Bradford reporter. (Towanda, Pa.) 1844-1884, March 16, 1865, Image 1
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They will be entitled to j , lainii. c.'iitined exclusively to their business, with privilege of change. c~ Advertising in all cases exclusive of sub scription to the paper. .JOB PRINTING of every kind in Plain and Fan ,i,ns. .lone with neatness and dispatch. Hand- Inlk. Blanks. Cards, Pamphlets, Ac., of every va tv and style, printed at the shortest notice. The p- ■ iiiTKR OFFICE has just been re-fitted with Power I s. and every thing in the Printing line can x.-ciited in the most artistic manner and at the ~st rates. TERMS INVARIABLY CASH. _ " HA E-ARi D-HYE." Was the parting very bitter? Was the hand-clasp very tight? Is a storm of tear-drops falling From a face all sad and white ? think not of it, in the future ('aimer, fairer days are nigh ; not backward, but look onward For a sunny "bye-atid-bye." W. re some whispered words too cherished? Was the touch of lips too sweet? Are two souls once linked together Never, never more to meet ? Never here, earth's poor, vain passion .Slowly smonld. ring out must .lie. lint its ashes shall return you Something purer " hye-und-bye." Was the priceless love you lavished Sought for, played with, and then slain ? Where its crushed and qniv'ring remnants Calmly thrown you hack again - t Italy too the remnants gather. Bring them home without a sigh, sc. e.-t returns they yet shall bring you In coining bye-atid-bye." !- v>in frail boat tossed and battered. With its sails all torn and wet. i i -sing o'er a waste of waters i ivri which your suu has set I die shore all calm and sunlit. i ' the smooth sand warm and dry r I itli shall bear your shattered vessel S l'i lv, surely, '• bye-and-byt." • \i • the eyelids very weary, lii'rv the tired head long for rest. tlii t-'mph-s hot and throbing. And the hands togetln t pressed '' IB j■ shall lay you ou her bosom, Ciml tin- poor lips parched and dry. And shall vvliii j'cr ••Rest is coining, Rest for ever, ■ bye-and-bye. And when calmed and cheered and freshened By her soul-inspiring voice, l ie n look up, the heavens are bright'niug. Cease your wailing and rejoice ; Cry not out for days departed, None will hear yon. none reply : But look on where light is breaking O'er a brighter " bye-and-bye." i.stclUuwmi.ri, A STORY OF THE BORDER. Ihc rebels tire coming again, and this they will dons more liann, I'm afraid." I'b words were spoken by and old man. i . a l >w, troubled voice " I'm not afraid, father. I enjoyed look ng at their brown fares and dirty uniforms :i: List time they were here. A motley w they were, but there were some hand • am laces among- them." Yon will never learn to look at life ser-j usly. Annie. Can my daughter trust ;■ se who have been faithless to the best c vernment this world ever knew? I des -e those traitors, and tremble when they inter our State. They will teach ns yet that we should, for onr own honor, have rpt them out. God grant, my ehihl, that [hoy may spare its the little we have : it is p t i ug I shall want it.', I rouble comes soon enough, father; I'ii't ; tus borrow it now. You look tired pud auxioiis. Gii to sleep and forget these f* ;,,, !s ; 1 don't believe they are coining, P • i ■ it t! ydo they will pass onr store : I' -' is t" . little in it for them to waste Iheir tune upon it." I Tin; old man kissed his daughter, but left pic v i, with a sad troubled face. Annie ri'own leaned her head upon Iter hand, and leftne i absorbed in thought. They must p ivi i .-en pleasant thoughts for a smile lit (m low ) tir t tee and once she laughed right merrily. I* M>;• dear father. I wish he was not so telpVss p„, not afraid, but rather want " see the dirty traitors again." Annie Brown was a fragile-looking girl, ■mall atid very beautiful in appearance, with (Alt brown eyes, and a face whose beauty msisled in its never changing expression, die Silt sidl foi a long time, and gradually he smile changed into sadness.and a weary \ptessinn stole over her face. She wa's ui only child. Her father was old and in ina—her mother's time was occupied in usehold duties ; hers in attending the iittle store that formed their whole support. lien Annie lay down that night it was •t t * sleep ; a vague fear come over her, uid sue lay thinking of her father's words. Annie had known enough of the trials of ! 'Vcrty to make her cling to the little they ! H : and she offered up an earnest • ayi-r that God would save that to them. H ' lunl sank into an uneasy sleep toward ■niing. from which she was awakened bv ' ■ig voices beneath the window. Spring- • - i.ghtly out of bed, she gently opened : "butters, and listened to the speakers. K'lnainl five hundred thousand dollars, they can bor won't pay it, the town ' • A fie burned according to the General's •' -B Let us be quick ;itis an ugly job, " Aiio sooner it is over the better." 1 ii' se were the words which fell on An- I here was no mistaking them, V ■ ' ' :, e early dawn she could distinguish [ri the speakers all wore the uniform of \Y itli a heavy heart she dressed f -t Hon quietly descending to the store u she tied till the money in the draw v -"to a small bag,and fastened it around Lien noiselessly she went about the ■ tiding every vessel she could find • and carried them into the store. v 11 k was just finished when her father '■Ut-reil. in.. -V\"' nn '° child,what fire you doing?" , alar*,, K Va ' u 'y ,r ying to conceal his great ' "■Taxing for the rebels, father," she I E. O. GOODBICH, Pnbliaher. VOLUME XXV. answered smilingly,for no matter what sad and anxious thoughts Annie Brown might have, her father always saw a smiling face. It was a long time before Annie could tell what she had learned, but her father's ear nest questioning drew it from her ; and when the old man heard the ominous words hope and strength seemed to leave him.— His had been a weary life of struggling and disappointment—of little gain and many losses - f and now, in the sunset of life, when he had gathered a few comforts into his little home, he was to lose all. An nie turned from her work to comfort her fa ther. Gently she led him into the little back room, and tried to infuse some of her own brave, hopeful spirit into his, but all in vain. Old age cannot look upon things with youth's hopeful eyes. While Annie talked, suddenly red lights glanced in at the windows, and the atmosphere grew thick with smoke. She left her father, and hurrying to the door a scene burst upon her that beggars description. The whole town was blazing. As far as the eye could see it was fire—fire everywhere. Through the dense smoke she could distinguish hun dreds of figures wildly running to and fro. There were heavy sobs—voices earnest and pleading—there were wild shrieks, and children's scieams of terror, mingled with the tramp of soldiers and the crackling of the Humes. As the bewildered girl stood looking at the fearful scene, three soldiers came and ordered her to leave the house. She fixed her dark eyes upon them, and begged, for Iter father's sake, that there little home might be saved. They laughed at her pleading, and at the tears that were cours ing down her cheeks. She saw that tears and words were vain, and as they threw in the burning torches, she sprang to her buckets of water, and with a strength and courage that seemed superhuman, she ex tinguished torch after torch. The rude soldiers looked in wonder at the brave girl, and would have left her in the house she had so nobly saved, but for one more brutal than the rest. Drawing a pistol front his breast lie exclaimed with an oath. " Put out another torch, woman, and your life shall pay for your boldness." Annie neither saw nor heeded the pistol, though it was pointed at her, and the fierce, angry face of the soldier told that he was in earnest Another torch was flung upon the floor ; another bucket of water extinguished its red glare. There was a bright flash, a loud, quick report. The rohliers paused in their work to sec the brave girl fall. But ihere \ she stood, her cheeks flushed, her eyes glar ing defiance, and ready to extinguish an other torch. " Pour on the camphone, boys, and let us j burn the fiend." The command was obeyed, and the white j flame spread over the store the brave girl i had tried to save. Leave this place, soldiers," said a voice j of authority, and a tall officer entered the j door. '• You deserve your home brave girl,"and i seizing bucket after bucket, he threw the I water on the flames that were rapidly gain- j ing headway. Some one to help her, Annie's spirits rose again and together they worked, the officer only pausing to look at the bright eyes and flushed face of the brave and now beautiful girl. They worked long and stead ily, and saved the little house, but the con tents of the store were gone. Annie lean ed languidly against the door, and gazed sadly arround her. Bending over the dreary girl, the officer whispered. "Tell me your name, noble girl ; I must I go now, but you shall see me again." " My name is Annie Brown," she answer ed ; "and who must I thank for saving my home ?" "It was a rebel, sweet girl, who you j shall see again ; he has saved your life and j honor, too. Farewell." Annie could see the tall figure but a mo- • ment, for it was lost in the black smoke | that now covered everything. She turned j from the heated, heavy atmosphere, and found her mother and father in the little back-room, overcome with grief and terror. " 1 he store is gone, dear father, but our house is saved," she said, cheefully. fears lulled down the old man's cheeks, as lie drew the little dreary figure to his heart. And Annie felt more than repaid for her labors, when her father proudly smiled up on her through his heart. A week of fearful suffering followed that day of tire. Neighboring towns sent bread to the famishing, and clothes to the naked. But thousands were houseless and begger ed who had lived in luxury and taste. They lingered among the ruins,hopeless and help less, clinging to the blackened walls, and loving them because they had once been homes. Annie Brown's home was a refuge for I many who knew not where to lay their I heads ; and the little she had saved was ; freely shared with those who had nothing. ! A week of toil, privation, and suffering had passed, but bravely Annie Brown had borne it. She had soothed and comforted those around her; and had felt the cravings of hunger that others might not suffer. But oven Annie s courage and bravery was commencing to fail. She sat upon her lit tle back porch vainly trying to check the | tears that w< uld come, and thinking sadly ' and hopelessly of the future. All were asleep within the low house,and ; she sat wondering what she could do to i keep hunger and wretchedness from those ] she loved so well. A weary prospect lay i before her, and a prayer rose to her lips ! that God would teach her what to do. The prayer was scarcely offered, when she heard a little, quick step, and looking up, she saw a tall form beside her. She could scarcely distinguish it in the dark-; ness, but as the figure turned toward her, ' the light from the window fell upon him, ! and Annie recognized the officer who had j helped her save her house. He put his finger to his lips and whisper ed : " I am alone, Annie, and have risked everything to see you again." Hie did not speak, and he sat down be side her. Are you glad to see me, Annie," he asked. " You have saved my life ; and all that I have I owe to you ; but," she added, "that is very little, and God only knows what we are to do. It would have been kind, soldier, TOWANDA, BRADFORD COUNTY. PA., MARCH 16, 1865. | to have taken life too, when all else were 1 gone. We are beggers and you have made | us so." He did not seem to notice Annie's bitter ; words, but drew her to him. At first, she ' resisted, but his strong arm was arou id | her, and there was something in his manner that soothed the weary girl. He told her of his home—of its beauty, its wealth, and luxury ; he said he had come to offer it to i her. He told her of his love ; that she ; would be to him more than all else ; that lie would shelter and comfort her, and she j should never know sorrow, or trouble, or I weariness. Annie listened to the strange, sweet j words. Her life had beer, given to others. She had borne her burdens alone and un murmuringly, but life seemed often weary i and full of care. The stranger knew this, | for he could read woman's heart, aud he j could whisper words that would soothe 1 and win. i Hour after hour flew by, and still Annie ! listened to his glowing descriptions, and low, loving words. It was past midnight, j and the officer's voice sank lower as he whispered : | " Annie, will you go with me, trust me, j and all 1 have told you shall be yours." " \\ here shall I go?" she asked. I "To the sunny South, and be my little, : loving bride." lie drew a glittering ring from his finger and put it upon hers. He turned, that th • light might fall upon the diamond. It fell upon his face. It was a handsome face; but as Annie gazed, there was something there that made her tremble. She knew nothing about that world beyond her home. She had listened and believed the honeyed words that had been whispered. But there is little affinity between purity and vice, and one look had roused Annie from her dream of love, and brought back the reali ties of life. She drew her hand from his, | and taking the ring from her finger, said : " I cannot go. God bless you, soldier, for what you have done ; but 1 cannot go i with you." The calm, decided tone surprised the lov er, but he did not quit his suit. Every act jof persuasion was used, but in vain. The more earnest he grew, the more decided Annie became, and when lie found persua ' sion was of no avail, he resorted to force. 1 Annie's brave spirit rose as the danger became more imminent. Her hand was up on the door, and in. calm measured tones she said : " Soldier, you have been kind : fur this I thank you, but I blush that I have listened so long to a traitor—that I have trusted even for an hour one who believes neither in faith or in honor. 'Jo back to your com rades, and remember that weak woman, alone, and in the dead of night dared to say she scorned a traitor." " You snail pay for your scorn, proud girl ; if love is sweet,revenge is sweeter." He drew a pistol from his breast, and tired. Annie saw his design, and moved quickly, but the shot passed through her arm. The noise roused the house, and they hurried to the door. Annie was alone. The traitor and cow ard was gone. She was pale and faint from the loss of blood, but it proved only a flesh wound. And as she looks at it now, she tells those who come to hear how she was saved, "that a traitor may be kind, but he never can be trusted." TOOLS —The earliest tools were of the simplest possible charac er, consisting prin cipally of modifications of the wedge ; such as the knife, the shears (formed of two knives working on a joint), the chisel and the axe. These, with the primitive ham mer, formed the principal stock-in-trade of the early mechanics, who were handicraft men in the literal sense of the word. But the work which the early craftsmen in wood, in stone, brass and iron contrived to exe cute, sufficed to show how much cxpertness ' in the handling of tools will serve to com pensate for their mechanical imperfections. Workmen then sought rather to aid muscu lar strength than to supercede it, and main- ; ly to facilitate the efforts of manual skill. Another tool became added to those men tioned above, which proved an additional source of power to the workman. We mean the saw, which was considered of so much importance that its inventor was honored with a place among the gods in the inythol- , ogy of the Greeks. This invention is said i to have been suggested by the artange ment of the teeth in the jaw of a serpent, used by Tolus, the nephew of Ihedolus, in dividing a piece of wood. From the repre sentation of ancient tools found in the paint ings at Herculaneum, it appears that the frame-saw used by the ancients very near ly resembled that still in use ; and we are informed that the tools employed in the ' carpenters' shops at Nazareth at this day , are in most respects the same as those rep- ! resented in the buried Roman citv. An other very ancient fool, referred to in the Bible and in Homer, was the file,which was j used to sharpen weapons and instruments. Thus the Hebrews "had a file for the mat tocks, and for the coulters, and for the forks, and for the axes, and to sharpen the guards." When to these we add the adze, plane-irons, the augur and the chisel, we sum up the tools principally relied on by the early mechanics and working in wood and iron. How TO GET RID OF RATS. —For some years I was considerably annoyed with rats. I tried various "vermin poison," traps Sic., with very little success, until 1 thought of a mode which we adopted for destroying dogs that used to hunt our rab bit warren in the old country. So I got a quantity of broken bottles and window glass, and with a hammer and an anvil, triturated it pretty line (a stone would do to pound the glass on ;) I then sifted the coarse part out, and mixed a cupful of the fine with a cupful of flour and another of oatmeal, and, scenting it with a few drops of aniseed to attract them, 1 placed it on boards in the cellar, etc. They ate it up so fast that one of the family observed that "instead of poisoning, it must be lattening them ;" but a few days told a different story. The hist mess served for them re mains untouched yet, though put down last Fall, and no appearance of a rat or mouse, living or dead since. Neither have we noticed any smell of blue-bottle (meat) flies, as there would been had they died on the premises. It was a happy riddance.— The mixture must be kept from children, dogs, and other silly animals, as it would kill them as well as rats. REGARDLESS OF DENUNCIATION FROM ANY QUARTER. A VIRTUE NEEDED IN AMERICA. \Ye Americans are tlm most wasteful and j extravagant people in the world. VVe waste fearfully in food, in clothing, and in extras. AYe waste in every secular day of the week, and waste a double amount on Sundays, i Men waste shamefully, women shockingly ; boys anil girls, too, are permitted to waste wofully. Wastefulness is one of our worst national vices; for if economy be a virtue, then extravagance must be a vice. The ' English don't waste half as much as we do; 1 the French not a quarter; and the Germans I (while in Germany) don't waste at all. Hundreds of leading hotels here and | throughout the country prepare daily from I twenty fo fifty different dishes for dinner, | and out of these from a half to two-thirds | are regularly wasted. Thus not only is i iood wasted, but also labor at the same j time. In ordinary families unwholesome meals of half a dozen dishes are gotten up, where a plain meal would at once be more | economical and wholesome. We gorge I ourselves with great numbers of articles, which are neither nutritious nor delicious, hut simply costly. Men buy four hats a year, where one ought to last them four I years. They throw away coats and pants when they are butlittletiiewor.se for wear; aud instead of having their shirts mended, they purchase new ones and lling away the 1 'ld. Women wear very expensive articles of dross without wearing them out ; and, we have heard, are inclined to spend and waste money and material without stint. The present is a most excellent time for the whole people to begin to learn and practice the virtue of economy. If those men who are striking for higher wages be cause of the high price of living, would, instead of this, waste less in their homes, their clothing and their " sundries," it would be much better for themselves and for the country. If dealers would live less extravagantly, and waste less, they could sell more cheaply. If rich men would squander less on their tables, their tailors, their wine merchants, their last horses, big houses and " fancy fixings," they would set a better example, would better enjoy life, enjoy better health, and be more able to help their country. If the fair sex would pay some attention to this matter —ami we refer not merely to the wealthy classes, but to those in the common walks of life—they would be thrice Messed themselves ami would confer blessings on the bearded sex. Among the mercantile, mechanic, agri cultural and working classes of Germany, th<- same garment will not only be worn for one season or one year, but for half a life time or more ; and yet they will he no less comfortably clad than our people, who wear out a hundred suits of expensive clothing during their brief existence. In Dachau, the unterrock of the women will often be handed down and worn for three genera tions—which is a fact that might profitably be p mdered by the daughters of America. I hey are no less economical in articles of food on the European continent. A witty Frenchman asks the question why pork is so dear in Paris, and himself answers the inquiry by saying it is because they can't raise swine in France, for the people them selves consume all the garbage. There is hardly enough truth in this to point the joke ; but the (act is, that the nice and eco nomical habits of the French, in matters of diet, prevents the vast accumulations of re fuse which are seen in some other countries. Our habits of waste astonish all foreign ers. We waste enough in this country, of food and clothing, in one year, to sustain the whole population for five. The times are hard. The currency is deranged. W r e know not what lies in the future. The whole country should begin to learn habits of economy. And it is a virtue, which, if it is ever to become national, should at once be begun to be practiced bv individu als. TEACH YOUR BOYS TO A-ClßE.—„\! ucii pro sy advice is bestowed ou boys and young' men that never gets beyond the drums of their ears. One of the most useful ideas you can introduce in a young head is that its owner is bound to make his mark in the world if he chooses to try. Teach him that it depends solely upon himself whether lie soars above the dead level of mediocrity or not, whether he crawls or Hies. Give him, as far as possible, confidence in his own in herent capabilities. Argue that lie lias the same faculties by which others have risen to distinction, and that he has only to cul tivate them and apply in their exercise that mighty propulsive agent, a determined will, in order to rise. Bid him shoot his arrows not at the horizon, but at the zenith. A boy who sets out in life with the Presidency in his eye. although he may fall short of the mark, will be pretty sure to reach a higher position than if his ambition had been limi ted to the position of town constable, or a tide waiter's berth in the Custom House. This is not a land where poverty is a seri ous impediment to advancement. Very few of our millionaires were born with gold spoons in their mouths, and several of the most distinguished of our statesmen earned their bread in early life by the sweat of their brows. Fortune's gifts are wrung from her in this country by heads and hearts that know no such word as fail, and Fame has 110 special favors for the silk-stocking class. Action, says Aristocle, is the es sence of Oratory, but it is more true that energetic will is the soul of success. Tlie best temporal advice a father can give a son is "a*]>ire.'' " Boy, let the eagle's flight ever be thine. Onward and upward and true to the line." jgsar On the 20th ult. Mrs.Clark, of North Collins, N . Y., and her three children were seated at a table, on which was placed a lighted lamp, which the girl undertook to till with kerosene. In attempting this, the blase communicated to the oil in the can, causing an explosion of both the can and the lamp, and instantly enveloping all four persons in a sheet of liquid fire. Efforts were made in vain to extinguish the flumes. The unfortunate mother was burned to blackness from head to foot, and her fea tures so horribly disfigured that her most intimate friends could not recognize her. She survived till Tuesday afternoon,endur ing the most intense agony. The girl aged thirteen, and a boy aged six years, were not expected to survive. The fourth a lad of sixteen, was badly burned on the right side of his head, shoulder, and the whole length of his arm, hut hopes are entertain ed of his recovery. THE ATLANTIC CABLE. The London Times gives an encouraging account of the progress of the new Atlan tic Telegraph cable. On the 19th of Jan uary the work of shipment, on hoard the Great Eastern was begun. The cable is transferred from the works at Greenwich to the hulk Iris, for transference to the Med way, and final stowage in the tanks of the Great Eastern. The shipment will c intinue without intermission now until nearly the end of May, by which time it is hoped all will be coiled away snugly on board the great steamship. The total quantity of rope required to connect Valeutia with Bull's Bay, Newfoundland, allowing for the "slack" which must run out to prevent too great a strain on the cable, is about two thousand three hundred nautical, or nearly two thousand seven hundred statute, miles, With this length a liberal margin is given ! of nearly six hundred statute miles of rope | for slack caused by currents,possible rough weather, and the avoidance of anything 1 like unusual strain on the cable in the deep- I est water. Over one part of the route the depth is ! as great as from two thousand to two thou ; sand five hundred fathoms, or nearly three statute miles—a depth, however, which is only considered of moment in case of rough weather in paying out, the mere strength I of the cable being sufticent to bear its own | weight in eleven miles of still water. In J this respect, as, indeed, in all others (the I Times adds), the new cable has an enor ! tnous superiority over the old and ill-used I rope which was first laid, and which, to the | amazement of all those who knew its real condition, nevertheless remained in fair working order for a few days If such un i expected results were obtained from the old ' cable, which the advancement of electrical I science since then shows to have ben ! thoroughly ill-adapted for its purpose, it is not over sanguine to expect a far more fa : vorable conclusion to the present enterprise, ! every step in the conduct of which has been marked with the most jealous care,not i only to guard against the dangers known to exist, but against other emergencies which experience shows may arise, but which live years ago were unknown. In ; size, in strength, in better condition, better j insulation and better outer covering, the 1 new rope is nevertheless than three times as | good as the old one, while in many cases, I and these the most important, its superior i ity is lour or five times greater. Though a much larger cable, its weight ill water per mile is less than half that of its unfortunate ! predecessor. No final arrangements have yet been made as to the rules to be followed in lay | ing the cable, hut it will, of course, be com- J menced from this side of the Atlantic aud I carried across to Newfoundland, to get the | benefit of the westerly winds which gener | ally btow in summer. Steaming against a | head wind, the Great Eastern is as steady ias a rock. The rate of steaming across will never exceed seven knots an hour, and ! at this rate the great object of the expedi ! tion ought to be accomplished in from ten jto eleven days. All will, however, depend on fine weather, which, fickle enough eve rywhere, is trebly so in the North Atlantic, as the terrific gale encountered by the last expedition sufficiently proved. Against this misfortune, however, no care or skill on the part of the company can guard, and at present this seems the only cloud over the prospects of the new Atlantic telegraph. CALIFORNIA ANTS. —That enemy of the hoarded sweets of the California house kheper, the ant, is beyond counting in his annoyances this year. In the warmer dis tricts of the state nothing eatable can be stored without attracting myriads of them, and the destruction they cause is realty ajt important item. They have never within the memory of the oldest settlers been so numerous in the lower levels of the Sacra mento and San Joaquin as in 1864, and in the mines, residents inform us, they invade in arfnies every pantry, kitchen and closet. If a piece of meat, cheese, sugar, bread, or what not, is laid down, in half an hour it will be completely covered over with those devouring little wretches, and burrowed, tunnelled and perforated w'ith marvellous expedition. The miners say they are lay ing up an early stock of comestibles to pass a long and heavy winter. In the vineyards and gardens, as the fruit ripens, the ants spoil what the rascally birds and squirrels leave, and figs and soft lruit are their spe cial delight. The ripening grapes around Los Angelos are a great attraction to them and the vineyard men run in distraction over their raids, and it is likely they will spoil the making of much good brandy, as each of their wretched little bodies contains a coucentrated quantity of a peculiar acid, sour as vinegar. Here indeed is a new and strange plague, and there is not only the common little go-to-the ant-thou-slug gard species of California, but several oth ers, some with wings and some without. One of these, twice as big as a tlea, bites like a fish-hook, while another of his fel lows, of blood color, stings as he bites, rousing up the babies and kittens to a terri ble concert of squalls and tears in tlie quiet hours of the night. FRAUD DETECTED. — Deter the Great, while in Poland, visited a statute of the Virgin, which was said often to shed tears during the mass. He saw that the fact was, ap parently, just as had been described ; but, while his companions seemed struck with conviction, he ruminated on the means of discovering the cause, which he well knew was not supernatural. The statute being placed high, and close to the altar, so that no one could reach it from the ground, he took up a ladder which happened to be near, and mounting it, very closely exam ined it from head to foot. His curiosity seemed ungratified, and the attending priests mentally congratulated themselves on their escape, as well as the conversion of the czar, which they expected would probably follow. But perceiving small apertures in the eyes, he uncovered the head of the Virgin, and to their great mor tification exposed the whole mystery. The head was hollow and tilled up to the eyes with water ; this being agitated by a few small fishes placed in it, a few drops were occasionally forced through the apertures, and thus the miracle was produced. Peter took no notice of the matter further than to observe that "it was a miracle indeed and then left, as if nothing particular had happened. HK3 per* Annum, in Advance. THIS LIFE AND THE NEXT.—IFI this life we grow up to our full stature ; and then we decrease till we decease, we decline and die. In another, we come at first to "per fect stature," and so continue forever. We are here subject to sorrows and sins ; the first grevious to us as we are men, the oth er as we are good men ; 10, we shall one day be freed, be perfect. It is a sweet meditation that fell from a reverend divine, that many vegetable and brute creatures do exceed men in length of days, aud in happiness of their kind, as not wanting the thing they desire. The oak, the raven, ! the stork, the stag, fill up many years ; in regard of whom man dies in the minority of childhood. This made the philosophers call nature a step-dame to man, to the rest a true mother. For she gives him least time that could make best use of his time, and least pleasure that could best appre hend it, and take comfort in it. But here divinity teacheth and revealeth a large re compense from our God. Other creatures live long, and then perish to nothing ; man dies soon here, and afterward he may live forever. The Shortness is recompensed with eternity. Dost thou blame nature, O philosopher, for cutting thee so short that thou canst not get knowledge ? Open thine eyes —perfect knowledge is not to be had here, though the daj*s were double to Methuselah's. Above it is. Bless God, then, rather for thy life's shortness, for the sooner thou diest, the sooner thou shalt come to thy desired knowledge. The best here is short of the least there. Let no I man blame God for making him too soon happy. Say rather with the Psalmist, "My I soul is athirst for God ; 0 when shall I ; come to appear in the glorious presence of ; the Lord ?" Who would not forsake a pri | son for a palace, a tabernacle for a city, a i sea of dangers for a firm land of bliss, the i life of men for the life of angels ?— Thomas j Adams. | COQUETRY AMONG GIRLS. —I suppose that J coquetry, in its legitimate form, is among i woman's charms, and that there is a legiti ! mate sphere for its employment, for, except i in rare natures, it is a natural tiling with | your sex. Nature has ordained that man ; shall prize most that which shall cost an effort, and while it has designed that you | shall at some time give your heart and hand to a worthy man, it has also provided a way for making the prize he seeks an ap j parently difficult one to win. It is a sim- I pie and beautiful provision for enhancing j your value in his ej r es, so as to make a | difficult thing of that which you know to be unspeakably easy. If you hold yourself cheaply, and meet all advances with open willingness and gladness, the natural result will be that your lover will tire of you. To become a flirt is to metamorphose into a distgusting passion that which by a nat ural constitution is a harmless and useful instinct. This instinct ut coquetry, which I makes a woman a thing to be won, and which I suppose all women are conscious of possessing in some degree,is not a thing to be cultivated or developed at all It should be left to itself, unstimulated and unperverted ; and if, in the formative stage of your womanhood, by imitating | them, or seeking to make impressions for | the sake of securing attentions which are | repaid by insult and negligence, you do vi olence to your nature, you make yourself a woman whom your own sex despise, and whom all sensible meu who do not mean to cheat you with insineerties as mean as yours, are afraid of. They will not love you, and they will not trust you.— Dr. Hol | land. OK CHRlST. —Christ made himself like to us, that he might make us like to Himseif. Christ must needs have died, how else j could sin be expiated, the law satisfied, the devil conquered, and inau be saved ? They that deny themselves for Christ, shall enjoy themselves in Christ, j Men would rather hear of Christ crucified for them, than be crucified for Christ. If Christ denied innocent nature of love to us, shall not we deny corrupt nature out ! of love to him. Christ by his death appeared to be the i Son of man, by his resurrection he appear ed to be the Son of God. Christ was the great promise of the Old Testament, the Spirit is tiic great promise of the New. Christ's strength is the Christian's strength. If we would stand, Christ must be our , foundation ; if we would be safe, Christ must be our sanctuary. In regard of natural life, we live in God ; in regard <>f spiritual life, Christ lives in us. He that thinks he hath no need of Christ hath too high thoughts of himself; he that thinks Christ cannot help him, hath too low thoughts of Christ. Presumption abuses Christ,despair refuses Him. " Will you help me out of this mud hole?' said a traveling druggist, who had just been compelled to stop his team in a mud hole, because they couldn't pull it out. " No, I can't stop." said the Yankee, who was heavily loaded, and fearful he would be late for the cars. " I would take it as a great favor, besides paying you," said the druggist. " What are you loaded with ?" asked the Yankee. •' Drugs and medicines," said he. " I guess I'll try and get you out, then, j for I am loaded with tombstones." They were seen travelling together after | that. WHAT IS CONSCIENCE ?—When a little boy, my father sent me from the field home. A j spotted tortoise in shallow water caught ■ 1113- attention, and I lifted my stick to strike j when a voice within me said :—"lt is J wrong." I stood with uplifted stick,in won- i der at the new emotion,till the tortoise van-' islied from my sight. I hastened home, and asked my mother ! what it was that told me it was wrong. j Taking me in her arms, she said, "Some j men call it conscience, but I prefer to call; it the voice of God in the soul of man.— , But if you turn a deaf oar, or disobey,then it will fade out little by little, and leave you in the dark without a guide." A thrifty husband cradles his wheat or i cribs his corn, while the thrifty wife cribs, j or cradles the babies. CONVULSION OF NATURE. —"Some three weeks since," says the correspondent of a Quebec paper, writing under date of the ftth instant, "a peaceable family, residing at Bon Desir in the county of Tadousac, were roused from their slumber in the middle of the night by a horrible noise and quaking of the earth around their dwelling. Rush ing out into the darkness, but not knowing where to turn for safety from a danger which threatened to engulf them every minute, their fears increased a thousand fold, they decided to await the return of day before departing from the spot. Their fears were not without foundation, as th<- ground around them shook and groaned in the most dreadful manner. Morning at length came, and with it an alarming spec tacle for the eyes of all the inhabitants of the locality to behold. "An immense moral hill had slidden down, a house, a barn, and a number of other, buildings had been removed to a dis tance of about two acres below their origi nal sites,and the beach close by was strewn with immense boulders, and raised to a height of from twenty to thirty feet above its usual level, while the ground all around, for the space of twelve or thirteen acres, was cut up with deep crevices. The slide covered an extent of over twelve acres in depth by four or five in breadth. The un fortunate proprietor of the land covered by the slide is in the deepest despair at the catastrophe. Almost all his crops, hay, po tatoes, and grain, are destroyed, and the better half of his farm useless for the fu ture. There is, very fortunately, no loss of life to be recorded." RAPIDITY OK THOUGHT IN DREAMING.—A very remarkable circumstance, and an import ant point in analogy, is to be found in the extreme rapidity with which the mental opcrations"are performed, or rather with which the material changes on which ideas depend are excited in the hemispherical ganglia. It would appear as if a whole series of acts, that would really occupy a long space of time, pass ideally through the mind in an instant. We have in dream no true perception of the lapse of time—a strange property of mind, for if such be al so its property when entered into the eter nal disembodied state, time will appear to us eternity. The relations of space, as well as of time, arc also annihilated, so that while almost* an eternity is compress ed into a moment, infinite space is travers ed more swiftly than by real thought. There t are numerous illustrations of this principle 011 record. A gentleman dreamed that he had enlisted as a soldier, joined his regi ment, deserted, was arrested, carried back, tried, condemned to be shot, and at last led out for execution. After the usual prepar ation a gun was fired ; he awoke with the report, and found that a noise in the next room had, at the same moment, produced the dream and awakened him. A friend oi Dr. Abercromhic dreamed that he crossed the Atlantic and spent a fortnight in America. In embarking on his return, he fell into the sea, and awaking in his fright he found that he he had not been asleep ten minutes. DISCOURAGING CHILDREN. —It is somewhere related that a poor soldier, having had his skull fractured, was told by the doctor that his brains were visible. "Do write and tell father of it," said he, "for he always said I had no brains." How many fathers and mothers tell their children this, and how often does such a remark contribute not a little to prevent any development of th<* brain? A grown person tells a child he is brainless, foolish, or a blockhead, or that he is deficient in some mental or moral faculty, and in nine cases out of ten the -tatement is believed; the thought that it may be partially so acts like an incubus to repress the confidence and energies of that child. We know a boy who, at the age of ten years, had become depressed with fault finding and reproof, not duly mingled with eucourageing words. The world appeared dark around him, he had been so of ten told of his faults aud deficiencies. A single word of praise and appreciation, carelessly dropped in his hearing,changing his whole course of thought. We have of ten heard him say, "That word saved me." The moment lie thought he could do well,he resolved that he would ; and he lias done well. Parents, these are important con siderations. ABSTRACTED GENT. —"OId Bumblebee"was the cognomen of Mr. T , of Newbury - port. He gained the title from the fact of his catching a humble bee, one day, as he was shingling his barn, and in attempting to destroy the insect with his hatchet, cut off the ends of his thumb and fore-finger, letting the insect go unharmed. Other mishaps happened to the old codger, on tin same barn. In one of his abstractions, he shingled over his spare hatchet : and cut ting a small aparture in the building to let a little daylight in, this man actually set in a wooden pane, as being economical and not likely to be broken ! Uncle T in one of his obvivous freaks, nailed his left arm so firmly betwixt two boards of a fence he was putting up, that he had to call for help to get extricated from his self-im prisonment. He once put a button on the gate instead of the post. But the rarest freak of all was when he ran through the streets with his hands about three feet asun der, held before him, begging the passers by not to disturb him, as he had got the measure of a doorway with him ! NUMBER 42. A BOY'S PRAYER. —A Presbyterian clergy man in Northern New York had two smart boys, just old enough to have inquiring minds,but not to discern the reason of things They were taught to pray, and the efficien cy and need of prayer daily impresse< 1 up on them Both boys had a patch of " tuck et" or " pop " corn in the garden, and the growing blades were watched with intense interest, a small reward being held out to stimulate their industry. One day, the father walking near the " patch," heard the voice of the youngest solemnly engaged in prayer, and drawing near listened to the following petition : " 0 Lord, make m\ corn grow great big corn, but make broth er Sam's grow all little nubbins !" A BEAUTIFUL THOUGHT. —A writer whose life has passed its meridan'thus discourses upon the flight of time :—Forty years ooce seemed a long and weary pilgrimage to make. It now seems but a step. And yet along the way are broken shrines where a thousand hopes are wasted into ashes ; foot prints sacred under their dust,green mounds whose grass is fresh with the watering ot tears ; shadows even which we would not forget. We will garner the sunshine ol these years, and with chastened steps and hopes, push on toward the evening whose signal lights will soon be swinging where the waters are still and the storms never beat. "I THINK," said a farmer, "I should make a good Congressman, for 1 use their lan guage. I received two bills the other day, with a request for immediate payment The one I ordered to be laid on the table, the other to be read that day six months."