F; Rt r 4.131 & ,H. EDITORS. . . 4For the hi elepeident Republicave. 11, E . VE lit Eis • - : IPA AFTON • ). •,,,a t ere, where am I? Far trom all 'That breathq3 of me or mine. _ 'When pleaSuie spreads her glaring thrall, • I sup the sw.ot, - hut drink the...gall • That lurks beneath her shine. • sturdy tree's mitjst4c pride— \Chief beauty of mountain side— `The bright stream (lancing through the vile, The crowning beauty of the dale, Might tune 2,Poees lyre; • ' !Flow'rs sweetly blaiSm, vines gently cling, And 'here are' bittls fleetest wing, 'That e.srorthrough the grove. ten.l too the gentle, fragrant breeze' Trills soft its-music through the trees—'- Ah ! here I love to rove, - • •'And pluck the flow'rs of varied hue, 'When smiling through their tears of dew— .. tut 0, to me they're not half so fair, As those that breathe my own mountain air! For OWlndependent Republican,. THE FABLE or PETER VAII . DYKE B - ' WILL. PETEit Vat DYkE was, a Dutchman who lived in the . midst' of the flOwery plains of Holland. 1 Ills pleasant cottae - Stood our a . 4ot of land which formed - part of an exten , . , , sire-polder, which, being below the -level of the sea, had once been chvered With its' wa ters. As'all the: world 4:news, much - of the land' of lidlland is-of this de:Trip : Om, it hay * Eic been. dyked,and drained by the enterprise and patient industry whiCh form so large part of the Dutch character. The landscape which surrounded. the cottage was such - tas a - Dutchman lov'es td 'look upon. On either . hand the prospect - was bounded bythe . 'stoop l -of the blue sky to the swelling curve of the eartti's Tp - tund4y-. - - ,No hill or vale disturbed I the placid face of ..nattire; and the leautiful -rarment, Of the earth looked as - If it bad , all . been ironed out shortly after the great wash day„wheathereoiintTy no doubt existed in a stateorintidpie.. Enlivehitt - g the - scene, the windmilg . swung their huge arms to the' passing breeze, and puniped-_thet water into , the broad canal. The :canal ~itselfw as the • highway. to. the • city by file sea. .whose *spires were redden /d b', the setting sun. • . Peter luid:a. -gaiden and 'a wife, and the -- loves of his heart and the prides of his soul were his vrow and'his Cabbages.. Nor. Were they unworthy objects of his affections- for his wife hid not-a scolding .tornme, an d her form was as gracefully moulded as were the fiamsof Abe- voluptuous .vegetables ; h - his • garden \ s, which surpassed in size alithe cabbag es of the land. - By day he hoed his eabbag ;:..s with untiring assiduity ; and -when • his la- Iwo were ended !:e sat for an evening hour, • enjoying the peocat ul; society of his spouse. ,and gazing thrafrithe hazy smoke, wreaths of his meerschaum at the: stately goings' of the boats upon the serene canal, . Then -was n7lai D yk e. d i epe " perfect th . e , earthly happiness of Peter N a Oaci a year he R3iledlown to t hegreat eityto sell in tl;e• Market the produce ofshis industry. 'These yurneS•s were events for which due preparation wits Made heti irehand, and' the roollettions of whichfurnished conversation and astonishment fir the worthy couple until the. bursting headi;cif the cabbages 'warned Peter that it wasagain time to make ready for departUre, Thus admonis6d, his spouse with a sorrowful 'heart devoted her: selko the task of resuscitating his blue coat . and brimstone breeches ; w bile he gathered his - crop, and with 'it loaded a large canal boat until it looked like: a floating island of the deepest verdure._ 'When all was - completed,' and,Peter Was duly arrayed in the g arments prepared for him, he tenderly emb raced. his beloved W.fe and set forth upon his voyage, leaving her in tears. s . • . _ In the city market Peter's cabbages always : Ironghtithe - highest price; and; as he spent DO money foolishly, on his return he was al ways possesSed of - km:Um little sum, the most of which, not-.being needed for immediate use, was put izarefully . . away in the little rila hogany box, together with the savings Of for: trier yearl.., the glisten of which Peter's eyes, loved to 'behold. Not"that Peter was avari cious. - He .Loved mot. money; but the pleas : . e ant•thimrs which Money could obtain. One= .of these days, thought he;as year by yearhe watched the constantly increasinwpile„erneef these days I will be rich and he thought of the enjoy ments..which thcise riches, 'honestly. obtained, would afford. • I may smoke my pipe a. longer *while then, thought he, and need not work so hard. At length the money nearly filled the box. 'Peter now worked fewer hours thanhe had been wont . to work, and sat longer beforeihe door of his cottage to watch the opal - boats. As his love of ease increased, his hours of in _ doleam were more "ever ; and, _consider= • ing their .peaceful blessednees•as she highest state' of human 'happiness, he at 'length for soot his former employment altogether; an other gran-was hired to hoc his cabbages, and. - Peter determined, epend the remainder .-of ' his days in the:tat:Aust. felicity. So all day long t lie sitand smoked and dreamed and - tried to enjoyhimself as much as liossible.= But the pleasures *Lich his former industri-. Otis habits had coneeptrated into a single eve ning-hour'of blissful reverie, sweetened , by the fatigue of, labor; being not: distributtd throughout-the day ' -were necessarily weak in flavor.. This dilution of ' his fondly. anticipated eujoyme'nts seemed strange to Peter; for althongh his mental sacchatonieter indicated even below - zero, he: did not k'ntjw - the -reason. Iris pipe had , but the ninth-part . of it-former fragrance, because he limoked it nine times an often: These sleepy 'old canal boats all look alike, thought he; and- thehle wondered ,that it had never seemed so before, and if anything.new or strange would iver happen there, In short, Peter grew- disqm 'teLted ; and, as bis thoughts, tired of their surroundings, turned away from his &netts -toped delights, his eyes rested , on the glitter ' of the.gilded cross which shone like estar:on the top of the highesi spire of the westward ' city. Beneath that, be 'said to s himsel4 is .suir.ething like lite : there the scenes are ever nex ind - changing; what a fine thing it must le to live in the great city. He remeral?er ed z how lie had seen the' rich burghers ride through the streets in splendid yellow_coach es drawn by cream-colored horses, with a footman, in plum-colured breeches, up behind. The life of aAnirgher must be grand, but it needs a great deal of money. if I only had,' —and be sighed to think of the smallness of his mahogany, box, the contents Ad 'which had intherio4i ven him so much satisfaction. He . . . . , . . .. . --- . ------,—. _ . ----.. . . s . . . , . . . . ~ • 1 ./ . . . :• . . . . .. ... . - .. i . . . . . _. . . . . • ' ~u , , , , . I . :, , ..... Is.l A .i , T 1 er r ... . , .CV . .. .. . • • .0" •-•-• c.. I SAILcrq . • , ''' : . 4 111 .ZI•ik - N:.: .. ~.: -,A -- ,-:•"'' a - .. ..., , . ........ ~ ~,- t.i.zi , =....z. , . 1 . . • ~, ' .: - .. ' _ .i . :! :. ; ' C . ...511 : ... , ' t ~..- '-. 1; :. (.7._ i • • . ~ ••••,..„ 0:: _' . .... . . . .•, • . . , 1....c...•,...:,,....4...... -*--.2.1.1.1"r . 0 ,, ••,,...t • 4. .....• iti' ...„1„.4,17: e...-v--At,..1- .. .. ... . . ... . . :., . . , . . . . , - . • • r 11 , . .. . . = J., IBS 16 - Wed again for the star: of the ci i thedrali but the sun was down, and 4t shone no longer, so he entered his.cottags and went - to bed, where he dreamed of being a rich' burgher and riding about the streetscin - a yellow car riage. . .. .The land ,which Peter, owned and cultivat ed-had many years befoit belonged. to a rich i 'miser, - .who was said. ID have hidden away. large- ums of the ground ; although . no one\ knew where.- So one day it'happen ed very naturally, as Peter was lwooding over his discontent, that the idea steely crawled 'into his uneasy brain.that if he could find this money it would make him rich enough to- live •in the great city. What a lucky fellow I would 'be, if I - should- find' a I ..great pan full of gold; imagined Peter all day -long. When .he retired at night, filsing, as was usual. when he was trying to enjoy him- self, eatenAu° much ,cabbage, he dreamed that he,-knew where the treasure wits conceal ed.-, He did - dot go to kink at the place next day„and told no one of his dream„ for fear Of•breaking the charm; but be said to him, self, if I can keep the secret and dream of .it in -the Same . place three nights in succession l / 4 then I may be sure. Jle seemed very " hap py, and his loving spouse was delighted with the improvement in his - spirits.: The next night he-dreamed again, and not only vas the phiee-of the hiddeh treasure the same, but the earth seemed transparent, 'and he , saw 'the gold itself. There was a large panful, and the images, stemped.upon the OM seemed to nod to him - in token of recognition: Ope More night, thought - -Peter, and the, gold is mine. That evening he watched' again -the, gilded cross, which shone as the star of his. destiny; until the last sunbeam faded away. 'and its glory was departed. Be retired ear-, tier than usual, tind although in, haste to sleep and dream, it was long ere : he slept, at which unusual phenomenon his good. wife was not a little troubled: - Near Midnight he awoke._ He hatrdreamed-his third dream, and seen again the gold through the transparent earth, which was as cleat'as water. , The-shining fac- es had recognized him at once, and the bright coins each with h wiggling tail, like golden tadpoles, swam merrily around the pan.— Faster .anil faster around the pan sv,•arrr the golden tadpoles, and Peter's expanded eyes . followed them, revolving like two juggler's saucers, until, with the whirl, his head parlOok et-the motion, and he fell to the ground, the strange feeling of which awoke him,,fer'it frit as much like water as it look •. d, and he could hardly' remember whether he had dreamed of falling into his cabbage bed in into.the canal. The queer termina tion of his dream, however, did not at all ilarnpen his feelings of joy. He considered •it an omen-of good, which portended that he would err !Ong sail down to thegreat city. -As there was no need of longer secrecy, he awoke his sleeping wife, atiff, talking ks,fitst as pos. Bible, commenced to tell her allthat had hap. pened. But his,prior vrow,,seddrinly roused from her sluMbers. was almost scared out Of he i r *its. - Recovering her scattered senses, she came to the conclusion that, it must be the effe.ct of too, much cabbage at, supper, as ailments of this Rind were the only ills that had ever troublq him, and she 'immediately went for the phtermint bottle., The dose' which, supposingihim to 'be talking in his steep,.she soddenly and forcibly ruithinister ed,,produced Ito effect except so to confuse his ; ideas as to cause him to begin at the oth er'end of his story and endeavor• to say it backwards titster than ever. Astounded by the. esult and perceiving that the pepper rnitit., which had never failed before, had only made hint worse,-she dressed herself as quiek -ly as possible, and set off at once for the doe tor, who lived. two,miles off, up the canal.— it was a long walk for her, and the doctor; who wtis an old gentleman, was some time An getting ready to aectimpany her:home.— They had not proceeded tar - on. their way %Chen shouts_of alarm were heard • from the surrounding country. tile wafer was rash- Ina- from the canal; no one knew where, -and flooding their fends and dwellings. The breach in the dyke was found opposite Pe tefr's cottage; but Peter hirriself was never found. From laiia wife's recollections of what he had told hei it is supposed that, under the influence of his dreams, as .soon as his wile left, he had seized a spade, and, - eager for gold, had dug a hope in the',dvke,' *here he had been swept away by the 'fiat rush of the overwhelming waters. Thus ends•the fable of Peter Van Dyke. Liberty' Trees. - 4. It AVIS customary in the olden time for the Sons of 'Liberty to select some tree standing in a convenient locality, and by appropriate Cereinonies . dedicate it to Liberty. The'elin has the honer : above other'trees piefer- Ad for this purpose. That .which was set' apart in Boston was a wide-spreadingrand beautiful tree which stofxl in front. of a house near the -corner of Esiex and. Washington_l streets, which was Then the center of business at the south part of the town. ~ On'the 14th of : August, 1765, this tree.l was devoted by the Sons , of- Liberty to ex pose on it effigies of the men Oho- had -rep dered .thernselves 'odious by'their agency in . procuring ,or favoring the passage of the Stainp ACt. the 11th of September fol -lowing,they fixed a copper plate, twt and a half feet by three and a half feet in dimen . - ..sions upon it, bearing the inscription in, gold letters, The Ttre of Liberty,' _August 14, 1765, .'EVer after, most of the popular meet ings the Sons or Liberty)were held under it, until they were obliged% to leave town in time ofthe siege. , This tree was a .famons -.eyesore, to. the British, and one of their-greatest exploits du; ring the sirc„ .was its destruction . • This was accomplished-in August,l77s. A,party tin der the leadership of oneJohn'Williami cut it down, leaving tiothing_but the stumpabove ground,. The root they could not lout. h.— This tree, - -which bore the first fruits of liber fy: in America, was planted in 1646.' it was of large 'size, and made fourteen cords Of • I . wood. • The Liberty Treeln Providence was ded ieatedpi 1y,25, 1768. An . account thereof appear in the first number of Samntl,HalPs E.sex ltaii le, published at Salem, ~August 2 . 4 of that - 'This tree is said 'to have been remarkable on account of its . siie, and was'a point of reference fur straniers in 'the , Liberty trees were selected and .aimilarly dedicated in molt of the larger towns in New England and -in New York. - I'-# - bath ve twenty pair r ofeyes. Sh ks "FRIEEpoik amp RO , VGTU aanomq v u @Lizaw-g[ilf A r iIIREA,N.. , --..—;•• ' • I dreamed I had a f end, on whom I leant With blindest trust,d a betrothed maid, nit was wont t call n mine, but me; e tn For mine own self s med nothing, ticking her. This maid, so idolized, that trusted friend - Dishononed in mr aFsence, soul and body I Fear, following guilt tempted to blacker guilt, r i l And murdererls we suborned against my life. But by my looks, an most impassioned Words, I roused the vittues that are dead in no man, . Even is th' nssassins'heartsl they made their terms, And thanked me faitedieming them from murder. 'lln rt rude mete, ' - • A reek, methought, :fast by,a grove of firs, - Whose thready leaNts to the low-breathing gale Made a soft sound most - like the distant ocean, I staved as though the hour of death were passed, Anal were - sitting in a world of spirits-± For all things seemdd unreal I There .1 sate— The dews fell clam y, and the night descended, Black, sultry. close and ere the midnight hour, A storm caine on, Mingling all sounds of fear,- The woods,,attsky,ind mountnins,seemed one havoc. -The second flash ofilightning showed a tree 'Hard by me, newly scathed. I rose tumultuous: My Raul worked hig, I bared my head to the storm, And, with !mid vot e and clamorous agony, Kneeling I prayed o the great spirit that made me, ,: t Frayed that Ittmon s might fasten on their hearts, And cling with poionous.tooth, inextricable As the gored lion'sibite.—Coh-ridge.. VATRIMOIAL STRATAGEM ; -OR-- . How Two Honsehojds Became One. MRS. RENON! BENSON was fat, fair, and forty-four, when( her - husband, a soap•bciiler in very good eirramstance, was called frpm his life-task of contributing to thP general pu• rification of ma;nkind:. Mrs. BtIRS , n took refuge from her !grief in a pretty cottage, sit mated on the principal street in the town of , . At first she N‘irs inconsolable, as site used to say with a solemn emphasis. which Car ried conviction to the hearts of her hearerS, that nothing' buti the thoughts of her daugh ter Florence would have prevented her from terminating herleNistetiee by the intervention , I of poison. Mrs. Benson Was, in no small measure, in debted to her dinighter—sieceilkiess than three months, she threw. ashre"Mr , mourn ing and became as lively as ever. Touching Florence, site-had now reached the mature age of nineteen, and began to think herself marriageable. She was quite ketty,and toltjrably well accomplished, so that her wishes in that respect were very likely to be fulfilled. Just over tlati way lived Squire Markham ; the village lawyer, just verging upon fifty, with his sin Charles, who was Shout half , his age. Being a ,'Dung roan of agreeable exte rior, the latter ?was quite a favorite with the young ladies inl the neighborhood,, and con sidered - iii common parlance, quite a ". catch." t As vet, how ver, ins al froionS had never 'been seriously entangled, and might hive 11 , - mained so had lit not been for the sudden ap ,parition, one n l orning. of Doi-epee Benson, by on itffselmick. It struck him at once that shc,was remark ably graceMl :ind really quite pretty. There.' ,I. tipon he Cll Itivlited her acquaintance with in. creased assidati, and affer-tt while asked the 1 fatal question. Florence an r were' in . the affirmative,. and , instead of referting Min dutifully to her 1 mother, hinted (being a - roman tie young la dy) how charthing it would be to steal away to the next tosirn and get. married, Without anybody beinti•-the wiser.: bharie - s Ma -6'ham . mught at this hint,Whieh. chimed with is own temperament, and he resolv,ed to adopt it. , In order that it rnight•be carried out with perfect Ntcces i i, it was resolved to seem in different to each other iintil.the day fixed, in order to ward off any suspicion which might, otherwise be aroused. So well wete these arrangements carried ont, that *Mrs Benson had no suspicion of what was going on. Not so with Squire Markham. He had obtained a doe to the affair in some manner, so that he ha, not only discovered the fact of ttie eloper ent, buq even the very day on which it-was to occur. "Sly dog, that Char!es," thought he to hnritelf, as h s Fat down - before the lire in his dressing-gow and smoking rap, leisurely puffirg . away at a choice flavana. "But I don't wonde at it ; he only -takes after me. Still, I owe' im something for,keeping it so 'secretly trout me. It would be a good joke, if I were ali Ale younger, to cut-him out and . marry her in 'spite of him." Squire Markham, who was, one of those j jovial widowlers who take life as it 'comes ; mused . more and-more on this.idea; struck out by than e as.it were; till he really began to think it w i u-th something. " After al t, " shouted he, "I am not so old either—or aleas t •the ladies say so—rand they ' o:)ught.tici be good judges in such mat ters .1 hav been a bachelor a good while, and ought t have found out before this how much more ornfOrtable it would be to' have a pretty wi do the hono keep that I've half u n Squire- M I and exclaim, “ 1 vow 11 40 it r i a What this mysterious it was, we will leave the r der tO infer-from his Very next movement. Ringing the bell, he inquired a. the servan " Is Char es at horhe ?" "No sir,' was he reply, "he went out this mornin_ and Will be guns al! day." " Hump ! thai'll d o . So much the better for my pur. sesi thought he when left alone. I "Noll- hall . have the glipund left to my self.: "Let ne set;; the, rail intends -run ning away ext Thursday eAftting, and to-day is Monday Nothing liketriking while the iron is hot. 111 write to her -in his name, telling her that l'have altered my mind: and will go jus at dark to•nsorrow night. . She 'won't cusp Or anything until the knot is tied, and then at a laugh we , ehall Kaye!" Squire arkham did not ;consido. that it might ma e a little differencle with the bride expectant. ] He Consldered It a capital_ joke on his son but l4;iked no ;farther. He ac cordingly rew hts writing materials towards him and i?dited the folio wiag epistle: , 3 " DE.t. Ftoatirce :—I• find the day_ fixed for our elopem t4* some account's objectionable, and would like, ith yoer permission," to substitute to morrow eve Mg. if' I hear , nothing from You; .l shall infer at you 1 assent to this arrangement—l Shall leave earriar i ,e in readiness under the old oak tree, at past eight <Mock. You can walk there withoutettriegng epleion, mid, as there wall* no moon, we sh all be able to tarry Put our. plans With -1 TONTROSE, THURSDAY, JULY) 15, issB. to li'eleome me home, end to of na r y table, and to me .cal Charles- iii 'Order: Egad! ind to j ,do it." .rl;han i ? took .'two more whiffs •d: out fear of discovery. I. am 'happy to say that the govenitr doesn't suspect in the Jeast that a daughter imlaw is in store for him. W9n't he be ashamed. Your devoted C/LARLE"." " Egad!" said Squire Markham, laughing heartily, "that isn't bad, especially about humbugging me. Clarley couldn't have done better himself." So sayin2, he sealed it up and sent it over by a little Irish boy in his employment, hay ing first marked ".private" in the "Be careful, Mike, to give it to Miss Ben son, and don't let anyone else see it," was the parting injunction. Mrs. Benson was sitt l ing.in her quiet par lor, casting herleyes over_a late number of liarner's Mitiiiine. Florence being absent on a shopping excursion, she was left alone. The ringing of the bell brought 'her to the door. With surprise sticsaw that the person Who rang the bell was Mike, Squire Mark ham's " boy of all work." "'Please, ma'm," said he, holding out the missive, "a letter for Miss Benson, an' its 'very particular that nobody else shonld.'see it." • The air tot mystery conveyled.in this char acteristic address, armised Mrs. Benson's cu riosity, especially when she observed that it was addressed to her daughter and not to herseif,•as she suppo'sed: She returned to the parlor—not to read Ilarper's Afagazine, that had lust its attractions. " What in the world can it he," she tho't, that - they should he so secret about it 1 Can Florence be carrying on a clandestine corres• pondence! It may be something that I ought to know." Stimulatcd by her feminine curiosity, Mrs. Benson speedily concluded that she Would be falSe to the responsibilities of a parent it she did not unravel the mystery., Here's pretty doing . !" she exclaimed, as soon as she could recover breath. "So Flor enee was going to run away and get married tO that Charles Markham, without so much as hinting 3 word to roe," She leaned her head upon her hand, and began to consider. She Was naturally led to think of her own marriage with the late Mr. Benson, and the happiness of hem, wedded life, and she could mit help heaving a sigh at the recollection. " Am I always to remain thus solitary V' she thought. " I've lialf a mind not to show the letter to Fkirence, but to run away with Charles to morrow night on my own account. It's odd if I can't perstiade him that the mu ther is as - gond as the daughter," and she glanced complacently at the still attractive 'face and forin reflected from the mirror. • Just then she heard the door open, and Florence entered. ' She quickly crimpled up the, letter and thrust it into her pocklA. Flor ence and Charles did not meet during the 'succeeding day, chiefly in pursuance of the plan they had agreed to, in_ older to avoid su;picion. I' Squire Markham acted. in an exceedingly' strange manner, to his son's thinking. Oc casionally he would burst.into a hearty laugh, which he would cudeavor • to suppress, and • pace up and down the room, as it to walk off some of his superabundant hilarity. " What's in the wind 1" thought Charles to himself. "It can't be the governor':; iiet tino_crazy." 'Something Was the matter,t'be ; be yond a doubt. But what. it really teas- he had not the faintest conjecture. . . At the ['bur specified, the Squire had his carriage drawn up at the appointed rendez. onus. He began to peer anxiously in the dark for Florence. At, length a female form, well muffled up. made its appearance. Think ing her in a very low whisper, lest it might be suspected that he was the wrong person, he-helped her into tile carriage, and drove off. Their destination was the house of, the Jus tice of the Peace, residing' at a diStance.of eight miles. . During the first part of the journey noth ing was said. Both parties were desirous of concealihg their identity. At length, Squire 1%. • rkhain, considering that after all he could n t marry the lady without het consent, and 1 at the discovery must be made befote the marriage4decided to. reveal himself, and then urge his own suit as well tis he might. - " My dear Miss Florence,"' he continued in his natural voice. " Why 1" shrieked the: lady, " I thought it was Charles." . "And I," said Squire Markham, recogniz ing. Mrs. Benson's voice with astonishment, " thought it we's Florence:" " Was it you, sir, who was arranging to elope with my daughter r . . • " No, but I conclude it was you, trt7m, who was meaning to elope with my son." - " Indeed, Squire Markham,you are Wrong; the affair coming incidentally to thy knowl. edge I concluded to take her place secretly, in order to frustrate her plans." "Egad ! the -very idea I had myself,':' said the Squire, laughing, " but the fact is, ,we've both of us been confoundedly sold, and the mischief of kis, I left-a letter for -Charles, letting Min know it; so undoubtedly he.will take - the opportunity to , run off - with Flcir ence during our absence, end plume:himself, the rascal, on the way in whichk wits ;taken in." ' -‘ • " I confess that I - left-a note' for Floren.ce to the same purport:_ How she will launh at me ! What an embarrassment!" • I tell you what," said the Squire; after' a moment's pause, "we can carry out our, plans after all.. We each came out with the inten tion of getting married:. 'Why not marry each other, and then, you know, we can make them believe we had it in view all along, and only intended to frighten them." Mrs. Benson, assented-with a little urging& and in the course of an hour the twain were made one. They immediately returned, btu,. found, as they - anticipated, that Florence and Charles, discovering their departure, had themselves stepped off in a different direction with a similar intent. They made their appearance the next morning, prepared to laugh heartily - at the frustrated plans of their parents, but learned with no little astonishment that they had struck up a bargainfor themselves. Nuke Markham and his new wife hwi..the: address to Convince them, that-it was all a premedi tated plan, and to thig day the younger pail are ignortmt of the• plot and. counter-plot, which led to this double union of the two households. WHY A 3fAN MAY MARRY A DECEASED ' WAFT'S SZSTES.—One argument - in the Brit ish Parliament in _favor of letting men _mar ry their deceased wives' sisters was that: by doing so a man i had only one . motierioLlaw instead-of twos MY FIRST LESSON ABBY PUNDERSON—yes, that was the name of my first scitoolmk'stress. She was olio oT the stillest,nicest, and most thoroughly _prim old maids that ever took care of other peo- ple's children. She taught in a little red schoolhouse, in "Shrub OaV' about half a mile at the back of Fall's Hill, I like to be particular'ip the geography, tho' I had never opened an atlas in my life when Miss PurF derson received me into the alphabet class. I see her now, sitting so very tiright in -÷ her high•backed chairsolemnly o ring the i t ?x blue paper covers of our primers an calling me by name. I see the sharp.pointed scis— .sors lifted from the chain at her side. I hear the rap, rap, of her thimble'against :he leath er covers of that new 'spelling tiolt.; 3-. s, I feel myself dropping that bashful 'little cnur tesy and blus hing under those solemn grey cps, as she Points down the long row of MI. 'lran capitals and tells me to react. I remem ber it all : she had on a brown cotton dress;, Iter hair was parted plainly and done up in a .:rend) twist behind ; there was a good deal of grey- in that black hair, and around -her prim mouth any, quantity of fine wrinkles ; but her 'voice was low and, sweet; she was still; but not cross, and the little girls- loved her in a degree, though she did give them long stretches of heniming, and over•seams•to sew. • .11Iy first schoolmistress came from some neighboring town. She was neither Eptsco palian nor Presbyterian ; bit wore the nicest little Methodist bonnet, made of silverlrey satin, without a bow or hit of lace—a quaker bonnet, cut...short. Then she had a dainty silk shawl, tinted like a dove's wing, and al waysearried her handkerchief folded when she went to prayer, meeting. The school house stood upon the banks oEif, a small stream Which turned a mill just above ; it was so overshadowed by young hemlocks that you could only hear the sing ing of the waters as they stole by ,the win dows. . Some flirty feet Of, m e adow lay be tween the windows and the bank, and a no ble pear-tree, full of golden fruit, flung its shadow over the school house, as we gut our lessons. Throe gretit - bell pears were cruelly tantalizing as they g rew and ripened am-id the green leave but when they came rush ing down from the boughs and' fell in the grass directly under - us, so plump and mel low, it was really too much for human na _ lure, But Miss Punderscin was strict ; she 'read the golden rule every day, and kneeling at her high-backed . chair, prayed diligently night and morning, while we stood mutely around. Indeed her control was so perfect that we hardly ventured to look at the pears when they tidl ;" the idea of touching' them nee r entered our hearts. But one thing troubled us very much ; just as The fruit lzrew-riNst, Miss Punderson be gan to take 'her dinner basket and erosS into the meadow at the back of the school bouse, where she would disappear down the hemlock bank; and stay sometilnes during the entire houiffrof noon. One day I was startled at my lesson by a splendid pear that came rushing troth the top most boughs of the tree, and rolled down to- Wards the mill stream. Dan . Baines ; ,who was sitting on the second class bench close by'-me, whispered from behind his spelling book that " the mistress would be after that pear about noon time.!' Mary Bell, fi little girl in my class, looked suddenly up and nodded her head. We had found it all out; that was why the mietrev crossed the bank every noOn. She was fond of pears, and wanted them - ail to herself— greedy old thing? We began to feel very angry and ill-used ; not one of us would have thou it. . What right had She to the pears? Th did not'belond to her more Oran to us. In filet, Mary Bell's Father, who. owned the mill, and liverEin'the great house with point ed gables, just,in sight, was the only person who had it claim on that tree or its fruit. When the recess came, we were upon the watch. Just as usual, the mistress took her dinner basket, and, getting, over the fence, went towards-the hemlock bank. Onee she stooped, as if to tie her shoe. • "See, see!" whispered Dan, who was on his knees peeping through the ' , rail. fence. -t-- "She's making believe ,to tie her shoe, but she's only picking up a pear. . Lets .jump over and see the mean old thing eat it !"—, Dan climbed the . fence as he . - spoke, and we followed, a little frightened, but resolute to find out the truth. Dan went before, treading very softly and looking everywhere in the greys. Once. he stooped, made ,a dart at a - tuft of clover, and; up again. .1 caught a glimpse of something yellow in the hand he was' pushing with con siderable hurry and trouble. into- his pocket, -that swelled out enormously after. But Dan looked straight forward into the hemlocks and 'began to whistle, which frightened us half out of our wits, and we threatened to run back again unless he stopped. Dan grew cross at this, and went hack in high dudgeon, trying to cover his pocket with one hand. Mary Bell and I would hkve gone back too, I think, but, at the same rnottient we heard a voice from the hemlock bank. " Come, come," whispered Mary Bell ; " let's see if she has really got it.":• • .We crept forward very softly, and looked ovr "into - the stream. h had a dry pebbly shore, broken with afew moss•eoveredstone, all in deep shadow—for the hemlocks over hung the spot like a tent.. Trion one of the'sje stories sat our schoolmistress singing. Her voice was soft and clear, "and joined in with the murmurs - , of the stream, solemn and sweet. . The old maid sung her little hymn, and, casting a-timid, glhnce up and flown, to be sure that.she was in solitude, knelt down by the moSsy stone which bad been heiteat, and - began to pray. The mistress was alone with her God ; she had only very simple language in which to tell Him hkr wants, but its'earneitness bro.% the tears into our eyes. : Poor soul! she had hien ''grievinn all the time that no One'of the schOlars ever knelt by her side at prayer. She . besought God with such meek earnestness -to 'touch our hearts, and bring us humbly to his feet, kneel ing, as she did, for a blessing, or in thankful• ness. She told Him, as if he had been Tier only father,-now good; and bright and pre cious we were, lacking nothing but his- holy grace. She so humbled hersef and pleaded for us, that Mary Bell and I crept away from. the bank, crying softly, suds ashamed to look each other in, the face. • . H. H. PRAZIEIi, PUBLISHER---VOL. 4.•N0. 28: Dan Haines was sitting in a crook of the fence,,eating something very greedily we avoided him. and went, into, the school house quite heait-broken at our own naughti ness. After a little, the mistress came in, looking Serene and thoughtful, as if she had been comforted by some good friend. Mary Bell and-rwere still and serious all the afternoon. Once or twice I saw her beau tiful blue eyes looking at me wistfully over her spelling bunk, but we knew . thitt Was Wrong to whis.per,amt fair the world would not have disobeyed the mistress then. • At last the classes - were -all heard: The mistress lOoked, we thought, sadly around at . the'little benches, arose, laid her hand - oti the high-backed chair, and sank slowly to her knee.. -The children stood up; as_ usual: - looked nt Mary Belt: she. was trembling a little ; the color came and went on her ewe. MY heart beat quick, felt a glow on_ my fbefrk, something sat and ferient stirring at my heart.. We both rose hand in hand, walked through the scholars upsto that, high backed chair. and knelt s [ riftly • doWn by the mistress. She gave a little start, opened her i eyes, and instantly they filled with tears; her lips trembled, and then. came a. burst "of thank.givhilt to God for having_answered her prayer. She' laid her hand first upon one head and then upon the other. She called' doWn blessings upon us; she poured forth her whole soul eloquently:, as she had done under the hemlock boughs, _ I have heard burning, prayers since, but never one that entered the depths of my mum. arc like that. - - 'The next day Mary Bell' and Is followed the mistress down to thd mill-scream, for we felt gitiltY till•she kneoll. But she persist ed that' God himself had' led us to the bank. No matter though Dan ;Haines appeared-to have done it. Wicked instruments were of ten used to work out good. God ,had an swered her prayer, andA vas enough. She odly hoped we would not be ashamed °Him-- ing knelt by ourlonelyschool mistress. - Ashalped! i?or On first time in our rives We threw our arms around Abby Purider kon's neck and kho:ed 10. Poor - soul! . she hi-dly knew how to to-g# it; those withered• lips had been so long ueused to ki,.ses that they began to tremble a s ours touched them. We were KerY young,and could-not compre hend why she hid her face betweenthoSe stiff hands and wept so pittously. === The Philosophy , of Physical 'Pain SIR 11.LIIIPIIREY DAVY, when a bay, with the defiant, inconsistency of youth which had as yet suffered nothing, held the opinion that pain was no evil. He was refuted by A crab, who bit, his tie when he was bathing; and Made him roar loud ennugh to he heard halt a mile off. If he; had maintained instead'that pain was awood, his, doctrine would have been unimpeachable.' Unless the whole cbn stitution of the world were altered, our Very existence depends,upon our' sensibility. to suf fering. • An anecdote. which is quoted by Dr. Car penter in- his Principles of Huinan Physiolo gy, from the Journal of a Naturalist, shows the fatal effects of a temporary Nth:pen:sin of this law of .imr . nature. A drover Went to sleep; . on a ivinteris evening , upon the ptat form of a lime-kiln, with one leg resting up• stones which had been piled 'up to burn through the night. That which was gentle wt)rmth when he lay down, became a consuming fire before he rote up. His • foot was burnt off above the ankle; and•when, roused in the morning by he nine who. su perintended the lime-kiln, he put his-- stump, unconscious of his misforihne, to the ground, the extremity, crumbled into. fragments.— Whether kie had been lulled into torpor by. the carbonic acid driven off from the lime• . stone, or whatever else may have been the cause of his ins e nsibility, he felt no pain, and through his very exemption from this lot of humanity, expired' a fortnight 'afterwards in Bristol_hris}ital. Without the warning voice of pain, life 'Would be wseries of similar disasters. The crab, to the lasting detriment of chemistry, Might have eaten off the future Sir • Humph rey's foot while ho s was swimming, without his entertaining the slightest suspiCiori of the savages which were going on.. Had he sur vived the injuries from the crab, he would yet have been cut off in. the. .morning of . his famous -career. if, when experimenting upon the gases, the terrible oppressitin at his chest had not warned Win to co . ise inhaling the carbureted h)drogen; nor after a long strug, glo for life, would he have recovered .to say to his alarmed*ssistant,.l.do ~ not 'think I shall die." Withou tilliy.sical pain, infancy. would she maimed, or perlsh . before 'experience could inforni.lt Of its danger's. . Lard Kaimes ad vised parents . tocutthe.firigers of their child: ren "cunningly" with a knife, that the little innocents might associate suffering 'With - the glittering- blade before they cold do .theib selves a worse injury ; but if no• smart ac coinptufied the wound, they 'would' cut up their own fingers with. the -sane glee that. they cut a stick, and burn them in the candle with the same delight that they burn a piece of naper in the 'fire.' Without pap, - wa could — not protiOrtibt our actions to the strength of our frame, or our exertions to its 'powers of anduranCe: In the impetuliiity of-Youth we should strike blows that would crush our:hands, and break our arms ; we Should take leaps " that ',,Would dislocate ourlimbs; and no longer-taught by . fatigue that the 'muscles needed repose -- we should continue our sportand , our. *silting tour» tillewe had Worn out .the - living tissue, with the same unconsciousness‘that we :now wear out our .coats and our shoes. - - . The very nutriment which is the support , of life would, frequently . proie our denth.--- Mirsbeau said of a tr.an who was as idle as ho was corpulent, that his only - . USE, „was to show how far the skin would stretch without bursting. Without pain, this . lirmt wotild be constantly exceeded, and eineures, , expe riencing.no uneasy. sensations, contin ue their festivities, until they met with the fate of the frog in the fable, who was atribi tious of emulating the size , of the.- oz. Sir Charlesi Bell mentions die ease of . tr patient who had (oat the , sense of :heat this right hand, and Who, 'uneonscioui that the cover of a pan.whiCh had fallen intti.the fire:was burn: • ing hoi, took it out anddeliberately returned it to its proper phice,, to the destruction the skin of • the .palm and This; of it self would he'tm . Accident-or incessant occur: : reuce - if ,the monitor "were wanting whiCh makes 4v: such' materials more "hastily :than we pick 'thein • Pain is the grand- preserver of existence ; the sleepless sentinel that vratche's over, our safety, and makes us both start away from the accident that ispre.sent, and guard against it carefully in the time to come.--Quorkr/y Revienyl Improprieties of. Speech. Ix writing, be careful to use :the hyphen (-) correctly ; it joins-compound words , and words broken by the ending of the. The• use of the hyphen will appear. more - clearly from the foltowitigexatnple-: "'Many colored wings"-means many wings which ant colored; but " many-colored .wings" means. " wiugs of 'many colors." • The word got is often introduced superflu ously And incorrectly into. familiar express. ions. When, in reply to my "Lend me - a dollar," you say, "I've go 4 no money," you simply'say, what you do not mean : omit the got. and your .meaning is. rightly conveyed. " got cold" is not bad English, if you mean to convey the idea that you have pro. , cured or contracted a cold .'somewhere ;. but ; if,you merely wish to say (as you. probably. - do) that you are now - suffering under a ,cold, " I have a.cold" is the proper, expression.— - " She has got a fun complexion."—Here got is : again an interloper; for you do not Mean • ici i sny she has pri)eured 'fair complexion, but simply that she hes one. "I've got to • • go to New York to-morrow."—Here got is again redundant and - . incorrect. " I .have to go" .expre4es the idea. : • • The majorit;,•_ot speakers use 'the imper- t feet tense and the, perfect tense together itt such sentences as the following : " rintended • to have called on_ him last night ;" " I Meant stzo have purchashl one yesterday ;" or a plu perfect-ten. .° awl:a perfect tense together, as You should have written -to haVe • told her." - , These expressions are illogical, be: cause, as the intention to perform an- apt must he prior V . the act contemplated,- the act itself can ndt,,with propriety,be expressed. by a tense indicating a piuloil of tithe previ ous to the intention. The three sentences' should be corrected thus placing the second verb in the infinitive peesent: "I intended to cg/t on him last night;' "I meant to par chase one •yesterday ;" You should - have written to tell her.". But the imperfect tense and the perfect arc' to-.he combined itt'such sentence); as, the fol lowing "I remhrked that they appeared to have•undergone nreat fatigue;" because here the - act of "tindc m rgomg fatigbe" mutt have taken place previous to the 'period in._which yob, have had the opportunity' of remarking its effect nn their ,appearanee: the sentence, therefore, is both grammatical and lOgieal.—. Sargent's School Monthly. , THE PAssmNs.:—.The passions are at once tempters and chastisers. -As tempters they come with garlands . .ofwers on brows of youth ; as chastisers, they appear ' with wreaths of snakes on the forehead of 4. They are tiri,els of light ititheir 'delu sions ; they are fiends of torment in' their flietions ; they Mislead only to reerinate ;' they flatter that. they may deride; theto show us a false glory but to mock us; they raise • us in the cloud-capped pinnacle, to .dash ° us fiercely to the stony groufid. Like the Baugh. ters of Lear, they first. beguile their- victim of t i his ‘svereignty and power ; and. when their difpe is enfeebled and, dependent, rob bed_,of every friendly 'support, .of every pleniant corn panion, a beggar Art:consolation and hype, they cash-him out upan the. desert to the darkness of the night, and.thehry of the tempest.—Giles. Lit.—The mere lapse of yews is not life. To eat, drink.. and Sleep; to be exposed to darkness and light; to pace around in the mill of - titbits and turn the-mill of. wealth; to make reason out book-keeper, and thought an implement of trade—this is not:life.. In all this but "a poor fraction of the unconscious ness of,humanity is awakened,;, and the sane- , !Ries still slumber which make it worth while to-be. Knowledge; truth, love, heauty, goodness, firth, alone can give vitality to the mechanism of existence ; the laugh_ of mirth which vibrates through the heart, the tear whieh freshen's the dry wastes within, the mu sic that brings childhood back,'-the" prayer that calls the future near; the death that start les us with mystery, the hardship which fore es us:to §truggle, 'the - anxiety i that Ods in being—Chalmers. MAXIMS:, of BISIMP Aliont.rrox.-.—Vtrse ,? vere against.utseouragenients. Keep, yuur temper. Employ leisure rn study, and ul ways have some work in Band. 13cpunctual and methodical in business, and" never prb craStinate. Never be in a hurry. Preserve self-possession, and do not be talked out- of conviction. Rise early, and .be an Ileeono 'mist of time. 'Maintain dignity without :tho appearance of Pride.; manlier is something to everybody, and everything with some.-- Be guarded in discourse ;-attentive,,tlnd slow to speak. Never acquiesce, in immaral or' pernicious opinions.., Be forward to as sign reasons to those whO have, no right to ask. , -ThilifiThothing in cOnduct. unimportant pr indifferent. Rather setthan follow. enrn pies. , Pracbco strict thisperance, and in your trar.Sactions rernember the final account . , A SUGGE6%IVE PREStwr..-ATerrold and a company of literary friends were - _out,3n t the -. country, rambling over meadows andl dowtt lanes: . In the course of their,wailk, they stop ici poi -to notice, the gambols . of an ass's foal. r - There was a . ry. sentimental. poet maim:lg the baby ass's, mirers; who grew eloquent as Sterne over _it shaggy Coat .At kat the pn et vowed that he shuuld liit4 to send the; lit- tie thing tut a present to his, mother. "Do,"` Jerrold replied.-. a and tie a piece of paper around its neck, bearing thin motta---When this' you see, remember me." ~ -- . zg? 7 ." Disraeli once Wrote of a certain - fine lady's Chitracter,isties thus.: " She: had certainly some qualities iO.shini) in a fashionable circle..- She' ad plenty of ap athy;—.-was tolerably •illiterate=--vias ,brillian-t -yy vain, rind - fertilely utpricions--acquiesced with everyone anddiffOsed universal smiles." gr. Those Call mos t , easily. chspense • with society who are the most calculated to a4qin. it; they only _are dependent on it vibe pos-: seas no — mental resourm;• - fOr they , ` brink nothing; to the 'general " 'beggati # o _ 3 .)" 00 Par lo Gr.. , There la a dAvinity 'bit shapes odr ea "es the pig 'remarked witen-,be was ow tenTletieg the kinks in Me tail,
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers