(HE DOLLAR PER AIN IJH INVARIABLY IN ADVANCE. TOWANDA: Thursday Morning, March 8, 1860. .Scitricb |bftrj. TIRED TO DEATH. Mr ladv is tired to death ! Slie has -tndied the ]riut <>/ the sray velvet nig. And given her dear, dariiug ywudie a hug. And from her bay window has noli eJ the fail Of a ripe nectarine fr'ni the low. sunny wall; She's embroidered an inch on some delicate lace, And ricr>>d iu the mirror her elega.it faco, Has looked at an album, a rich bijouterie. Then restlessly owned herself dead with ennui. And my lady is tired to death 1 Exhausted! It's strange that as day after Jay Of her frivolous life passes slowly away. So aiuiles* and " stylish," . empty and fins. So free from those duties sometimes called divine That she wearies of something, slie hardly kn >ws what; Thinks of not what she Is. but of all -he i s not! Oh no ! all emotions are vulgar, you know, And my lady's hare always been quite com ut t//uai. j t-till my lady i- tiled b> death ! Oh woman, false woman, false mother, false wife! j VVhat account can you gice of yot.r frivolous lite? i (if that life that has passed like a feverish dream, That life that has not been to bt but to ttcn. What account will you give in the awful, last day. When the pomp and the show of the w rid pa-s away. When the Master demands . f the talents H<-'- given, i A stewardship rendered on Earth and in Heaven ? Tirol to death! Cast i ff for a momei t your diamonds and lace. And -him. in the light of truly womanly grace : I.isik around yo i and see. with eyes raised to the light. Strong IMB and true women who ftvo for the right ; I'.rave hearts that ne'er fatter th- i-• distant the goal, (treat live* wh >se flcr e stmgxles will never Is: told, Whose wild straying hearts -stru duties coutrcl, Whose on!v tree life is the life of the soul. ' ~ = , 5111 ct c i dale. [Froiu uie Atlantic Monthly.] M Y L AST LO YE.; ( CONCLUDED.) The next time, he cu'ied a fi w moments to tell me that liis lady vi-itor, with a friend of theirs, hud come, and expressed a wish to make my acijuauitat.ee. Ho promised them that he would call n:ul let me know, —though he hoped I would uot come, uulras 1 felt in-' dined. He was very ai>ent-aiiuded. and wen: i ff the moment I asked hira where he had left his good spirits. This made me a i.t'.le cold to him when I called on the ladies, for I found them all -ittii z after tea out at the door. It was a miserably constrai: • i a J i.r, tlningh we • nil tried to bt civ;!.—for I could see that both J ladies wore taking l . or trying to take, ray measure, aud it did not set me at ease in the least. But in the time I had measured tuem; ami as eijwier.ee had continued t .at first itu j ressioo, 1 ctay as wed sketch them here. I protest, in the first place, against a: y imputa tion of prejudice or jealousy I thought much more charitably of thetn than others did. Mrs. Wiuslow was cue of th. se pleasant, well bred ladies, who can lo . k at yoa tialt! vott are obliged to look away, contradict you jlatlv. and say the ico-t grossly impertinent things in the mildest voice and efcofefeht words. A woman of the world, without nobility enough to appreciate a magnanimous thought or action, and were very narrow, shallow *iews of ewervthing about bee, vhe bad still some agreeable traits t>f character, —maeh shrewd knowledge of the world, *s sh<- saw it, some taste for Art, and aa excellent judgment in relat.ou to all things appertaining to polite society. I ha I really a a-.' pleasant inter course with her. although I tin a ske was one •of the most insulting persons I ever met. I made a poiut of never lettii g L t get ai.y ad vantage of toe, and so we got along very wel. Whenever e'.ie had a chance, she wis sure to sav so moth: ag that would mortify or hurt me; and I newer failed to repay both principal aud inter eat wtii. a vo.ee and lace a* saioota as hers. Aud here let me ->y that there is no other way of dealing with such people. .Self denial, modest. mirßniisi!y, they do not and cannot understand. Never turn them the other cheek, but give a smart slap back again, it will do them good. The daughter wa< a very pretty, artificial, silly girl, who might have been very amiable in a different potion, and was not IH-natored as it was. I might have liked her very well, if she had not conceived such a wonderful i;king for rue, and bugged and kissed me as she did. >k; e . . . ar.d I d.?i:ie to near a woman coo; it is sure mark of inferiority. We were quite intimate soon, and M.ss La cy feR into tbe habit of coming early is the morning to ride with me, and after dinner to sit and -sew, and alter tea tor a w&.k She t without roe. 1 let her play at liking me, jut a* I should have indulged a playful kuten,ar.d tried to sav and do something that might improve her for Mr. Ames's sak*. I ww now what his skeleton was. He was to marry tbe poor child, and rhruii from it as 1 should have shrunk from a sba..ow husband. lie used to come with ber sometimes, and 1 oust confess that he behaved admirably. I never saw him in the least rude, or ill-natured, or contemptuous towards her, even when she was sifiiesst and tried his patience most severe ly ; and I felt uy reapect for hitu increasing every day. As for Mrs. Winslow, ahe came sometimes to see me. and was very particular to invite me there ; but I saw that she watched W:k me and Mr Aurr. and suspected that she had come to iiuntsvifte for that porpese. ehc sought every opportunity, too, of making me seem awkward or ignorant before him ; and fce perceived it, I know, and was mortified and annoyed by it, though he left tbe chastise ment entirely to me. Once in a while Covin Miry aui I aai a mai old fashioned viei: from THE BRADFORD REPORTER. him all alone, cither when it was very stormy, or when the ladies were visiting elsewhere. He always came serious and abstracted, and went away in good spirits, and he said that those few hours were the pleasantest he passed. Mrs. Winslow looked on them with an evil eye, I knew, and suspected a great deal of which we were all innocent; foroue day, when she had been dining at my house with her ' daughter, and we were all out iu the garden j together. I overheard her saying,— | " She is just the person to captivate him, and you mustn't briug yourself into eompeti j tiou with her, Lucy. She can outshine you in ' conversation, and I know that she is nlayiug a i ♦ ® deep game. " La, ma I" the girl exclaimed. "An old maid, without the least style ! and she makes , butter too, and actually climbs up in a chair , to scrub down her closets, —for Edward aud I j caught her at it one day." " And did she seeui confused ?" asked Mrs. Winslow. " No, indeed ! Now I should have died, if he had caught uie in such a plight; but she shook down her dress as though it were a mat-' ! ter of course, and they were soon talking i about some German stuff, —I don't know what j it was, —while I had to amuse myself with the i i drawings." "Thai's the way!" retorted the mother, j " You play dummy for her. 1 wish you bad a little more spirit, Lucy. You wouldu't play , into the hands of this designing" " Nonsense, mamma ! She's a real clever, good-natured old thing, and I like her," ex claimed the daughter. " You're so suspici- 1 I ous r " You're so foolishly secure I" answered mamma. " A ntau is never certain until after . the ceremony ; and you dou't know Edward Ames, Lucy." " I know he's got plenty of money, mother, and I know he's real nice and handsome," was the reply ; and thv walked ont of hearing, j I wouldu't h ire listened oven to so much as that, if I coul 1 have avoided it ; and as soon ' ns I could, I went iuto the parlor, and sat down to -'. me work, trying to keep down that old trouble, which somehow gathered size like a rolling snowball. 1 might have known what it was, if I had not closed my eyes resolutely, j j and aid to myself, "Thesummer will soon be gone, and there will be an end of it all then;" and 1 w inched, as I said it, like one who sees a blow coming. Toe snraw r went by fnsperceptih'r ; it was autumn, an i tii! all things remained outward |ly n* they had been. We went back and forth continually, rode and walked out, -ang and read together, and Lucy grew fonder and louder of me. She could scarcely live out of my presence, a:ul con lined to lue aii her plnns wheu she and Edward should be married, — how much she thought of him, and he of her, all about their courtship, how he declared him- 1 self and how -he accepted him one soft moon light night in far Italy, how agitated and dis tressed he had been when she hal a fever, and a thousand other details which swelled that great stor.e in my heart more and more. Eat [ shut my eyes, until oae day when I saw tuem together. lie was listening, intent, and very paie, to something she toid him. and, to my surprise, she was pale too, and weeping. He fore she could finish, she broke into a pinn ate ru>h of t-ars, and would have thrown her self at bis feet ; but he caught ber, and she sank down upon his shoulder, and he stooped towards her a- he might if he had loved her. Then I knew how 1 loved him. I had to bear up a little while, for they w-re iu my house, aud I inast bid them good night, ami talk idly, sc that they shook! not j suspect the wound I k id. But I most do MjaieUi ng, or go mad : arxl so I went ont to i the garden-wall, aud struck my baud upon it j until the blood ran The pain of that jal anced the tei rible paiu witkin a few moments, j and I went in to iheaixaia: ani smiling. They 1 wt re idling en the -ofa, ke with a perplexed, i pn'e face, and she blushing and radiaut. They started up when they saw my hand bandaged. | and she was full of sympathy for my hurt. ; He said but little, though he looked fixedly at my face. I know I must have looked -trang- ly. TTlien they were gone, I weal into rr.y chamber a\ 1 shut the door, when some such T ~1:g as I should have closed the ea tx-ace of a tomb behind me forever. I fought myself all that unght. My hear* WAS hungry and cried out for blood, auj I would promise it none at ail. Is there any one who thicks that youth has monopolized ail the passion of life, nil the rapture, all the wild despair ? Let then: brea-t the deen. strong current of middle life. I never conld quite recollect how that last month went away. I know that I kept my self inces-antly occnpted, and that I saw them aimo?t daily, wit boat departing from tbe tor.e of fiuiii.ur friendship I had worn throughout, although my heart was full of jealony and a fas: growing hatred that would not be qneMed Not for a ihoa man At length he 1 >okc<4 up, very pale, and put hi* hand on my ' " L want to pat a case to you," he said.'. " Sup:' -? a man to hare made some engage ment before his mind was mature, and under a strong oil* side pre-"U"e of which he was not j aware. Whea he grows to a better knowl edge of the world and himself, and finds that he has beeu ball cheated, and that to keep ! his word will entail lasting misery and ruia on i himself, without real'y benefitting any one else, is he bound to keep it ?" I stopped an instant to press my heart back. | ; and then I answered him. "A proaii-e is a promise. Mr. Ames. 1 ! have thought that a man of honor valued hi? j word more than happiness or life." He flushed a moment, and then looked down again ; ani we walked on slowly, without a word, over the stubbly ground, and through ' brooklets and groves and thickets, towards home. If 1 eoald s-.ly reach there before he spoke again ! H>w conld I hold out to do my duty, if I were tempted any further? At | lak be "checked the horse, ai.d, patting bis j hand heavily on mine, looted ae full ia tbe ' face, while Ins was pale and agitated. " llaehel," he said, huskily, " if a man came to voo and said, ' I am bound to another : bat my heart, my soul, my life &re at your feet,' would yoa taru him away ?" I gasped one long breath of freah air. "1m I look like a woman who would take a man's love at seeoad hand V I said, hanght- I iiy. *' Women like me mtul respect the mac they marry. Sir." He dropped his hand, and turned away hi* head, with a deep drawn breath. I saw him stO'vp and lift himself airain, as though some weight were laid upon his shoulders. I saw tbe mnsdes roond and ridgy cpon his clenched hand. "AM this for a silly, shallow thinff. who knows nothing of the heart she loses 1 some tempter whispered, and pas-.oaate words of love rashed np and beat hard against my shut teeth. a Get thee behind me V I mat tered. and resolately started my horse forward " Not for her, —but ior myself.—for self-re spect 1 The best iove HI the world s'aaii NOT i bay that I" "lie came along bes;Je me, silent, and step ping heavily, and thns we went to the leafy iane that came out near my hou s e. There I stopped ; lor I frit that this toes', end now. " Mr. Ames, you mast leave this place, di rect !v," I said, with as much sternuess as I could assume. "If you please, I will bid yoc [ good bye, now ' ~ see TOO aaaia, Rachel ?" he esclaiffi i ed, sharply. *"No 1 not that? Forgive me t if I have said 100 much ; but don't send me ; away I". 1 He took my hand in both his, and gazed as one might for a sentence of life or death. voa iet a woman's strength shame I. you ?" I cried, desperately. " I thought yon t were a man of boaor, A£r. Ames. I "trusted 1 you entirely, bat I will nerer irost aay one , | again." ' ~He dropped ay hard, and drew himself en. " REGARDLESS OF DENUNCIATION FROM ANY QUARTER." "You are right, Rachel! you are right," he said, after a moment's thought. "No oue must trust me, and be disappointed. I have never forgotten that before ; please God, I never will again. But must I say farewell here ?" " It is better," I said. " Good-bye, theu, dear friend !—dear friend!" he whispered. "If you ever love auy better than yourself, you will know how to forgive me." I felt his kiss on ray hand, and felt, rather than saw, bis last look, for I dared not to raise my eyes to his ; and I knew that he had turned hack, an 1 that I had seen the last of him. For one instant I thought I would fol low and tell him that he did uot suffer alone ; but before my horse was half turned, I was myself again. " Fool !" I said. " If you let the dam down i can you push the waters back again ? Would j that man let anything upon earth stand be ; tween him and a woman that loved hitu ? Let j him go so. He'll forget you in six months." I had to endure a farewell call from Lucy and her mother. Mr. Ames had received j ■ a sudden summons home, aud they were to ! i accompany him a part of the way. The elder i scrutinized me very closely, but I think she ' got nothing to satisfy her ; the younger kissed ! i aud shed tears enough for the parting of twin sisters. How I hated her ! In a couple of ; days they were gone, Mr. Ames calling to see | uie when he knew me to be out, and leaving a i civil message only The house was closed,the faded leaves fell all about the little lawn. " That play is over, and the curtain drop | ped," I said to myself, as I took one long look towards the old house, and closed the shutters that opened that way. You who have suffered some great loss, and stagger for want of strength to walk alone, thank God for work. Nothing like that for bracing up a feeble heart ! I worked restlessly f rom morning till night, and often encroached on what should have been sleep. Hard work, real aiueway labor, was all that would cou tcnt me ; and 1 found enough )f it. To have been a proper heroine, I suppose I shonld have devoted myself to works of charity, read senti mental poetry, und folded my hands v<.ry meek ly and aud prettily ; but. I did no such thing. I ripped up carpets, and scoured paiut, and j swept dowu cobwebs, I made sweetmeats and winter clothing, I dug up and set out trees, aud tramped round my fields with the man be hind me, to see if the fences needed mending, or if the marshes were properly drained, or the fallow land wanted ploughing. It made me better. All the sickliness of my grief passed away, aud £>niy the cieep-lying regret was left like a weight to which my heart sooa became accustomed. We can manage trouble much better than we often do, if we only choose to : try re-o'utelf. I had but one relapse. It was when I got news of their marriage. I remember the day j with a peculiar uistiuctaeis ; for it was the first snow-storm of the season, and I hal been ont walking all the afternoon. It was one of those soft, leaden-colored, expectant days, of late autumn or early winter, w hen oue is sure of snow ; and i went out on purpose to see it ' fall among the woods ; for it was just upon ] Christmas, and I longed to see the biaek ground covered. By and-by a few Sites sauntered j down, coquetting as to where they would alight i theu a few more followed, thickening and tbickeuiug until the whole upper air was alive with them, and the frozen ridges whitened along their back-, and every little stiff blade of grass or rush or dead busu held a!! it could carry. It was pleasant to see the quiet wond er go on, until the landscape was completely choDged,—to walk tome tcujfing the snow from the froteu road on which my feet hal groun d as I came that way, and see the fences full, and the bellows dead in level, and the birches bent down with their hair bidden, and I the broad arms of tbe fir-trees loaded, like ?om -1 bre cottoo-p"u going home heavily laden. Then to see tbe bra-sy streak widen iu the west and the cold moon hang astonished ujxm the dea l tops of some distant pine trees, to enjoy a most beasiifui picture, with only the j cost of a little fatigue. When I got home, I foead among my letters one from Mr. Ante' He could not leave the country without pleading once more for tnv esteem, he wrote. He had not intended to marry nnlil he could thiuk more calmly of the post ; bat Lucy's mother had married agaiu verv sadden'y into a family where her daughter found it net pleasaut to follow her. She was poor, without very near relatives now, and frieuds en both sides, had urged the marriage. He bad told her the itate of his feelings, and offered, if she eosld overlook the want of love to bt everything el-e to her She should Deye-r repnt the tep. and he prayed me, when I thought of him,to think es leni nt'y as possible. Alas ! now I must not think at ail. How I fought that thought,—how I work ed by day. UEJ studied deep icto the night, (filling every hour full to the brim with activity, seenw cow a feverish dream to me. Such dead thoughts will not bi buried oat of sight, but lie cold and stiff, until the falling foliage cf seasons of labor and experience tdiies jound them, acl moss and herbs venture to grow over their decay, and birds com? slowly and curiously to siug a liUle there. In time, the mound is beautifai with the ricaaess of the growth, La: the lord cf the manor shudders as he walks that way. For him, i; is always i bancted. Thus with me. I knew thai tbe sorrow was doing me good, that it had been needed looc, and I tried to profit by it, as the time come when I could think calmly cf it all. I thought l had ceased to love kim ; but the news of her ( death (for she d;ed in two years' taught me i better. I heard of him from others, —that he had been most tender and indulgent to a sel- I Sib. heartless woman, who trified with hk best feelings, and aimoet broke his heart before she ? went. I heard that he had ODe child, a poor i little blind baby, for whom the mother had 1 ! neither lore nor care, and that be still eootinu -2 ed abroad. Bat from himself I never heard a 1 word. No doubt he had forgouea me as I had * always thought he would. More than two years passed, and spring time was upon us, when I heard that he bad returned to the country, and was to be married shortly to a wealthy, beautifnl widow he had found abroad. At first we heard that he was married, and then that he was making great preparations, bat would not marry until au tumn. Even tbe bride's dress was described, and the furniture of the house of which she was to be mistress. I had expected some such thing, but it added one more drop of tbit terness to the yearning I had for Lira. It was so hard tq think him like any other man ! However, now, as before, I covered up the wound with a smiling face, and went abont my business. I had been making extensive improvements on my farm, aud kept out all day often, overseeing the laborers. One night, j a soft, starlight evening in late May, I came ! home very tired, aad, being quite alone, sat ' down on the portico to watch the stars and i think. I had uot been loug there, when a | man's step came up the avenue, aud some per- j son, I could not tell who in the darkness, open- ; ed the gate, aud came slowly up towards uie. j ! I rose, and bade him good-evening. ! "Is it you, Rachel ?" he said, quite faintly. 1 It was his voice. Thank Ileaveu for the dark ness ! The hand I gave him might trembie, j ! but my face should betray nothing. I invited . him into tbe parlor, and rang for lights. " lie's ccrae to see about selling the old bouse," I thought ; there was a report that he i would sell it by auctiou. When the lights came, he looked eagerly at me. " Am I much changed ?" I said, with a half bitter smile. " Not so much az I," he answered, sighing j aud looking dowu ; —he seemed to be iu deep . thought for a moment. He was much changed. His hair was turn ing gray ; his face was thin, with a subdjned expression I had never ex;>eeted to see him wear, lie must have suffered greatly ; and, as I looked, my heart began to melt. That' would not do ; and besides, what was the need of pity, when he had consoled himself? I a>Lcd sorae ordinary question about his jour uey, aad led him into a conversation on foreign travel The evening passed away, as it might with two strangers, and he rose to go, with a grave face and manner as coid as mine,—for I had been very cold. I followed him to the door, aud asked how long he stayed at Iluutsvilie. Only a part of the next day, he said ; his child could not be left any longer ; bat he wished very mnch to see me, and so had con trived to get a few days. " Indeed!" I said. " You honor me. Vcur Iluntsviile friends scarcely expected to be re- ' membered so long."' " They have c x done me ; 'u-tice, then," he said quietly. " I seem to have the warmest recollection of any. Good-night, Miss Mead. t I shall not be likely to see you agaiu." He gave me his hand, bat it was very cold, and I let it slip as coldly from miae. He went down the gravel-walk slowly aad heaviiv, aud he certainly sighed as he closed the gate.— Could I give him up thus? " D:wu pride ! You have held sway long enough ! I mux part more kindly, or die !" I ran down the gravel-walk and overtook him in the avenue, lie stopped as I cam; up, aad turned to meet me. " Forgive me," I said, brcathh '• I could not part with old friends so, after wishing so much for them." He took both my bands in bis. "Hare yoa wished for me, Rachelhe saiJ, tenderly.— " I thought you would scarcely have treated a | stranger with so little kindness." " I was afraid to be warmer," I said. " Afraid of what ?" he asked. My mouth was unsealed. " Are you to be married?"' I a>kcd. " I have co such expectation,* he an=were-J " And are not engaged to ar,y one ? ' "To nothing bat an old love, dear ! Was that why jou were afraid to show yourself to me ?"' " Yes !" I answered, making no resistance j to the arm that was put geot'y round me. H-: j was a'ne now. I knew, as I felt tbe strong I heart beating fast agari.st my own. '• Rachel," he whispered, " the ocly woman I ever did or ever can love, w.il you ;eud me away again ?" fcaf- A faitblul minister of tbe Gospel being j one day engaged in visiting some members of his flock, came to the door of a bouse where his gentle tapping could not be heard to? the noise of contention within. After waiting a little, he opened tbe door and walked in,saying with an authoritative voice, " 1 should like to i know who Is the Lead of this house." " Weel. sir," said the hu-band and father, "if ye sit down a wee, we'll may be able to tell ye for we're just tryiu' to settle that point. — Ut.in Rtuuji's Rcaiaisanus. texf-TleUs numb.r of th? A"; i r] •.'•-'.'has! i a good anecdote of a man who rarely faded tc ; go to bed intoxicated and disturb his wife dur ing the whole tight. Upon his being charged i by z frietd that he never went to bed sober, j he ind : gnen"!y denied the charge, and gave the | ; incident of one particular night in proof : Pretty soon after I go: into bed, my wife said. " Why, husband what is the matter with ; i yoa ? Yoa act straneeiy!" . i •' There's nothing the matter with me," said I I " Nothing at all." : I "I am sure there is," said she, " yea don't act natural at alt. Shan't I get cp and get j something for you ?" . And np she got, lighted a candle, and came ! ; to the bedside to look a; me, shading the light , fkh her hand. i "I knew there was somethingstrangaabout . yoa," said she, "why ! you are sober I" t j " Now this is a fact, and my wife will swear ; to it, so don't you slander me anymore bysay \; log that I haven't been W bed sober in six \ months, cause I have." > taW Many a sweetly fashioned mouth ho i been disfigured and made hideous by the fiery tongue within it VOL. XX. —XO. 40. How TIIE LION WOOS QIS BRIDE. —Let AS first sketch the story of the lion's life—begin ning with his marriage, which takes place to- • wards the end of January. He has first to seek his wife, but as the males are more abund ant than the females, who are often cut off in infancy, it is not rare to find a young lady pestered by the addresses of three or four gal lants who quarrel with the acerbity of jealous lovers. If one of them does not succeed in disabling or driving away the other, madam, impatient and dissatisfied, leads them into the of an old lion, whose roars she has appreciated at a distance. The lovers fly at hiui with the temerity of youth and exaspera tion. The old fellow receives them with calm assurance, breaks the neck of the first with i his terrible jaws, smashes the leg of the sec ■ ond, and tears out the eye of the third. No ' sooner is the day won and the field clear, than i the lion tosses,his mane in the air as he roars, : and then crouches by the side of the lady, who, as a reward for his courage, licks his wounds caressingly. When two adult liori3 are the rivals, the en counter is more serious. An Arab, perched in a tree one night, saw a lioness followed by a tawny lion with a full grown mane ; she lay I down at the foot of the tree, the lion stopped .on his path and seemed to listen. The Arab then heard the distant growling of a lion, which was instantly replied to by the lioness : under the tree. This made her husband roar furiously. The distant lion was heard approach ing, and as he came nearer the lioness roared louder, which seemed to agitate her husband, ■ for he marched toward her as if to force her j to be silent, and then sprang hack to bis old post, roaring defiance at Lis distant rival. This continued for about an hour, when a black lion made his appearance on tiie plain. The lioness arose as if to go towards him ; but her hus band, guessing her intention, bounded toward his rival. The two crouched and sprang upon ' each other, rollingonthe grass in the embraces of death. Their bones cracked, their flesh wa3 torn, the cries of rage and agony rent the air, and all this time the lioness crouched and wag ged her tail slowly in sign of satisfaction.— When the combat ended, aad both warriors were stretched on the plain, she arose, smelt them, satisfied herself that they were dead, aDd trotted off quite regardless of the uncom plimentary epitaph, Tbis, Gerard tells n, is an example of the conjugal fidelity of miladay : whereas the lion never quits his wife unless forced, and is quite a pattern of conjugal attentions.— West mine ter llerisw. ! . Sues AFFECTATION. — There is nothing more beautiful in ihe young thau simplicity of char aeter. It is honest, frank and attractive. How different is affectation ! The simple minded • are always r.atnral. They are at the same t'me original. The affected are never naturai And as for originality, if they ever had it, they have crushed it oat, and hurried it from sight ut' .r'v. Beyoar.-elf then, young friend! To attempt !•> be anybody else is worse than folly. It i> an impossibility to attain it. It is contemptible to try. J)at suppose yon eculd succeed iu imitating the greatest man that ever figured in Li-lory, wool I that make you any the greater ? By no mean*. You would al ways suff-.r in comparison with the imitated one, and be thought cf ouiy as a shadow of a substance —the echo of a real sound—the counterfeit cf a pure coin ! Dr. Johnson apt ly considered the heartless imitator \for such is he who affects the character of another) to the Empress of Russia, when she bad dona the freakish thing of erecting a palace of ice. It was r lendid and conspicuous while it last ed ; bet the sun so>a melted it, and caused its attractions to dissolve into common water, while the humblest stone cottage stood firm and unharmed. Let the fabric, though ever so humble, be at least real. Avoid affecting the character of another, however great.— Build your own. Re what God intended you ♦o be—yourself, and not somebody else. Shuu affectation. fee?" The Rochester Democrat says it has heard of a little incident which goes to show that Judge Kaoi. the new Justice of the Su preme Court in that district, is not only a ju ris*. of dist r.ction, bat a wag of the first wa ter. Daring the trial of Fee the murderer, 4 at Lyons recently, the Court room was fre quently crow J i to excess, so that at times members of the bar encroached a little upon the sacred precincts of the bench. On one of these occasions a well known legal gentleman of Rochester found himself urged by the "force i of circumstances " into a position d rectly be hind the seat occupied by Judge Knox, and deeming it necessary to say something byway of apology, remarked jocosely to that func tionary—" I'm here by grace alone."' " Ex actly." said his Honor, " bat I'm here by eUo lion ™ CUCSE OF BLUSHES — A LUCID DESCRIPTION. — A writer in the American Medical Gat'tie furnishes the reason why yosaig ladies blush when spoken to about their lovers : The mind communicates with the central ganglion . the latter, by redex action through the brain aod facial nerve, to the organic nerves, ia the face, with which iu branches inosculate. JSyMt'.aacbolj is another name for thought We care cot how imaginative a man may be, Met him eat two pickled pig's feet and be will feel as inanimate as a sack of coals. What we oft en thick Is mind is half the time gristle. A sweet girl is a sort of divinity to whom even the scriptures do net forbid us to render ' lip-service." 6S* The following notice is posted at a sail way eotioe : " Traveller! hon!d be careful to deliver their baggage to proper person*, as • a cer.tfrmaa a few days since entrusted bis ' wife to a stranger, and has sot heard of her i, since."