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' b vs.’ A - ' »v\ m-“ ._ _....3£itvmfuv. If you have remains 10f beefstcalt, - corned beef; roasted been... any- thing of the kind, chop up, not fine, and ut in when your potat’ees‘ ne‘ar y done, and you ’ have. .J'Io‘sti’x PICTURE. ‘ 'â€"_- Onlyu picture i and is that all '1" Only a picture upon'the wall ;_ ' . , Thesmile sobeaming, thecheck so bright, Theleye so dancing with sunny light, I almost fancy’my baby boy Isspringing to me in his pride, and joy ! But ’tis only a picture upon the wall, A silent picture and that is all 2 Only a. lock of silken hair, Lying alonein its casket there !‘ Where is the head that in sportive glee was wont to “toss it so careless and'free 7 The‘babyYQhead thatupon my breast So lovineg nestled each night to rest '1 Only a lock of its silken hair - Is lying" alone in its‘casket there ! Onlygashoe that is soiled and torn ! But. where isthe .foot that the shoe has worn ? The darling foot, so dimpled and small, That made music be merry in chamber and hall Ch 2 to catch of that little step one sound, HOW'wildly now would my pulses bound 2 But there’s only a shoe that is soiled and torn-â€" The foot comes no more that‘that shoe has worn Only, these relics and. nothing more '1. Can aught to our arms the lost restore 7 Must we hopelessly“ yearn as the‘yearn~ go by For the bounding step and the beaming eye? - And all of that beauty, and life and grace, So fondly cherished, retain no trace Save these silent relics 'l O nevermore Will the grave to our arms the lost restore ? O woe for leve, when from all its store It points to these tokens and nothing more I When the vacant half, and the silent stair, But echo the groans of its wild despair; And from all the voices injearth and sky, Comes back-no word to its wailing cry : Save the mournful echoâ€"“ 0 nevermore Will the grave to the arms‘the lost restore l” 0 joy for love i when it yearns no more For that which the grave cannot restore; When it upward stretches its drooping wtngs, And. in darkness and sorrow sweetly sings ()l' the brightness and bliss of that better home, at t W here the l0>t are found, and no pat-tings come h 0 joy for love, when its priceless store There safe is gathered for cvermore 2 s____._ OCEOLA: â€"_ A R0 MA NCE.-â€"‘-BY C A i"!‘. ( Continued.) SIGNAL-SHOTS. I shall not attempt to depict my emotions at that moment; my pen is unequal to the task. Think, thou, of my situation, and fancy {them if thou canst. Behind me, a mother murder- ed and bascly mutilatedâ€"a near relative slain in like fashionâ€"my homeâ€"my property given to the flames. Before me a sister torn from the maternal embrace, bornc ruthlessly along by savage cup- Jtorsâ€"pcrhnps outraged by their fiendish louder. And he, too, uu- dcr my eyes, the false pcrfidious friendâ€"the ruvishcrâ€"«the murderer. Had I not one for indulging in the wildest emotions? ' And wild they wereâ€"each rmoment, becoming wilder' as l .gazed Upon the object of my Vcn- geance. They were fast rising beyond my control. My muscles seemed to swell with renewed rage; the blood coursed through my veins like streams of liquid fire. I almost lbrgot the situation in which we Were. But one thought Was in :nv mind~vcngc- uncc. Its object was before meâ€" unconscious of my presence as if he had ccen asleepâ€"almost within reach of my handâ€"perfectly within range of my rtflc. 'I raised the piece. to the level of . those drooping plumes; I sighted their tips ; I knew that the eyes were underneath them; my finger rested against the trigger. I ' In another instant, that form-â€" in my eyes, hitherto heroicâ€"- would have lain: lifeless upon the grass ; but my comrades forbade the act.l ‘ ' I With a quick instinct, Hickman grasped the lock. of my gun, covering the nipple with his broad palm ; while Weatherford clutched atthe barrel. I was no longer mas- ter of the piece. was angry at the interruption, “but only for an instant; a mo- "ment’s reflection convinced me they had acted right. The old hunter, putting his lips close to my ear, addressed me in. an earnest whisper: - . ‘Not yit, Geordieâ€"not yit: for _your life, don’t make a fuss.â€" ’ Twould be no use to kill him.â€" ;The rest 0’ the varmints ud be sar- j’tin to‘ git off, an" earth] to toat the weemen alongwi’ ’em." We three ain’t enough to stop “’em; we’d only gitsculped ourselves. We ' must slide Eback for the others, an’ thenwe’ll'be- able to surround ’em : ' that’s the ideaâ€"ain’t it, Jim 1’ 4' _ Wheatherford, fearingto trust his ‘ Voice, nodded an affirmative. : ‘. Come then !’ added Hick yman, in- the same low whisper.â€" S=We musn’t lose a: minute. Let‘s -' git back as rapid as possyble.â€"â€" v-iKeep your backs low dOWnâ€"gen- ' ziteelly, g'e-nt'eelly !" and, as he con- itinued givmg these injunctions, he faced towards the ground, extend- ed his body to itsfu‘ll length, and "crewling soon lost behind the trunks of the "888. ' OUl' ‘ clamation.» from . either. off like an'alligator, ywas. SCARBORO’, YORK, MARKHA, VAUGHAN, KING, ALEX. SCOTT, Proprietor. WV “ Let Sound Reason weigh more with us than Popular Opinion.” V01. Io r. Weatherford and I soon fol- lowed in similar fashion, until safe beyond the circle'of the firefight, when all three rose erect to our feet. We stood for a moment listen- ing backward. We were not Without anxiety lest our retreat might have disturbed the camp; but no sounds reached us safe those to which we had been listeningâ€"- the snore of some sleeping savage, the ‘cropâ€"crop’ oi the browsing horse, or the stamp of a hoof upon the firm turf. SatiSfied that we had passed away unobserved, we started upon the back-track, which the hunters could nut follow like a path well known to them. Dark as it was, we advanced almost in a run, and were progressing rapidly, when our speed was suddenly checked by the report of a gun. Each halted as if shot his tracks. Surprise it was that stopped us, for the report came. not from the Indian camp, but the Op- posite directionâ€"that in which our party had been left. But it could not them who had fired’! in be one of They were 00 great a distanceâ€"â€"or should avc beenâ€"for their guns to have been heard so distinctly. Had they advanced, tircd waiting for return? Were they still ad- vancing? If so, the shot was most imprudent; it Would be certain to M- REID- put the camp on the qui viva.â€" VVhat had they fired at i It might have been an accidental discharge â€"â€"it must have been. Those conjectures were rapid as thoughts can be; we did not communicate them to one another ; each had them of himself. We had scarcely time to speak to one another, when a second shot rang in our cars. It came from the same direction as the former, appearing almost a repetition; and had there been time to rc-lond, we should have so deemed it.â€" But there had not been time, even for the most accomplished riflcmcn. Two guns, therelorc, had been fired- My companions wcio pt led us well us myself. The tiring was inexplicable under any other hypothcsts than that some lntliuns had strayed from their camp, and were making ‘signals of distress.’ We had no time to reflectâ€"- We could now hear behind us the camp in full alarm, and We knew it was the shots that had caused it. We heard the shouts of menâ€"the uetglnng and hurried trampling of horses. Without pausing longer, we again took to the track, and hastened ou- wurd in the direct-ion of our friends. Further on, we perceived some men on horseback. Two there appeared to heâ€"though in the darkness we were not certain, as their ’forms were scarcely distin- guishable. . They appeared to retreat» as we approached, gliding off like ghosts among the tress. No doubt these were they who had fired the shots ;'thcy were just in the direction whence the reports had come, and at the proper distance. Were they Indians 0r whites? Risking the chance of their being our foes, old. Hickman hailed them. i . We paused to listen. .Thcre was no replyâ€"not even an ex- We could hear, by the hoof-strokes of their horses, that they were hurrying off in a direction altogether different from that either of our friends or fees. 1 There was something mysteri- ous in the behaviour of these two horsemen. For what purpose had they fired their guns? If to sig- nal the camp, why had they re- treated from us as we came for- ward? Why, moreover, had they gone off in a direction that did not lead to the campâ€"since its position was now know to them by the noise of the alarm they had themselves occasioned? , To me, their behavrour was inex- plicable. Hickman appeared to have found some clue to it, and the know- lZZ ledge seemed to produce a singular effect upon him. He exhibited signs of astonishment, mingled with feelings of indignation. ‘Devll swamp iem! the wuth-‘ less skunks, if’t' are them; an’ I’m good as sure- it are. I can’t a be mistaken in the crack 0’ them tv‘Vo'guns. What say ye, Jim ,Wea‘therfordl Did ye reconnize ’em13 *. ‘1 war thinkin’ I‘d hccrn them aforcâ€"somewhars, but I can’t ’zactly tell whar. Stay: one on ’cm’s precious like the ring 0' Ned Spence’s rifle.’ nn’ t'other’s Bill Williams. What on airth kin the two be arterl We left ’em ’long wi’ the rest, and #gallivantin’ the about through spoil everything we’ve doneâ€"- They’ve sot the Indyuns off to a snrtinty. Durn the shots! they’ve spoilt the hul bizness. RICHIWOND HILL, FRIDAY, OCTOBER ‘ I’rcecions likeâ€"it are the same, hyar , they areâ€"-â€"I’m sure it’s them“ woods, an’ firin’ ofl’ thar guns to Quickâ€" . 14,1859. l gtion and care, but no enemy was ‘foundâ€"no ambuscade. We had arrived too late; our savage foes had escaped us, and carried offtheir captives from under our very eyes. It was impossible to follow them in the darkness; and, with mor- tified spirits, we advanced into the ,gladc, and took possession of the 'deserted campâ€"determined to re- main therefor the rest of the night, and renew the pursuit in the morning. Our first cure was to quench r come alOng hyar 1’ Following the old hunter’s di- l'CCilOl], we hurried on after him. AN EMPTY CAMP. 'Wc had not gone far before we were within earshot of voices, mingled with the hollow thumping of horses' lioot's. We recognised those of our comrades, and hailed them as they came ncnrcr, for we perceived that they \Vcro advancing towards us. rl-ports; and, believing them to procch from our rifles, hnd fancied we were engaged With the Indians, and were now riding up to our nid.‘ ‘Hullow, boys!’ shouted I'llt'li- man as they drew near, is Biill Williams an’ Ned Spence among ye? Speak out if ye be.’ . There was no reply to this in- terrogatorv; it was SUCCCGd“(l by a dead silence of some seconds’ duration. Evidently the two men lncxt extinguished; and a ring the voices as- Thcy ind heard the. our thirst by the pond, then that of our animals. The fires Were of sentriesâ€"consisting of nearly half the number of our partyâ€"was placed among the tree trunks that stood thickly around the opening-- Thc horses were stalked over the ground; and this done, the men stretched themselves along the sward, so lately occupied by the bodies of their foemcn. in this wise we awaited dawning of day. A max» FOREST. My comrades, wearied with the long ride, were soon in deep" slumber, the sentries only remaining awake. For me was neither rest nor slccpâ€"-â€"my misery forbade rc- pose. Most of the night I spent in pacing to and fro around the the .pond, that lay darkly gleaming in the centre of the open ground. I fancied I found relief in thus were not there, else they would have answered for themselves. ‘thrc are they '2’ ‘Vthrc have they gone to .7‘ were the in- quiries that passed througu the crowd. , ‘ Ay, whnr are they ?’ repeat- cd Hickman. ‘ 'l‘har not hynr, that's plain. By the turns! allyâ€" gator ! thar’s some Ugly game afoot utwccn ’em two fellcrs. But come. boys! we must. forrad. The Indy- uus is jest nforc yo. Let's ful‘l'atl, nn’ gie ’em particklcr tnruation !’ And with this emphatic utter- ance, the old hunter dashed into the front. and led the way towards the camp of the savages- The men followed. heltcr-skeltcr, the hrrses crowding upon each otbcr’s heels. No strategic me- thod was observed; time was the nnportant consideration ; and em aim was to get up to their camp bc~ fore the Irnlians could retreat from ll. A bold charge into the midst of our enemiesâ€"~21 Volley from our guns, with knives and pistols to close the Conflictâ€"this was the programme that had been hustin agreed upon. We had arrived ncurdhc campâ€"â€" within three hundred yards of it. There was no uncertainty as to the direction. The noises from the camp itself, which had con- tinue-d ever since the first alarm, had served to guide us. ' All at once these noises became hushed; no longer reached us, either the voices of men, or the hur- ricd trampling of horses. In the d:- rcction of the-camp, all was still as death. ' _ We needed no more the guid- ance of sounds ; we were within stght of the fires, or rather of their light, that glittcrcd afar among the trees; with this as our bacon, we continued to advance. We no longer rode rashly for- ward. The change from confused noise to perfect silence had been' so sudden, so abrupt, as to have the effect of making us more cau- tions. The very stillness appeared ominous. We read in ita warnâ€" ing: it rendered us suspicious of an ambuscadeâ€"â€"the more so, that all had heard of the great talents of the ‘red stick chicf’for this very mode of attack. We approached, therefore, With greater prudence. When within a hundred yards of the fires, our party halted.â€" Sevcrnl dismounted, and advanced on foot. These glided from trunk to trunk till they had reached the edge of the opening, and then came back to report. The camp was no longer in ex- istence ; its occupants were gone; Indians. horses, captives, plunder â€"all had disappeared from the ground; the fires alone remained! These bore evidence of being dis- turbed in the‘confusion of the hasty decampmcnt. The red em- bers were strewcd over the ground, their last flames faintly flickering away. The scouts continued to advance among the trees, till they had made the full circuit of the opening. For a hundred yards around it, roving aboutnâ€"it seemed to still the agitation of my spiritâ€"it pre- vented my reflections from becoming too intense. A new regret occupied my thoughtsâ€"I regretted that I had not succeeded in my intention to fire at the chief of the murderers-I re- gretted I had not killed him on the spot : the monster had cscaped,and my sister was now perhaps beyond the power of rosette. I. blamed the hunters for having hindered mc. Had they foreseen the result, they might have acted Otherwise; but it was beyond hu- man foresight to have anticrpate‘l the alarm. The two men who had caused it were again with us. Their con- duct, so singular and mysterious, had given rise to strong suspicions of their loyalty; and their re-appearâ€" {meowâ€"they had joined us while ad- vancing towards the campâ€"had been hailed with an outburst of angry menace. Some even talked of shooting them out of their sad- dles; and this threat would most probably have been carried into ef- fect. had the fellows not suffered a ready explanation. They alleged that they had separated from the troop before it made its last halt-â€" that they knew nothing of the ad- vance of the scouts, or that Indians were “nearâ€"that they had got lost in the woods, and bad fired their guns as signals in hopes that we might answer them. They ac- knowledged having met .three. men afoot, but they fancied them to be Indians and had kept out of their wayâ€"â€"that afterwards seeing the party near, they had recognised and ridden up to it. Most of the men were contented with the explanation. What motive, reasoned they, could the two have in giving an alarm to the enemy? Who could suspect them of rank treason? Not all were satisfied. Iheard old Hickman whisper some sig- nificant words to his comrade, as he glanced towards the estrays, ' Keep yur eye skinned, .Iim, an’ watch the skuns well-â€"â€"thar‘s some- thin’ not hulsomc about ’cm.’ As there was no one who could openly accuse them, they were once more admitted into the ranks ; ind were now among those who were stretched out and sleeping. Thc wretches lay close to the edge of the water. In my rounds [passed them repeatedly ; and in the sombre darkness I could just distinguish their prostrate forms.â€" I regarded them with strange emo- tions, for I shared the suspicious of Hickman and Weatherford. I could scarcely doubt that those fcl~ lows had strayed ofl‘ on purposeâ€"- that, actuated by some foul motive, they had fired their guns to warn the Indians of the approach of our Party, By midnight there was a moon. There was no cloud to in- tercept her beams ; and, after rismg above the tree-tops,she poured down a flood of brilliant light. The sleepers were awakened by the sudden change. Some rose to I s the woods were searched with cau- their feet, believin gladcâ€"oftencr mistake. The noise had put everyone on the alert. . A few talked of con« ' l ,.___....V__...__.-‘._ Wm AND WHITcHURcIâ€"I ADVERTISER. , TERMS: $1 50111 Advance; No. 46.. . m..-.-. .â€" g it to beday." It ECONOMY IN THE KITCHEN. was only after glancing up to the . " heavens they became aware of their shovel,” and it is as true as old. tinuing the pursuit bv the light of True economy in housekeeping is she moon. Such .a course would have coincided with my own wishes, but the hunter-guides opposed it.â€" Their reasons were just. In open ground, they could have .liftéd' the trail, but under the timber, the moon’s light would not avail them. True, they could have tracked by torchlight, but this would only be to expose us to an ‘ambuscade of the enemy. , Even to advance by moon- light would be to subject ourselves to a like, danger.. Circumstances had changed. The savages new knew we were after them. In a night-march, the pursued have the advantage of the pursuersâ€"even though the numbers be inferior.â€"- The darkness gives them every fa- cility of effecting either an attack or escape. . - Thus reasoned the guides. No one made opposition to their views, and it was agreed that We should keep the ground till daylight. It was time to change the senti- nels. Those who had slept, now took post; while the relieved guard came in, and flung themselves down to snatch a few hours of rest. . Williams and Spence took their turn with the rest. They were posted on one side of the glade, and next to one another. Hickman and VVeatherford bad fulfilled their tourâ€"as they stretch- ed themselves along the grass, I noticed that they had chosen'a spot near to where the susPected men had been placed. By the moonlight, they must have had a View of the latter. Notwithstanding their recum- bent attitudes, the hunters did not appear to go to sleep. I observed them at intervals. Their heads were close together, and slightly raised above the ground, as if they were whispering to one another. As befOre, I walked round and round. The moonlight enabled me to move more rapidly, and this eased my spirit. Oft-timcs [made the circuit of the little pondâ€"how oft, it would be difficult to deter' mine. My steps were Emechanical. My thoughts had no connection with the physical exertions I was making, and I took no note of howI progressed. After a time there came a' still-' ness over my soul. For a short interval, both my griefs and venge- ful passions seemed to have depart- ed. I lmcw the cause. It wasa mere psychological phenomenonâ€"â€" one of common occurrence. The nerves that were the organs of the peculiar emotions under which I was suffering, had groWn wearied, and' refused any longer to vibrate. l ' porary I calmâ€"«the lull between two bil- lows of the stormâ€"~but during its continuance I was sensible to im- pressions from external objects. I could not help noticing the singularity of the scene around me. The bright moonlight enabled me to note its features somewh minutely, ‘ l household. something but, few understand. There are a thousand ways a wo- man can waste, even if she be one of Margaret Zerne’s “ Betty Fush- eels,” forever overlooking her do- mestic affairs. End pieces of bread stealthily crumbled up and given to the doves "or chickens; pies, sour and mouldy, sharing the same fate ; cake gingerbread, etc., suffered to stand till spoiled, and then sliliy thrown awayâ€"the wasteful house- keeper, no doubt, thinkin herself not to blame; why shoul she be, indeed ! if she could not get it eaten, why of course she must throw it away. Just soâ€"if she could 'not get it eaten she must be excused for wasting it, but there is no necessity for throwing away anything, if the housekeeper knows well how to work up the “ odds and ends.” End pieces of bread and dry hard pieces make good toast. You say that you've no milk perhaps. Very well; good toast can be made of water so that is no excuse. Put a large piece of butter in your toast kettle, dredge a little flour upon it, stirring it as the butter melts, then pour boiling water upon it, constant- ly till the flour has thickened up, and has boiled sufficiently. Have ready your bread nicely toasted, dip each piece into hot water in which a little salt is dissolved, then into your gravy. Let each piece remain long enough to become soft, then place in the toast dish ready for the table. From dry pieces of bread, butter, Salt and water, you get a nice dish of toast. If you are so unfortunate as to have a baking of sour bread, you find you cannot get it. eaten. But few persons will eat sour bread, and many. a loaf has been, and still will be, wasted by the housekeeper not knowing that, by dipping into water in which a little bread soda has been dissolved, and then browning in the oven, and making it into least, it will be eatable. The slices being thin, the soda penetrates them and effect- ually destroys the sourness, and therefore makes bread sweet that was fit for nothing but the pigs and chickens. Cake, gingerbread, doughnuts and every thing of the kind can he crumbled up and put into brown bread, thus saving them and improv- ing the bread. If pics are watched, as they should be. and begin to show signs of growing old, by dipping them into cold water, and baking over again, they will soon be as good as now. So you can, see there is no need of wasting anything, if proper means are taken not to. A man may flatter himselfthat he has a very coonomical, wife in fact a perfect model ; but, alas! how few men know of the wastefulness ofthe It is the little things a woman must take care of, in order to be truly economical. Putting double the quantity of tea needed- in- to the pot each night for supper, 3‘ causes the wasting of three or four cups of strong tea. Using three We were instde what by back-[times as much starch as she needs woodsmcn is technically termed a every time she starchesâ€"thrown}: 1n ‘gleed’-â€"â€"a small opening in the woods without timber or underwood of any sort. This one was circular -â€"-about fifty yards in diameterâ€"â€" and with the peculiarity of having a pond in its midst. The pond, which was only a few yards in circumfer- ence, was also a circle, perfectly cocentric with the glade itself. It was one of those singular natural basins found throughout the penin- sula, and appearing as if scooped out by mechanic art. Itwas deeply sunk in the earth, and filled with water till within three feet of its rim. The water was cool and clear, and under the moonbeams, shone with a silvery effulgcnce. Of the glade itself, nothing more â€"â€"except that it was covered with sweet-smelling flowersâ€"â€"that, now crushed under the hoofs of horses, and the heels of men, gave forth a double fragrance. It was a pretty parterre, and un- der happier circumstances, I should have esteemed it a picture pleasant to contemplate. But it was not the picture that occupied my attention in that mo- - ment; rather was it the traming._ (To be continued.) their idiom Va away the surplus, of courseâ€"â€"m.ak- ing up enough crust for ten pies, when she Wants but six, etc., are some of the little things where we. men waste from carelessness, for,by just noticing for a few times how much is needed, and then use that much and no more, they would soon learn to economize and would be surprised to find their tea, coflec, starch etc., lasting much longer. _ Meat and even potatoes are many times wasted for want of know- ledge. ' boil them ; they are as good as baked If you have good potatoes if properly cooked. Wash them in ‘ water ashot as can be home. and then put them as soon as washed in- to boiling water, over a brisk fire, so they will boil immediately and not let them soak five, ten, or fifteen minutes, as Ihave seen people do, and then wonder why their potatoes Were so watery. When nearly done, take them out, pare them, and set them in the oven for ten minutes, if the oven is not wry hot, and they will be found superior to baked ones in, some respects. If any are left, set them away and in the morning slice them up, put them in the frying pan with salt, butter, or pork fat, _â€" ‘We‘ have an old saying : “ A wo- - man can throw out with a teaspoon as fast as a man ctiu put in with a . breakfast. 5' 2a BEWARE OF PARTING. Bulwer, the novelist, writesgat ,re- flection which v will 'appeelwgtostthc sensibilities of every man-and we» man zâ€"- - 12‘ r “ There is one warning I lesson'zi'd life, whichfew of’ us havc’not ;‘re- ceived, and nobook that l carillon” tto memOry'has noted downwith‘an adequate emphasis. 'It is this‘Be: were of parting l’ The true sadness is not in the pain of. parting, it isjtthe When and the HOW ;yo.u_,ar;e...t.o meet again with theface about: to Vanish from your» view 1 ' Fromthc passionate fare'Well 'to the walnuts who has your heart in her keeping; to the cordi‘al‘~,goodcbyehexchanged witn pleasant companions at a‘ water-I ing-place, a countr‘fh’bnée‘, or the close of a festive day’s blithe and careless excursion-ea chord, stro‘h'l geror weaker, is snapped asunder In every parting-handy Tim?’5’.-tbti§i fingers are not practiced in reresplics ing broken ties. Meet againxyut; may ;â€"will it be again in the Same way? with the same .sympathies’l with the same sentimental . ’Will the souls, hurrying on its «diverse paths, unite once more, as if the' in; term] had been a dream i Rarelyl‘ rarely l Have you not, after even a year, a month’s absence, returned to the same place, found the "satin?! group re-assembled and yet ,Si‘g'hjcd to yourself, ‘ But where is thlc'char'm that once breathed from the spot... and once smiled from the faces ‘Eternity itself cannot restoregthe loss struck from the minute !’-â€"Are' you happy in the spot In which on tarry with the persons whose vofizes are melodious to your car i’ beware of parting; or if part you must, sayj not in insolent defiance of Time and Destinyâ€"' What matters? we shall} soon meet again." Alas! and aloe! when we think of the lips which murmured 'Soon meet again,’ and remember how in heart, soul and thought We stood forever divided the one from the other, when, ones more face to face, we each only ex- claimed-‘Meet again i” ' HINTS FOR LADIES 'WHU WISH FOR DISCONTENTED HUS-BANDS. 7 . ' L .â€" Let your husband return home from his labors at night, and find the fire out, his tea and toast cold, and you in the parlour reading a novel. If he tells you. he fears his expenses are going before his income, and proposes to move into, a smaller house, sit down and cry about it. Tell him you always lived in a large house before you were married, and you think it is cruel in him to dis; grace you now, in the eyes , If the world, by putting you ain'Va empty... If you ask him for money, and-he says he has a note to» pay on athe morrow, but promises you shall- have. it as soon as he can apareit, teilltim you. never asked him for money in your life, but he had-a note to pay '; and if he is- willing to disgrace; him-r self by letting his Wife wear her fall bonnet in December. you are sure: you don't careâ€"you will never ask him for a cent again as long as you live. ' If at the end of a few months he: fails in business, don’t like a sensible woman, make the best of his misfors tunes, or try to help him to hear his troubles by giving your sympathy, but cry as though your heart would: break. Tell him, by mismanaging his business, he has brough'ta dread- ful disgrace upon you and your fame ily, and he cannot reasonably expect any of your, or your parents sym- pathy. Hint occasionally before him, of how much higher a position you held in society before, than since your marriage. ‘ Let him know how many dresses Mr. so and so buys for his wife, and- how much better he loves her than your husband does you. i ' ' If he has business to call him out in the evening, be sure and fret when he returns, about his disliking; to be at home with his family. It. may have a tendency to make him like home and the society of his wife betterâ€"â€"You can try it. » A Usrur. Aniaâ€"Ina» ‘Catalogue’ or dictionary published in. the time of the Commertwealtb, by William Londbrr, NeWcastleâ€"upon-Tyne (from which ex;- trncts are given in Notes and Queries), is the following amusing definition: ‘Printing, an art invented by John Gut- tenberg, and being so useful, it is, still much: practised.’ An American journel, says :â€"‘ Strange as it may be appear Barnum has made Mr. Punshom the celebrated Wesleyan preachâ€" er in England, a Serious offer of £2,000 a year to accompany him to America, and give lectures under Burnom’s direction and supervision. No one but Barnum would have the imprudence to make an approach to Mr. Pnnshon of such A an unballowed kind. Mr. Punshon’s reply ,consisted simply in writing Acts xiii, l-‘O‘.’ A young lady said to her gallant, ‘please‘fel’asp my cloak.’ ‘Certainly said he, and fry them brown. They makca putting his arm?! found her. ‘ and the good breakfast. contents blag .’