Stye soet’B Gotntr. [m rai eoirirot.] . , !W«, ti .-(Y Whfjahameeessisn'tke eol(1 ' Is placed upon some fared one’s oreest. When the tired eplrit eotrewpod; From lo" «« "eO Tie ire worn on lime sn Who heed the teer of sr»l» B J- Why do w* strew their bed so law,' Utrm lift to'fowsrt of brighter bloom. They now vetTtcbspleu of must florets To deck their hnr’from HeSVen'i hoyefs^ Their berk Is* ssfeW fsoorsd within Ito haTen of eternal rest, ' , Thera free from sorrow death sad sut, Min his srtns list knoenth best; dnd load with goWen harps tharnlsr -1,.! • .1 Hr HssrsnVßorrojfn, of praise, , , Oh then let not the monrnftl jkw ; , , Were o'er their head; not eftWeeblooi, Bat letmedf floren po fli<>4 had bf» lonoirlhe lone spot breathe tenet perfuse, Let austht of (loose eronnd t* sees' ' When of the lored we fondly dream. L ,- Berthnmbtflsnd, Ft. dUXB. THE OLD LADY’S STORY. BX CHARLES DICKERS. I have never told you my secret, my dear nieces. However, this Christmas, which may well be the last to an old woman, 1 will give the whole story ; for though it is a strange story*! and a sad one, it is true : and what sift there was in it I trust I may have 'expiated bv my tears and my repentance. Perhaps the last expiation of all Is this painful confes -1101. We were very young al the time, Lucy and I, and the neighbors said we were pretty." 3o we Were, I believe, though entirely differ ent; for Lucy was quiet, and fair, and I Was thl) of life ahd spirit; wild beyond any power of control, and reckless. I~was t]he elder by two years ; but more fit to be in leading strings myself than to guide or gov. ern my sister. But she was so good, so ouiet, and so wise, that she needed no one’s guidance; for if advice was to be given, it was she who gave it, not I; and I never knew her judgement or perception fail. She was the darling of the house. My mother had died soon alter Lucy was born. A pic ture in the dining-room of her, in spite Of all the difference of dress, was exactly like Lucy; and, ai Lucv was now seventeen and rny mother had been only eighteen when it was taken, there was no discrepancy of years. One Allhallnw’a eve a parly of us—rfll young girls, not one of us twenty year's of nn —were Irving our fortunes round the drawing-room 'fire : throwing nuts into the brightest blaze, to hear if mythic “He n ”8 loved nnv of us, and in what proportion or pouring hot lead into water, to find cradles and rings, or purses and coffins; or breaking life whiles of eggs into tumblers half lull of water, and then drawing up the white into pictures of the future—the prettiest experi ment of all. f remember .Lufcy could only make a recumbent figure of hers, like a mar ble monument in miniature; and I,'a maze of masks and skulls and things that looked like dancing apes or imps, and vaporv lines that did no' require much imagination to Inshion into ghosts or spirits; for they were clearly human in the outline, but thin and vapory. And we a great deal and leased one another, and were ns full of fun and mis chief and innocence and thoughtlessness, as a nes’ of young birds There was a certain room at the oilier end o' our rambling old manor : house, which wjas. •aid to be haunted, and which mv father had' tneretore discontinued as a dwelling room, so lha! we children might not be frightened by foolish servants ; and he had made it into a lumber place—a kind of ground floor granary —where no one had any business. Well, it was proposed that one of us should go into this room alone, lock the door, stand before the glass, pare and eat an apple very delibe rately, looking fixedly in the glass all the lime: and then, if the mind never once wan-* dared, the future husband would be clearly ihown in the glasa. As 1 was always thh, ioolhardy girl of every party, and was more over, verv desirous of seeing that apochry nhal individual, my future husband, (whose non-appearance I used to wonder at and be war in secret) I was glad enough to make the tna.. notwithstanding the entreaties of some of the more timid. Lucy, above all, ciuoc to me, and besonpht me earnestly not 10 bo —n: last, almost with tears. But my pride oi courage, and mv curiosity, and a certain nameless feeling of atiraciion, were too airone lor me. I laughed Lucv and her shelters mm silence; uttered half a dozen bravadoes; and taking up a bed-room candle, passed through the long silent passages, to the cole dark, deserted room—mv heart Beaune wiiq excitement, mv foolsh head dir zv wnti wiih hope and faith. The church oiocr chimed a quarter past twelve as I opened the door li was an awful night. The windows shoos, as if every instant ihev would burst in with some strong man's hand on the bars, and his shoulder against the frames ; and the trees howled and shnekeo, as if each branch were sentient and in pain The ivy beat aeamsi the window, sometimes with fury, and sometimes with the leaves slowly scraping •gainst the glass, and drawing out long shrill sounds, like spirits Crying to each other. In 'he room itself it was worse. Rats had made i ; their refuge for many years, and they rushed behind the wainscot and down inside me wain, bringing with them showers of unie and dust, which rallied like chains, or sounded hue men’s feel hurrying to and fro ; •no evarv now and then, a cry oroke through me room, one could not tell from where or Irom Whai, but a cry, disnncl and human ; heavy mow* seemed to be struck on the floor, *hicn cracked like parting ice beneath my J Poi, and loud knocking! shook ihe walla. in this tumuli, 1 was not afraid. 1 rea soned on each new sound very calmly—-and said, ‘‘Thbaa are rals,” or “those are leave*,” ch ' mn<, y” or “owls in (he Ivy, as each new howl or scream struck my ear. . And I was not in the least frightened or disturbed; it*all seemed natural and fa-, "hiior. I placed the candle on a table in ihe midst of the roomt w.fiere.an old broken mir rot stood; and, looking steadily into the glass (having first wiped.-off the dust,) I be gen to eat Eve’s forbidden fruit, wishing in lenity, a* I had been bidden, for Ihe appari- Hon of my future husband in about ten minutes 1 heard a dull, vague, bnearlhly sound; fell, not heard. It was as 11 eountiess wings rushed by, and small low '*btct* whispering 100 j as if a crowd, a mul* • rpij Tji K . ‘ Viu '-‘'mtid*. _ r ~xv _ —; -V. 1 -'" yi, 1,, .kvi ,pi, J i,ii|( linn uj.u - a * &l)ttgto m gfrmßtow ot tfte am <t jFCTC»<mi ro»|f qreaflttirtttit : COBB, STUB ROCK & CO., Y 0& V:- . . WELLSBO: iilude of life was about me; as if shadowy Taces crushed np against me, and eyes and hands, andjaneering lips, ail mocked ms. 1 was suflbealed. The air was so heavy, so filled with life, that I could not breathe. I was pressed on from all sides, and could not turn nor move without parting thickening va pors. I heard my own name, I can swear to that to-day I I heard it repeated through the room; and then bursts 6f Ipugbter followed, the wings rustled and fluttered, and the whis ing voices mocked and' chattered, and the heavy air, so filled with life, hung heavier and thicker, aad the Things-pressed up to me closer, add checked the breath on my . lips with the clammy breath from theirs. 1 was not alarmed. I was not excited; but I was fascinated and spell-bound; lyet with every sense seeming to possess ten its natural power!' 1 still went on look ing in the glass, still earnestly desiring an apparition, when suddenly I saw a man’s face peering ovei*my shoulder in the glass.. Girls, I could draw that face to this hour I The low forehead, with the short curling hair, black as jet, growing down in a sharp point; the dark eyes, beneath thick eye-brows, burning with a peculiar light; the nose and the dila ting nostrils; the thin lips, curling imo a smile, I see them all plainly before me now. And—o, the smile that it was !—the mockery and sneer, the derision, the sarcasm, the con-_ tempt, the victory that were in it I even then n struck into me a sense of submission.' The eyeS looked full into mine; those eyes and mine fastened on each other; and, as I ended my task, the church clock chimed the half hour ; and, suddenly released, as if'from a spell, I turned .round, expecting to see a living man standing beside me. Bnl 1 met only the chill air coming in from the loose window, and the solitude of the dark night. The Life had gone ;'the wings had rushed away ; the voices had died out, and I was alone; with the ralp behind the wainscot, the owls hooting in the ivy, and the wind howling through the trees. Convinced that either some trick had been played me, or that some one was concealed in the room, I searched every corner of it. I lified lids of boxes filled with the dust of ages and with rotting paper lying like bleach ing skin. I look down the chimney board, and soot and ashes flew up in clouds. 1 opened dim old closets, where all manner of foul insects had made their homes, and where daylight had not entered for generations; but I found nothing. Satisfied that nothing hu man was in the room, nnd that no one could have been there to night, nor for many months, if not years, and still nerved to a state of desperate courage, 1 went back to the drawing room. Bui, as 1 left that room I felt that something flowed out with me; and all through the long passages, I retained the sen sation that this something was behind me. My steps were heavy, the consciousness of pursuit having paralyzed not quickened me; for I knew that when I left that haunted room' I had not lefi it alone. As I opened the drawing-room door, the blazing fire and the strong lamp-light bursting out upon me with a peculiar expression of cheerfulness and welcome, I heard a laugh close at my elbow, and felt a hot blast across my neck. I start ed back, but the laugh died away, and all 1 saw were two points of light, fiery and fla ming, that somehow fashioned themselves mio eyes beneath their heavy brows, and looked at me meaningly through the dark ness. They all wanted to know what I had seen ; but 1 refused to say a word ; not liking to tell a falsehood then, and not liking lo expose mvself lo ridicule. For I felt that whai 1 had seen was true, and that no sophistry and no argument, no reasoning and no ridicule, could shake my belief in it. My sweet Lucy came up lo me, seeing me look so pale and wild, threw her arms around my neck, and leaned forward to kiss me. As she bent her head, I fell the same warm blast rush over my lips, and my sister cried, “Why, Lizze, your lips burn like fire !’’ And so ihev did, and for long after. The Presence was with mo still, never leaving me day nor night; by my pillow, its whispering voice oflen waking me from wild dreams ; by my side in the broad sunlight; by my-side in the still moonlight: never absent, busy at my brain, busy at my heart —a form ever banded lo me. It flitted like a cold cloud be tween my sweet sister's eyes and mine, and dimmed them so that 1 could scarcely see their beauty. It drowned my father’s voice, and his words fell confused arid indistinct. Not long aflnr, n stranger camp into our neighborhood. 'He bought Green Howe, n deserted old property by the river side, where no one had lived for many, many years; not since the voung bride, Mrs. Brahltwaile, had bean found in the river one morning, entan gled among the dank weeds and dripping al ders, strangled and drowned, and her husband Head—none knew how—lying by the chapel door. The place had had a bad name ever since, and no one would live there. However, it was said that a stranger, who.had been long in the East, a Mr. Felix, had now bought it, and that he was coming to reside there. And, true.enough, one day the whole of our little town of Thornhill was in a stale of ex,- citement; for a travelling carriage and four, followed by another full of servants —Hin- doos, or Lascars,-or Negroes; dark colored, sirongcJookfrtgifiSople—passed through, odd Mr. Felix of Green Howe. My father called.on Kim after a time; and I, as the mistress of the house, went with him. Green-<Howo bad been changed, as if by magic, add we both said so together, as we entered the iron galea (hat led up.tha broad walk. The ruined garden waa one mass of plants, fresh and green, many of them quite new to me; and tho shrubbery, which had been a wilderness, was restored ‘‘ l '-T!.“!-. TW~.VU.' ol •V ■■ ■ ■ -.’i v.’i 't “ XBE AOITAIIOW OF .TnOQOHT MTSE’EEOIWKIitO .' '' •'• ” PUBLISHERS&PROPRiIeTOR • .r i—- -i'i-’Lt-.y. t.. i . .. . ' ;«.» 1. t , l !J> ?“.<• ■ ) , . 'M& i .QUSH, iidtaxdimt. I',; to order. ' 'The houde TcytSked' lafgePilian, be fore, now that it as’so Beautifully decorated antf the "broken 1 fell is- Work, which' used to hang dangling among, the ivy, wasmailed with creeping roses, and jasamine, yihtph left on .rne the impression of having been in flower, which was impossible. It was a fairy palace,( ar| d we could scarcely, bejieve. that this was the deserted, ill-omened Green Howe, The foreign servants, 100, in Eastern dresses, covered with rings, and necklaces, and ear rings, the foreign smells of sandaUwood, and camphor, and .musk ; the curtains that- hung everywhere in,place of doors, somaof vel vet, and some of cloth of gold ; the air bf luxury,- such as I, a simple country girl, had never seen before, made sucha powerful impression on me that I felt as if carried away, to some unknown region....As Mr. Felix came in meet os; and drnw'ng,a?ida a henw curtain that seemed all of gold and Are—for the -flame colored flowers danced and quivered on the gold—he led us into an inner mom,' where ihe darkened light, the atmosphere heavy with perfumes, the statues, the birds like living jewels, the magnificence of stuffs, and the luxuriousness of arrangement over powered me. 1 felt as if-1 had* sunk into a lethargy In which I heard Only "the richvoide, and'saw only the form of oOr stranger host.- He was certainly very handsome; tall, dark, yet 'pale as m’arble; his very lips ward pale! with eyes that ward exirernely bright, 1 but which had an expression behind iheiii that subdued me. His manners were graceful. He was very cordial to us, and rnade us stay a long time, taking us through his grounds to see his Improvements, and pointing but hero and there further alterations to be made, aJI with such a disregard for local difficulties, and for cost, that, had he been oue of the, princes of, the genii he could not have talked more royally. He iyas more than merely al- : ten'ive to me; speaking to me often and in a lower voice, bending down near to me,; and looking at.me with eyes that thrilled through every nerve and fibre. 1 saw that my lather, wps uneasy ; and when .we left, l.asked him how he liked .our new neighbor! He aaid, ••Not much, Lizzie,” with a grave ondalv most .displeased look, as if he bad probed the weakness I was scarcely conscious of myself, I thought at the time that he was harsh. However, as there was nothing positively' to object to in Mr. Felix, my father’s impulse of distrust could not well be indulged without rudeness; and my dear father was too thor oughly a gentleman ever to he rude even to his enemy. We therefore saw a great deal of the stranger, who established himself in our house on the most familiar footing, and forced on my father and-. Lucy an intimacy they both disliked but could not avoid, For it was forced with such.consumate skill and tact, that there was nothing which the most rigid could object to. 1 gradually became an altered being under his influence. In one thing only a happier —in the loss of the voice and the form which had haunted mo. Since I had known Felix, this terror had gone. The reality had ab sorbed the shadow.. But in nothing else was this strange man’s influence over me benefi cial. I remember that I used to hate myself for my excessive irritability o( temper when I was away from_hitn. Everything at home displeased me. Everything seemed so small and mean, and old and poor after the lordly glory of that house ; and the very caresses of my' family and Ihe, olden school-day friends were irksome and hateful to me. All except my Lucy .lost its charm.; and to her I was faithful as ever; to her I never changed. But her influence seemed to war wiih his wonderfully. When with him I fell borne away in a torent. His words fell-.upon (lie mysterious and thrilling, and he gave me fleeting glimpses into worlds whiep.pad never opened themselves to mo before,; glimpses seen and gone like the Arabian gardens. When I came back to my. sweet sister, her pure eyes and- theffioly light that lay in them, her gentle voioe speaking of thesacred things of heaven and the earnest things of life, seemed to me like n former existence ; a slate I had lived in years ago. But this divided in fluence nearly killed tne,; it seemed to part my very soul and wrench my being in twain ; and this morn than all the rest, made me sad beyond anything people believed possible is ono so gay and reckless as 1 had been. My father’s dislike to Felix increased doily; and Lucy, who had never been known to use a harsh word in her life, (rom the first relused to believe a thought of good in him.rjr to al low him one single claim to praise., She used to cling to tije in a wild, beseeching way, and entreat me with praveis, such as a moth er might have poUrd 'Out before 1 ■an erring child, to stop ih time, and to retuW to those who loved'me. “For your soul is lost from among us, Lizzie,” she used to say ; “and nothing but a frame remains of the full llte of love you ogee gave us!” But one word, one look, from Felix was enough to made me Forget'every lenr' an'd every payer of her who, until how, had been my'idol and my law. At last my dear lathdr commanded me not to see Fel ; x again. I fell as if 1 should have died. In vain 1 wept end prayed.' Id vain i gave full license to my thoughts, and sUf ferfed word* to pour from my tips which ought never io have crept into'my hetirt. In vain ' my.father way , , r I waft in. the dri»wipg-,rpom. j Suddenly, noiselessly, Felix was beside me. .had .not eptafed-jiy the doof,, which was directly in front of me ; and the window was. closed. I never could understand this sudden appear ance for lam certain that ha had not beqn ■concealed. . . “Four father has spoken of me, Lizzie 1 he said, with a singulaV smile. I was,silent. "And has forbidden Jpott to seenae again 1 he continued “ Yea,” I answered impelled 19 speek by tfxia ioox i 'Slfei THtaste MtiSNlßft, oeTOBER'iS;'M. V; ‘' 7 KO.' ■ ■■l, I 'l,i j... :. 5 . ,u~ ' . something stronger than my will. . ■ ■ i r ,.j “And.you tp p L*aid again, in; tdei Mme manner} as if been talking ms dream. . . . , He smilsd again. Who was ...he ap like wheo hb smilep],, I could not remember,and yet J knew that be was like some) one 1 bad seen—a. face tbnt hovered outside'mylfiemo* ry, on the horizon, and never floated nearena ough distinctly realized. .1 ‘•your are rigfli,,Lizzie,?' he then said ; “there are.jies, which nre*tronger ltmn a father’sicommdndai; ties-which 'iro* man hat the right}and notnanhasihepoWerto break. Meet me 10-morow at noon in the Low Land; we will speak further.” ■ t He did not say this in any supplicating, nor in any loving manner; if Was* simply‘a command, unaccompanied by onfi tender word or look. He had never said he loved me— never; it seemed to be 100 #e!l understood bet ween'Us to need assurances. 1 answered “yes,” burying my fade id qty hands,in’ahame ai this mjr first act of diso; bedtencb to my father : and' when T raised' my head, ho was gone. Gone as be had tered, without a footfall sounding ever so lightly. ‘ ■( 1 mfel him the next day, and it was not the" only time ihat I did so. ijay after, day I, stole a( his command from the house, to, with him in the Lq\v ]Laae—the lane which the country people said was ■which was consequenlly-always deserted.— And tbere-we used to walk or sit under fhe blighted elm tree for hours ; he talking, but i not understanding, all he said ; for there was n tone- of grandeur and. of mystery in his words, that overpowered without-enlightening' me, and that left my spirit daziled rather than convinced. 1 had to give reasons at' home for my long absences, and hb bade me say that lbad been with old Dame Todd, the blind widow of Thornhill Rise, and that I had been reading the Bible to her. And I Obeyed, although, while I said it, I felt Lucy’s eye's fixed plaintively on mine, and heard her mur mur a prhyer that Iriiighf be'foirgivbn. Lucy grew ill. As thb flowers ind the summer sun came on, her spirit fadefi more, rapidly awtay. I have'.knolin Since, that it' was grief more than nihlady whichwaa bil ling her. The look of nameless suffering, which used to be in her face, has haunted me through life with undying sorrow. It was suffering lljat I who ought to have rather died for her, had caused. But not even her ill ness stayed me. In ihp jniervala, I nursed her lenHerly and lovingly gsbefore : hut -for hours and hours I left her—all through the long days pf summer—to walk in the Low Lang, and to sit in my wprld of poetry and fire. When 1 came back my sister was oft en weeping, and 1 knew that, it Was for me —I, who would once have given my life <.tp save her from one hour of sqrrpw. Then 1 would fling myself on my,knees beside her, in agony of shanpe and repentance, and prom ise belter things of the morrow, and vow strong efforts against the. power and the spell, that were on me. But the morrow- subjected me to the same unhallowed fascination, the same faithlessness. At last Felix told me that I must conte with him;-that 1 must leave my home, and’toke' part in his life; that I belonged to him and to him only, and that 1 could not break the tablet of a fate ordained ; that i was his deS liny, and he mine, and that I must fulfil the law which the stars had written in the sky. 1 fought against this. I spoke of rny fath er’s anger,and of my sister’s illness. I prayed to him for pity, not to force this oo me, and knelt in the shadows of the autumn sunset to ask from him forbearance^ I did not yield this day not the neSt nor for many daya. At last he conquered. When I said “Yes” he kissed the scarf I wore round my neck. Until then he had never touched even my hand with his lips. I consented to leave my sister, who I well knew was dying ; I consented to leave my father, whose whole life had been one act of love and care for his children ; and to bring a siain on our name, unstained until then. 1 consented to leave ihose who loved me, all I loved for a slrnn ger. All was prepared ; the hurrying clouds, lead colored, and the howling wind, the fit com panions in nature with the" evil and thb 1 de. spair of my soul. Lucy was worse to-day ; but though f felt going to-my death in leav mg her I could not resist. Had his Voice cal led me to the scaffold, I must have gone. It was the last day of October, and at midnight when I was to leave the hodse. ' I had kissed my 'sleeping sister, who - was drbaming in her sleep and cried, and grasped me bv the bond, called aloud, Lizzie, Lizzie! Come Biit the spell was 'on.trie, and I left her; and still her dreaming voice called out, choking with sobs, “ Not there I not there, Lizzie I- Come hack to me I” 1 was to leave the house by the largo, old, haunted room that 1 have Spoken of before; ’Felix wailing for me outside. And a little after twelve o’clock, T opened the door to pass through. This lime the’chill; ithdtho damp, and the darkness Unnerved me' The broken mirtor was in the middle of the room, as heforb, and, in passing'it, I mbchanically raised'my eyes. THeh'l reWtefn bared that it ' was AHhallow’a eve the' anniveiWry of the apparition' of fist yettr.’ 'As f looked, thb' rootfi, which had hebnso deadly stilly became 'filfed with the sound 1 had heard before. The rushjng of large wings, and the crowd of whispering voices flowed like a] river round me; and again, glaring into, my was the same face in. the glass that I had seen be fore, the sneeriqg smile, even more Iriumphapi, the blighting s(are of the - fiery eyes, the low browp and the.coal-black.hair, and the look, of mockery. All were,there ; and all I had. seen before and since; fur it was Felix who was gazing at me from the glass. When 1 w i i i X »•- i v Ml. ■LtU »J.- i. ■ it va.Upi uiiU,yi vi* hvn '**■l & ■»<!»«< 1 AB I) '><f/ liir /i —.in;sl h-jY. 'auuv f.an ‘CI . gijtfci wU Nftl n livinrcrealurewartherevoirly'* antnheTa'r-bff voiw ihe wings. APfl ihen a hsnd tapped:.pi window, ondiJbo .veice of Felix cried •’ ouuidey “Come Lt«iej,:ct»me |” . 1 siaggered.rrilher'thab walked, to ihe WdPT i .TSDBd» L was closdlo it—<myh«nd raised to open, it—there stood between, me and it a pala'flgWd clo\Kedin_white ; her face nore pale than linen round it. jHer 00 het looked ear nestly and mournfully iblp mine. She wm silent, it v fteemeA' r p» ’jf.p' viltm e'. or love' afriflbf efetrtnVy flbwdd FromWsr if 1 Ijqard words of deathless affection, It was Lucy; stpnijing therein this bittpr, mid night cold—giving her life to save me* ?eli* called to me again, impalienty ; end ap he called! the figure turned, and beckoned beckoning me'gemly, lovingly, beseechir and then slowly faded aWay. The chit the half-Kotfr-Sounded; and, I fled frdn room 'to'my 1 sftferv 1 found her lying' off theflbbr ?her hail* bringing over her b! and one hand atretched out as if in sup tlb'n. 1 ' ' 1 ■ 1 ' The next -tfay Felix disappeared; hti hfa' Hole rel’oue ; arid Green Howe felli ruins again.’ No one knew where hd' as no tine-knew from whence he came.: (o lhis'dayileotnelimes doubt whether t he whs a rilei/dr adventurer, who had of ifiy fatherVWeahh-;'and who,-seem) weak and imaginative character, hand ' on ii for his own purposes. Ail that know ia'ihat my sister’s spirit saved me ruin ; and that.she died to save me. had seep and known all, and gave Kersi my aaiyatiop down to (he last and .suf effort she made to rescue me. She di that hour of half-past twelve and at hat twelve, as I live before you all r she app to me andiieoslled men And this is ihe reason why I never mar ried, and why-1 pass Alihnllow’s eve in pray er by my Sister's grave. 1 1 have told you to night'thid story of mine, because I feel that I shall not live over another last night- of Oc tober tufbblWe the next white Christmas ro ses come opt like winter stars on the earth, I' shall be at peace in the grave. Not in the grave; let me rather hope with my blbased sister in Heaven ! ' I L 1 ' a , I Origin of “Seeing the Elephant” Some thirty years since, at one'of the Philadelphia Thea'orS, a pageant was To re heorsel, in which it was necessary to have an elephant. No elephant was to be had.-“- The “wild beasts” were all travelling, and the property man, stage director and niana gers, almost had his when they thought jof it. Days passed in the hopeless task of trying to secure one; but at last Yankee ingenuity tri umphed, as indeed it always does, and in el ephant was made to order, of wood, skins, paint and varnish. Thus far the trailer was all very well bu\ as yet. they had faunjd n'o i means to said combination travel.— Here again, the, genius of the manager, stage : director and properly man s(uck mil, and two. of the “broths” were duly installed as legs. Ned C- , one of Ihe true and genuine “b’hoys,” held the responsible sta tion, of fore legs, and for several nighjts he played that hebvy part to the entire satisfac tion of the managers and the delight of the audience.. The part, however was a very tedious one, as the elephant was obliged to be on the stage Tor about an hour, and Ned was rather tdo ilhoul rits to f with made !, Ned them out ; irtder- fond of the bottle to remain so long w “wetting his Whistle,” so he set his v work to find a way to carry a wee d»| him. The eyes of the elephant being of two porter bottles, with the necks in conceived the brilliant idea of filling with good stuff. This he fully carried and elaied with success he willingly look to play fore legs again. Night came on—the theatre wag densely crowded with the denizens of the Quaker city the music was played in sweetest strains—the curtain rase and the play began. Ned and ‘hind.legs’ marched upon the stage. The elephant wag greeted with rouot upon round of ap'plause. The decorations sad the trappings were gorgeous. The elepha it and the prince seated upon his back, wore oudly cheered. The play proceeded; theehphant was marched round and round Che singe.— The fore legs got dry, withdrew one of the corks, and treated the hind legs, ant then drank the health of the audience in a b of genuine elephant-rye whiskey, a till then unknowh; On went the pit on went Ned drinking. The cbnc march Was to be made—the signal was and the fore legs staggered towards th of the-stnge. The conductor pulled tl of (ho elephanl'to the right—the for staggered to the tefl. The foot ligl strucled the way, and he raised his (ii stepped plump into the orchestra! went the fore legs on the leader’s fi: over, of 1 course, Turned the elephant, s; the (|rince and hind legs into the mlt the pit. The managers stood horror^ —the prince aniflhe hind legs lay cot ded—the boxes ip convulsions, the j laughter, and poor Ned, <t one lqqk, a strange blending of drunke griqf pnd, laughter at the scene, fled f out pf, the ifyrgjre, closely followed |l leader with the wreck of his, fiddle pet ing trntjpps cut. and thrust motions j air. The,curtain dropped on a scene 1 the scene. .No more pageant—no spot legs—but every .body held their sides, sic, adore, pit, boxes and gallery, .from the theatre, shrieking between -breath— " Have you seen the Elephant EiPEßtESc*^hrbwTtcaohv« JOE SMITH^MIRAOJLBS. Soro«‘)rtfclrJ‘fcSo, : ii ftbhifcer 4?orthodoi clegfm Mteudet-iii g<WGW6 fJ fiiW U oiw-ofi the.fittrWiinakigtting ihirdlrtsra, kniT imoag>the i ptisan gin.w»s’Elder fijrdei of iMormob Taitfu i©f cenrsej thryatsengwr* were treated to; sewers hier owns, and go gPWP day two discourse wertfdellireredby'hvti'wf the moil talentedcfttordlsrgy. BoiMcdf ijiß-feOilemeoon.board the: boat expretserfi wishioilearneomelbing fafihexibwsoflbit peculiar;peopleto vhieblßlder Hydb, btd<«il Uehadi bimeeUVtntf axrespectable dutnbe# joinedrin.tbe pequesvihs'Erder eonwMMtU pJreach.fbCmiSt term on. Every person on lb 4 boat; tneludingitbai portion of the crew-'* wba Could leave thsir sialiotix ,*vere asaemblsdib the cabin,-and' the curiosity of all wen nob led.. Tile Elder took hix ala lion, read* chap* tar from ihe Bibleiselecled a veraa at>a tear, and gave them* regular, old fkahiondd aer* mon, differing in none of (he essentials from those which preceded HoWaver, after taaj this, incident led to (he discussion of Moudow ismn, andithe clergymen were expressing their surprise that people could be. led aatmy. by suc.h ridiculous .doctrine. An Illinoisan, tl sobertfoced man, not before, joining in (he conversation, here remarked that tbe miracle* wqrked by the prophei.Smiih, ! were of a ch*N acterto.satisfy the mind of any one of. the Jformon. faith.’’ “What miracles 1" spoke t)P several at once, “we haw never heard of (h era."- “They are numerous enough,” said the sober-looking friend, “and ware 'general* ly wrought among (tie ppoter clause and tended to their worldly advancement, ; .While the Prophet lived in,.lllinois, before. hi* ens* mies combined against him (o' destmy him, he went.nbout preaching ibe faith and doing goqd lo tbe members of . bis hock, and it was considered a high honor to receive a yisit frqm ihe Prophet, be.was at/welcome visitor! whereverhe went. ’One morning when wen*, ding his.way towards, an humble log cabin, descried by the little son of the .poor, widow who occupied it, wb.o rao to inform hi* mpther of the august person approaching,-;-* She dropped the web of linen, just, cut from the loom, which she.was in the ,ac( pfmea soring, and ran out, ,to welcome the Prophet. She expressed herself highly graiified by the . visit, had his horse fed and got himhis break* fast. After ,a time the Prophet rose to depart,! and wished jo fopco uppn the pner woman soma recompense, for the trouble he.,had given her, which stye would not listen ,to,-*y He thpn blessed her and said the Lord Would, keep her till noon at whatever she went .at after he. deported. Tliq Prophet , iftqn fcft, and the widow without Reflecting, upon bi*i words, went to measuring tbe Ijnen' web. B.ut; there was no end lo it.. She measured apd measured, and her Utile son trampled down, uutil her little cabin was filled with several thousand yards of linen, and still it held .out' till the hour of high noon fulfilled the Proph*. el’s miracle.” , * •i -v ,!>>'•>; •«', V "... --I ~'f Wa- PP9* hoty and a the From | die! g'r; ne of the dead' reast, plica. ' -.'l “Don’t believe a word of ii," said one, “Gammon,” said another. But our friend stuck to the truth of his story, and contin.-, ued : “Of cpurse the widow’s good fortune was the talk qf.lbe neighborhood, an<j allthe miracles of the Prophet,.from beginning U> end, were carefully enumerated. All, the wea vers of the-county were anxious for a visit, from the great and good man. One old la. dy, more avaricous than godly, wove about-, half a yard of linen, and.left it in her loom, and awaited a visit fropi'he Prophet. After awhile her heart was gladdened and her. pa tience rewarded, by seeing nbp approach, wilh the first rays of the' morning sun, the lorig looked for. friend of the poor. He was bound on a longer journey than usual, and' had made a very early start. The old lady' had his' horse fed from the oats belonging to 1 the Methodist preacher, apd'got the traveler the best breakfast her larder,offorded. 'Wlfeo the wants of the manwere supplied, the Proph et to depart, and as was’ his custom, urged the old lady to lake phy for his bredkv fast. No, indeed ; she epujd not think of la-‘ king pay from the Prophet,- So be blessed her also, and said God would prosper her and continue her at whatsoever work »h» went at, and,so departed on his journey. The. woman was elated with joy, and hurried ip her loom, to cut out her short web, andjoea sura from it quantities of linen sufficient years to come. In her great hurry she stum bled over on unfortunate urchin that stood in the way, and in her wrath, she polled up ilk clothes and went to spanking it and the LoridT prospered her and she continued her spanking, until noon.” Our sober-faced friend never smiled, for he seemed to believe every word of what he was relating ; and the clergymen preseni, after casting side glance at bach oth er, went to bed for the night. ' Aw UwfoBTUNATB Boy !—the PorUmotfh Ballot is responsible for' the following, the literal truth of which we have no reason to - ' doubt. In ihe view of'Pierce’s present ptt-' 1 silion, we know of few things that would be 'likely to mantle with shame the brow of an high-spirited boy, morn than the pbssbsdlolt ' of a name that has become the synonyms of treachery to every principle that is bonbred ' by honorable'men':— A Subject that Requires LrgisiatioS. Unnatural Parents and Innocent j Children, your name, 'sonny V’ said we ld A , pretty little boy, about three years old,' 'led' by a lit.le maid twice ns old, in a neighbor*,, ing town lately,' 'The little fellow mado no* reply, but on our asking hirti again, he hijn£ “ his head as if ashamed to tell, and af tytii* 1 third asking began b> sob and cry as If (his heart would break. We were nearly fright* ened out of our wiis, for wo didn’t knowTnit some jury might find us guilty of scartrtg' ' him ip death. “For merby _ sake, wliiralla him!" said we to his young colnpsnldh | “what is his name!” '“Hisname is Fba?*** itit Piebcb Towle,’’ said she, her fhcelurn*'' ing crimson. 1 ' Here' was the rhys'tfery, and' we did not wonder that the fellow was weep* * ing over the lt|tiuU that he wits not big enough to respnt. We felt penitent; so wo look the mourner on our kneel end told him sooth* tingiy, there was ‘’nothing in a name,” ohd ! ■jf there was, the first two words of his w*ref ■ his father’s fault and not his, and (hatha would soon be old enough to apply to the Legislature for change of name. The latter:: statement' for he smiled (through his'tears, and soon looked as good-natured' as if wo had not insulted him at all. umper brand, y and luding given, t front e ears s legs ts ob it and Down The printer he looked, awful solemn— And ml these lines to fill ilwcolumrt.’
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers