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BY 'ANDREW' J. KHEY.
1VII S C E nil-A K'E OPS-
UOV JACK WOOD -GOT TIILN. .
t was during my autumnal trip of 1849,
u the backwoods of. Pennsylvania, that 1
became acquainted with the -hero of this
sketch. He was about 35 years.. old, six
feel two i" height, and stoul in proportion
a noble specimen of a man, quite an
Ajar in 9ize and courage.- His hair was
long and black, and fell in a curly mass
down on his shoulders. He could walk
as far, run as fast, and shoot or. light as
well as "the next one."
He always prided himself on his hunting
dress, and always looked neat in his per
won; his usual dress was a thick blanket
hunting frock, of a dark brown color,
beand round theneck, siirt, and sleeves,
with strips of beaver skin, his stout home
pun breeches was met at the knees by
heavy buckskin leggins, his feet encased
in strong Indian moccasins, and on his
head he wore a sort of skull-cap of gray
fox-skin, with the tail sewed on the left
side, and hanging down on his shoulder.
His breast was crossed by two fancy bea
ded belts of buckskin, one supporting an
ovhorn so white and transparent that the
dark powder could be seen through it, the
other supported a fancy leather scabbard,
into whicn was thrust a heai'y hunting
knife. Hjs waist was encircled by a
tout leather belt, in. which he carried his
bullets aU caps, and through which was
thrusATia small but sharp tomahawk.
His'ritle was of the best make, and he pri
ded himself in keeping it in good order.
Having ran away from home when but
13 years of age, he worked his way out
to the Western country, where he adopted
:he hunter's life, and joined a roving band
of half Indians and half whiles, with whom
lie strolled till the breaking out of. the
Mexican war. He then joined a company
of rangers, and fought under old Zuck til;
the close of the war, and while there, dis
played that courage, and daring thai has
always marked his life.
The war over, he came home to Phila
delphia, and finding father and mother dead,
and both sisters married, he went out West
again and commenced the roving life he so
much liked. He wandered across the
country till he reached the wilds of Penn
sylvania, and being much pleased with the
scenery and hunting grounds, he built him
self a cabin, and there it was I formed his
acquaintance.
Pardon me, kind reader, for thus intru
ding on your good nature, by entering on
the biography of our hero, but it is a weak
failing 1 have to eulogise my friends. But
now lor my story.
Jack's only partner of his joys and sor
rows was his hound, for he hated all the
womankind.
Last fall I visited Jack's neighborhood,
and stopped at the same tavern as when I
sojourned thither in '40, and alter seeing
lay horse well taken care of, I entered the
bar-room and lighted my cigar, thinking
to have a smoke. Seated by the old-fashioned
wood stove, 1 pulfed away quite
leisurely, thinking, as the old soug says,
of "the maid 1 left behind, me," when in
talked the tallest, and thinnest, and queer
eft specimen of a man I had ever seen.
He was in lull hunting rig, aud diopping
the butt of his rille heavily on the floor,
he leaned on the muzzle, and looked me
full in the face. After he seemed fully
atisfied, he walked towards me, and
when within three feet of me, stopped
and took another look, then seizing me by
the hand, he shouted out
'Harry Huutsm-in, as I'm a sinner!
Old boy, how d'ye do!"
"Stranger," replied I, "you certainly
have a little the advantage of me."
"Sirangerl" roared he, "damme if I
don't like that! Call me stranger! Old
Jack Wood a stranger to you! Ha, ha,
aa! capital joke that! You're the sttan
ger!', '1 Why, Jack, that aiut you7" I foolish
ly asked.
"Yes, Harry, what's left of me just
Bul, hree-quarters of the original."
Three-quarters?" replied 1; "why,
Jack, say one-quarter, aud you will be
nearer the mark. But how came this
greet change been sick, or in love?"
"Love! No, sir-ee! As for sickness,
1 don't know what you mean; but the
cause of my being so thin i3"
"What?" I eagerly asked.
"Panthers.',
Panthers," laughed I, "why. Jack,
they didn't cat the best part of you away,
did they ?"
"No, worse than that, they scared it off.
it makes my flesh crawl to think of it."
At this, my curiosity was riz, as the
Yankee . says and J .was anxious for par
ticulars. "Come, Jack, out with it, don't let me
io ignorance." . .
"Well, Harry, here goes; but first and
foremostyou know I never was a coward,
jrad never will be. All I want is fair play,
ocu n man's throat when he' aslerp
"WE GO WHERE DEMOCRATIC PRINCIPLES POINT TUB
can be done by any coward; just such a
way them d d panthers served me.
Three days after you left, last fall that
was the 5th of December, I believe"
I nodded assent.
Well, three days after you left, I found
my firewood rather low, and came to the
conclusion that I'd better cut a few before
the heavy snows came for 1 don't much
fancy wood chopping in two foot of snow.
So that morning, early, I shouldered ray
axe and put oil' for the swamp, about a
mile to the right of my shanty but you
know where it is. 1 left everything at
home rifle, gun and knife as I never
like the idea of doing anything by half
and half; when I want to hunt. 1 hunt,
and when I go to chop wood, 1 got for
that purpose only. Well, I reached the
swamp and fell to work, and chopped for
about four hours, when I thought a little
rest and a pull at the ilask would be just
the thing. So down
took one or two, or
pulls, but not more,
pipe, I commenced
I sat, on a lor, and
perhaps three, good
Then lighting my
to blow a cloud.
Hardly had 1 gave three whiffs, when I
heard a rustling motion among the . low
brusli directly to my right; this was fol
lowed np by a low growl, and before I
could get my axe out, up walked two
d d big panthers. Here, thinks I,
for a run; so oil' I put and the two devils
right after me. Fright seemed to lend
wings to my feet, for I scarcely touched
the ground 1 run over, and 1 knew I went
over an amazing quantity in a remarkable
short space of time. After a hard run 1
came to the conclusion to climb a tree,
and rather foolishly selected a small one,
when there was just as many large ones.
. "On they bounded to the foot of the
tree, and there they treed me, and such an
infernal caterwauling, growling, and half a
dozen other noises as they kept up, made
my hair rise right up. They thenjumped
up at me, shaking the tree at every bound
I hallooed, whooped, screamed, and swore,
but it was no use there "they were.
Finally I suppose they got tired and hun
gry, so one went away while the other
stopped to keep watch, and thus they re
lieved each other now and then; and,
Harry, I'll be shot if they didn't keep me
up there for four days.
"At last Dill Smith, happening to be
running turkeys, came that way, 1 shouted
as loud as 1 could, and he heard me, came
over and shot one of the varmints, and
the other mizzled. He then helped me
down, and when I touched the ground, 1
was just as thin as yoa see me now, and
my hair nearly white. I had sweated and
fretted myself all to nothing. But now
I'm just as strong and hearty as ever, but
get no fatter." Here he leaned over to
me, and shouted out "But, Harry, I'm
down on all panthers since that day, and I
don't intend to stop hnnting them till eve
ry one of them is extinct."
Thus ended the story. Hoping it will
please all as it did me,
I remain a friend to the public,
Harry Huntsman.
From the Philadelphia Evtnin-r Bulletin.
THE ENDOF HUNGARY.
Nations, like individuals have their youth,
their manhood, and their old age; and so,
too, have races of men. We do not know
a more striking instance of this truism
I than is presented in the history of the
i Hungarians.
1 tie Magyars were originally an Asiatic
tribe, and form a branch of the Finnic
race, as is proved by their physical char
acteristics, not less than by their language.
They first appeared in Europe at the be
ginning of the ninth century. Their
career, until the fury of the" onset was
spent, was one of incessant victory.
Armed with bows and arrows, and mounted
on fleet horses, they were invincible by
any force that Europe could muster. They
swept up the Danube like a destroying
whirlwind, until their territories extended
from far below Belgrade to far above
Vienna, so that not only what is now
Hungary, but vast territories contiguous
to it, owned their sway. From this central
seat of power, they soon spread their
ravages on every side. They, invaded
Italy, they thundered at the gates of Rome;
they even carried their war-cry into the
heart of France. For nearly two centu
ries, the Magyars were to Western Europe,
what the Turks subsequently became, a
race as hated as they were feared, a nation
of warriors whom nothing could oppose
But the horsemen, whom the leudal
chivalry of France and Germany could
not resist, Christianity finally subdued.
Phe first Magyars were heathens. They
hated the Franks as men of a hostile race,
but they hated them worse as believers in
a different religion. When, however,
holy missionaries, disregarding the perils
that would environ, them in the midst of
savage heathens, penetrated into Hungary
and preached in the tumultuous camps of
the wild conquerors the peaceful doctrines
of the Gospel, a mighty change took
WAY iTr
EL5EN3BURG, THURSDAY, MARCH 13, 1851-1
,.. - '
place. The whole nation was, as it were.
converted in a day. A single generation
saw the .. Hungarians transformed from
Pagans into Christians. With this great
change, came more peaceful habits. The
Magyars no longer warred on Western
Europe with religious fanaticism as before,
but rathei sought to be on terms of amity
with them and to imitate the arts of peace.
Gradually returning, therefore, within the
boundaries of their central kingdom, they
confined themselves to the great plains of
Hungary and to. the coutigous territories.
Their princes began to intermarry with
the princes of Western Europe; the peo
ple assumed more or less of the habits of
civilization, and Hungary became, by the
sanction of a neighboring potentate, an
acknowledged christian kingdom.
Thus had passed the first period of the
Magyar race, that of its fiery, impetuous
and collossal youth. About A. 1). 1000
it entered on the second term of its exist
ence. A robust, yet tempered manhood
was jls destiny for five hundred yrears
succeeding. During this epoch it was the
great bulwark of Europe against Saracen
and Turkish invasion. Occasionally, in
deed, the Hungarians warred on their
Christian brethern; and more than once
they allied themselves for a period, and in
self defence, to the Ottoman hordes; but,
in the main, they were true to the cause of
Christian Europe, and the chief instru
ments in repelling the assaults of Moslem
fanaticism. Like a mighty breakwater,
thrown forward to meet the first fury of
the tempest, they withstood, for centuries,
the war of the advancing surges and the
dash of the angry tide. Their gallantry
! in the field was only equalled by their
i sturdy' independence at home. Inheriting
J from their ancestors a sort of rude consli
, tutional monarchy, under which the people
J elected all the minor officers of the State,
they maintained these privileges when
.absolutism reigned every where else on th
conuneux, anu wnen England alone snared
with Hungary the benefits of real liberty.
From the fatal edict, by which the diet
invited the house of Hapsburg to occupy
the vacant throne, dates the decline of the
once mighty Magyars. Sine; that period,
their territories have been narrowed almost
constantly. The aim of the Austrian
monarchs had been to destroy the national
feelings, and strip the people of their an
cestral rights; aud this base scheme has
been persisted in, regardless of the heroic
sacrifices made by the Hungarians, on
frequent occasions, to save the Empire.
In a measure, the treacherous plot has
succeeded. The Delilah that the Magyars
took in has shorn them secretly of their
strength, and has, in onr own day, deliv
ered them over to the hatred of the auto
crat, the true Philistine of Europe. Their
national independence has sunk into a
mere shadow since the last fatal war.
j Kossuih and a few other sanguine patriots
may still hope tor the resuscitation of this
gallant people; but we fear their doom,
like that of the noble Poles, is sealed, and
that the time of their extinction approach
es. Their old age is at hand, if not
already come. In a century or two, at
the utmost, they will probably be lost sight
of, in surroundiug population. Suchis
the fate of nations.
The Grcal Indian Cave.
From the Franklin fJa.) Examiner.
I last week visited a newly discovered
cave in Crawford county, Indiana. It is
on the right bank of Blue river. For
magnificence and bauty of scenery, it
promises, when fully explored, to rival
even the Mammoth Cave of Kentucky.
The Epsom Salts Cave, known for nearly
half a century, and successfully worked
for saltpetre and salts many years since, is
about two miles long, and in some places
10 or 50 feet wide, and 75 feet high; but
has nothing pecularly interesting in it ex
cept a beautifully fluted column, some 23
feet in diameter and 25 or 30 feet high, all
of stalactic matter.
Entering this cave under a jutting rock
near the brow of a lofty hill.
ing for about a quarter of a mile, atari
angle ot 31 or 40 degrees, we entered a
small door, and after stooping rather un
comfortably for 60 yards, found ourselves
in a large open cave, or bat-room, in
which tens of thousands of these little
animals hang suspended from the rocks in
large clusters, like bees in swarming. Far
ther on, sticks, the size of hop-poles,
hickory bark, charcoal and bare footed
human tracks were discovered, which
must have remained there for a long time,
as the door to this part of the cave was so
blocked up with rocks whenlirst discov
ered that a man could not possibly pass.
We soon entered an avenue 40 feet wide,
and varying in height from 10 to 60 feet
the ceiling as smooth and beautiful, as if
finished by the trowel, then suddenly
changing, presents the appearance of di
versified hanging drapery, and of spotless
white. Then again the naked rocks ap
pear. At th end of this avenue we
i ...ui 1 I c i . - : : iSgB
OEASB TO LEAD,' WE CEASE TO
found Wfselyes aMhp foot of- rockv ovra
mid up which we climbed some 60 feet!
and on the top of which stand, two beau
tiful,' irtalafrmites ;sojnei.flvie. feet high,
eighteen inches in diameter, and as white
as the purest Indian marble;, and when
viewed by the dim light of- our caudles,
presented a strong contrast with the grey
walls of lime stone rock. An oblong can
opy, some 40 or 50feet high, is here hung
with beautiful stalactites, suspended from
the ceiling. .We now found it necessary
to crawl upon our faces, "snake it" for
about twenty feet, when we came into an
avenua wide and high. Turning suddenly
to the left, we found ourselves in the midst
of scenery of surpassing and erquisite
beauty. The entire walls are covered
with an incrustation of sulphate of lime,
crystalized so as to glisten like ten thou
sand diamonds in the light. Some of
these crystals, a foot in length, an inch
wide, and thick as a table knife blade,
grew upon this base in a thousand diversi
fied forms. Upon a projecting rock at
one side of the avenue, great numbers had
broken by their weight, and were lying
in great profusion at the bottom of the
cave. These formations, lik; the base
upon which they grew, are ulphate, and
white as the driven snow. Others re
sembling glass, form upon the ceiling as
well as the floor, from an inch in diameter
to the length and size of a common knit
ting needle, and even smaller. The in
crustation is frequently an inch thick, but
more generally from an eighth to an
inch thick. Much of it has fallen to the
floor, and is crushed under the feet ot the
visitor, and the place it occupied on the
ceiling is being replaced by new forma
mations. But I am utterly unable to des
cribe it. It must be seen to be appreciated
or any correct idea formed of its beauty.
We visited many rooms with spacious
domes and stalactites of every imaginable
i and "Torm: lrr one-apartment" the
water finds its way over a large range of
projecting rocks, and the stalactite matter
is formed in lcld3 and blades like extended
honey combs, and hangs like drapery
around the sides of the room. Upon the
bottom is formed a great number of little
pools of every form, elevated upon the
floor like basins or troughs the rim of
each being perfectly level and inclined
inwaid, the stone which forms the basin
being not thicker than a paste board.
1 spent three days in this wonderful
hole in the ground say seven hours each
day. The first two days were spent in
examining and exploring, and I think we
must have traveled at least one mile per
hour, or fourteen miles in two days. The
third day, I revisited the most interesting
parts to procure specimens for geological
investigation. I had forgotten to say that
saltpetre and epsom 6alts are found in
various parts, in large quantities; and I
procured a lump of salts of half a pound
weight, quite pure. We ventured a mile
at least further lhar any other had ever
fone before, aud left it to others still to
prosecute. A quite .transparent eyeless
crawfish which we found, was not the
least interesting thing we saw.
The entrance to the cave belongs to
Henry P. liathrack, a wealthy and gener
ous gentleman, who cheerfully rendered
us every Jfacility for examining " the cave,
and attended us as guide. I have no
doubt when it is fully explored and sur
veyed, it will prove to be one of the
wonders of Hoosierdom.
Very respectfully
S. BUTLEK.
A Pilgrim at the Tomb of Silas Wright.
A Vermont paper, of a resent date con
tained a touching communication from a
correspondent at Chicago, suggested to the
writer by a visit to the Tomb of Silas
W right the writer says:
"One of the most interesting places we
visited while iu Vermont, was Weybridge,
which as you know, is af small town of
some 500 inhabitants. The spire of its
neat church may be seen from the Obser
vatory of Middlebury College; and a few
rods south, the chief object of interest,
viz: the monument of Silas Wright, erec
ted within the past year. On our way to
visit the monument, we passed the house
in which his boyhood and school days
were passed. It is as tenantless as his
own clay, and rootless a filter emblem of
physical decay and decomposition than
any marble pile. The monument is sur
rounded by an iron fence, very handsome
ly finished. The structure is of solid
marble from some of the Vermont quarries
near by. I do not know its exact propor
tions, but tis' an immense structure, wor
thy alike ot the deceased statesman and
his weeping fellow patriots who reared it.
On the east side of the plain column which
surmounts the base, is a figure of the head
of the statesman in basso relievo, of the
same marble, and the plain inscription be
neath, "Silas Wright." There is no need
of other epitaph. Yon feel the spell of
his mighty spirit on you, and the silence
FOLLOW."
of its greatness awes you. Snake moun
tain towering up to the northwest in
snowy grandeur while yet in mid October,
and the lesser hills around, seem fit com
panions of the-structure," and the quiet
murmurs of Lemon-Fair to the west, and
the mountain winds, are fit music around
this earthly resting place of the lamented
patriot.
"There was a maraoth gathering of souls
when the cap stone of the fabric was laid,
and an essay of fine speeches; but these
mountain winds spoke with louder voice,
and awed the multitude dead. I have not
visited any place consecrated to the dead
so interesting to me, since a stroll at
Mount Auburn and even there one is
not so awed. We expect to feel holy and
subdued there we prepare our minds for
it by the memory of the great who rest
there, and the consecration of its ground
to the dead and we enter its sacred por
tals with the weight of all hallowed asso
ciations on our souls but far up among
the hills of Vermont, in her mountain fast
ness, the sudden view of such a structure
startles the beholder by its novelty, and
subdues by its erandeur. In the Quincv
! cemetery at Quincy.'Mass., where the his
; toric odor of the Revolutionary heroes and
i sages hallows all their quiet beds, one is
awed by the stern simplicity of her Quin
cys' head stones and monument, tier Ad
ams' tombs and vaults, and the silence of
the illustrious sleepers is too imposing for
tears. But I could not repress them as I
stood before the memento of a beloved na
tion weeping in its bereavment; and when
we passed the naked walls of the paternal
roof on our way home, the littleness of
earth and matters attractions never seemed
so undesirable.
"There is many a leaved book publish
ed the "Life of Silas Wrichi" but a
larger volume than ever issued from the
Kress, is written ot nis goodness on the land never an ear can be turned aside, till
eart memories or those who best knew j the melody of Echo, and the echo of Echo
n'm" j is sent to slumber in the halls of Silence.
; Again, of the sea she sings, and the
From the Xew Orlen Delta. ; waves dance to the music of her silvery
The Xighlillgale and her Jlusic. ! sounds, the mermaids hail her as a sister-
Of Jenny Lind of the style of her f nymph; the sea-gems sparkle unwonted
music of the order of her intellectuality ( !y ?r pathway, and the shells cf thr
of the soul which she infuses into the j depths, in gladness commingle their
mysterious power of her voice, we have
j heard some diversities of opinion express
ed. 1 hat her singing is charming, sim
ple, and bird-like, all agree; yet fastidious
musical critics there are, who pretend to
discover faults in her style; a defect in
the expression of some of her notes,
and
a want ol soul and intellectuality in her
general execution.
With those objections of the connois.
scurs we cannot agree. It is true that
on her first appearance before an audi
ence, Miss Lind exhibits no forecast of
her seraphic sweetness. There is noth
ing in her countenance to indicate the
j rich melodiousness ot her voice; and her
sou., nestling in the chambers ol her
j heart, refused to court the sympathies ofj
j the expectant crowd by speaking from!
her eyes, or giving radiance to her face. !
sooner, nowever, uo oer aru;ngs ) u n me muunu iu ie grave. Aiier
commence, than she seems to forget the j ie ceremonies were gone through with,
presence of als, save herself; the plain i and the procession was returning home
prose of her countenance suddenly bios- J ward, the kind neighbor sympathized with
sums into poetry: and, moved by the affl- the bereaved husband, and told him that
atus of Song, she breaths, as from angel- I he must not give way too much to grief,
lips, such delicate harmonies as were I for it would break him down, and he
never before hymned by a daughter ofj hoped to see him cheer up and be happy
the earth, and might be supposed to fill j again, as tears would not regain his loss,
with unutterable delight even angel-ears. a"d were of no avail, "Alas!" fobbed out
The Nightingale is then no child of cir-! the mourner, "earth has no longer any
cumstance and place -she is all sou! all i happiness for poor me. What is life!
voice all melody! Here is
'The language known and fe't
Par aa the pure air FpieaUs ile living zone;1'
and as she gives utterance to that lan
guage, all t-ars, unprejudiced, become
enwrapped, and with the rise and fall of
her harmonious discoursings, ''the spell
hound tide of human passions rise and
fall." Oh! there is enchantment,, and
; fullness, and silvery inspiration in those
delicious tones; now rich and rolling, as
J the solemn swell from a seraphic choir,
: and now soft, tender, and low, as Eola's
j faintest whisper so low, indeed, that
j "nothing lives 'twixt them and silence,"
and yet so mysteriously distinct, that the
listener is half ready to enquire whether
what is heard be not the melodious,
though inarticulate whisper of soul,
speaking eloquence to soul, without any
agency with mediums "of the earth,
earthly."
Instead of being an artiste, as some
have said, "cold," pure, and passionless,"
as the chiseled marble, the Nightingale
is a passionate and thrilling warbler, i
whose very soul is song, and whose niu- i
sic is but the aerial incarnation of a spir. j
it's voice.
Her passion is, however, not of the
kind which is exhibited in the embodi
ment of the theatrical gesture and design
it is of that purer, gentler, and more in
tense description which expands itself in
communings with the inner lje & which
can only be properly appreciated by those
VOL. 7. NO. 22.
whose hearts are harmoniously attuned.
The passion of the fair Swede, like tho
leaves of the mythic
. "tre.
Whot Uavea&re Uund to minitretij,
is ever faithful to the teachings and influ
ences f things extf rnal, on which her
song is founded. When the zephyr
sigh, she sighs more plaintively, and as
the breeze increases, her musical expres
sion becomes intense. Whatever her
genius touches, becomes a source cf in
spiration,, and is itself beautiful and ren.
dered golden by the alchimystic contact.
Be her song of flowers, her voice at once
becomes redolent of perfun.e, and like
the sweet South, breathing upoa a bank
cf violets," it passes on,' soft, delicate, and
blissful "taking and giving odor." If
of birds she sings, her notes become wild
soaring and changeful; now. cn the hum
bird's wing, playfully coquetting with
evolving petals; now soaring to mid-heaven
with the lark, and out vying in
sweetness its ma in hymn; now, caroling
with the choral melodists of a vocal grove
and now giving voice to tho cuckoo's
notes, or bursting with the plaintive ten
derness of the turt'e's wooings. Per
chance, she sings of streams and, then,
her voice, like the homeless waters, will
gush out in living melody from the moun
tain's side, rejoicing in their everon ward
and purifying course; playing with their
playfulness; murmuring with their min-
strelsy; dashing over cascades; gurgling
among rocks; fructifying the emerald
banks; along which they pass; giving ali
ment alike to the tiny flower and to the
wide spreading roots of the monarch-oak.
If the theme of her song be the wild hills
of her Norland nome, then Echo is awa
i kened, and the rock-harps of reverbera
tion hold strange and melodious converse
in the runic rhj-mes of the olden Myth,
ocean-harmonies with hers.
Wonderful, then, is the Queen of Song
wonderful the Nightingale! But tho
harmony of her voice is as nauirht com
j pared with the harmony of her generous
and nob'e disposition, Her singing shall
Ion? be remembered as a blissful dran.
ty the chi dren of the earth but tho
praise of her benificence shall be chanted
in the skies, and from the golden censor
of Immortality shall the incense of her
gooJ deeds ascend.
A Sympathising Spirit. A certain
gentleman, not long since, lost his wife by
death, an exchange informs us; he mourn
ed much at her demise, as all eood hus
bands are in duty bound to:
''Not having any relative near, one of
the neighbors a jolly good fellow walk-
what is ;his whole world toa man wUn
has lost such a wife!" "You have evor
done your whole duty towards her," said
the other "treated lier kindly and indulgently.-
Your wife cannot come back' to
you, mourn you ever so much, so all
you have to do is to seek out another to
cheer your way along the rough paths of
life. There is the kind, amiable and pret
ty little buxom widow Cosey -she would
make your home happy I know you
would like her, and 1 am quite sure sha
wonhl be willing." "My dear friend,'r
replied the wifeless man his eyes full of
tears "my loss is irreparable." The
mourner invited all his friends who atten
ded the funeral to sup with him that night,
according to the general custom of tise
place on such occasions. As the party
was retiring, the widower urged his neigh
bor to stay with him '.ill bed-time, as he
felt so very lonely. A bottle of choice
wine was brought on, which the two
friends discussed then another was bro't
and finished. Finally, the neighbor arose
and took his departure. lis had not pro
ceeded many.yards when the man of grief
&. bereavement hailed him to come back,"
as he had a worJ to s:y to him. When,
placing his lips to his friends ear, he whis
pered "Neighbor, 1 think now that t
could bear to hear that lady's name men
tioned once more!"
He that watches Provideace shall nsVe;
want for a Frovidenee to vratch;
(I