~:)JLIAR PER ANNUM INVARIABLY IN ADVANCE. TOWANDA: Thursday Morning, October 7, 1858. JMettcti CHILDREN. pv ,m Lonfrfelloar's forthcoming Book of l'oems.] t ' onl e to me, oye children ! For I hear you at your play, UiJ the questions that perplexed mo Have vanished quite away. Yf the eastern windows, Tiia! look towards the sun, Where thoughts are singing swallows, And the brooks of morning run. In vour hearts are the birds and the sunshine, |"n vour thoughts the brooklets How, Bat i'u mine is the wind of Autumn, And the first fall of the snow. Ah: what would the world be to us If the children were no more ? We should dread the desert behind us Worse than the dark before. What the leaves are to the forest, With light and air for food. Ere their sweet and tender juices Have been hardeued into wood— That to the world are children ; Through these it feels the glow ot a brighter and a sunnier climate Than reaches the trunks below. tumetome. O ye children! And whisper iu my car What the birds aud the winds are singing In vour sunn v atmosphere. ' Fr what are all our contriving*, And the wisdom of our books. When compared with your caresses. And the gladness of your looks 't Ye are better than uli the ballads That ever were sung or said ; For ye are living poems And all the rest are dead. isc e 11 nn 10 us. m SSi iIOEE " But, mv dear father, he has hat! undisturli fi! possession so long, that it is cruel to reduce liitn to beggary now." "Cruel! You know nothing of the sweets of revenge, boy. or you would not say that Tbink you that I have waited all these years ogratify a purjw.se. and uow wheu the time iiascome. give it up because it is cruel ?" " But liis wife and children? Surely you rill not—cannot punish the iuuoceut for the milty ?" in that is my revenge. What would pov -•'v be to Edward Leicester alone ? No, no; must see his family stripped of ail the Inxu ■ > they have so wrongfully enjoyed ; lie must lose his proud position, and labor for their read; he must encounter all the horrors of e most absolute poverty before I can be vsfied " Father, this is horrible ! You will crush MI ail the love and reverence my sainted mo >r so carefully sought to instil into my heart, iunot believe now that yon can be serious - matter, or that you will load your con •iwe with so much guilt. We are wealthy, •fen now I am at a loss how to spend the iu -me that is mine. What do we want with nr cousin's possessions ? Let him live iu see It will be a sweeter revenge than any can take." Silence, hoy ! This is no affair for you meddle with ; and though my fond indul ge.e gives you much license, beware how you • use it by interfering with what you do not Frstand. 1 have told von my plans now, ' oeeause I wanted your advice, knowing you would find tliem out ou your arrival England. The instant I set foot on my na _ iaud I shall take steps to carry out those -\ and 110 impertinent interference of yours • prevent their succeeding. You have men d your mother—another act of disobe -Dec. 'Tis a pity you do not retneiuHer her •■much in mind as you do in person. I never occasion to remind her twice of her duty now let this conversation cease, never to renewed. Whatever Ido I will not have "tioned ; and I warn you now never again 'trite tnv anger by like conduct." hear reader, after such a conversation, need "y that Colonel Leicester was an over tfring tyrant—hard-hearted and revengeful, k -f heerinir, often cruel to his dependents, - to his foes, feared by his friends, with ' r e tender spot in his heart, and that oc l-' by his only son. ' r oe, the Colonel had loved his wife—a ■Ratifui, gentle creature—who never iu ber lf presumed to contradict him, or dared to his will. But she was born to be cher - Tinl sheltered, and the cold formality of me withered the warm young heart pining lts route. Uer husband wished her to dress 1 a princess ! and to please him she robed 'ender figure in the richest satins, her pale * ched under the sparkling gains that it, aud diamonds glittered 011 her fair j a, "l arms. But she sighed for the days 1 hje and happy she wandered amid the ' her '■ highland home," and shuddered ~ \ !e 'bought that her grave should be made (j r l ''c burning eastern sky 'Ce only did Mrs. Leicester venture to " r husband to let ber " see her Borne more tfieu, silenced by her cold refusal, ilfi a mur,il " r submitted to her fate, t . 'rol.v resigned herself to die, It was an piece of rebellion on the part of I ,a,tlier . uud Colonel Leicester was lore'' u Wi ' e " infor W et } that she was no ML er I,at wished her to ae -' p,usl nr.,., rosobeyed him ; ltpupe his sorrow was a ugef, and he forbade *j n ': t( > he mentioned in his presence, •v ~ 'i Qu k" heavily on his son, who, "2 the memory of his lost mother, could THE BRADFORD REPORTER. with difficulty refrain from speaking of her ; and favorite as lie was, this was a fault that always drew on him his father's anger and re proach. At the time our story opens, young Leices ter was in his eighteenth year. His father did not speak the truth when he expressed a wish that he had resembled his mother in tem per ; for in his secret heart did the old man rejoice at the evidence of a fine manly spirit already manifested by his son. And the hand some, noble-looking youth, possessed great in fluence over his parent, though not sufficient to turn him from his revengeful purposes.— Brought up in the East amid scenes and with habits foreign to his nature, young Leicester joyfully left his native laud to seek the early home of his parents, and the knowledge of his father's purposes was the first cloud that over shadowed his happiness. One week after that conversation they landeu in England. ******* Had England been searched over, a hap pier tnau than Edward Leicester could scarce ly have been found at the time we commence this little history. The devoted husband of an excellent and amiable wife, the proud and happy father of three lovely children, the pos sessor of a magnificent home, and an income more than adequate to meet his utmost wishes, surrounded by friends and a prosperous tenant ry, what could man wish for more ? Edward Leicester knew these privileges, and was thankful for them. No man could say tliut in word or deed he had offended him, and endless were the blessings bestowed on the kind landlord, the liberal master, ami firm friend. No formal ceremony, 110 forced show of humility, prompted the greeting that every where met the Leicesters, that taught the cot tager's wife to courtesy, and laborer to touch his hat at their approach. And Edward Lei cester loved his people, and never lost an ojv portunity of increasing their comfort, and ad ding to their means, lie built them new cot tages, he planted them fruit trews, he gave them a good school, and he encouraged educa tion. His wife, no less energetic and enthu siastic, attended to other wants, and unlike many others of her station, she sought for and relieved their necessities, ere she expected them to comply with all her wishes. Again we say, a happier man, a happier family, or one that better deserved prosperity, could scarce have been found in all England. But sorrow and trial were in store, misfortune as complete as it was unexpected, and poverty as distressing as it was undeserved. " My dear Mary, you look sad this evening. Surely, that is a s> enc to inspire you with pleasant thoughts." And Edward Leicester passed his arm round his wife's waist, and lead ing her to the open window, pointed to the lawn on which their children were merrily sporting. " I feci sad, Edward," was the low response: " an unusual presentiment of evil has possessed me all day, nor can I look ou my children with out a feeling of terror." " My dear wife, this is unusual for you," said Edward. " Certainly, at present we have no reason to apprehend any trouble ; but should misfortunes come, we must meet them with fortitude. Poverty, earth's bitterest tri al, we have no reason to dread." Alas ! for the confidence in earthly riches ! That day week, Edward Leicester and his fami ly were far away from the scene of their hap : piness, homeless, almost peuuiicss, and with the humiliating consciousness that for many years [ they had been appropriating the inheritance of another. " It is time to talk over our plans for the future, my Mary," said the unhappy husband and father, as the family gathered together 011 their first night after their arrival in the humble London lodging house that must hence forth be their home. " Our means are barely sufficient, and I must lose no time in seeking employment. At present lam unable to de termine what I had better try first." " My husband, this is the crudest blow of all," replied Mary. " Freely would I have yielded up all we loved so well—freely have j endured poverty and privation ; but to see you ; labor for our daily bread 1 oh, my Edward, it is hard, very hard !" And the loving wife, who without a murmur had parted with the luxuries and comforts which long use had made I necessaries, wept at the thought of her bus j bund's trials. " Mary, you know that for years I have in ; dulged my love of painting as an amnsement, and have been called no mean artist," said Ed ward. " What better plan can 1 adopt thau now to make it a source of profit ?" It was with sincere sorrow that Mrs. Lei- I cester gave her consent to this proposal ; but feeling at last that without something ol the kind her children must perish from want, she smothered her grief, aud her smile and kind caress cheered the heart of the weary artist when, in long after days, he was sinking under the united effects of iucessaut toil aud repeat ed disappointment, ******* Colonel Leicester felt that his revenge was complete, when those whom he had employed to watch the proceedings of the ruined family informed him that not only was his cousin la boring for an existence, but that his wife also had felt herself called ou tq|ei:d her assistance, and was even then toiling day and night to meet their increasing expenses. " Ha, revenge is sweet ! Truly, this is an hour worth living for J" was his exulting ex clamation, oq houring of their poverty. His son made no remark ; lib had long felt how useless was remonstrance. the sum intended for the purchase of a splendid addi tion to his " sportsmanlike possessions " found its way tq the humble hqme qf his relatives, where it proved a seasonable and most wel come gift, " Can Charles have relented and taken pity on his victims ?" was Edward's on beholding tbe bank botes. "It is npt from him. Too well dp I know his implacable nature to imagine this ipqst wel come present is his," replied Mr. Leicester, who fouud it very Imrd tu forgive the tnau who PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY AT TOWANDA, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA., BY E. O'MEARA GOODRICH. " REGARDLESS OP DENUNCIATION FROM ANY QUARTER." with abundant wealth had turned them all pen niless into the world. " Never mind, mamma, who sent it !" ex claimed little Marian, the pet of the house hold. " I will pray for blessings on onr kind friend for sending ns money to buy 9ister Alice medicine and brother Charley books." The mother looked at her sick child—her delicate beautiful Alice—on whose sensitive nature her parents' distresses had produced a most alarming effect, and a fervent benediction was bestowed 011 the unknown for the much needed assistance. Three months after, when Colonel Leicester heard that his cousin's el dest daughter was no more, he renewed his rejoicings with almost fiendish delight. " You little thought when you rejected me with scorn, Mary Wyndhem, that the day would come, when I should mock at your sor row and rejoice at your proud husband's dream that his defeated rival would one day crush him to the dust, aud exult over his fallen pride." But Colonel Leicester was far from being at ease even when triumphing at the success of his schemes. Knowing the generous nature ot his >on, he was in daily dread of hearing liim avow a determination to visit his relatives, even in defiance of the curse lie had threaten ed to pronounce on him in case of sncli diso bedience. But young Leicester had been too early impressed with the reverence due to his parent to hazard so fearful a consequence.— The dead mother's teachings were strong in his heart, and he felt compelled to content himself with occasionally sending his cousins such sums of money as lie could venture 011 without exeit iug his father's suspicions. It was therefore with sincere pleasure that the Colonel gave him permission to travel for a few years in company with a most, estimable gentleman about to leave his native land iu search of health. We must now pass over a space of six years during which the relative positions of the two families were but little changed. E Iward Leicester's circumstances had improved, but lie still found it necessary to labor at his pen cil for a mnintainaiice. Ilis sou Charles, now nearly eighteen, was in a situation of but lit tle profit, but which bid fair to reward him some day. The Colonel had grown very old in that short time. He had discovered that revenge was not quite so sweet as he hud at first im agined. Unpleasant thoughts would arise at times, aud something very near akin to re morse, whenever lie thought on the child he could not but feel his cruelty hud murdered. Again it was annoying to reflect that he made himself 1111 object of hatred to his people ; that one and all deserted him, and drew unpleasant comparisons between him and their former landlord. His son, too, gave him many a heart-pang ; for well he knew that, disguise it as lie might, the noble young man in his in most soul looked with horror ou his father's guilty revenge. Altogether, it was not won derful that Colonel Leicester looked old, that h s hair hud grown gray, and that the marks of cate had come thickly on his countenance. ******* Our next scene opens on the banks of one of those beautiful " lochs," the pride of Scot laud and the delight of poets. A bine sky and bright sunshine were not wanting ; nor line old trees, nor distent hills aud rocks—all that artists love to paint and poets to sing of. But the lovliest object in our picture was a fair young giri, who gazing thoughtfully ou the blue waters, looked the very personification of graceful beauty. She stood ou a mossy bank, oue hand clasping the low drooping branch of an overhanging tree, the other carelessly hold ing a gypsy hat, the long blue ribbon of which trailed at her feet. Her dress was perfectly plain, and there was something iu her whole attire that showed her one who wore no orna ments ; while her exceeding beauty at once told the beholder that there was little need of them. Long she stood in silent thought, ail uncon scious that one was gazing 011 her in rapt as tonishment, with quickly throbbing heart aud strange emotions But he advances a step and the spell is broken. With a start the maiden raises her head aud beholds the intruder. The next instant she makes a backward movement —her balance is lost ; for a second she seems falling into the deep waters —another, and tiie stranger's arm is around her ; he clasps her to Lis breast, and feels that she is saved from a fearful death. After such an introduction,was it likely that they should be other than friends ? They met again and again in those shady walks on the banks of the beautiful loch, and Marian Lei cester (for the maiden was none other than she we last saw as a child,) gave her heart into the keeping of the Granger. And stranger lie truly was, for she did not even know the name of him who had gained so much influence over her future life. She loved him passionately, devotedly, with all the strength of an innocent, unworldly heart ; and he returned her affec tion with q love no less sincere and pure. Yet never for an iutaut did the young girl forget the duty she owed her parents. No promise would she make him, and he reverenced litr fur her filial respect. '• Fain would I call you mine, Marian," he said, when the time came that the maideu must return to her Kuglish home. " Happy would I be to gall you mv betrothed, bvt 1 dare not ask you to do ought displeasig to your pa rents. We shall meet again,wheu I may open ly avow my name, and with the sanction of your fi iencfs, claim your promise. Until then, darling, keep uie in your heart, and never, ne ver, doubt my truth. I shall come to you some time. Jt may be very shortly—it lgay Be for years ; but I shall come, never doubt that " Marian promised all he asked, and then the farewell words were spoken. For an instant she was clasped to (d* h<-'rt big first was pressed on her brow, aqd tljeu they parted. The night after her arrival at hqme, Marian Lecestcr toid her parents everything. Very slightly did she allude to her feelings on the subject, but readily the mother's breast diviued alt her child might have expressed. " Heaven shield my darling from the misery of a blighted, disappointed existence !" was the mother's prayer. " Let us trust in Providence, my wife," ob served her husband. " That our child loves an honorable man, his conduct proves. 1 am deep ly grieved at the course of events, but they might have been worse. Our Marian lias re turned to us with recovered health and strength; let 11s not repine that new love lias brought light to her eyes and joy to her young heart." It was summer when she parted from her lover. For six months the remembrance of those happy days was a pleasant dream ; but Christmas came, and with it a token that an other also remembered. Mr. Leicester looked sad us he perused the few lines addressed to himself ; but he placed 011 his child's hand the costly geui her unknown lover had requested him to allow her to accept, and though pained at the continued mystery, there was nothing lie could reasonably feel displeased with in the let ter itself. On the contrary, it breathed senti ments the most honorable to the stranger. On Marian the letter aud its accompanying present produced very little effect, and her fa ther felt some surprised at her indifference.— " Are von aware of the value of that ring, my child ?" he said one day, looking at the spark ling geiu ou her fiugtr. "Do you know that none but a very wealthy man could make you that present of so valuable a diamond V " 1 always knew he was wealthy, dear fath er," replied Marian, "but that makes no diffe rence. I should have been us happy had his letter come alone. I uceded nothing to remind me of ray promise." The winter passed,and when the spring came Charles Leicester received an offer from his employer to go to China and transact some bu siness or him—an offer so good that the young man felt unable to refuse. It was a sad part ing for the whole family ; but none dared to make objections to what was so obviously for the benefit of the beloved friend and dear bro ther. After his departure, Edward Leicester's health declined visibly. He lost the energy that had hitherto characterized his endeavors to maintain his family, and again they were made to suffer all the evils of poverty. Early ia the spring they heard that Colonel Leicester and his son had returned to India, the health of the former having suffered severe ly from this short sojourn from his native laud. The estate was given in charge of an agent. The friend whoso secret aid had so materially assisted the stricken family, appeared to have forgotten them. Marian's unknown lover pre served the strictest silence, and the summer passed away sadly to the parents and child iu the glooiuly old house they had made their home. Before the autumn came, serious fears were entertaiued about the safety of the ship in which Charles had gone out as a passenger.— This was the crowning of their mist rv. Even Mariun's brave heart yielded to this great sor row, and but for oue hope she would probably have given way to this despair. As it was, in her deepest grief there came the remembrance of her promise, and she fought bravely with her fears, lest health and beauty should leave her. She knew that in his eyes she had been exceedingly fair—must he return to find her a miserable invalid ?" No, she would hope on; something whispered in her heart that her bro ther would yet return, and they should be liup fj The old proverb says, when affairs get to the worst, they generally " take a turn for the bet ter;" an 1 it provided so in Edward Leicester's case. Their money all gone, himself confined to a sick bed, his wife vainly striving enough to support them, and Marian worn out with anxiety and toil, nothing could be more gloomy than their prospects, when a letter arrived from Charles—a letter doubly welcome, as the token of his safety, and the bearer of welcome assistance. The same post brought announcement of Colonel Leicester's death, and a letter from his own hand, written on his death-bed. In it he bequeathed his English property to Marian,on condition that she become the wife of his son. Of her he spoke affectionately—her parents he hud evidently not forgotten. But Edward Leicester and his wife loved their child too well to see her sacrifice herself for their benefit. The character of her young cousin was totally unknown them, and the fa ther had done little to prepossess them iu fa vor of the child. Marian was forbidden to vex herself with anymore questions on the subject. "Onr happiness would be dearly bought by the sacrifice of yours, my darling." whispered the mother, as she pressed her child to her bosom, and kissed away the tears from her pale cheeks. Filled with grat.itute for their unselfish kind ness, the poor girl parted with the precious to ken she had received from her unknown lover, and with the proceeds obtained for her invalid father numerous little luxuries rendered abso lutely necessary by long custom. ******* This letter was a cruel blow to the gentle hearted girl, and was the cause of much more suffering, than all her previous trouble combin ed. She felt that one word of hers would place her parents in affluence for ever—remov ing them actually from the fear of poverty or want. Bat could she speak it ? Could she forever crush gut of her heart all those sweet hopes that had sustained her drooping spirits ? Oouid she consent to marry her unknown oou sin, of v. hom she absolutely knew nothing and forever banish the remembrance of him who alone could possess her heart ? Aml must she see those dear parents, in sickness and suffer ing, pining fur the comforts in her power to bestow ? The thought was distraction. " Marian Site was seated in the dingy lit tle room they oalled their parlor ; tears were 011 her cheek, aud painful thoughts were evi dently occupying her mind ; but the sound of that voice had driven them away, the tears that are now falling are tears of joy, for once more Marian is clapped to her lover's heart ; " My own, have yon doubted ?" lie continued] " despaired of my coming ? forgotten your promise ?" " Never, never ?" she replied. " But qb, the trouble, the poverty !" " Hush, my Marian, it is all at an end," said the lover. "No more care, no more sorrow, nought but love and joy for my beautiful bride." With mingled feelings the father gave his consent to his daughter's bethrothal. He felt that the stranger exerted a great influeuee over him, that he felt peculiarly interested in him ; yet the mystery of his nume is still un solved, aud excited suspicion. " In two days you shall know all," said the young man : " at present my anxiety to re move yon from this wretched place will not ad mit of my now making the long explanations that will be necessary. Surely you cannot doubt me ?" Bernard Leicester gazed searchingly into those truthful, earnest eyes, aud felt that his fears were groundless. It was in the ufternoon of the second day. 1 For many long hours the party had travelled 1 without rest, and Mr. Leicester and his wife leaning back in the luxurious carriage so care fully provided for the comfort of the invalid. The bright autumn sun shone iu at the windows, the roads were dirty, the air was oppressive ; Marian removed her nonnet. The sight of her ungloved hand appeared to suggest a thought to her companion. " 1 have never seen you wear your rii.g, Marian," said he. " D<d it not meet your ap proval ? or is your dislike for ornaments so great ?" He was watching her attentively, and she blushed deeply at the confession she was about to make. " I kept it through long months of poverty and distress," she replied, "and once I thought that nothing would tempt me to part with it. But a few weeks since my father saved tne from a fate worse than death, and in gratitude I felt compelled to give it up, painful as the sacrifice was." " Aud so it would have been " a fate worse than death" to have matried your rich cousin, would it, Marian ?" said her companion. "That little speech is more precious 10 me than a thousand assurances of your love But here we are at our journey's end." Before Marian could recover from her as tonisbment to inquire how lie had learned her well kept secret, the carriage turned into a magnificent avenue of trees, dashed past the gate keeper's lodge, and in a few seconds drew up at the entrance of an elegaut aud familiar mansion. Springing to the ground, the young man as sisted his companions to alight, and then led them confused and puzzled into the house, where bowing attendents ushered them into the well reni'-mbered rooms. Edward Leices ter aud his family were in their old home, and to their companion they looked for a solution of the mystery. "This is M irian's home, and I Bernard Lei cester," was his answer to the inquiring looks and words. "My father's command, not my own will, to keep up deception. He wished to put my betrothed wife to a severe proof, and truly she has passed nobly through it; and in my new character I must strive to obliterate any lingering prejudice she may entertain against a marriage with her RICH COUSIN." Pots* x ft" TIIE COMMON* TOAD.— It is an an cient and common opinion that toads and sala manders possess a subtle venom; this, however, has been generally deemed fabulous by those engaged in scientific pursuits. MM Gratiolet and Cloes, in a report to the French Academy, show that there is iu reality some foundation for the common belief, and that toads and sal amanders do secrete a deadly poison. These gentlemen inoculated small animals with the milky fluid contained in the dorsal and parotid pustules of these animals, and found it produc tive of fatal effects in a short space of time. A turtle dove slightly wounded in the wing and iuuoculated with the liquid secreted by the salamander, died iu terrible convulsions in eight minutes. Five small birds innoculated with the lactescent humor of the commou toad, died in five or six seconds, but without con vulsions. The liquid of the pustule of the toad, even after being dried, kills birds, though not with the same rapidity us when fresh. " OH FOR SOME QUIET SPOT !"— Tell me, ye winged winds, that round my pathway rour, do ye not know seme qnitft spot where hoops are worn no more ? Some lone and silent dell, some Bland or some cave, where women can wlk three abreast along the village pave ? The loud winds hissed around ray luce, and an swered —" Nary place." THE wind was blowing a gale. As I pass ed the corner of Winter and Tremout streets, I noticed a crowd of persons looking upward. I fouud my old friend Mr. Brown in the midst —all eyes were centered on his observations. At length a smart Yankee stepped up to him aud ask< d : " What is it, sir ? What is it ?" " Nothing ; O, nothing, my friend—l was only looking to see how high the wiud is." teT" " Blast your stingy old skin !" said a runner, to competitor, In-fore a whole depot full of bystanders : " I knew you when yon used to hire vour children to go to lied with out their supper, and after they got to sleep you'd go up and steal their pennies, to hire 'era ag'iu uext uight " '' Go WAY," said Muggins, "you can't stuff sicli nonsense into me. Six feet in his boots ! Bah ! no man as ever lives stands mor'n nor two fept in hi* boots, and no use talking about it. YOll might as well tell me that a man had six eyes in his head." HUMILITY is a flower that prosper* most when planted oq Vho rich soil of a uobio and great mind.. WHEN von pay for your coat double its Value, why is it like your wife ? Because it is ! very dear. & RROWB grow less every time tbey are told, ' just like the age of a wouiou. "VOL. XIX. NO. 18. " There's Somebody Dead in There." " There's somebody dead in there," said one little boy to another, as 1 passed a lionse, on the bellknob of which hnuir a little piece of black crape. My heart repeated what the lit tle boy said—"there's somebody dead in there" —as I walked slowly and thoughtfully down the street. All who passed and saw the em blem, learned the saiue sad story, that " some body was dead in there." But who, few cared to ask, or know. A few short months since, when the cold winds were drifting the snow through the streets and piling it on side-walk and roof, a little stranger with a face—o, so little !—and eyes that looked wonderingly around on the new worid it had discovered, made two hearts glad. And by-and by it grew so strong that it made brief journeys from a chair to mamma's outstretched arms, laughing the while as hard as it could. Often us I passed the house, a sweet faced baby turned toward me, and little eyes peeped at out at me through the half clo sed blinds, and my beurt blessed the little child. But a few days ago it sickened, and last night, when the sun went down, it died. I miss a sweet face at the window to-day, and the little carriage is empty ; and as I pass the house, I am repeating sadly, with the little boy, " there's somebody dead in there." The heart knoweth its own bitterness, and that young mother knows better than anybody else, that " there's somebody dead" in the house, as again mid again she lifts ttie white covering that conceals the repose of her first born and only child GOD help thee, young mother ! This afternoon, while the Sabbath lingers, and the holy hours are full of rest and stillness, they will carry thy little one to its quiet home in Mount Hope, to await the coining of its Redeemer. They have buried their dead oat of their sight, and still it seems as if somebody was dead in that house. Oh, those are sad hours at the fireside—and only thfy who have felt them ki.ow how sad, when it is said, " there's somebody dead in there.'" How the sorrow settles down like a dark cloud above and around us! The sunshine seems all withdrawn and verily we should die, did not Goo send it buck to us again. By-and bv, dear reader, of your house and mine will it be said, " there's somebody dead in there." Perhaps t hat somebody will be you, or me ; perhaps the sweet wife that journeys by your side, or the littleoue that nestles close in a corner of our heart. GOD help us in that hour, lor all human help will fail. Of every earthly house will it, sooner or later, be said, " there's somebody dead in there but there is a house not made with hands of which this shall never be spoken. Down through the ages sounds the glorious, everlasting proclama tion, there , there shall be vo more death. If you and I, dear reader, have a mansion in that house,let DEATH come to our earthly mansion, if GOD send it. It can trouble us but a little while, and then, at last, standing within the fold of the Good Shepherd, nil tears shall be uiped iff from all facts. —Moore's Rurul JS'tw Yorker. A DODGE.— When Deacon Y got into a bad position lie was very expert iu crawling out of it. Though quick tempered, he was one of the best deacons in the world. He would not in a sober moment utter an until, or uuy thing like one, for his weight in eidtr. At the close of a rainy-day he was milking upon a kunll in his barn-yard, on the side of which was a dirty slough, and on the other side an old rain that, in consideration of his usual quiet disposition, was allow ed to run with the ! cows. Tile deacon was piously humming "Old Hundred," and had just finished the line end j iug "exalted high," when the ram, obeying a i sudden impulse to be aggressive, gave him a blow from behind that put him up a short dis i tance only to fall directly into the slough where the dirty water was deep enough to give him a thorough immersing. As he crawled out, and before he aro-e from his hands and knees, he looked over his shoulder Ht the ram aud hotly vociferated : " You d——d old cuss!" but, looking around and seeing one of his neighbors nt the bars looking at hiiu, he added in the same breath, I 4 If 1 may be alluWcd the expression."— Carpet | B "S- Si.vcn.Aß INCIDENT. —A very curious inci dent occurred when the paying ont of the At lantic cable commenced in mid ocean. The splice had been made and the cable lowered over the sterns of the vessels, when a little be fore it touched the water, a sea-gull, fatigued no doubt after a long flight, perched on it, and ! his claws getting fast iu the tar with which the cubic was coated, he was unable to extri j cate them, so that the poor bird was dragged ' down under the water ami was drowned. He ; made desperate efforts to save himself, but to j no purpose, as he stuck fast, aud when lie found himself going down his despairing cries j sounded far across the waters. The strange i ness of the occurrence, and the terrible agony l of the ensnared bird, caused some aensatiou on board the vessels. WHERE FIVE SHAWLS COME FROM. —IN Rock ham, the camel is watched while the fine hair on the under part of his body i.-- growing. This fine hair is cat off so carefully tiiat not a fibre is lost; it is put by until there is enough to spin into a yarn, unequalled for siftness; r.ud then it is dyed till manner of colors, aud woven into stripes eight inches wide, of shawl pat terns, such ns—with all onr pains and cost, with all our schools of design and art—wc are not yet able to rival. These stripes are then sewed together so cunningly that no European can discover the joints. They are then taken fifteen hundred miles to the borders of Russia to be sold. To A friend, who had married a lady who was on the point of taking the veil, Jerold .viid "Ah ! she evidently thought yoa bit ter than aw a r
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