy. Year* have passed Of varied dangers and of varied guilt, lint still the sheltering wiugs of love have been Outspread in merry o'er him. He hath walked Fpon the beauteous earth for many years. And skies, and stars, aud the magnificence Ofmightv waters and the warning voice That speaks amid the the tempests, and the notes of softer ton that float <>n evening wing*— All tbe( have t< Id him of a God w ho claims The homage of the sout. And he ha* lived And viewed them in their glory as they stood Around him etcn from infancy, * voice That told of merry bending o'er him With looks of angel sweetness—and ol power Resistless in its goings forth—but stayed B\ that seraphic mercy still he stands. Cold and unfeeling as the rock that braves The ocean billows, still—he never prays When evening spreads Her solemn shades around him, and the world brows dim upon his eye. and many stars, S attered in glory o'er the >au!t of heaven, ('!! on the spirit to retire awhile From earth and it- low vanities, and seek The high and h dr intereour-c with God Vouchsafed to mortals here he never prays ! When morning kindles in the eastern sky, With si! its radiant glory, and the *tin ( ernes up in majesty, and o'er the earth Wakes all her active tribe, to busy life, Anil breaks the death-like solitude that reigned Fr< while o'er Nature's face ; wheu oil his eye bartli smiled in beauty 'ueath the lucid ra , And feathered songsters pour their straius of joy Vp. his ear. still nut a note of praise (>r humble prayer arises from his lips. Ho ,i after m-.rn returns in all its swe'-t And peaceful lve|inw, and oft invites His stdrit to com mo ne with God ; but still lis . rns the offer—still— he n ver prays! lit isf 11 [an 10 us. M V LITTLE HOV. CIIAJ'fKK r. 1 WHS l.tit .i cliildisli mother. I had not for gotten the merry laugh of ntv girlhood when flirt In it] my baby on my breast, and I looked lijsui him more as a curious plaything thnn as R human MII giveu into my hands for its earth ly training. lint my husband—ah, he was rr.ive nnd wise enough for Iwjth—mother and child alike My 11 iedmud was many years older than my self. He had known many ti joy and sormvy kmg before I was born—and on the verv dav when my norse was holding me (a helpless, laughing, crowing baby) out to pick the dai sies for my birth-day garland, he was bending tearfully over the grave of one who had made his home happy for years—thewifeof his youth •vmi the mother of his children. Strange that I who had no knowledge of sorrow, was yet 'o dispel his- that he, who had never gazed upm that child's face of mine, was one day to 'Ac its owner to his heart, as the light and joy of his declining years. hong, long before 1 met my husband I had known hiiu well. The name of Arthur Haw thorne was familiar to me from my earliest Yrar*, am] the jtoerns he had written were pre vrrv( J among my choicest treasures. In my <<\rct heart I had the wish and hope to meet , h -;u -ome day. I would steal one look at hi* •"■r it mav i>e, touch the hand that had pen- 1 ml tin >v e beautiful thoughts, and then go away I irn retneinhcr hitn all my life, while lie forgot ' This was my dream !—how different the reality ; " c nut suddenly, unexpectedly, embarrass- j r: . I had looked for a sage—a philoso ' - a man who had outlived the passions of and wii* kind, benevolent alike to all— b';f v.hi-n I raised my eyes to the handsome I 'c. and saw it marked with lines of care and forrnw—when I saw the luxuriant flowing hair, f 'rect ami stately forehead—nnd more than a *iien 1 met the glance of tltose eyes of fcould it be an admiring gaze that rested V'n my girlish face and form ?) my own droop f'. icy heart beat quick, and I stood before - I: timid, blushing, and trembling, like a i ghteticil bird. • *ho had scarcely dreamed of love, won ; ' I. who knew nothing of the great world " l my home, pleased him who had seen ' nrest women ! I, who had no lienuty, no k >l| \ no talent, won him who had all, and *° !i him, too, from u throng who were far k' or " worthy. And yet—were they? They "v lovely—they were wealthy and" fashiona it they had grown cold and hard in a h> a ! l | , rentici ship to fashion—and I gave " a Icart that was as fresh and pure as the * tibtain daisies I had loved so w ell. They ■ have given him the love they could not their diamonds and equipages—l j'") f 11111 all ! To them he would have been ' Sn ~~to me he was a god ! Did not my ' t lave, mv faith, and trust, and sincerity, • *'>:\: their more glittering tpinlities ? JYr t'u'h 1 ami here to-day, when tin* •j" nave made me older, and the world has '' me wiser, 1 believe it from mv very *art \ • J .A' r , " > " 10 was a little paradise, close leside t ' v '—n Miiuil, low roofed, brow r. cottage, i rusti, | M ,|- ( |, latticed window* over "" T cliuibing ROSE* The low murmur THE BRADFORD REPORTER. of the ocean soothed ne into a happy sleep each night—the sweet song of the swallow waked me to a happy day each morning. And here, in the pleasant summer time, my blue-eyed boy was born, and my cup of joy was full to running over. My boy, like nil other mother's boys, was beautiful. And yet his loveliness made my heart ache. So frail, so fair I His colorless, waxen cheek, his slender form, and large and melancholy blue eyes, filled rue with a thou sand fears. How often hate 1 bent above him as he laid upon my lap, and prayed with all a mother's earnestness that his life might be spared. It was a foolish prayer—an unwise one—but then I eonld not see it 1 My very life seemed wrapped up'in that of my babe. With him by me every day I could not see him fading, and the moaning sea could tell no tales. But now and then a shadow came over his father's brow as he watched us, that not even my kisses could quite drive away. I thought hiin growing stern and cold ; but, oh, I wronged him ! Never had he loved us both so tenderly before ! Weeks passed on. My baby's eyes looked intelligently into mine, and the little rosy lips smiled whenever I came near. But still those little lisping utterances that thrill the heart so deeply were silent, and all my loving lessons fell on an unheeding ear. The shadow on Arthur's face grew deeper as he watched my unceasing efforts. At last the blow came. I had been sitting in the doorway with little Ernest in my arms, trying to teach him to say " papa." His large blue eyes were fixed upon me with a wistful expression, but still the lips were inute, and vexed aud disnp |K>inted, I heaved a deep sigh, and laid him back to his little cradle. Something in the look my husband gave me startled me. I went bes'de hiiu, and putting my arms around his neck : " What is it, Arthur?" I cried. " God help you to bear it, Mary !" he an swered, solemnly, " Our child is dumb !" CHAPTER It. Dumb ! Could it be possible ? What had 1 done that so deep a sorrow should lie sent to chasten me ? Other mothers might hear their children's voices calling them, but mine would be forever silent ! Forever ! It was so b>ng a word ! Had it been for weeks, or months, or even years, I would have liorne it ; but to know that it could never be—that through childhood, youth and manhood, he could never speak my iiame—oh, it was too much to bear ! Autumn and winter (Missed away, aud my baby and I threw spring daisies at each other on the lawn before tbe cottage, while Arthur looked on, smilingly, from his study window. I had not grown reconciled to the great mis fortune-—only accustomed to it—and the mute kisses of my child were almost as dear to me as his spoken words could have been. It was a strange ta.sk to teach that soul how to expand its wings. It was strange to learu the child his little evening prayer by sight— and yet, as he clasped his small hands, and raised his sweet blue eyes to Heaven, 1 often wondered if any labored supplication could have gone more quickly to the Throne of Grace. It was strange to see him sit silently above his playthings, to hear s.o sound from him except the plaintive, half stifled cry he uttered w hen in paiu—to feel those delicate hands clasping mine when something new had puzzled him— to see the wistful, observant lo k with which he regarded every one who conversed around him. No wrong or impure thought could ever en ter that little breast. He w s as one set apart to show us what an early childhood should be —as stainless and innocent as when the Ma ker's hand first sent the little spirit fluttering into its earthly prison. Could 1 a.-k for him happier destiny than this—to pass through life shielded by my unfailing love, and safely sheltered by the snowy wings of the guardian angel ever bv his side ? We make to ourselves idols out of clay, and they are taken from us. 1 need the oue les son more. My little boy faded slowly before my eyes, as the summer came on. It was not so much with him a painful sickness as the gradual wasting away of the springs of life.— The mission he had been sent to fulfil was ac complished. Many days before he was taken I knew he must go. 1 was with him by day and night. 1 sang him to sleep, and wet the still golden curls with tears when he was slumbering quiet ly day by day gathered up my strength for the parting which I knew must come, and day by day my heart sank within me,and tiie blood forsook my cheek if the slightest change took place. We sat beside the bod of our boy ; the lit tle languid head was resting on my breast,and the tiny transparent hands lay like two lilies in the broad palm of Arthur. I sang, iu a hushed voice, the songs he loved the best, and tlie setting sun sank slowlv behind the sea. Cool breezes, the plash of oars, and the rude song of sailors down the bay, came floating in tt|Hin tis. My darliug lay and listened. I could not see that his breathing grew fainter and fainter, and that the lids of the blue eyes were droopiug slowly towards each other. At last they closed, and thinkin he slept, I laid my weary head tt|on my husband's breast and tried to sleep ulso. A strange drowsiness,which was not slumber, crept over tne. I started front it suddenly, at last, with au indistinctive feeling that all was not well. Tears fell fast ujiou my cheek as 1 lifted my head. They fell from the eyes of Arthur, who had sat and thought while we were still. 1 bent over my little boy. The little cheek I kissed seemed growing cold, ami with sus pended breath I listened to hear the beating of his heart. He moved slightly n> I call cd his name, and then looked up in my face with a gentle smile. It tailed soon, and he seemed to be strug gling with some terrible pain. His lips were drawn back, his eyes upturned, and his hand clenched. I could uot bear to look at hiiu. I turned awav and groaned in agony. " Sec-—it is over now !" said Arthur, as lie PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY AT TOWANDA, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA„ BY E. O'MEARA GOODRICH. " REGARDLESS OP DENUNCIATION FROM ANT QUARTER." pdt his aftft around my waist, and held me firmly to' Ms heart. I looked. My duffing raked his feeble arms, and as 1 bent my head, they fell heavily around my neck ; his pale lips met miee in a last kiss. A sudden trembling seized him. His eyes lit up with a happy light, his check tffilAed, his half-opened lips seemed abont to speak for the first time. Did I hear, or dream I heard, the one word I hud vaiuly tried to learu him f— " Mother !" I could not tell. For the next moment the rosy flush faded, the little breast heaved with one short sigh, and my little boy had left us. Was that little life'in vain ?* Was no les son taught, no lessou learned, iu that brief year of companionship with an angel ? Oh, yes !—a leflstm which the mother's heart can never forget while it beats with the love it has felt for the lost, "Dearer is earth to God for his sweet sake"—dearer to me, because he lov ed its beauty so. Many years have passed since my little hoy fell asleep. Other children play around the door of my cottage, nnd kneel each night at my knee, to say the prayer he only looked ; another Ernest, with bright dark'eyes and golden hair, goes singing through the house, but still my heart is most with him. My chil dren stand outside that grave and listen with serious facts, when I tell them of the little brother who died before they were born, and then steal away silently, and leave rue there beside It in* J have grown old and careworn ; the cheek he kissed is thin and faded, and the sunny hair with which he used to plav is streaked with silver. But my child will know me when I meet him, and I shall hold him to my heart the same as when he left me, an infant angel— freed from every taint on earth. No barrier then between tis —no weak, inv perfect utterance, or look of pain ; for in hea ven my child will speak, and the first word I shall hear him utter there will be the word that lingered on his lips when he was dviug.— He will call me " Mother" there as here. Else I could never have given hitn np through all these weary years, and fed my heart upon the hope of hearing that half uttered word breath ed freely when I die. Who are your Aristocrats. Twenty years ago this one made candles, that oue sold cheese and butter, another butch ered, a fourth carried on a distillery, another was a contractor on canals, others were mer chants and mechanics. Tlicy are acquainted with both ends of society, as thcirchildren w ill be after them—though it will not do to say so out loud. For often you shall find that these toiling worms hatch butterflies—and they live about a year Death brings a division of pro perty, and it brings new financiers; the old gent is discharged, the young gent takes his revenues and begins to travel—toward pover ty, which he reaches before death, or his chil dren do if he does not. 60, that, in fact, though there is a sort of moneyed race, it is not hereditary ; it is accessible* to all ; three good seasons of cotton will send a generation of men up—a score of years will bring them all down, and send their children to ialaw.— The father grubs and grows rich—his children strut and use the money. The children, in turn, inherit the pride, and go to shiftless (HV ertv ; next, their children, reinvigorated by fresh plebian blood, aud by the suiell of the clod, come up again. rims society, like a tree, draws its sap from the earth, changes into leaves and blossoms, spreads them abroad in great glory, sheds them off to fall back to the earth, again to mingle with soil, and at length to reappear in new dress and fresh garniture.— Selected. DISPUTE. —How much soever a person may he inclined to dispute with his fellow-iuan ; however often his passions may get the mas tery of his wisdom and his tongue ; yet 1 l>e lieve there arc none jiossessed of ordinary in telligence, who do not often muse on the folly which belong to the petty word quarrels in wlrch men are so o!ten engaged. There are men who, being Jed into dispute, wax warmer and warmer a* the conflict increases, uutil final ly they separate in high dudgeon, both inward ly vowing that there never was such an obsti nate old fellow as that Jones " or " Brown," as the case may l>e. For such men 1 have two rules selected—one from Jefferson and one front M. Attrel. The former says :—" When you are angry, always count ten before you speak." And the latter :—" In all differences consider that you and your enemy are dropping ofl, and that ere long your very memories will be extinguished.''— Fit: Mm ntr. Sfeaf A handsome young widow applied to a physician to relieve her of tw o distressing coin plaints with which she was afflicted. "In the first place," said she, " I have a little or no apjietite. What shall I take for that ?" " For that, madam, you should take air and exercise." "And, Doctor, I atn quite fidgety at night, and afraid to sleep alone. What shall I take for that ?" " For that, madam, I can only recommend that you take—a husband." HUMAN DEPRAVITY. —' This animal," said an itinerant showman, " is the royal African hye na, measuring fourteen feet from the tip of his nose to the end of his tail, and the same dis tance back again, making in all twenty-eight feet. He cries iu the woods in the night sea son like a human being in distress, aud then devours all that come to his assistance—a sad instance of the depravity of human uature." te&' A crusty old contemporary says : A lady T ears a long dress for the purpose of mak ing it shorter by holding a part of it iu her hands. l'erha|is it would not Ite unfair, to say, that if the dress w as of projer length the necessity of lifting it would be avoided ; or, i that the chance of showing attractions, acci i dentally of course, would be lost. [From I>r. Aortic Expleratiou.] Parting Hawsers among the Ice Bergs. It blew a perfect hurricane. We had seen it coming, and were ready with three good hawsers out uhead and all things snog on board. Still it came on heavier and heavier, and the ice began to drive more wildly than I thought I had ever seen it. I had just turned in to warm end dry myself through the momentary lull, and was stretching myself out in my bunk, when I heard the sharp twanging snap of a eord. Our six-inch hawser bad parted, and we were swinging by the two others—the gale rouring like a lion to the southward. Half a minute more, " twang f twang!" came a second report. I knew it was the whale line, bv tbe shrillness of the ring. Our noble ten-inch Manilla still held on. I was hurrying my last sock into its sealskin boot, when McGary came waddling down the com panion ladders. " Captain Kane, she won't hold much longer ; it's blowing the devil him self, ana I'm afraid to surge." The Manilla cable was proving its excellence when I reached the deck ; aud the crew, as they gathered around me, were loud in its praises. We could hear its great Eolian chaut swelling through all the rattle of the running gear and moaning of the shrouds. It was the death song. Titc strands gave way with the noise of a shotted guu ; and, In the smoke that followed their recoil, we were dragged out by the wild icc, at its mercy. We steadied and done some pretty warping, and got the brig a good bed iu the rushing drift ; but it all came to nothing. We then tried to beat back through the narrow ice clogged water-way, that was driving, a quarter of a mile wide, betweeu the shore and the pack. It cost us two hours of hard labor, I thought skillfully bestowed ; but at the end of that time We tt'.'rc at least four miles off, opposite the great valley in the centre of Bedevilled Ileuch. Ahead of us, farther to the north, we could see the strait growing still narrower and the heavy ice tables grinding up, and clog ging it between the shore cliffs on one side and the ledge on the other. There was but one thing left for us—to keep in some sort the command of the helm by going freely where we must otherwise be driven. We allowed her to scud under a reefed foretopsail ; all hands watching the enemy as we closed in silence. At seven in the morning we were close upon the (tiling masses. We dropped our heaviest anchor, with the desperate hope of winding the brig, but there was notwithstanding the ice torrent that followed us. We had only time to fasten a spar as buoy to the chain, aud let her slip. So went our best bower ! Down we went upou the gale again, hope lessly scraping along a lee of ice seldom less than thirty Yet thick ; one floe measured by a line, as we tried to fasten to it, more than for ty. 1 had seen such icc only one before, and never in such rapid motion. One upturned mass rose above our gunwale, smashing in our bulwark*, and depositing half a ton of ice in i a lump upon our decks. Our staunch little brig bore herself through all this wild udven tiire as if she had a charmed life. But a new enemy came in sight ahead.— Directly in our way, just behind the line of Hoe-icc. against which we were alternately slid ing and thumping, was a group of bergs. We had no power to avoid them ; and the only question was, whether we were to be dashed to pieces against them, or whether they might not offer us some providential nook of refuge from the storm. But as we neared them, we perceived that they were at some distance from the floe-edgc, and separated from it by au iu terva! of open water. Our hopes rose as the gale drove us toward the passage and into it, and we were ready to exult when from some unexplained cause, pro bably an eddy of the wiud agaiust the lofty ice-walls, we lost our headway. Almost at the same moment we saw that the bergs were not at rest ; that with a momentum of their own they were bearing down upon the other ice, and that it must be our fate to be crushed be tween the two. Just then a broad sconce-piece of low wa ter-washed berg eatne driving from the south ward. The thought flashed up me of otic of our escapes iu Melville Bay, and as the sconce moved rapidly close alongside us, McGary managed to plant an anchor on its slope, and to hold on to it by a whale-line. It was an anxious moment. Our noble tow-horse, whiter than the pale horse that seemed to be pursu ing us, hauled us bravely on ; the spray dash ing o\er his windward flanks, and his forehead ploughing up the lesser ice as if in scorn. The bergs encroached upon us as we advanced : our channel narrowed to a width of about for ty feet : we braced the yards to keep clear of the impending ice-walls. We passed clear ; but it was a close shave, so close that our port quarter-boat would have been crushed if we had not taken it from the davits, and found ourselves tinder the lee of a berg, iu a comparatively open lead. Never did heart-tried men acknowledge, with more gratitude, their merciful deliverance from a wretched death. ANECDOTE OF FK.ANKI.IN. —When quite a youth, Franklin went to London, entered a printing office, and enquired he could get em ployment as a printer. " Where are you from ?" enquired the fore man. " America," was the reply. " Ah J" said the foreman, " from America ! a lad from America seeking employment as a printer ! Well, do you really understand the art of printing ? Can you set type ?" Franklin stepped to one of the cases, and in a very brief space, set up the following passage from the first chapter of the Gospel by St. John : " Nathaniel said uuto him, can any good thing come out of Nazareth ? Philip saith un to him come and see." It was done so quick, so accurately, and contained a delicate reproof, so appropriate and powerful, that at once gave hiiu charac ter and stauding w jth a!! iu the office. A San Francisco Anotioneer. The reporter of The San Ffanciw) Xnrr furnishes that paper with the following report of a speech made by a California auctioneer : " Ladies and gentlemen, I now have the ho nor of putting up a fine pocket handkerchief, a yard wide, a ynrd long, and almost a yard thick ; one-half cotton, and t'other half cot ton, too - f beautifully printed with stars and stripes on one side, and the stripes and stars on t'other. It will wipe dnst from the eyes so completely as to be death to demagogues, and make politics as bad a business as printing papers. Its great length, breadth, and thick ness, together with its dark color, will enable it to hide dirt, and never need washing. Go ing at one dollar ?—seventy-five cents ?—fifty cents ?—twenty five cents ?—one bit ? No body wants it !—Oh ! thank yon sir ! " Next, goitlrmrn —for tbe ladies won't be ; permitted to bid on this article—is a real, si mon-pure, tempered, highly polished, keen edg ed Sheffield razor ; bran spankiu new ; never opened before to sun-light, moon-light, star light, day-light, or gas-light ; sharp enough to shave a law yer or cut a disagreeable acquan tance or poor relation ; handle of buck-horn ; with all the rivets but the two at the ends of pure gold. Who will give two dollars? one dollar ? half a dollar ? Why, ye long-beard ed, dirty-faced reprobates, with not room ou your phizzes for a Chinese woman'to kiss, I'm offering you a bargain at half a dollar ! Well, I will throw in this strop at half a dollar ! razor and strop—a recent patent ; two rubs upon it will sharpen the city attorney ; and all for four bits ; aud a piece of soap—sweeter than roses, lathers better than a schoolmaster, and strong enough to wash out all the stains from a Calfioruia politician's countenance, and all for four bits ! Why, you have only to put the razor-strop and soap under your pillow at night to wake up in the morning clean shaved. Won't anybody give two bits, thcD, for the lot ? I kuew I would sell 'em. " Next, ladies and gentlemen, I offer three pairs socks, hose, stockings, or half-hose, just as you're a mind to call them, knit by a ma chine made ou purpose, out of cotton wool.— The man that buys these will be enabled to walk till he gets tired ; and, provided his boots arc high enough, nced'ut have any corns ; the legs are as long as bills against the corporation, and as thick as the heads of the members of the legislature. Who wants 'ein at one half dollar ? Thank ee, madam, the money. " Next, I offer you a pair of boots ; made especially for San Francisco, with heels long enough to raise a man up to the Hoadley grades, and uails to insure against being car ried over by u land slide ; legs wide enough to carry two revolvers and a bowie knife, and the uppers of the very best horse leather. A man in these boots can move about as easy as the State capitol. Who says twenty dollars ? All the tax payers ought to buy a |>uir to kick the council with ; everybody ought to have a pair to kick the legislature with ; and they will be found of assistance in kicking the bucket, es pecially if somebody should kick at being kick ed. Ten dollars for legs, uppers, and soles ! while soul-, aud miserable souls at that, are bringing twenty thousand dollars in Sacramen to ! Ten dollars ! ten dollars ! Gone at ten dollars ! " Next is something that you ought to have, gentlemen, a lot of good gallowses—sometimes called suspenders. I know that some of you will after awhile be furnished at the State's ex pense, but you can't tell which one, so buy where they're cheap. All that deserve hang ing are not supplied with a gallows ; if so, there would be nobody to make laws, condemn criminals, or hang culprits until a new election. Made of pure gum-clastic—stretch like a judge's conscience, and last as long as a California office-holder will steal ; buckles of pure iron, and warranted to hold so tight that no man's wife can rob him of the breeches : are, in short, as strong, as good, as perfect, as effec tual, huna fide as the ordinance against Chinese shops on Dupont street—gone attweu ty-dve cents." ACTION OF SUGAR ON THE TEETH. —The Charleston (S. C.) Medical Journal states that M I .(Urez, iu the course of his investigations on tlie teeth, arrived at the following conclu sions : First—Refined sugar, from either cane or beets, is injurious to healthy teeth, cither by immediate contact with these organs, or by the gas developed, ow iug to its stoppage in the stomach. Second—lf a tooth is macerated in a satu rated solution of sugar, it is so much altered in the chemical composition that it becomes gelatinous, and its enamel opaque, spongy, utnl easily broken. Third—This modification is due, not to free acid, but to a tendency of sugar to combine with the calcareous basis of the tooth. WASHING SILVER WARE. —It seems that housekeepers who wash their silver ware with soap and water, as the common practice is. do not know what they are about. The proprie tor of one of the oldest silver establishments in the city of Philadelphia anys that " housekee pers ruin their silver by w ashing it in soapsuds; it makes it look like pew ter. Never put a particle of soap about your silver, and it will retain its original lustre. When it wants pol ish take a piece of soft leather and whitiug, aud rub it hard." A friend of ours says that he has been without money so long that his head aches " ready to split" w hen he tries to recollect how a silver dollar looks. He says the notion that "we live in a world of change is a great fallacy. It WHS amongst the loveliest customs of the ancients to bury the young at morning twilight ; for as they strove to give the soft est interpretation to death, so tliey imagined that Aurora, who loved the young had stolen them to her embrace. VOX,. XVII. NO. Q.\ Stick to Some One Pursuit. There cannot be a greater error than to freqneiitly changing one's business If anj man will look around and notice who have got rich and who hare not, out of those he started in life with, be wiH Slid that the norcesful hare generally stuck to some one pursuit. Two lawyers, for example, begiu to practice at the same time. One devote* f,,, whole mind to his profession - lays in slowly a stock of lo gal learning, and waits patiently, it mav be for years, tin he gains an opportunity to show his superiority. The other, tiring of slow work, dashes into politics. Generally, at the end of tweuty years, the latter will not be worth a penny, while the former will have a handsome practice, and count bis tens of thousands bank stock or in mortgages. Two clerks attain a majority simultaneous!?. One remains with his former employer, or at least in the same line of trade, at first on a small salary. The other thinks it beneath him to fill a subordinate position, now that he has become a man, and accordingly starts in some other business on his own account, or under takes a new firm in the old line of trade Where does he end ? Often in insolvency, rarely in riches. To this every merchaut cau testify. A young man is bred a mechanic. He ac quires a distaste to his trade, however ; tninks it a tedious way to get ahead, and sets out for the West or California. But in most cases, the same restless, discontented, and speculative spirit which carried him away at Grst, renders continuous application at any one place irk some to him ; and so he goes waudering al>out the world, a sort of semi-civilized Arab, really a vagrant in character, and sure to die insol vent. Meantime, his fellow-apprentice, who has stayed at home, practising economy, and working steadily at his trade, has trrown com fortable iu his circumstances, and is even, per haps, a citizen of mark. There are men of ability, in every walk of life, who are notorious for never getting along. Usually it is because they never stick to uuy one business. Just when they have mastered one pursuit, and are on the point of making money, they change it for another which they do not understand ; and in a little while what little they arc worth is lost forever. We know scores of such persons. Go where you w ill, you will generally find that the men who have failed in life arc those who never stuck to one thing long. On the other baud, your prosper • ous man, nine times out of ten, has always stuck to one pursuit. Oyster Dredging. A very large proportion of oyster-eaters have at best but an indefinite idea of the way in which these interesting bivalves arc fisLcd ont of the deep, to supply their plates and sat isfy their appetites. Some may imagine they are picked off the rocks, like the Irishman's gold dollar from the streets ; others, that they are the mysterious product of the restaurants, obtained by merely knocking apart their shell ; while many have some indefinite notion of a process of planting oysters in the mud, in shal low water, to l)e procured, when wanted, by dexterous manipulations of rakes or tongs, like potatoes from a hill. This latter mole of catching o sters is the one most (o:nmon in Northern waters, —the oysters having first been brought from the South, arid " bedded '' here ; as it is thought that, bv this transplan tation. they are much improved iu flavor.— There are, however, some varieties of the na tive oyster that are held iu the highest esteem by epicures—lteirig of extraordinary size and superior flavor ; and as those are to he found only in deep water, rendering the process of catching them quite la'>oriou, their market value is much enhanced.* Of native oysters, the "East Rivers "are most iu favor, —the market prices for which ranges from $1,50 to so,oo per hundred. Ttiese are caught by " dredging." During the autumn mouths, the attention of travelers on Long Island Sound is invariably attracted by the large fleets of sailing eraft that never fail to meet the eye, when the wii d is fair, tacking hither and thither, and streteh- I ing away on either side, as far as Th: limit- of I vision extend. Frequently, upwards of one | hundred may be counted at once, under can vas, and presenting a benutiful?apjearac'. - Of these, many are coasting vessels—which may always IK- seen dotting the blue waters of the Sound—but the greater number are fish ing-smacks, dredging for oysters. Such fl- ets are encountered at intervals, ail the way from Throg's neck to Whitest one and Norwalk - which points embrace the fi-liing-ground for " East IF vers." The " dredge " is a sort of drag-nit, made of the strongest materials, and holding about two bushels. This is lowered to the bofo u. an 1 to ved after the v s el by a st> ut rope, va rying from six to twenty-five fathoms in luugtn. according to the depth of the wafer. F o quently, as many as half a dozen d red .re- ,-• employed at once—each ole lacing huukd n every ten minutes, and emptied of its contents of oyst-rs, mud ai d stones which it may hate scooped up, while < ruggimr on the bottom. - The pnc-ss is slow and !al>ori sas hauling in so great a wc" c li?, with tte vessel sailing un der a three or >i\ knot breeze, is no slight ta-k and not less than four or five days' constant labor are required to complete a full load. It jis customary for the smacks to -tart out o Monday, and deliver their cargoes at market o;i Friday or Saturday ; though shorter trips are soinc times made. On the l>e-f grounds, ' one hundred bushels per diem arc taken ; but j the average yield is far less. This mode of catching oysters i- al-o prac ; tieed in the waters of the Chesapeake, whence j are taken the greater part of the oyster- bro't j to the north to be planted—thousands of e.n ; goes of which tire shipped hither every year A", y Jour. <•( Cam. A recent Dublin new- contains ; the following advertisement ; " 1 hereby warn all person-11 ingnn i wife, Ellen Flaiiigun. on inv u<v< I ,n I not married to lou."
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers