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WILLIAM BREWSTER, EDITORS.
SAM. G. WHITTAKER,
*elect
. .
A MOTHER'S HOPE,
“I knelt beside our children's narrow bed s
nd remembered the hour when I mourned
heir loss, and you soothed my grief with lov
og words and tender caresses.”
By their green and mossy bed,
Was the mother humbly kneeling,
And she bowed her weary bend,
And the tears came lastly stealing;
Wept she as the mother weeps
For the cherished and the lost ,
For the flow'rets once on fair,
Nipp'd by an untimely frost.
Bowing thus above her treasures,
She remembered, Oh ! how well,
All her early hopes and pleasures,
Blissful dreatns no tongue can tell ;
lint the spoiler came and reft her
Of the jewels of her love,
And on Seraph wings, they left her
For the spirit land above.
Then uproso that gentle mother,
Oriel no longer bowed her head,—
Smiles and tears did chase each other,
Len beside her early dead
'.God, I thank Thee, who bast given
Solite') to this !Malt of mine=
Such the kingdom is of Heaven !
Father lake them—they arc Thine!'
"THY WILL BE DONE."
Searcher .)r hearts I from mine erase
All thoughts that should not be,
Anil in its deep recesses, trace
My gratitude to thee !
Hearer of Prayer, oh ! guide aright,
Each word and deed of mine ;
Life's battle teach me how to fight,
And he the victory thine.
Giver of all ! for every good
In the Redeemer moile—
r, shelter, raiment, and for food,
I thank thee in His name.
Father and Son and Holy Ghost I
Thou glorious 'Mee in One
Thou knowcst best what I need most,
And kt THY WILL BE oast:
~.i`iginiti.
.Por the Jmernal.
PENCILLINGS
The breeze that eurl3 thy billowy doer,
songs that d er thy valleya sweep,
Are fresh with FRENDIMI'S biTath.
So sang, long ngo, New England's poet•
ess, and there was inspiration in her song,
but never, since the glorious old days of
Ticonderoga, Bennington and Saratoga,
have those words been so eminently true
—so nearly what a Lyric should be, as'
they are to day, the Echo of the A ge.
The trickery, indeed, of rhyme and
rhythm are wanting, but now we have
the thought embodied in the living act ; a
sublimer utterance than words can give.
There is no mistaking the spirit of the
articulations that are rising here and there
like the parts of a great Anthem, all over
the land. Those who were dumb are
growing quite eloquent; those that were
doubting, are coming out manfully for free- .
dam cud the Right ; and of those even,
who aforetime clanked a human chnin, for
emblem, not a few have loosed their grasp
upon the nccursed links, and are swelling
the ranks of the lovers of Liberty.
The questions of minor unpin tance that
have hitherto divided right-minded men,
are now merged in this. one all-absorbing
one ; shall a breadth of this fair earth, broad .
enough to be named a world—a breadth
made sacred to Liberty at the first, by such
solemn rites, such wealth of sacrifices as
Earth shall never see again, be gradually
narrowed to a Cape, by the rolling in front
the South, of the great Black Sea of Sla
very, until hardly the rock of Plymouth
will be left to stand upon; nor a battle
field be dyked round about against the
surge ?
There may have been, at some period,
a doubt, not that there seas Virtue enough
to fling a chain more potent than Canute's,
.upon the advancing tide, but whether that
Virtue would forget all interests of section,
all considerations of policy, all thought of
personal aggrandizement, and for the sake
of those who have gone before, and as a
legacy to those who shall come after, be
queath one united, earnest, souffed effort
in behalf of Liberty and the Oppressed.,-
That effort is now being made; that legacy
will be transmitted ; that cause will be tri
umphant.
Had not the footfall of Slavery been steal
thy and silent ; had it not stolen, noiseless
se a shadow over the dial, the borders of
this night would not have been flung so
far. But the clank of chains at last grew
audible, as they trailed them over the soil
of Kansas, that God and man alike made
made free; hoarse utterances of the Slave
Power, came grating to the ears of the
Free North, like the bellowing of a storm;
and in those sounds all other speech was
dumb, and ono after another teen rose up
to the rescue, even as the grain in full har
vest.
And this grand movement is not to be
attributed to the galvanic action of party
or clique, having the concortions without
the reality, the endurance, the majesty of
life; it is nothing that will ' , blow over"
like a summer cloud ; it is nothing that can
be awed into suspicion, or bribed into re
pose, or wearied into activity ; but is as ,
deep and as broad as humanity's self.
When men's hearts die out within them;
when the Muse of History points to no ra
diant page; when no pulse quickens with
no deathless recollections; whon those syl
lables—LlßEßTY—cease to be sweet in
any tongue of a Ilabel•cleft world, then
may we look to see this movement subside
like a spent wave along the shores of Time;
then, may we pause to hear something like
a dirge for all that was called justice, all
that was called humanity, all that was
worthy to be named Freedom in the New
World.
The seed time of liberal principles—
principles broadly American, has long pas
sed, and the harvest is at hand.
Very rarely is it, that when a country is
agitated and rent with mere political differ
ences, that the sentiment finds an echo or
an utterance in the literary world. There
all is calm ; there, the sky remains cloud
icsl. But it is not so now.
We have about us, ranged upon the
shelves, burdening the table, or cumber
ing tho floor, volumes of a purely literary
character that yet under all sorts of names,
breathe the very invisible spirit, that is to
take shape, and execute in the snowy fall
of the ballot the Freeman's will, and the
will of Freedom's God. Ile who has ob
served at all the tendency of the current
literature cannot fail to have marked this,
and markingit, to have seen therein, a deep
significance. These authors, many of
them quiet thinkers, have looked calmly
out of their windows and caught long ago,
the fragrant breath of its new growth,
whose ripening is now the theme of every
tongue.
With Literature,a volunteis via Free orn 's
cause ; and as for Poetry, Slavery never
had a song whose burden was not a sigh
or a sob; with an honest, an earnest and
united purpose In their behalf t with is
a Holy Alliance of names rnd sections East
and West ; an alliance of the purest Patri
otism with the noblest Philantrophy, what
snore does FREEDOM need to preserve in
all its sacredness this the western shrine
of her worship—this, her latest-lighted
Pharos upon Earth,
"BOY OF '76."
Hunting,lon, Non. 10.
°~~~~csccCC~incoit~.
A Graphic Sketch,
At the celebration of the battle of King's
Mountain, (Gaston county, N. C.) last
week, Col. Win. C. Preston addressed the
vast assemblage, and, and gave a glowing
picture of the battle from which we give
the following graphic extract. It mil be,
remembered that the battle was fought in
October, 1780, and resulted in a victory of
a small body of American militia over the
British regulars of Cornwallis' army, under
Ferguson :
"Ferguson, with n gallantry which seem
ed to rise with his desperate condition,
role from rank to rank, and post to post,
cheering, driving and encouraging his men,
until he found his army pressed, actually
huddled together on the ridge and falling
as fast as the Americans could load and
shoot. He determined on one more des
perate charge, and taking his position at
the head of his cavalry, in a voice that
rose high above the din of the battle, lie
summoned his 'nett "to crush the damned
rebels to the earth." The summons was
heard by the Americans, and one round of
their rifles was stopped, and, instead of
their roar, there was only the click of the
cook heard. It was tho serpent's low war
ning of coming death. The pause was
but for a moment, when Ferguson and Du
Poistre, horse and foot, burst like an ave.
lanche down the mountain side. By the
erne they came within sixty paces, every
riga was loaded, and under deadly aim.—
' Ferguson fell at the first discharge, with
seven mortal wounds. 'rho patriots rush
ed forward to meet the shock, as Du Foie
tre's regulars, with bayonets set, and sa
bres in rest, came crashing upon them.—
Not Agicourt or Cressy, with all their chi
valry, ever felt a more fearful shock • than
that; but had the heavens rained British
bayonets, it could not have stopped those
patriots. The destinies of America—per.
haps of tnankind—depeuded nn their mus
cle. Like martyrs they went to the death;
like lions they rushed to the carnage ; offi
cer and soldier—half naked, w•itlt blood
shot eyes and parclted tongues—pounced
upon the charging onotny, until their hot
breath and fierce glare was seen and felt
by the craven tory and his bull dog mas
ter ; and as they crouched gathering for
‘‘ LIBERTY AND UNION, NOW AND FOREVER, ONE AND INSEPARABLE. "
HUNTINGDON, PA., WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 14, 1855.
the last spring, a wild, terror.stricken
shriek rose above the roar—a yell for mer
cy—a white flag was run up and God's
champion shouted Victory, Liberty I"
The Hon. George Bancroft followed in
a short and staring speech, from which
we quote the closing paragraph :
"To finish the picture of the battle, the
consequences of the victory are to be bro't
to mind. It struck dismay into the tories,
and checked the concerted system or
house-burning and domestic carnage whioh
was filling Carolina with the deadliest hor- '
I rots of civil war ; it was the turning point
of victory which cheered on Sumoter and
Col. Washington and Morgan to their suc
cesses, and enabled Greene to collect art ar
my ; it was the fatal blow which utterly
disconcerted the plans of Cornwallis, and
forced him into that change of policy which
had its end at Yorktown. The men of
that day fought not for Carolina, not for
the South ; they fought for America and
for humanity, and the ultimate effects of
their heroism cannot yet be measured.—
The States are bound together by com
merce, and dovetailed together by canals
and rivers, and railroads. But the recol
lection of the crowded hours of this glori
ous action of our fathers speaks to the heart,
and makes us feel, more than all the rest,
that we are one people. Let the battle.
ground before us be left no longer as pri
vate property; let it be made the inheri
tance of the people ; that is of all those who
are heirs to the benefits that were gained
on the day which we commemorate. Let
a rnontunent rise upon its peak as a me
morial of the heroism of our fathers—as an
evilence of the piety of their sons. The
deeds that.were there performed bid us ev
er renew our love of country.. Let the
passion for freedom flow forth perenially,
like the fountains that gush in crystal pu
rity from our hill sides; let the Union stand
like your own mountains, which, the geo
logists tell us, are the oldest and firmest is
the world."
Visit to a Copper Mine.
A correspondent of the Buffalo • Repub
lic gives an interesting account of a late
chit to the Minnesota mine, twelve miles
above Ontonagon, on the river of that
name :
'Down, down we went, and in more
than one instance the rounds which sup-
ported us were worn through till less than
half an inch of wood remained, hut, sera•
ping and scratching, clutching at the lad
der round, and grasping the candle, which
every moment seemed likely to be struck
by the great drops of water that constant
ly fell from over head, we had no time to
speculate upon the strength of our frail
foothold, but a foot at a step sank deeper
and deeper into the bowels of the earth,
and the blackness of everlasting night
which fills them. We had gone down
perhaps 130 feet, and the remaining ladder
was some few feet to the left of the ono we
were upon. On teaching the last round,
a rather long stretch to the left, a sort of
poking in the dark for a foothold, for your
candle will not light your feet in such an
atmosphere, found the next ladder. We
Caine on in safety and struck the landing
90 feet bolow, with indescribable plea
sure.
Here were miners at work with picks,
drills, and chisels, the atmosphere filled
with the smoke of blast in some one of the
many passages through the mine, making
the darkness darker than ever. Candles
fastened to the ragged sides or roof of the
passage by the clay plaster, and their hats
ornamented in like manner, gave barely
light enough to sea where to strike. Here
would be seen a brawny arm holding a big
chisel which was slowly, very slowly cut
ting its way through n mass of solid cop
per weighing 20 tons, or more, perhaps—
too heavy to raise to the surface ; and on
that huge block of metal, which had been
thrown down by force, perhaps, of ten kegs
of powder, sat this man, who had been for
over thirty-six working hours, holding that
stout chisel, with two others striking alter
nately, hour after hour, blows of tremen
dous force, about once a second. And
how much, think you ia dono by this kind
of labor t 'A square foot of surface, by the
hardest kind of work which human muscle
cats perform, in twelve hours mull that
can be accomplished. No wonder copper
costs. I believe copper mining to be the
severest toil which the human frame can
be made to endure. There is no other tni
sing known which can can csmpr re with
it, and lam told the men never live to be
old. Groping after our leader through
gangs of men in all directions, we were
instructed in metallic formations, and lec
tured to most interestingly in trappean
ranges, and such illustrations of their con
tents made as the wealth of the ladies
could furnish no college with on ground
above
On the first level of the Minnesota, we
saw, laid bare in the rock, 90 feet below
the surface, a solid slab of copper full 00
feet long, and at least ten feet feet wide.—
Its thickness of course can only be a mere
speculation; but i t is over seventy tons;
and if six inches thick on an average, dou
ble that weight. Yet copper is daily laid
bare in this mine a foot thick. Tat they
get behind the mass and blow it from the
rock, it is impossible to get at its actual
thickness.
Crawling, sliding, creeping, and by ev
ery other means save walking, candle in
hand, now in mud, now on jagged rocks,
head first, and feet first, we followed our
polite conductor, who, with a pick would
knock at our ragged roof in a most reck
less manner to point out .epedote' or con
glomerate' or trap' to his class, who per
haps would have full satisfied, if he had
displayed less anxiety to inflate their cra
niums with metalliferous knowledge, at
the risk, according to my ignorant compre
hension of the tumbling clown of some
beautiful fragment of trap weighing a few
tons, to bury us alive, or crush us out of
existence. After an examination of metal
in and out of the rock, at our present
depth, we made the descent of 80 feet
farther, and our explorations at the 170
were as interesting as heretofore. Our
ideas of the immense wealth of this mine,
prepared as we had been by the stories
fell short of the picture presented below.
Years upon years must roll away before
the metal can be exhausted ; and if the
character of copper continues in masses,
the profits must be enormous. Wo had
been in the dark regions about three hours
and had twisted ourselves by crab like
contortions through passages 700 .feet in
length, and seen practical mining in all its
methods, save blasting, and that we had
heard, quite satisfied to have en gagements
in another direction ; so preferring to go
up rather than still farther down, we care
fully followed eat:conductor up through a
i different shaft from the one descended, nod
gladly reached the cheerful sunlight once
more, highly delighted with our under
,
ground tour.
"Bury Me in the Garden."
"There was sorrow there, acrd tears
were in every eye ; and there •.very low,
half-suppressed sobbings heard from every
corner of the room : but the little sufferer
was still ; its young spirit was just on the
virge of departure. The mother was ben
ding over it in all the speechless yearnings
of parental love; with ore arm under, its
pillow, and with the other, unconsciously
drawing the little dying girl closer and clo
ser to her bosom. Poor thing ! in the
bright and dewy morning it had followed
out before its father into the field; and
while he was there engaged in his labors,
it had patted among the meadow flowers,
and had stunk its bosom full, and rul its
burnished tresses, with carmine and lily
tinted things; and returning tired of its
father's side, he had lifted it upon the load
ed cart; but a stone in the road had sha
ken it from its seat, and the ponderous,
iron rimmed wheels had ground it down
into the very cart-path and the little crush
ed creature was dying.
We had all gathered up closely to its
bedside, and were hanging over the young
bruised thing, to see it yet breathed, when
slight movement came over its lips and
its eyes partly opened. There was no
voice, but there was something beneath
its eyelids which a mother alone could
interpret. its lips trembled again, and
we all held our breath—its eyes opened
a little further and • then we heard the
departing spirit whisper in that ear which
touched those ashy lips: "Mother ? Moth
er I don't let them carry me sway down
to the dark, cold grave-yard, but bury me
in the garden—in the garden, mother."
"A little sister, whose eyes were rain•
ing down with the melting of her heart,
had crept up to the bedside, and taking
the hand of the dying girl sobbed aloud
in its ears : "Julia! Julia! can't you
speak to Antoinette?"
“The last fluttering pulsation of expi•
ring nature struggled hard to ennoble that
little spirit to utter one more wish and word
of affection : its soul was on its lips, as it
whispered again : "Bury me in the gar.
den, mother—bury me in the —" and
a quivering came over its limbs, one fee
ble struggle, and all was still."
HIGHER.
H taloa ! to a word of noble meaning,
the inspiration of all great deeds—tho
sympathetic chain that leads link by link,
impassioned soul of its zenith at glory,
and still holds its mysteriously abject stam
ding and glittering among the stars.
Higher lisps the infant at its parent's
knees, and makes its feeble essay to raise
from the floor--it is the first aspiration of
childhood--to burst the narrow confines
of the cradle in which its sweet moments
have been passed forever.
Higher! laughs the proud school-boy at
his swing ; or as he climbs the tallest tree
of the forest, that lie my look down on his
less adventurous companions with a flush
exultation and abroad over the fields of his
native village, He never saw so extended
a prospect before.
Higher ! earnestly breathes the student
of philosophy and nature ; lie has a best
of rivals, but he must eclipse them all.—
The midnight oil in his lamp burns dim,
but he finds light and knowledge in the
lamps of heaven, and his soul is never
weary when the last of them is hid be
hind the curtains of the morning
And Higher! his voice thunders forth
when dignity of manhood has invested his
form, and the multitude is listening with
delight to his oracles burning with elo
quence and ringing like true steel in the
cause of freedom and right. And when
time has changed his locks to silver, and
when the world-wide renown is his; when
the maiden gathering flowers by the read
side, and the boy in the field, bow in rev
erence as he passes: and the peasant
looks to him with honor--can he break
forth from his heart the fond wish of the
past.
Higher yet! he has reached the apex
of earthly honor, yet his spirit burns as
warm as iti youth though with a steadier
and paler light, and it would borrow wings
and soar up to high heaven, leaving its
tenement to molder among the laurels he
has wound around it, for the never-ending
glory to be reached only in the presence
of the Most High !
OLD OCTOBER.
"God bless the man that math October."
The Albany Knicker Locker said that,
and if somebody would send the Albany
Knickerbocker a bible they would be shed
ding a little light upon "them that sit in
darkness," for friend Hastings is cer
tainly a heathen, to think that any being
short of an Omnipotent one—an angel at
the lowest—could males such n nigh as
last night was; could soften down relen
ting Nature, till she smiled her heart out,
and the most unfilial of us all, grew ready
to own and love her as a mother.
Ho is worse than Sancho Panza, who
uttered a beatitude upon “the man that
invented sleep," for Laudanum can make
sleep, and so they piously christened it
laudanum—laus deo—praise to God, for
its drought of forgetfulness.
But as for such a closing ai yesterday
had and
Who would not pray for an ending like thnt ?
we must look whence the dawn comes,
when God's gates are ajar, to let out the
morning. The poets are certainly at fault
for October is not 'brown' at all, but only
summer in a dream; only the year re
membering.
And wonderful it is, what an influence
such a night has upon humen nature.—
We profess to be so wonderfully inde
pendent, and yet we are so many barome
'tern, rising and falling with the changing
of the sky; the coming and going of a
cloud as it "lays off and on" in the great
blue /Egean of God may change the Hea
ven of the heart as well.
But last night—if there were not vows
made in it that shall be hallowed—if rough
voices did not go a little more like a flute
—if men did not grow, if indeed, "for one
night only," a tear or two more human—if
Memory did sot give up, as the sea will
by and by, some of its beautiful dead—if
there were not forms wavering the moon•
beams as they walked softly among them,
that we never see in mid day or in the sun
shine, then we are constrained to say, we
greatly fear, that jewel of a night might
about as well have been wrapped up in a
napkin.
Duelling.
There are two or three men in our own
world almost as wise as M. Jules Janin.
"If thou art weary of life," said Marius
to the bold Teuton who challenged him,
"go and hang thyself." Themistocleswas
no coward, and yet he would rather take
a blow than neglect good counsel from
Fucybiades. In latter times, tho Count
Savoy challenged the Dauphin of Vien
nois. "Hark, ye, Sir Count," said the
lusty Dauphin, I will send you one of my
wild bulls ; and if you be so miniecl, you
may struggle till you are tired with an an
tagonist not easily overcome." We sup-
pose that Mr. Janin will not despise the
bravery and gallant bearing of Turenne;
and yet according to the critic, the hero of
Sintzheritn and the Rhino must be a
lost man in the eyes of the section into
which M. Tan in divides the world, for
Turenne refused to fight a duel under the',
grossest provocations. lie had been sub
jected to a disgusting insult by a rash
young officer and as quickly drew his sword
to resent as the other to defend it. But
Turenne thrust his weapon back into the
sheath, remarking as he did so : 'Young
man, if I could wipe your blood from my
conscience as easily as I have wiped the
filthy proof of your folly from my face, I
would take your life upon the spot.' M.
Janin is an exceeding clever person, but
we very much doubt if even he will be
able to persuade his countrymen that the
Turenne who fell so gloriously at Salz
'melt, in front of the artillery of Motecunch
was a coward for refusing to avenge an in•
sult by a orime.—fithencetnit.
The Sun Has Red Flames.
Professor Henry, before the American
Association of Science, gave odd results
touching the existance of red flames on
the edge of the sun, as observed during'
solar eclipses. The.° projections of rod
flumes were observed again in May. A
black board representation was given---a I
circle with cloven tongues of fire. Du- I
ring eclipses, it appears, remarkable ap_
pearances of these flames have been obser
ved since the year 1338, when Alexander
and Henry were astronomers together at
Princeton. One used a yellow glass to
the other a red. It was found that these
flames could only be observed through the
red glass. To test this Mr. Henry exper
imented at Washington. He took a large
burning-lens, such as are usually in the
light-house service, and concentrated the
rays of the sun upon a piece of shingle--
the wood began to burn, when presto ! the
same sort of flames appeared, of a beau
tiful pink color. A range of different col
ored glasses was brought to bear---but
through none of them, yello v, green, nor
aspiring else but red, could the flames be
seen. Mr. Henry called in the architect
of the Smithsonian Institution, and bade
him look. He was oblivious of the ex
istence in the flames till the red glass
came. A candle was taken up, and it was
invisible through the red glass. The in
foresee is, that this phenomenon is real.
The pink, according to Mr. Ilenry, is a
subjective color- --a color in the eye. This
, I opens, it is said, a held for investigation.
Mechanics' Wives.
Speaking of the middle rank of life, a
good writer observes
' , There we behold woman in her glory;
not a doll to carry silks or jewels ; not a
puppet to be flattered by profane adoration
—reverenced to day, discard ed to•morrow
—always jostled out of the place nature
has assigned her, by sensuality or by con.
tempt--admired but not respected—desir
ed but not esteemed— ruled by passion, not
affection—imparting her weakness, not
her constancy ; we see her a wife, par:a
king the care and cheering the anxiety of
a husband, dividing his toils, and spread
ing cheer around her; for his sake, sharing
the refinements of the world without being
vain of them, placing all her joys and hap
piness in the man she loves. As a moth•
er, we find her an affectionate and ardent
instructor of her children, whom she tend
ed from their infancy, training them to
thought and benevolence, addressing them
as rational being, preparing them to become
men and women in their turn.
Unhonored Heroes.
When I seen man holding faster his
uprightness in proportion as it is assailed;
fortifying his religious trust in proportion
as providence is obscure ; hoping in the
ultimate triumphs of virtue and more sure
in proportion to its present afflictions; cher
ishing philanthropy amid the discouraging
experience of mews unkindness and un.
thankfulness ; extending to others a sym
pathy Nellie!' his own sufferings neeJ, but
cannot obtain ; growing milder and gentler
amidst what tends to exasperate and hard•
en ; and through inward principle convert
the very excitement to evil into the men
sions of virtue ; I see an explanation, and
a noble explanation, of the present state.
I see a good produced, so transcendent in
its nature as to justify all the evil and suf
fering under which it grows up. I should
think the formation of a few such minds
worth all the apparatus of the present
world. I should say that this earth, with
its continents and oceans, its seasons and
harvests, and its successive generations, I
was a work worthy of God, even were it
to accomplish no other end than the train
ing and manifestation of the illustrious
characters which aro scattered through
history. And when I consider how small
a portion of human virtue is recorded by
history, how superior in dignity, as well
in number, am unnoticed, unhonored
snints and heroes of domestic and humble
life, I see a light thrown over the present
state which now than reconciles me to all
its evils.—Chamarte..
VOL. 20. N0..46.
Our Muir golumn.
A Successful Trick,
A young and skillful dssciple of Rob
ert Louden was some time ago traveling
to the northern provinces of France, giv
ing exhibitions in natural magic, in com
pany with a young wag, now•director of a
printing office in Paris. In their wander
ings they arrived at the town of It—,
more renowned for its manufacture, than
for the natural brilliancy of its inhabitants.
[lore the receipts of the magician wero
absolutely nothing, and despair reigned
in the hearts of our two adventurers.—
What now was to be done ?
.13y my faith,' exclaimed the assistant
magician, .it will never do to say that we
did not make our expenses! I have it!
Let me write a poster for or more enter
tainments, and if th' attraction don't an
swer, call me no assistant for a high priest
of diablerie ;
'At the urgent request of the large and
intelligent audiences of our former entain
ment we have consented to perform the as
tounding feat of making the cathedral bel!
ring any hour indicated by any of the au
dience. To take place this evening.'
'There, how will that do ?'
.13ut how are you to fulfil the promise !
'Oh ! never mind. Am 1 not a worthy
pupil of a skillful toaster. Leave that to
Night came and with it a crowd of the
curious. All went off well, and now
came the feature of Lite evening. Any
one was asked to make a number.
Four!' came from the crowd.
In fear and trembling the mighty ma
gician extended his hands towards the ca...
thedral, when one ! two ! three ! four !
boomed from the cupola. The cold per
spiration started to the exhibitor's brow
and the audience shouted with delight and
\ surprise.
'Encore ! encore !' resounded from nil
parts of the crowd. Again 1 What was
to be done 1 But a voice from behind the
curtain said t
'Go ahead old boy—it's all right
With a sigh of relief the exhibitor re
peated the tntracle again and again, and
the spectators departed filled with enthu
siasm.
.What in the name of wonder have you
been doing ?' exclaimed the puzzled prin
cipal to his laughing assistant, as soon as
the doors were closed.
'Why, I gave the bell-ringer five francs
to stay in the belfry and ring as many times
as I placed candles in the window, and I
think it suceeded pretty well, n'est ce pas,
replied the other shaking the well-filled
cash box.
The next day, as they were starting in
the cars, one of the city councillors came
to them, and begged that they would ex
plain the miracle.
'lt is magnetism, my friend,' said the
magician, with a grand flourish of his
hand, and the magistrate departed, much
edified and perfectly satisfied.
A Quakers Letter to his Watchmaker.
I herewith send thee my pocket clock,
which greatly standeth in need of thy
friendly correction. The last time he
was at thy friendly school, he was in no
ways reformed nor in the least benefited
thereby ; for I perceive by the index of
his mind that he is a liar, and the truth
is not in him ! that his motions are waver
ing and irregular; that his pAlse is some.
times slow, which betokeneth not an even
temper; and at other times it waxeth
sluggish, notwitstanding I frequently urge
him ; when he should be on his duty as
thou kncareth his usual name denoted), I
find hint slumbetiog, or as the vanity hu
man reason phraseth, I catch him napping :
Examine hint therefore, and prove him, I
beseech thee, thoroughly, that thou may
est, being well acquainted with his inward
frame and disposition, draw him front the
error of his way and show him the where
in he should go. It grieves me to think,
and when I ponder thereon I am verily of
opinion that his body is foul, and the whole
mass is corrupt. Clouse him, therefore,
with the charming physic, from all pollu
tion, that ho may vibrate and circulate ac
cording to the truth. I will place hi m a
few days under thy care, and pay for his
board as thou requirest. 1 entreat thee,
friend John, to demean thyself on this oc
casion with judgement, according to the
gift which is in the and prove thyself a
workman. And when thou layest thy
correcting hand upon him, let it be with
out passion, lest thou should drive him to
destruction. Do thou regulate his motion
for time to come, by the motion of light
that ruleth the day, and when thou findest
hint converted from the error of his ways
and more conformable to the above men.
tinned rules, then do thou send him home,
with the just bill of charges drawn out in
the spirit of moderation, and it shall be
sent to thee, the root of all evil.