BY S. B. ROW.
VOL. 5. NO. 29.
CLEARFIELD, PA., WEDNESDAY, MARCH 10, 1859.
For the '-Raftsman's Journal.1
HOPE
OS, HOPE
BY LOGAN.
EVER.
Who would quail at opposition ?
Who would cower beneath a frown?
Manhood id your true condition;
Never lay that manhood down ;
But maintain life's true position;
i" ortitudo is true renown.
Why should mortals grasp at trouble,
Nursing it to keep it warm :
Let it be. and like a bubble
It will burst, and do no harm ;
Coax it, and you'll make it double ;
Frown, 'twill vanish like a charm.
Or why should you seek to borrow
tJricf thy spirit to annoy :
Every day viiy have its sorrow,
But each day icill bring its joy :
Ever hope on. for to-morrow
May bring peace without alloy.
Cling not to the flower that's faded ;
Joys will come, and joys depart :
Look not on the side that's t-hsded ;
Suns are shining on thine heart;
And the futuie. heavy laded
With the good, may good impart.
il'lj not then thy grief so tightly,
-Nur so fondly nurse thy wo :
li.,t adhere to things unsightly ;
Leason bids thee, let them go.
See the heavens are shining brightly,
And the healing zephyrs blow. .
Purely hope has not departed.
Though the flou rs their bloom have shed ;
They now preach to thee, down hearted,
-You shall have our fruit instead.'
And the .soul that has been smarted
Shall be greatly comforted.
DIAMONDS.
BY MRS. MARY J. HOLMES.
The boys niusn't look at the girls, and the
gills must look on their books,' was said at
least a dozen times by the village school-master,
on that stormy morning when Cora Blanch
ard and I she in licr brother's bouts, and I in
my lather's socks waded through diift after
drif t of snow, to the old brown school-house
at the foot of the long, steep hill.
We were the only girls that dared to brave
the wintry storm, and we felt amply repaid for
our trouble when we saw how much attention
wo received from the ten tall boys who had
conic come for fun some because they saw
Cora Blanchard go by, and one, Walter Beau
mont, because he did not wish to lose the les
sons of the day. Our teacher, Mr. Gannis,was
fitting him for college, and every moment was
precious to the white-browed, intellectual stu
dent, who was quite a lion among us girls, part
ly because he was older, and partly because he
never noticed us as much as did the other boys.
On this occasion, however, be was quite atten
tive to Cora, at least pulling off her boots, re
moving her hood, and brushing the- large snow
flakes from her soft, wavy hair, while her dark
brown eyes smiled gratefully upon him, as he
gave her his warm seat at the stove.
That morning Cora wrote me slily on the
slate : "1 don't care if mother does say Wal
ter Beaumont is as 'poor as poverty' I like
bim best of anybody in the world, don't you ?'
1 thought of the big red apple in my pock
et, and the boy who had so carefully shaken
the snow oil my father's socks, and answered
"No," thinking the while that I should say
Yes," if Walter had ever treated me as he did
my playmate and friend, Cora Blanchard. She
was a beautiful young girl, a favorite with all,
and possessing, as it seemed, but one glaring
fault a proueness to estimate people by their
wealth rather than their worth. This, in a
measure, was the result of long training ; for
her family, though far from being rich, were
very aristocratic, and strove to keep their chil
dren as much as possible from associating with
the "vulgar herd," as they styled the labor
ing class of community.
In her secret heart, Cora had long since
cherished a preference for Walter, though
never, until the morning of which I write, had
it been so plainly avowed. And Waller, too,
knowing how far above him she was in point
of position, had dared to dream of a time
when a bright-haired woman, with a face much
like that of the girlish Cora, would gladden
his home whatever it might bo.
That noon, as we sat around the glowing
fire, we played as children will, and it came
my turn to "answer truly whom I intended to
marry." Without a thought of the big apple,
the snowy socks, or any one in particular, I
replied unhesitatingly "the one I love best;"
and the question passed on to Cora, who was
sitting by the side of Walter Beaumont. He
had not joined in our sport, but now his eye
left his book at.d rested upon Cora, with an
expression half expectant. She, too, glanced
at him, and, as if the prophecy were upon her,
she said, "I shall not marry the one I love
the best, but the one who has the most money
and can give me the most diamonds. Sister
Fanny has a magnificent set, and she looks so
beautiful when she weirs them."
Instantly there feli a shadow on Walter
Beaumont's face, and his eye returned again
f o the Latin lettered page. But his thoughts
were not of what was written there ; he was
tliitiking of the humble cottage on the borders
.f the wood, of the rag carpet on the oaken
floor, of the plain old fashioned furniture, and
' the gentle loving woman who called him 'her
;rv,' and that spot her home. There were no
d'.fiv.iouds there no money ; and Cora, for if
he married, she would never be his wife.
Early and late he toiled and studied.wearing
his threadbare coat and coarse, brown pants;
for an education, such as he must have, admit
ted of no mote expenditure; and the costly
gems that Cora craved were not his to give,
in the pure, unselfish love springing up for her
within his heart, there were diamonds of im
perishable value ; and these, together with the
name he would make for himself, he would of
fer her, but nothing more ; and for many weeks
there was a shadow on his brow, though he was
kind and considerate to her as of old.
As the spring and summer glided by, how
ever, there came a change ; and when, in the
autumn, he left our village for New Haven,
there was a happy, joyous lock on bu face,
while a tress of Cora's silken hair was lying
k he wrote to her,
and Cora answered, always showing me what
she had written, but never a word of his. '
"There was too much love," she said, "too
. much good advice in his letters for me to
see ana thus the time passed on, unm m "
ter, who had entered a junior class, was grad
nntpd with honor, and was ahont to commence
a theological course at Andovcr, for he bad
made the ministry lus choice.
- Walter was twenty-one now, and Cora was
sixteen. Wondrously beautiful was she to
look upon with her fair young face, her soft
brown eyes, and wavy hair. And Walter Beau
mont loved her devotedly, believing, too, that
she in turn loved him ; for one summer after
noon, in the green old woods that skirted the
little village, she sat down by his side, and,
with the sunbeams glancihg down upon her
through the overhanging boughs, she had told
him so, and promised some day to be his wife.
Still, she would not bear of a positive engage
ment ; both should be free to change their
mind if they wished, she said, and with this
Walter was satisfied.
"I have no diamond to give you, darling,"
he said, drawing her close to him ; and Cora,
knowing to what he referred, answered that
"his love was dearer to her than all the world
besides." Alas, that woman should be so
fickle ! The same train that carried Walter a
way, brought Mrs. Blanchard a letter from her
daughter, a dashing, fashionable woman, who
lived in the city, and who wished to bring bur
sister Cora "out" the coming winter.
'She is old enough now," she wroto, "to be
looking for a husband, and of course she'll
uevor do anything in that by-place."
This proposition, which accorded exactly
with Mrs. Blanchard's wishes, was joyfully ac
ceded to by Cora, wTio, while anticipating the
pleasure which awaited her, had vet no thought
of proving false to Walter; and in the letter
which she wrote, informing him of her plan,
she assured him of her uucbanging fidelity,
little dreaming that the promise thus made
would soon be broken.
Petted, caressed, flattered and admired as
Cora was in the circle of her sister's friends,
how could she help growing worldly and vain,
or avoid contrasting the plain, unassuming
Walter, with the polished and gaily dressed
butterflies who thronged Mrs. Barton's drawing-room
1 When summer came again, she
did not return to us as we had expected, but
we heard of her at Saratoga and Newport, the
admired of all admirers, while one, it was said
a man of high position and untold wealth
bade fair to win the beauteous belle.
Meantime, her letteis to Walter grew short
and far between, ceasing at length altogether;
and one day, during the second winter of her
residence in the city, I received ironi her a
package containing his miniature, tho books
he had given her, aud the letters he had writ
ten her. These she wished me to give him when
next I saw him, bidding mc tell him to thiuk
no more of one who was not worthy of him.
"To be plain, Lottie," sho wrote, "I am en
gnged, and though Mr. Douglas is not a bit like
Walter.he has got a great deal of money .drives
splendid horses, and I reckon we shall get on
well enough. I wish, tho', he was not so old.
You'll be shocked to hear that he is almost fif
ty, though he looks about forty ! I don't like
him as well as I did Walter, but after seeing as
much of tho world as I have, I could not set
tle down into the wife of a poor minister. I am
not good enough, and you tell him so. I hope
he won't feel badly poor Walter I've kept
the lock of his hair I couldn't part with that;
but of course Mr. Douglas will never see it.
His hair is gray ! Good bye."
This was what sho wrote, and when I heard
from her again, she was Cora Douglas, and her
feet were treading the shores of the old world,
whither she had gone on a hiidal tour. . . .
In the solitude of his chamber, the young
student learned the sad news from a para
graph in a city paper, and bowing his head up
on tho table, he strove to articulate, "It is
well," but the flesh was weak warring with the
spirit, and the heart which Cora Blanchard
had cruelly trampled down, clung to her still
with a deathlike fondness, and following her
.
even across the was:e oi waters, cneu oui
"How can I give her up?" But when he re
membered, as ere long he did. that 'twas a
sin to love her now, he buried his lace in his
hands; and calling on God to help him in his
hour of need, wept such tears as never again
would fall for Cora Blanchard
The roses in our garden were faded, and the
leaves of autumn were piled upon the ground
ere he came to his home again, and I had an
opportunity of presenting him with the pack
ago that many months before had been com
mitted to my care. Jlis lace was very paie,
and his voice trembled as he asked mc
'Where is she now ?"
"In Italy," I answered, adding that her
husband was said to be very wealthy.
Bowing mechanically, he walked away, and
a year and a half went by ere I saw him again.
Then he came among us as our minister. The
old white-haired pastor, who for so long a
time had told us of the Good Shepherd and
the. better land, was sleeping at last in the
quiet grave yard, and the people hid chosen
voting Walter Beaumont to fill his place. He
was a splendid looking man, tall, erect and
finely formed, with a most winning manner,
and a face which betokened intellect of the
highest order. We were proud of him, all of
us proud of our clergyman, who, on the third
of June, was to be ordained in the old brick
church, before whose altar he had years ago
been baptised a smiling infant.
On Thursday afternoon preceding the ordi
nation, a large travelling carriage, covered
with dust and ladened with trunks, passed
slowly through our village, attracting much at
tention. Seated within it, was a portly, gray
haired man, resting his chin upon a gold
headed cane, and looking curiously out at
the people in the street, who stared as curi
ously at him. Directly opposite him. and
laninii.llv reclininz upon the soft cushions,
was a pale proud faced lady, who evidently
felt no interest in what was passing around
her, for her eyes were cast down, and her
thoughts seemed busy elsewhere.
- I was sitting at my chamber window, gazing
at them, and just as they drew near the gate,
the lady raised her eyes the s.-ft brown eyes
which once had won the love of Walter Beau
mont, and in which now there was an unmis
takable look of anguish, as if the long eye lash
es, drooping so wearily on the colorless cheek,
were constantly forcing back the hidden tears.
And this was Cora Douglas, come back to us
again from her travels in a foreign land, bhe
knew me in a moment, and in her face there
was much of tho olden look, as bending for
ward sho smiled a greeting, aud waved towards
me her white jewelled hand, on which the dia
monds flashed brightly in the sunlight.
The next morning wc met, but not in tne
presence of the old man, her husband. Down
in the leafy woods, about a quarter of a mile
from Mrs. Beaumont's cottage, was a running
brook and a mossy bank, overshadowed by the
sycamore and elm. This, in days gone by had
been a favorite resort. Here we had built our
playhousc.washing our bits of broken China in
the rippling stream-here we watched the little
fishes as they darted in and out ot the deeper
eddies here we had conned our daily tasks
here she bad listened to a tale of love,the mem
ory of which seemed a mocking dream, and
here, as I faintly hoped, I found her. With a
half-joyful, kalf-moanicg cry, she threw her
arms round my neck, and I could feel her tears
dropping upon my face, as the whispered
'Ob, Lottie, Lottie, we have met again by
the dear old brook."
For a few moments she sobbed as if her
heart would break, then suddenly drying her
tears, she assumed a calm, cold, dignified man
ner, such as I never have seen in Cbra Blanch
ard. Very composedly she questioned me of
what I had done during her absence, telling
me, too, of her travels, of the people she had
seen, and the places she bad visited ; but not
a word she said about bim she called her hus
band. From the bank where we sat the village
grave-yard was discernible, with its marble
gleaming through the trees, and at last, as
her eye wandered in that direction, she said:
"Have any of the villagers died ? Mother's
letters were never definite."
"Yes," I answered,"our minister,M.r. Sum
ner, died two months ago."
"Who takes his place ?" she asked, and, as
if a suspicion of the truth were flashing upon
her, her eyes turned towards me with an eager
and startled glance.
"Walter Beaumont, ne is to ,be ordained
next Sabbath, and you're just in lime," I re
plied, regretting my words the next instant,
for never saw 1 so fearful a look of anguish as
that which swept over her face, and was suc
ceeded by a cold, defiant expression, scarcely
less painful to witness.
She would have questioned me of him, I
think, had not an approaching footstep caught
our ear, sending a crimson flush to Cora's
hitherto marble cheek, and producing on me
a most unpleasant sensation, fori knew that
the gray-haired man, now within a few paces
of us, was he who called that young creature
Am wife. Golden was the chain by which he
had bound her, and every link was set with
diamonds and costly stones, but it had rusted
and eaten to her very heart's core, for the
most precious gem of all was missing from
the chain love lor her husband, who, fortu
nately for his own peace of mind, was too
conceited to dream how little she cared for
him. He was not handsome, and still many
would have called him a fine-looking, middle
aged man, though there was something disa
greeable in his thin, compressed lips, and in
tensely black eyes the one betokening a vio
lent temper, and the other an indomitable will.
To me he was exceedingly polite rather too
much so for my perfect ease, while towards
Cora he tried to be very affectionate.
Seating himself at her side, and throwing
his arm around her, he called her "a little
truant," and asked "why she had run away
from him."
Half pettishly she answered, "because I
like sometimes to be alone ;" then rising up
and turning towards me, she asked if "the wa
ter still ran over the old mill dam in the West
woods, just as it used to do," saying it it did
she wished to see it. "You can't go," she
continued, addressing her husband, "for it 18
more than a mile, over fences and ploughed
fields."
This was sufficient, for Mr. Douglas was
very fastidious in all matters pettaining to his
dress, and had no fancy for soiling his white
pants or patent leathers. So Cora and I sat
t il together, w hile he walked slowly back to
the village. Scarcely was he out of sight,
however, when, seating hcrscif beneath a tree,
aud throwing herself flat upon tho ground,
Coraannoueed her intention of not going any
farther.
"I only wish to be alone ; I breathe so much
better," she said, and when I looked inquir
ingly at her, she continued, "Never marry a
man for his wealth, Lo'tie, unless you wish to
become as hard, as wicked, and as unhappy as
I am. John Douglas is worth more than half
a million, and yet I would give it all if I were
now the same little girl who six years ago
waded with you through the snow drifts to
school on that stormy day. Do you remember
what we played that noon, and my foolish re
mark that I would marry for money and dia
monds ! Woe is me, I have won them both !"
And her tears fell fast on the sparkling gems
which covered her slender fingers.
Just then I saw iu the distance a young man
whom I knew to bo Walter Beaumont. He
seemed to be approaching us, and when Cora
became aware of that sho started up and grasp
ing my arm hurried away, saying, as she cast
back a fearful glance "I would rather die
than meet him now. I am not prepared."
For the remainder of the way we walked on
in silence, until we reached her mother's gate,
where we found her husband waiting for her.
Bidding me good morning, sho followed him
slowly up the gravelled walk, and I saw her
no mora until the following Sabbath. It was
a glorious, beautiful morning ; and at an early
hour the old brick church was filled to over
flowing, for Walter had many friends and they
came together gladly to see him made a min
ister of God. During the first part of the ser
vice he was very pale, and his eye wandered
often towards the large square pew where sat
a portly man and a beautiful young woman,
richly attired in satin and jewels. It had cost
a struggle to bo there, but she felt that she
must look again upon him she had loved so
much and- so deeply wronged. So she came,
and the sight of him standing there in his
early manhood, his soft brown hair clustering
about his brow, and his calm, pale face wear
ing an expression almost angelic, was more
than she could bear, and leaning forward sho
kept her countenance concealed from view
until the ceremo-iy was ended, and Walter's
clear, musical voice announced the closing
hymn. Then she raised her head, and her
face, seen through the folds of her costly
veil, looked haggard and ghastly, as if a fierce
storm of passion had swept over her. By the
door she paused, and when the newly 'ordain
ed clergyman passed out, she offered him her
hand, which, when he held it last, was pledged
to him. There were diamonds on it now dia
monds of value rare, but their brightness was
hateful to that wretched woman, for she knew
at what a fearful price they had been bought.
Thev did not meet again, and only once
more "did Walter sec her; and then from our
door he looked out upon her, as with her hus
band she dashed by on horsebacK, her long
cloth sfcirt almost sweeping the ground, and
the pita! of her velvet cap waving in the air.
"Mrs. Douglas is a fine rider," wasaJltha
Walter said, and the tone of his voice indica
.,. was becoming an object of indif
ference. Desperately had be fought with his
affections for her, winning me victory
and now the love be once had felt was slowly
and surely dying out. The next week, tired
of our dull village life, Cora left ns, going to
Nahant, where she spent most of the summer,
and when in the winter we beard from her
again, she was a widow the sole beir of her
husband, who had died suddenly, and gener
ously left her that for w"hich she married him.
"Will Walter Beaumont marry Cora now V
I asked myself many a time, without, howev
er, arriving at any definite conclusion, when a
little more than a year succeeding Mr. Doug
las's death, she wrote begging roc to come
to her, as she was very lonely, and the pres
ence of an old friend would do her good. I
complied with her request, and for a few days
was an inmate of h?r luxurious home, whero
everything indicated the wealth of "fts posses
sor. And Cora, though robed In the deepest
black, was more like herself more like the
Cora of other days than I had seen her be
fore or since her marriage. Of ber husband
she spoke freely, and always with respect, say
ing, he had heen kinder far to her than she
deserved. Of Walter, too, she talked, ap
pearing much gratified when I told her how
he was loved and appreciated by his people.
One morning when we sat together in her
little sewing room, she said, "I have done
what you, perhaps, will consider a very unwo
manly act. I have written to Walter Beau
mont. Look," and she placed in my hand a
letter which she bado me read. It was a wild,
strange thing, telling him of the anguish she
had endured, of the tears she had shed, of the
love which through all she had cherished for
him, and begging of him to forgive her, if
possible ; and be to her again w hat he had
been years ago. Sho was not worthy of him,
she said, but he could make ber better : and
in language the most touching, she besought
him not to cast her off, or despise her, because
she had stepped so far aside from womanly
delicacy as to write him this letter. "I will
not insult you," she wrote in conclusion, "by
telling you of the Money for which I sold my
self, but it is mine now, lawfully mine, and
most gladly would I share it with you."
"You will not send this?" I said! 'You
cannot be in earnest ?"
But she was determined, and lest her reso
lution should give way, she rang the bell, and
told the servant, who appeared at once, to
take it to the office. He obeyed, and during
the day she was unusually ga,singing snatch
es of old songs and playing several lively airs
upon her piano, which for months had stood
unopened and untouched. That evening as
the sun went down, and the moon rose over
the city, she asked me to walk with her, and
wc, ere long, found ourselves several streets
distant from that in which we lived. Gronps
of people were entering a church near by,
and from a remark which wo overheard, we
learned there was to be a wedding.
-Let us go in," said she, "it may be some
one I know," and entering together, we took
our seats just in front of the altar.
Scarcely were we seated when a rustling of
satin announced the approach of the bridal
party, and in a moment they appeared moving
slowly up the aisle. My first attention was
directed towards the bride, a beautiful young
creature, with a fair, sweet face, and curls of
golden hair falling over her white uncovered
neck.
"Isn't she lovely V I whispered, but Cora
did not hear me.
With her hands locked tightly together, her
lips firmiy compressed, and cheeks of an ash
en hue, she was gazing fixedly at the bride
groom on whom, I too, now looked, starting
quickly, for it was our minister, Walter Beau
mont ! The words were few which made them
one, Walter and the young girl at his side,
and when the ceremony was over, Cora rose,
and leaning heavily upon my arm, went out
in open air, and on through street after street,
until her home was reached. When, without
a word, we parted, I going to my room, while
she through the livelong uight, paced up and
down the long parlors, where no eye could
witness the work of mighty sorrow which had
come upon her.
The next morning she was calm, but very,
very pale saying not a word ot last night's
adventure. .Neither did she speak of it for
several days, and then she said rather abrupt
ly, "I would give all I possess if I had never
sent that letter. The mortification is harder
to bear than Walter's loss. But he will not
tell of it, I'm sure. He is too good too no
ble," and tears the first she had shed since
that night, rained through her white fingers.
It came at last, a letter bearing Walter's su
perscription, and with trembling hands she
opened it, while on a tiny sheet was written
"God pity you, Cora, even as I do. Walter."
"Walterj Walter," she whispered, and her
quivering lips touched the once loved name
which she was never heard to breathe again.
From that day Cora Douglas faded, and
when the autumnal days were come, and the
distant hills were bathed in the hazy October
light, she died. But not in the noisy city, for
she had asked to be taken home, and in the
pleasant room, where we had often sU togeth
er, she bade her last good bye. They buried
heron the Sabbath, and Walter's voice was
sad and low, as with Cora's coffin at bis feet
he preached from the words, "I am the Res
urrection and the life." His young wife too,
wept over the early dead, who had well nigh
been ber rival, and whose beautiful face wore
a calm, peaceful smile, as if she were at rest.
There was a will, they said, and in it Wal
ter was generously remembered, while to his
wife was given an ivory box containing Cora's
diamonds necklace, bracelets, pin and ear
rings, all were there and Walter, as he look
ed upon them, drew nearer to him his fair
girl wife, who but for these, might not per
chance have been to him what she was his
dearest earthly treasure.
Piccolomini gave a concert in Troy, N. Y.,
last week, and was serenaded afterwards. She
appeared and, the Troy Times says, pronounc
ed the following oration :
"Shentlemen : I am veer mooch obligee for
dis coomplementz. I am veer poor speak
Anglish, unt I feels sbleepy."
Zat is more better ash goot yaw !
There is an anecdote of an editor of ont
West, who, when he was short of matter, or
grudged the labor or typo requisite to put it
irr print, used to send out his paper with one
side or page entirely blank, merely drawing
his subscribers' attention to the fact by note
"Tbis space will be very useful for the chil
dren to write upon."
Mrs. Mary Taylor, of Lee, Mass., had a sur
prise party of her fifteen children, on ber one
hundredth birthday, lately.
THE NEW MAX-M05XEY.
At the London Royal Institution, a few days
ago, Professor Owen delivered a lecture to a
crowded audience on the Gorilla, the recently
discovered animal of Central Africa, which
bears the nearest resemblance to man of any
one of the mankey tribe that has hitherto been
discovered, not excepting the Chimpanzee.
The first traces ot this creature were made
known in tbis country in 1817, and from the
bones and the sketches of it which Professor
Owen received from missionaries, he inferred
that the Gorilla was one of the most highly
developed species of the monkey group. In
August last, a specimen of the Gorilla, pre- (
served in spirits, was received at me uruisn
Museum, and a well executed drawing of it,
by Mr. WoliT, was exhibited. Prof. Owen first
pointed out the auatomical characteristics of
the Gorilla, which distinguish it from other
species of monkeys, and he afterwards men
tioned such particulars of its habits as he has
collected from those who have visited that
part of Africa where it is found. The points
in which it approaches nearer to man, than
anv other quadrumanous animal, are the short
er arm particularly the shortness of the hu
merus compared with the tore-arm a longer
developement of the great to.?, a projecting
nose-bone, and the arrangement or tne oones
of the feet to enable the creature to stand
more erect. The drawing of the Gorilla, from
the specimen in the British Museum, though
only two-thirds grown, represented a most for
midable animal, and, compared with the skel
eton of the full-grown specimen, the skeleton
of man seemed very delicate. Not only are
the bones and muscles calculated to give great
strength, but the large capacity of the chest
indicated the powerful energy with which they
were stimulated. The part of Africa where
the Gorilla is found, lies from the equator to i
20 degrees aoujtb, on the western portion, in a
hilly country abounding in palm trees and lux-.
uriant vegetation. Its food consists of fruits
and vegetables, and its habitation is in the
woods, where it constructs nests of the inter
twined boughs, perched at heights varying
from 12 feet to 50. It avoids the presence of
the negroes, and is but seldom seen, but it is
known to them as "the stupid old man." The
want of intelligence that has induced the ne
groes to give it that name is shown by its car
rying away fruits and sugar canes singly, in
stead of tying them together and carrying sev
eral of them off at one time. It is in thus re
turning to take away its provender into the
woods piecemeal, that the negroes take the
opportunity of waiting for and shooting it.
The Gorilla is a formidable enemy to encoun
ter, and, in case the gun misses its mark, or
only maims the animal, the negro is quickly
overtaken and killed, or dreadfully mangled
by the canine teeth of the creature. Some
times when a negro is passing unawares under
a tree in which a Gorilla is seated, it will reach
down its arm and snatch tho man up by the
throat and hold him till he is strangled. The
elephant is an object of its attack, as they both
live on the same food, and holding on to a
high branch with its bind feet, it will stoop
down and strike the elephant with a club.
The Gorilla exhibits a strong attachment to its
young, as an instance of which it was men
tioned that a female and her two young ones
having been seen in a tree, she snatched up
one and ran with it into the woods, and then
returned to fetch the other. Her retreat had
in the meantime been cut off, and when the
gun was levelled at her, as she held her young
one to her breast, she waved her arm as if to
beseech for mercy. But it was in vain ; for a
bullet was sent through her heart, and the
young one was wounded and captured. The
Gorilla is sometimes seen walking with its
arms behind its neck ; its usual niode of pro
gression, however, is on all forus. Professor
Owen mentioned several other points in the
habits of the animal, as well as in its osteolo
gy, to show its nearer approach to man than
other animals of the tribe ; and be conclu
ded by alluding to the fossil remains of quad
ruraancs, to show that the Gorilla, like man,
had not existed till the earth bad attained its
present condition.
How they Make Coffee in France. A cup
of French coflee seems to have the effect to
put Americans into ecstacies ; yet few of them
are thoughtful enough to obtain from their
French brethren the process by which the de
licious beverage is decocted. Ot this few is
a Buckeye writing from Paris under date of
Nov. 9th, who supplies the desired informa
tion. He writes: "While at Mr. Morle's in
Boston his good lady very kindly initiated me
into the art of coflee making. In the first
place it is scorched in a hollow cylinder,
which is kept constantly revolving over a slow
fire, and not a grain of it allowed to burn.
Secondly, it is ground very fine, and thirdly,
when it is to be used, a portion of this is plac
ed in a finely pei forated pah or enp, which ex
actly fits into the top of the boiler, coffee pot,
or vessel yoa wish to use. Boiling hot water
is then poured on, and it percolates gradually
through, carrying with it all the essential prin
ciples of coffee. As soon as percolation is
completed, the pan is removed, containing all
the grounds, and then boiling hot milk is ad
ded to tho infusion, and your coffee ia made.
It is brought on the table in bowls, with a
knife and spoon, and a little willow basket of
bread. The servant then places by your plates
a tea dish on which are two or three lumps of
white sugar, always of a certain size, and you
sweeten to your liking. In no instance is your
coflee boiled, and this is one reason why the
cafe au lait and cafe noir are so much admired
by all who take them. If you will try tbis
mode, I am sure, in a few experiments, you
will succeed in getting it right, and possess
yourself of a luxury which will add very much
to a breakfast on a cold morning try it."
Seeing the Elephant. When cousin Icha
bod first saw bim at the show, he exclaimed,
with mute astonishment : "Then that's the
real managerer the identical critter itself !
Wouldn't tew on 'em make a team to draw
stun with ? Ain't he a scrouger !" Ichabod
went home and related what he had seen. "I
seed," said he, "the gone.wine manegerer the
biggest lump of flesh that ever stirred. He
had tew tails one behind, t'other before.
Philosophers call the fore one a pronobscus.
He put one of his tails in my pocket and haul
ed out all the gingerbread every hooter.
What d've think be done with it ? Why, he
stuck it in bis own pocket, and began to fum
ble for more." - Ichabod was most as unso
phisticated as Hummel Byerlip.
If virtue is its own reward, there will be
persons who will have little enough.
A THOUSAND DOLLAR HTTSBAHD.
A curious case, says the New York Tribune,
came before the Supremo Court on the 8tli
inst., which sheds incidental light upon thd
matrimonial brokerago businesa in that city.
A suit is brought by Robert G. Nellis against
George Crouse and his wife for $1,000 com
mission in getting a husband for the woman,
which husband is the defendant George. Fouf
years ago, Mrs. Crouse was a gay widow in
search of a partner. She was in excellent
health, of good bodily vigor, ample fortune,
aud of an amorous and affectionate disposition.
She wanted a husband, and told Nellis that if
he would introduce her to the proper man for
such a situation, she wonld pay him a thous
and dollars. Nellis accepted the commission
and brought up John Cnmmings of Cahajoha
rie, New York.. Cummiugs was on probation
for a while, but did not suit. Nellis started
for the country again, and succeeded in cap
turing a military man, known as Major Free
man, all the way from Saratoga Connty. Free
roan had a long siege of courtship, but the
twain failed to unite, and Freeman is a free
man still. The third effort is traditionally the
grand trial ; if that fails, abandon hop. Nel
lis made a third essay, and this time induced
the defendant Crouse. a kinsman or his own
by the way, to undertake the difficult- task ot
suiting a widow. Fortune and the widow
smiled upon Crouse, and a year ago the bar
gain was completed by marriage. Nellis as
serts that, by his introduction of Crouse, th
widow got the much-desired husband, and that
she or tbey rightfully owe him $1,000 commis
sion, as promised but never paid. The com
plaint is certainly a strange one; bnt the de
tense is still more singular. The promise doea
not appear to be denied ; the service is appa
rent, for there is the husband brought in aa
proof ; but the ex-widow's counsel argues that
the claim is against public policy, and that no
such system of brokerage is recognized in
common law, as it is against good morals.
The case created considerable excitement, and
strenuous efforts were made to keep it ont of
the newspapers; so we suppose we ought not
to say anything about it. Judge Davies, before
whom the case was brought, had taken the pa
pers, and will give a decision hereafter.
The Dcke and toe Button Maeei. In tbe
middle of the battle of Waterloo, the Duke
saw a man in plain clothes, riding about on
a cob horse in the thickest fire. During a
temporary lull, the Duke beckoned to him,
and he rode over. He asked tim who he was
what business he bad there T He replied he
was an Englishman, accidentally at Brussells,
that he had never seen a fight, and he wanted
to see one. The Duke told him that he was
in instant danger of bis life ; he said, "Not
more than your Grace," and they parted
But, every now and then he saw the cob man
riding about in the smoke, and at last, having
nobody to send to a regiment, be again beck
oned to this little fellow, and told him to go
up to that regiment and order them to charge,
giving him some mark of authority the Colo
nel would recognise. Away he galloped, and
in a tew minutes the Duke saw bis order obey
ed. Tbe Duke asked him ior his card, and
found, in the evening, when tbe card fell out
of his sash, that be licd at Birmingham, and
was a button manufacturer. When at Bir
mingham, the Duke enqnired of tbe firm, and
found that he was their traveller, and then in
Ireland. When he returned, at the Duke's
request, he called on him in London. The
Duke was happy to sec him, and he said ho
had a vacancy in the Mint at 800 a year.
The little cob man said it would be exactly tho
thing, and the Duke installed bim Xi of
llayden the Painter.
Backbiting. Never say of one who is ab
sent, what you would be afraid or ashamed to
say if be were present. "He of whom you de
light to speak evil," says a wise moralist,
"may hear of it, and become your enemy, or
if he do not, you will have to reproach your
self with the meauness of attacking one who
had no opportunity of defending himself.
Never listen to those who deal in scandal ; he
who slanders one to yoa, will slander you to
another." Tale-hearers make tale-bearers;
and hence Dr. South said, "the tale-bearer and
tbe tale-hearer should be hanged toget&er,
tbe one by tho ear, the other by the tongue."
Tbe Buffalo Republic states- tbat a Russian
named Albert David, who ow the 3d of Febru
ary was sentenced to the Penitentiary of that
county as a vagrant, has fallen heir, by tho
death of his father, to an immense fortune in
Russia, valued at over two millions of dollars.
The banker of the deceased was in Buffalo on
Friday a-week, taking measures to effect tho
release of David, who, he says came to this
country four years ago, with sixty thousand
dollars in his possession, one half of which
he lost by the panic, and the balance' of which
he squandered.
It will hardly be believed, but it is never
theless, ttue, that an elopement took place, a
few days ago, at Albany, New York, between
a couple of children, aged respectively four
teen and fifteen years ! The young Romeo ac
tually provided himself with a package of ar
senic, to commit suicide in ease ot a discove
ry, but fortunately tbe father of tbe young
gentleman overtook him at Utica, got posses
sion of the poison, bad tbe girl locked up, and
gave the boy a good cowhfdf rfig.
A Sensible Kino. It is related that a lady
made a compLiint to Frederick the Great
King of Prussia. " Yonr Majesty," said she,
"my husland treats me badly." "That is
none of my business," replied the King.
"But he speaks ill of you," said tho lady.
"That," replied he, "is none of your business."
-I -T-
A Hibernian bad come far to see Niagara,
and while ho gazed npon it, a friend asked if
it was not the most wonderful thing he bad
ever seen. To which be replied r "Never a
bit, man; never a bit! Sure, it's no wonder
at all that the wather should fall down there,
for I'd like to know what would hinder it."
A Cincinnati court has granted a decree of
divorce on the ground that the basband otter
ed an oath in the sacred presence of the wife.
The Enquirer says the wife had "become so
supersensualized by the etheria! influence or
Spiritualism that the gross vulgate was shock
ing to her ncrves.'f . Delicate creature 1 7 ,
Tho delects of tho mind, like those of the
face, grow worse as we grow old.