~:)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