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“ 3.. k__ ._...*_ I, léfltlttl. AV'FINE oLD‘ POEM. i“, I have learned,” says the melancholy Pos- telozzi, “tliatjii this wide world no one henrl ramble or willing to help another.” ' 0 say not wetlir‘ongh life must struggle. Must fb‘ll and mourn alone ;I 1 That no one liiuman heart can answer ,."The heating: of our own. The glarslook down from the silent heaven Intetlie quiet stream, ’ And see themselves from its dewy depths i In fresher beauty gleam. 7 The, Sky’wilh its pale or glowing li’ues, ‘Ever paiiiteth the wave below : I And 'tli‘e sea sends up its iiiist to form ’ _ Bright Clouds aiid‘the heavenly bow. fI’lins each does of the other borrow ~': A'be’auty not its own ; ‘And tells us that no thing in Nature Is for itself alone." ' Alone, aniio life’s griefs and perils, The stoutest soul may qual ; » Left to its own unaided elfOllS. The strongest arm may fail ; v iflAllliglit lrom Goddb’ove, Yet we may sometimes be his angels, . : The apostles of his love. ~~ ’Tlien’ let us learn to help each other, Hoping unto the end: V i ‘ l ’ “'ho sees in every man a brother, Shell find in each a friend; I 55,: ‘. _.%_ furniture LOVE in rail CLOUDS. ' I ‘ And thisZis the follow that wants toniarry my daughter! A pretty fool I should he to give Annie to’ a coward like him l’_ So shouted lion: estrMaster Joss, the sacristiin of the cathedral of Vienna, as he stood VAnd tho’ allstreiigtli still comes from Heaven,‘ 1AURORA; VjVV v ~.. p >V~v\,\,,_J, ,- Lyon-'15“. No. as: over-courteous refusal! The old man made a liastyretort; words ran high, and thcparting volley, levelled ‘ attlie .i'etiteating mason, we have al- » ready reported. . v - '..\’Voul.d you, dear Master Joss, would you indeed do so? ,Tlieii, with. the help, of Providence, l’ll wavethe. banner for you as long as youplcase from the top of b‘t. Ste- phen’s tower.’ , . _ - . You, Giibiticl'l’ said'. the old, man, l looking at him askindly as he was wont to do in former days. ‘ My poorboyl you never could do it; you, a gardngr, who never had any practice in climbing.’ ' Ah, now you Want to draw back from your word l’ «exclaimed the youth, i‘cddcuing.‘ ‘My head is steady enough; and ifiiriy heart is heavy, why, it was you that made Never mind, Master ’Joss. it so. Only promise ‘me, on the Word of an honest man, that you'll not inter- fere any more with Annie’s free choice, and you may depend on see- ing the banner of our emperor, whom may Heaven longr preserve! wave gloriously onthc old piiinacle,’ , fl will. my brave lad; Ith pro- mise, in the presence of all these honest folks, that Annie shall be . . t .- , ~ ..‘. .. in ,he public mom of me . Adam youis! ’Sdltl the sacristan, giasping. and Evev im, and [coped am“. [he Gabriel s hand With one ol lllS, while fang”, renaming figure of Mas,“ lie \vipe'd his eyes With the back of Ottkar, the head-mason. As- he spoke, an honestvyoung . . , . gardener, named Gabriel, entered; and fora moment the youth’s hand. some face flushed high, as he thought the sacristan’s words were directed at him. For it Was the old. old story. Gabriel and Annie had played toge4 » thcr and loved each other before they knew the meaning ofthe word love; and when, a few months before they had found it out, and Gabriel pro- posed to make Annie his wife, her father rejected him Willi scorn. The young gardener .had little to offer besides an honest heart and a pair of industrious hands, while Master Ottkar, the mason, had both houses and, money. To him, then, sorely aga'inSt her will, was the pretty" Annie- promiscd; and poor Gabriel kept away from the sacristan’s plea- sant cottage, manfully endeavoring to root out his lovg while extermi- nating the weeds in his garden. But somehow it happened that, although the docks and iliistlcs withered and died, that other pcrtinacious plant, clinging and twining like the wild convolvulus,grew and flourished, nurtured, percliancc, by an occasion- al'gdis‘tant glimpse of stvcet Annie’s pale cheek. and drooping form. 'So matters stood, when one day, as Gabriel was passing through a crowded street, a neighbour hailed him: ‘Great news, my boyl glorious news! Our Leopold has been cho- sen emperor at Frankfort. , Long live the House of Austrial He is to make his triumphal entry here in a. day or two. Come with me to \the ‘Adam and Eve.’ and We will drink his health, and hear all about. it.’ v A In spite of his dejeclion, Gabriel would have been no true - son of Vienna if he had refused this invita- tion ; and waving his (“up in sympa- thy. with his comrade's enthusiasm, he hastened with him to the inn. we have already seen how the unexpected appearance and more unexpected word of Master .Ioss met him On his entrance. In the height of,liis, indignation, the sacristan did not’obscrvc Gabriel, and continued in the same tone : 'fI, declare, I'd give this moment full and free permission to woo and win: my (daughter, to any honest youngfcllow who would wave the banner in my steadâ€"21y. and think her well ril of that cowardly mason.’ From time immemoriul, it had been the custom in Vienna, when- ever the emperor made a triumphal cnlry', for the sacristan of the cathe- dral to stand on the very pinnacle of the highest tower, and Wafe a ban. ner" while the procession passed. But Master Joss was old, stiff, and rheumatic, and such an exploit would have, been quite as much out of his line asdancing on a tiglitérope. It was: therefore needful for him to pro- vide a substitute; and it never oc‘ curred to him thatl’his intended son- ’lin-law,‘ who professed 'sucli devbtion in his interests, and whose daily on: cupation obliged him to climb to dizzy heights, and stand on slender scaffolding, could possibly object to take hisiplace.‘ ' - . VYhat, them-was his cagrin and indignation when, 'on‘broaching the matter that afternoon’to Master Otta kar, he was met by a flat and not please. name I the other. ‘ One thing I have to ask you," said the young man, ‘ that you will keep this matter a secret from Annie. She’d never consent; she’d say l was tempting Providence ; and who knows whether the thought of her diSplcawrc might not make my head turn giddy, just when I want to be most firm and collected.’ ‘ Nofear of her knowing it, for] have sent her on a visit to her aunt two or three miles in the country.’ ' ‘And why did you send her from home, Master Jess l’ ' ‘Because the sight of her pale face and weeping eyes troubled no; because, to tell you the trutli,,l was vexed with myself. Gabriel, 1 was a hard-hearted old fool, lsec it now. Andi was very near destroying the happinessol myonly remaining child; for my poor- boy Arnold your old friend and school-fellow, Gabriel, has been for years in foreign parts, and we don’t know what has become of him. But now, please God, Annie at least will be happy, and you shall marry her, my lad, as soon after the day of the procession as you and she There’s my hand on it.’ I There was not a happier man that ' evening within the precincts of Vienna, than Gabriel the gardener, 2 although he well knew that he was attemptinga most perilous enterprise and one as likely as not to result in his death. He made all necessary: arrangementsin case of that event. especially in reference to the com- fort of an only sister who lived with l him, and whom he was careful to keep in ignorance of his intendedl venture. This done, he” resigned hims’elt to dream allnight of tumb- ling from terrific heights, and all day of his approaching happiness. Means while, Uttkar swallowed his chagrin as he best might, and kept aloof from Mastchos‘s; but he might have been seen holding frequent and secret com- iriunications with Lawrence, a man who assisted the sacristan in the care of the church.“ The day of the young emperor’s iriumphal entry arrived. He was not exchtcd to reach Vienna before evening; and at the appointed hour the sacristan embraced Gabriel, and givingliim the banner of the House of Austria gorgeously embroidered, said t ‘ Now, my boy, up in God’s Follow‘ LaWrenCe; he’ll guide youv'safcly to the 'top of the, spire, and afterwards asist you in, coming down.’ Five hundred "and fifty steps to the topof tl'i-ll'towerl Mere child’s play â€"-tlie young gardener flew up them with a joyous step. Tnen came two hundred wooden *stairs over the clockdtower and belfry; then five steep ladders up the narrow pinnacle Courage 1 A few more bold steps-s"- lialf' an hour of peril-albeit triumph rcWard, the priest’s‘blessing, and the joyful “.Y'esl’ before the altar. Ali, how heavy was the banner to drag upwardsfiâ€"how dark the strait, stony shalt 1' Hold, there is the trapedoor. LawrenCe; and an assistant who ac- companied him, pushed Gabriel threagli. ‘ That’s it l cried Lawrence, ‘you’ll see the iron steps and the the rejoicing crowd. clamps to hold on by outSidcâ€"only ’ keep your head steady. your time to come,» down, hail . us, its, and we’ll throw you a ropeladder. ground alive, unless ill v“? ‘u‘\’\M/V \_/\.r V\/\«“\/ VK/K AEEX: SCOTT, Proprietor. , ' \_/‘\/\/ x/Wx/x/ylvvvm/W Wx. AND RICHMOND HiLL AD hi 1 out?) . .“ m" vV\. n T‘ 9 VOCATE AND ADV ERTISER.‘ «. "~ 1“ Let Sound Reason weigh more with east/tan. :Popiilm‘ Opinion.” with hooks. Farewell l’ Ashe said these words, Gabriel had passed through the trap-door, and with feet and hands clinging to the slender iron . projections, felt himself hanging over a tremendious precipice, while the cold evening breeze ruffled his liairu He had Still, burdened as he was with the banner, to steady himself on a part of the spire sculptmed in the siniilitude of a rose, and then, after two or three daring steps still higher, to bestride the very pinnacle and wave his gay gold flag. ‘My God be merciful to me!’ sighed the pom" lad, as 'gla'nc‘ing downward on the busy streets, lying so far boneat‘h, the whole extent of his danger flashed upon. him“. He felt so lonely, so utterly forsaken in that desert of the upp‘er’air, and the cruel wind strove with him, and struggled to wrest tlic‘heaVy» ban- iier from his liand.‘ ‘ Annie, Annie, ’tis for thee!" he murmuied,_and the sound ol- that sweet name nerved him to endurance. 'He wound his left arm firmly round the iron bar which’lsupported the ‘golden star, surmounted by a crescent, that served as a'WOatherécock, and with l A itlcri_ntioivn HILL, FRIDAY, APT“L ‘0, no, the old man is too busy. .‘w-ith his son. who came home unex- pectedly an hour ago. He’ll never ihink of that lool Gabriel until’ ' Until ’tis too late. How did you- get rid of Albertl’ .' ‘ By telling him that Master Joss had undertaken (to go himself. and fetch. the. gardener down. r The trapâ€"door is fast, and no one within call. Bull think, Master Oitakar, you and I. may as well keep out of down, like a ripe apple from the stem.’ V I 7 y . , .And so the two. vi‘lains took their way down a, narrow street, and; up: pcared no more that night. V ’ ,Meantime, a dark shadowy fiend sat on one of the leaves of the sculp- ,the way till the follow has dropped lured rose, and hissed in Gabriel’s, ear; ‘ Rcuouuce thy salvmion, and I will bring thee down in SilfCly.’ ' May Gol preserVe me from such sin," cried the poor lad, sl'iudderii‘ig. 13, 186 may not be tOo late.’ , The keys were found in, the old lmaii’s r the stairs, the sacristan, in the dread excitement of the moment, moving as swiftly as his-young companions. Albert, knowing the trick of the trap-door, went through it first, ‘ Call out to him, lad !’ exclaimed Master .loss. A breathless pause. r ‘I hear nething stirring,’ said Al- bert, ‘nor can I see anything from this." I’ll climb over the rose.’ 'B'ravcly did he ‘surinount the periâ€" lous projection; and after a few rm.- ments of intense ctllxlell}',,l,ll_0 reap- tpcaredat the trap-door. I. ‘ ‘ There certainly is a figure stand- ing on the rose, but ’tisu’t Gabrieleâ€".- ’iis a ghost !’ ' ‘ A ghost! you dreaming. dunder- head,’ shouted Arnold. ' Let me up.” And he began to climb with ‘ Or only promise to'give me your Wicked spirit I’ ,‘ Or just say that you’ll makeme a present of your first-born child, and the right wriVed the flag, which nap- l’ll hear you away as. softly as if pod and rustled like the wing of you were floating on down.’ some ' mighty bird of prey. .The ~ skyâ€"how near" it seemedugiew dark above his head, and the lights and bonfires glanced upwards from the great city; below. But the cries of rejoicing came faintly on his car, until one ’ long-continued shout, mingled with the sound of drums and trumpets, announced the ap- proach of Leopold. ‘ Huzza! liuzzal long live the em"- pcrorl’ shouted Gabriel, and waved liisbanner proudly. But tlievdveep- cnlng twilight and the dizzy height rendered him unseen and unheard by the busy crowd below. The deep voice'of the cathedral clock tolled the hour. ‘ Now my task is ended,’ said Gabriel, drawing a deep sigh of re- lief, and shivering in the chilly breeze. ‘Now lhavc only to get down and give the signal.’ 'Morc lzecdfully and slowly than he had ascended, he began his de- scent. Only once he looked upward to the golden star and; crescent, now beginning to look colourless against the dark sky. ‘ Ha l’ said he, ‘doesn’t it look now as if that healhenish Turk of a crescent were’ nodding and wishing me an evil ,‘goo knight 'l' Be quiet, Mohammed !' - A~ low courageous steps landed him once more amid the petals of the gigantic sculptured rose. which 'ofi'cred the best, indeed the only coigne of vantage for his feet to rest on. ~ - -. , lle furled his banner tightly toge- ther, and shouted : ‘ Hollo, Law- rence l_ Albertl here ! throw me up the ladder and the hooks’ No answer. More loudly and shrilly did Ga- briel reiterate the call. , Not aword. not a stir below. tHoly Virgin l can they have lor- gotteii me 'l Or have they fallen asleep? cried the poor fellow aloud; and, the sighing wind seemed to answer like a mocking demon. ' What shall I do i \Vliat will be- come of me !’ . , Now enveloped in, darkness, he dared not stir one hairbreadth to the right or to the left. A painful sen- sation ‘of tightness came across his chest, and his soul. grew bitter within him. . - "They have left me here of set purpose.’ be muttered through his clenched teeth. ‘ The torches below will shine on my crushed body.’ ' "l‘lie'n, after a moment: t i .‘ . .5. ,l . No, no, the saciistan could not sacnsmn. find it in his heart; men born of wo- man could not do it. _ They will come ; they most come.’ But when they did not come, and the pitiless darkness thickened around liim,.so that he could not see’ his hand, his death-anguish grew to the pitch of insanity. _ ‘God-l’ he, cried, ‘ the emperor will not suffer such barbarity.â€"~ Noble Leopold, help! One word from you would save met' I ‘_sziunt, Satan! ,I’ll have nothing to do with gentlemen who wear horns and ,a tail I’ cried Gabriel inanfully- I The clock. tolled again, and the gai'dcnei'f'aroused by the sound and vibration, perceived that he had been asleep. Yes, he had actually slum- bered, staiiding‘on that dizzy point, suspended over that fearful abyss. ‘ Am’l really here 'l’ he asked him- self, as hc awoke ; “or is it all a frightful dream that l have had while lying in 'my bed 7.’ A cold shudder passed through his frame, followed by a burning heat, and be grasped the pinnacle with a convulsive tightness. A seemed to whisper in his ear : ‘Fool! this is death, that on- known anguish which no man shall escape. Anticipate the moment, and throw thyself down.’ ‘.Must i, then, die 'l’ murmured Gabriel,\vhile the cold sweat started from his, brow. 'Must I die while life is so pleasant? O,Annie,Annic, pray for me ; the world is so beau- tiful, and life is so sweet.’ , , Then it scented as if soft white wings floated above and around him, while a'gei‘itle voice whispered :, ‘ Awake, awakel The night is far spent, the day is at hand. Look up, and be comforted." Wrapped in the banner, whose Weight helped to preserve hisequili- brium, Gabriel stillheld on with his numbed arm, and, with a sensation almOst Of joy, watched the first dawn lighting up the roofs of the Cllyi ’ , ‘ Far below, in the sacristan’s dwelling, the old man sat, fondly clasping the hand ofa handsome sun- burnt youth, his long-lost son Ara rold, who had sat by his side. the livelong night, recounting the ad- ventures which had befallen him in foreign lands, without either father or son feeling the want of sleep. At length Arnold said 5 voice Annie, and I’ll save you.’ _ ‘ Will you hold your tongue, you l l l the agifity of a cat. Presently he called out: ‘ COme on, come on, as far as you can. I have him, thank God I" But quick ; tithe is precious.’ _ I ’fiSpeedily and deftly they gave him :aid; and at length, a half-unconsci- ous figure, still wrapped in the ban- nei‘, was brought down in safety. They DtJ‘d him into the ‘Adam and 'Eve,’ iaid him in a warm bed, and poured by degrees a little Wine down his throat. Under this treat-v merit. he soon recovered his COllSlle ousness, and began to thank his de- liverers. Suddenly his eye felt on a mirror hai‘iging on the wall Opposite the bed, and he exclaimed: ‘ W'ipe the boar frost oll' my hair and that yellow dust off my cheeks! In truth, his curled locks Were white, his rosy cheeks yellow and wrinkled, and his bright eyes dim and sunken ; but neither dust nor hoar- frost was there to wipe awayé-that one night of horror had added forty years 'to his age I ' _ In the course of that day, num- bers who had heard of Gabriel’s ad- venture crowded to the inn and sought to see hi u. but none .were admitted save the three who sat con- tinually by his bedsideâ€"his weeping young sister, the brave Arnold, and Master Joss, the most unhappy of all; for his consmence ceased not to receiving your say, in a voice that would be heard, ‘ You alone are the cause of all this.’ By way of a li'tile self-comfort, the sacristan used to exclaim‘at interVals: ‘ Il'I only had hold ofthat Lawrence! lfl once had that Ottkar by the throat !’ But both worthics kept carefully. out of sight; nor. were they ever again seen in, the fair city of Vienna. . ‘ Ali l’ said Gabriel towards eyeli- ing,» ' "tis all over between me and Annie. She would sliudJcr at the sight of an old wrinkled graywliaired fellow like me.’ = - ‘ No one answered. His sister hid her face on the pillow, while her bright i‘inglets mingled with his poor gray locks; and Arnold’s handsome face grew very sad as he thoughtâ€"4 ‘ The poor fellow is right; tl‘iere'are few things that young girls dislike more tli in gray hairs and yellow wriiikles.’ ‘I am longing to see Annie, fa- ther. l daresay she has grown a: fine'girl. How is my friend Gabriel, who used to be so fond of her when we'were’all children together 7.’ g The sacristan sprang fro‘m‘ his :seat. ' I. ' ' *‘Gabriell 'Holy Virgin! quite forgotten him.’ _ A rapid explanation follow. Mas- ter Jess and his son hastened to-' wards the cathedral, and met Albert on their way. , ’ j , ‘ Where is Gabriell’ ‘ cried the I had ‘I don’t know ; I haVe not seen ,him since he climbed through the trap-door! . ‘ But who helped him down ?’ .‘Why, you yoursell'.,of course,’ replied Albert, Wltlt a look of aston- ishment... ,Lawrencc told me, when we-came down, that you had underâ€" ,taken to. do it.’ A , j , ‘O,h, the villains, the doubleâ€"dyed s‘c‘o‘undrelsl Now I understand it all,’ groanedthe Old man. ‘ Quick l ‘l have one request to make of you all, dear friends,’ said Gabriel, painfully raising himself on his i:oucliâ€"â€"‘ do not let Annie know a word of this. Write to her that I am dead, and she’ll mind it less,l think; then I’ll go into the forest, and let the wolves eat me if they will. I want to save her from pain.’ ‘ A fine way, indeed to save Annie from ,pain I’ cried" a Well-known voice, while a light figure rushed to- wards the bed, and claSped the poor sufferer in a close and long embrace ‘ My owntrue love ! you were never more beautiful in my ’eyes than now. And pretend that you are dead l A likely story, while eVery childjin Vienna is talking of nothing but my poor boy’s adventure. . And let your- self be eaten by wolvesl Gabriel you wouldn’t treat your poor Annie so cruelly as that l’ . v A regular hail-storm of lils‘Ses‘ ‘fol-j lowedfland’it is said-:liow truly I lknow netâ€"'atliat somehow in the go tieral melee Arnold’s lips came into But, the cold night-wind, blowing Ainold, Albert! Come, for the love wonderfully Close contact with the omniously around his tower, seemed of God; look up, look up to the rosy ones of Gabriel’s little sister. to answer 3 V . _ , ‘Here. I alone am emperor, and this is my domain.’ ‘ spirc.’ . . . Arnoldrushed toWards the square, and'his keen eye,accustomed to look Certainly he was heard the next day‘ to ‘whiSper into 'his friend’s ear: ‘ A fair eXchange is no‘ robbery, my boy; VVlllle this Was passing. two men out} atgreat distances at sea, dis- 1 think if you take my sister, the stO‘od conversing together at the earned through the gray, uncertain corner of a dark street, aloof from morning twilightsomething flutter- ‘Haven’t I 'managed it well?7 When ’tis asked one. *Yes; he'll never reach the r v «qui.‘_:.-..4â€".v~m .v. ing on the spire. _ ‘ ’ I‘is ,h': I, It must be he, still living.’ ” ' ‘ r 0 God r. ’ cried .,l\IaSter , .Jos's. masturâ€" ‘where. are my keys? 0 “1313!? f‘.â€"v._- .. M.-- .. ‘ _. least you yours.’ , ‘ ltdoes not appear that any objec- tion was made in any quarter. Love and hope proved wonderful physi- cians; for although Gabriel’s hair ’0 the end Of ‘lilsl'ilb remained as can do is to give me No, no, I \f\..~‘/-W»v\..r\,rv-Wv VV\ A/‘J'-VflJ\c/~\r\,~u~\x m/ V x. r \/ ~. .A»/\v' \_.' .A/ \A,/\ ,- . TERMS: st 50 In Advance; .- WIIQIOV No. ,white as snow, his cheeks and eyes, ere the wedding~day arrived, had reâ€" POCkCl 3 alld 11” “1108.111511ng , sumed their former tint and bright- I through the cathodral-gate,darted Up , ness. A happy man was "Master «Jossonthe day that he gave his blessing to the two young couples __thc'day when Gabriel’s sore-tried RATiONA'L" I’L‘msunas.*â€"VVhat are the objects of life, as far as regards this world 1 Its first waiits,'l answer, namely, food and raiment. What ‘ bCSides fl cultivation of the affections. So far, 'l’uritans would agree with us. But suppose all these things to be temâ€" pered with~ ,gayety and festivity; what element of wickedness .has necessarily entered? Nonethat I can per‘ceiye. Self-indiilgche takes many fotms'; and we-should bear in mind that there may be a sullen sen- suality as well as a gay one. But iamongst some men that God is dis-. pleased with man’s .liappiness ; and alien, ashamed and afraid to enjoy- anything. They answer, We do-not object to rational pleasures... who, my good people, shall exactly define rational pleasures? You are pleased with a flower; to cultivate flowers is what you call a rational pleasure: there are people, how- ever, to whom a flower is somewhat insipid, but they perhaps date upon music, which, however, is unfortu- nately not one of your rational plea- sures-chiefly, as I believe, because it is mainly a social one. Why is there anything necessarily wrong in social pleasures? _ Certainly some of tlieniost dangerous vices. such as pride, are found to flourish in soli-i ,’ , V , . 'lift up'tlie’ir eyes, and pray that their sons tude with more vigour than in soci- ety; and . a man may be deadly avaricious who has never even gone. out to a tea-party.â€"Companions of my Solitude. lnonv on THE IiiON Dune-In the. new volume of the ‘ Supplementary Dispatches ’ of the Duke of Wel. lington, is the following quiet hit of irony in one of his letters from Spain :~â€"-‘l haVe had the honour-of ’5 letter of the '3rd instant, and it is impossmle not to feel for the unhappiness of’the’ young lady, which you liaVe so well deserihed ; but it is not so easy as you imagine to apply the rc-, medy. It appears to me that should be guilty of a breach of dis- cretion ifl were to send for the for. tunate object of this young lady ’s af- fections, and to apprise him of the pressing necessity for his early re- turn to England,- tlie application for permission to go ought to come from himself; and, at all events, the of- fer ought not to be made by me,and particularly not founded on the se- cret of-tliis interesting young lady. But this fortunate Major now comâ€" mands his battalion, andl am very apprehensive that he'could not with propriety quit it at present, eyen though the life of his female should depend upon it 3 and therefore I think that he willnot ask for leave. We read, occasionally, of desperate cases of this description, but I can: not say that l llaVe ever. yet known of a young lady dying oflove. They contrive, in some manner, to live- and look tolerany Well, notWithas standing their despair and the con-- tinued absence of their lover; and some even have been known to re-1 cover so far as to be inclined to take another lover, if the absence of the first has lasted too long. [do not suppose that your proteges‘ can ever recover so far, but [do hope that she will survive the continued ne- cessary absence of the Major, and enjoy- with_ him hereafter many happy days.’ -‘ SlLEN’I INFDUENCE.â€"â€"It is the bubbling spring which flows gently, the/little rivuletwwhich runs along day and night, by the farm-house, that is neeful, rather than the swolg len flood or running cataract. Nia- gara excites our wonder, and} we - stand amazed at the power and green. ness of God there, as he ‘ poured‘it from the hollow of his hand.’ But one Niagara is enough for the con- tinent or the world, while the same world requires thousands of silve‘ fountains and gently flowing triva- lets, that water everyfarm and mea-' dew, and every garden, and that shall flow on' every day and every night with their gentle, quiet beauty. [So withthe acts Of our lives.-â€"lt is, not bygreat deeds like those “of the . 7. .. , --«.._,. -1..â€"«.~_ -fi‘ [v 'lovc found its reward in the hand of. ‘ his Annie. » Marrying and, the rear? ing of children ; and in “general, the , the truth is, there is a secret belief. in consequence they slink‘about cre-. Butt ' style martyrs, that good is (to be done; it is by the daily and quiet virtues of life7-tlie,Cliristian temper, in the husband.. the‘ " wife, the father, the mother, the brother, the sister, the friend, the neighbor, that it is to be dbiic. ' Tire: Lir'rnu ONE8.-â€"â€"NOVV that the warm weather. has come, let your children amusevthemselves out- (if-doors. ,_ Don't keep them. ,sliutvup like house plants, until they become- as paid and thin :15 ghost. Strip, of the finery, put on coarse garments, and turn them out to play in the sand, » to make ‘mud cakes,’â€"-_â€"to daub their faces with anything of.an ‘ earthly ~ nature ’ 'wliich Wlll have a tendency I' tom:1ke'.them.look as though they hadentered intoa coopartncrship with I dirt. ‘ Keep them in the‘hcusc. and ' they will soon look like, and be of" about. as mach’ value, as a potato which gi‘OWs in the cellar, palcmu’ny, sickly, sentimental wrecks ‘of huma- nity. tram themhout, we sz'iy, boys. andgi‘rls; and let them run,,,snu_lf the x ph'ré'aiiyandbe liqupyzfi ’Who cares if‘ they do; get tanned 'lLLcatlier ., must be tannedbefore isfii for use, and boys and girls~ must “undergo, a. hardening process, before they. are qualified to engage .in the arduous duties of life. . m’. c..." ;_...,._.__..._4 “on; .-;»,..s_,‘.. AL on .THE Acne is THE” .z....F.lJl:?ISLAN.DS. . tau-iii In the Fiji Islands, .whiere Niel-respect- ed father of a family becomes too old- to fislivor light,- x‘his. aflee’tionate- sousi inquire ‘ if,lie don’t think it is time he should be buried.’ After some thought be generally- replies.‘ that as a C01‘lvi-5Q‘lt‘till0us, law abid- ing citizen he cannotden'y thatlit is‘,’ and Itlien "ensuett‘a cheerful conversation, such 'astliis: - .4 . " ' ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ \Vell, father, when: funeral I’ ,‘ Limaâ€"let. me seeâ€"I, can’t .be'conven- iently buried this week, my son, but next; i week ,I believed have no. engagements? -‘..'.I'lieu, suppose we say. Thursday.’ _ ‘ Very goodâ€"very good. Ilut remem- her my children everything in the best: 3 would you like the ' ‘ Vhy father? one’s feelings 'l’ .1“ . , , And so when Thursday ceinesthe friends of the family aSSRll’lbléd at the house, a procession is formed the old inan walks at; the head. supported by his children. and all proceed to the nearest Fiji cemetery. ‘ " Ah I is this the grave 'l’ , , y ‘ , ‘ Yes, papa; and do you think itsuits 'l’ ‘ Admirably l admirably I this is indeed. , a most excellenttomb.’ "' I And al|,tlie middle aged fathers present: Do you want to hurt; maybe as‘tlutiful 'an'dkinrl. ', Then comes the funeral service and tlie,leave taking; the old'tnan gets down'into liis’g'ravc ; his sons taketlieir shovels and cover him up, stamping down his, earthly quilt as affectionf ately as a mother "tucks in’ the bed clothes of her children. ' DECALOGpu or Onionsâ€"Never put ofl'tilâ€"l to-morrow what you Can" do to-day. Never trouble another for wh-at'you can do yourself: “Never buy what you do not want, because it is cheap; it will be dear to you. Pri-zle costs us more than hunger, thirst and cold. »\’Ve never repeat of having eaten too little. Nothing is troublesome that/we. do willingly. _. How much pain the evils have cost, us that hattc never liappened._ Take thingsalways by their l'smmithghana dle. 'Wlien angry; count ten before you speak; if very angry, an hands red.â€"-Tltos. Jefers‘on. How To JUDGE or- CHARAC’I‘ERnâ€"i It li'aslbeen shrewdly remarkedthat what persons a‘re by stai'ts,‘tliey are by nature. ‘Xou'see them, at such time, off their guard. Habit may restrain vice, and virtue may bevoba scored by passion; but intervals best di5cover the man. \Ve fancy this is strictly true. . ‘I’eople‘,’,says a modern philosopher, "go according to their brains; if these lie in their head they study ; if in their belly they eat and drink; if. i.. their heels, they danccfi LAW AND GRAMMAR.â€"-\Vllen aliens tticky‘judgé, seine years since, was asked, by an attorney, upon some strange ruling, “Is that law, your' hono‘r‘l’." hwrcplied, “ If the court: understand herself, and she think she does, it are l” ‘ ; When Sir \Villiam Scrape. was about to charge with his troops at the famous con- flict of- Edgehill, at the openingr ball of the parliamentary campaign with King Charles I , he said to his, young soapegiace of; a son, ‘ Jack, if I should be- killed, lad, you will have enough to spend 3’ to which the witty rogu‘e answered, ‘ and, egad, father, if lsliould be killed, you’ll have enough to pay.’ A young lady asked a gentleman the meaning of the Word Surrogate. “It is,” replied he,"‘a gate through which parties pass on their way to get married.” “ Then, I suppose,’ replied she, “ that it is a corruptibn of sorrow gate.” “ You are rightfiniss,’ replied the informer, “asa woman is an abreviation of we to man.”_ “ PAT, do you love your country 2’ “ Yes, yer lionor.’ “ lWhat‘s the best thing about ould Ireland, Pat 1’ “ The whiskey, yer honor.’ " Ah, I see, Pat, with all her" faults, you love her still.” * TRUE son ONCE.'--A' traveller [an-3 nounces as'a fact (and, though he is a "‘traveller,’. we believe him) that he once' in his ll'l'e'z‘behélil people “minding their own business !""'T-his remarkable oc- currence happened at: sea~~the passengers being “ too sick ” ‘to attend to each otiid er’s concerns, »