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lewis m. grist, proprietor. | ^it $ni?tg?tiNni Jfmnilj ftetospaptr: jftr % f rrotrtiim rf % ^afitigt, ??ial, ^gricnltogl' nth Ctmtmtrtial |trftrtat? cf %'jfarffr. ' / teb?8?$3.001 teab,' is'ad?m b. vol 16 yo'ekville, s. C? thtjbsp^^ febrxtaj^ a87(l-- fl 5 v 5? v ':15*5 V ^ ?^?????^ i. .- . . . 1 ..w.iTWtq <?> if/itt-l . .'iTlii ? >uuiU M J&uj* ?a- Original jiiorg. ] Written for the York viile Enquirer. ^ Edith Egerton; e THE UNCLE'S WILL. I BV MRS. M. A. RIPLEY, J Authoress of "Ellen Campbell; or, Kind's Mountain," etc. - ' n CHAPTER X. d At her request they went directly home, tl and from thence despatched a messenger to a the Vere's, to acquaint them with their arri- a| val. Intensely enjoying the seclusion and ft comfort of her home, she was hoping that their ft retirement might be a little longer undisturbed, gi when a brief but courteous note apprised Mr. w Gordon of Dacre's speedy arrival. w Placing the note before Edith, Mr. Gordon r - 1 llTIJ'it ?_J. J. ..L.i /lann D 8U1U, "XX1HJ1, grttlit IV iwe, wuat jruu uiaj v?%mj to Dacre. See him, and be yourself; J; ask for w nothing more." w "Thank you, uncle Walter," she replied, K with a warm blush, "I yield to you, what he must not demand. I will see him, if you ^ grant me one request" e3 "A thousand, if you will," he replied in 111 surprise, at her ready and unexpected acqui- h< escence. "But will you be yourself?" he hi asked." ei "Whiff! do you expect of me to fright him d< with an ogress face and tigress manner ?" she playfully replied. "You are losing your gal- hi lantry, uncle Walter. I must call Dora to b? the rescue." . yc "Oi^y look and acta* you do now, my girl, hi and ogress or tigress will not daunt him," replied Mr. Gordon, too pleased at her unex- of pected assent, to question how it was obtained. m "But what am I to promise T & "I win tell you when you meet," she replied, ?y laughing and blushing. TV* The evening was cool, and a fire had been "* kindled in the luxurious parlor of Oakwood. The surroundings rich, tasteful and elegant, tl< were warmly lit by the ruddy glow of the fire- mi light, and the soft rays from the solar lamp, with its ground glass shade, on the centre table. ^ The gallop of a horse, the ring of the bell, and the appearance of Dhcre, (as we will now to call him) in the vacant room, was almost si- ^ multaneous. He walked directly to the fire, **o: and resting his arm on the mantel, in a position habitual to him* looked keenly around. to The piano was open, but there was no music ^ scattered about, and the music stand was rig- UE idly neat in its arrangement. A guitar, in its case, was resting against the wall, and even the books looked as if no careless hand ever disturbed them. There were a few bright au- rei tumn flowers, mingled with the rich dark n green of evergreens, in the vases on the marble mantel; and an exquisite dish, of water- 6^' lily shape, held rare exotics, mingled with ge- ^ ranium sprigs, on the table.' Not a vestige of t0' "Edith" in this arrangement, farther than what he could discover in the deep, graceful jUarWltm . | ! iliu'wuwiiif iluu ?-? able arrangement of the furniture, and the . woman's refined taste and delicate sense of W1 beauty, evidenced in the contrasts and groupings of the flowers. But then, any cultivated an woman could have done the same thing, and he smiled as his thoughts resolved themselves into, "Evidently, no specialty for 'Dacre' in m. this arrangement." i i Ur Unconsciously, he placed his hand on his chain and drew from his watch-pocket a cu- ^ riously shaped ring, which he fingered as he ^ thought: "Will she see me without this token]? Will she be the Edith Egerton I have known, ^ possessing that caressing and exquisite grace and elegance, yet combining it with perfect ease and freedom ? Or, am I to find still the . ? i . < i ii.. sir infinite grace, DUt unuea to me supeuur charm of finished manners and stately self- ^ possession? I know she can grace either character, but ?" and he smiled his rare dazzling ^ smile. "I hold that over her which forces her to know my position, and with this knowledge, she would be less than woman were she to deny me courteous consideration." f ft ' He looked so bold and brave in his self-re- ^ lianee, his stalwart form finely set off by his simple, but rich dress; his chiseled features catching force from the flashing, eloquent eyes, and the firm chin and mouth gathering greater rigidity from the thick, closely cut, j*j black moustache above them. ' W( As Mr. Gordon entered the room, his look ^ of courteous welcome giving way to one of unmitigated astonishment, Dacre hastened CQ to meet him, and rapidly explained. For the sake of brevity, we will condense the conver- ca sation. . .j Charlie, vexed and mortified at the position ^ in which he had placed his friend, had arranged a meeting, by which Edith and Dacre could ^ be thrown together, without design on their part. Dacre, innocent of Charlie's intention, ai 86 and hearing from him that the party were still at the springs?at the same time, receiving an appeal to meet him at the Natural Bridge? ^ concluded to gratify Norman, as he had noth- . ing particular to occupy his time, and was . really desirous to see his friend. The meeting, however, produced a totally different result from that which Charlie had anticipated, for ^ Dacre flatly and indignantly refused to enter into any such scheme. Charlie, chagrined and disappointed, de- ^ clared that of all the scienoes he ever studied, . ir manoeuvring was the most unsatisfactory, and most poorly repaid the arduous labor of the ^ diplomatic savant. He washed his hands of ^ the whole affair, and only hoped that Edith M'rvnl/1 wot mol'o Viim cllffor nil tVlfi VlfHTOrS of ?uMui maau una ouuv* * ** ? unrequited affection. Leaving Charlie sadly discomposed at the untoward result, and being passionately fond of hunting, he had remained c, amongst the mountains, till chance brought C( him to Otter. The change of his name was ^ purely accidental. Old Turner being apt to 8j dub a man according to his predilections and tj habits, the name of Hunter had been bestowed q and accepted, as a matter of no importance. f( He was in the shop when Charlie and his n party crossed Otter, but did not care to make h himself kuown. We have seen the way in r< which accident threw him with Edith, and not p wishing to arouse her prejudices against him, w he had concluded to permit his involuntary t< incognito to remain undiscovered. He hoped p Mr. Gordon would acquit him of all blame in f< the matter, for once knowing Edith, she must o be his excuse for desiring to gain her esteem, e: "You have made a better defence than I thought possible at the outset," replied Mr. p Gordon, after patiently listening to an expla- w nation, which took much longer in the recital a than in this sketch, "but there is one question, a which tenderness for her prompts me to ask. ti foil wrote of a Douna Inez?in what relation oes she stand toward you ?" 1 Mr. Gordon had purposely asked the qnes- 1 ion, abruptly and pointedly. i "As a mental child and foolish woman ould stand to one in manhood's prime," re- < lied Dacre, meeting Mr. Gordon's look in 1 ndaunted confidence. "But I understand 1 nd appreciate the feeling which makes this i emand upon me, and you, sir, will absolve le from vanity, if I reply as honestly as yota l esire. The history is a brief one. Pope, I link, says, 'most women have no characters at i 11.' I do not assent to such a sweeping charge i gainst the sex; but I may say, she is of the j ;w who possess none Fair, very fair, but too 1 5 1 fVinn noveltv t MJU UliU HtUl IU ooc wmmm ?? - j ave zest to the pursuit, my American taste \ as soon palled by Spanish freedom, and i ithout depth to feel or heart to suffer, she 1 ?dily transferred ber yielding affections to a 1 'on, of whom she is now the happy wife. I i ottld pledge my honor as ajgentlemaiv upo# hat I have told yo.i to be the truth, wifhoiA a iservation, but I am not wont to add testi- <3 ony to what I assert It may be, that this c em will not place me more favorably in the ii res of Miss Egerton ; it may, possibly, do t ;e an injury. Women like to think that the iarts they possess have been ever invulnera- s le to other affection ; but even to gain a kind- a thought, can I do otherwise than I have e me? Are you satisfied, sirf ,r e "Perfectly," replied Mr. Gordon, grasping ii s hand, "and I can only wish that you may n ; able to reconcile all the inconsistencies of n in +V.Q CLiraa nf Wifli VOU T) 'UJL V/OC^J OC VTCU XU DXXV VJ VO V* ^ r ive done in mine." I "I think," replied Dacre, "that generosity ii ' mind in woman, like grandeur of mind in h an?supposing that it exists to excess in one h spartment?disposes him to some degree of mpathy with all other grandeur, however y ien its quality, or different its form ; so wo- li an, when this quality has the ascendency in 1< t nature, will readily find excuse or pallia-, w m, even for faults which call upon her jfldg- n ent to condemn. But am I fortunate in a iding her at home this evening ?" fsaid he, E Dking toward the door. "Pardon me," said he, as Mr. Gordon arose si call her, "bat will you add this to' y<jur in- ic ilgence with me, and permit her to discover n r herself, that Hunter and Dacre are one ?" fi "Certainly," Mr. Gordon replied, as he left E seek Edith. He found her. busied about; b' e table, as they had deferred their dinner al itil the arrival of their gnest. st "Dacre has arrived and desires to see you, ti lith," he said. ss "In one moment, uncle," she replied, as'she "i moved her snow-white house-keeper's apron ; n ow I am at your service." w They walked through the long passage, and fc e whispered, "tfncle Walter I wish you to m ant my request now; you rememher you w Id me you would grant'me a thousand." tl "Well, what is it?" he said, too much pleased ot her deference to his wishes to demur. al "Tf T ahull dif"n? Dt-yih and.T Jw ve met before, and that he is identified ni th?with a friend?will yoil promise neither I word, look or tone, to revert to the acquaint- J A< ce; at least, not in my presence?" I cf "Edith ! Can it be possible ?" in "We will not discuss the possibilities of this tl pstical case now," she interrupted. it "Uncle Walter, will you promise V she ged. e< "It cannot matter?well, well, child," said j , "have it as you will; but do not brew E >uble for yourself." ri "Thank yon; you will give me a formal in-.8] iduction, of course," she said. I d "Yes," he replied, "if you wish it." j C "Certainly," she answered; "earnestly de- * e it." . .. I Edith possessed a most exquisite taste in ! a ess, and this evening, though simply attired, i t it was evident she had paid special attcn- j ? SV*n WAI*O a morAAii-pnlnrpfl I Si FIX IU llO llCLUOt k/IIV n V/1V W AUMt VVM vvav* V\? jrino, trimmed richly in black lace and velt The delicate white lace collar was fas- 0 led by a ruby brooch, from which depended t sprig of fuchsia and geranium leaves. Her ir, scrupulously neat, though artistic in its 8 rangement, was ornamented with a cluster a the same rich leaves and graceful flowers, le small white hands looked smaller still, ^ eping from the lace frill, which partially * 1 over them, while the dainty gaitered feet I ?re just perceptible from under the flowing | irt. ! ^ She advanced into the room, and though her jr lor was heightened sufficiently to lend ad- 8 tional lustre to her eyes; yet it was with c lm self-possession she returned the saluta>n of Dacre, and checking by a bow his f LSty step toward her, and ignoring, with- f it seeming to do so, his partially extended t ind ; with a soupcon of hauteur in her air, ^ id a dash of satire in her smile, she took the 1 at Mr. Gordon placed for her. 8 The evening passed, as only superior tact c id good breeding could have made it pass; 1 ich one being apparently unrestrained, while t reality, exerting tne sternest restraint, iuiu | ie most rigid watchfulness. i i Mr. Gordon played the part of the courte- 1 is host; Dacre, the entertaining guest; and 1 dith, the animated and intelligent listener. 1 Toward the close of the evening, the conization languishing a little, and Dacre was ' ibating with himself on the propriety of lead- 1 ig it to the events which had lately trans- 1 ired, or by a master stroke of policy, tax 1 !dith with forgetfulness, when, without inti- 1 lation, she arose and bade them good night. i CHAPTER XI. i Each day made the denouement more diffi- ] alt. Dacre, chivalric to a fault, and fully 1 jnscious that Edith did not wish to recognize 1 im as Hunter, would not take what he condered undue advantage of her, and scorned i ie idea of forcing her to accept him as a < uondam acquaintance. He watched in vain >r some betrayal of feeling, and was at length i lentally forced to confess his position with < er a very doubtful one. Yet she gave him no : jason for complaint; for unvaryingly selfossessed and aftable, she ever treated him ith dignified politeness. The difficulty was > surmount the chilling courtesy. She never ermitted herself to be left alone with him >r one moment; nor would she enter iuto ther conversation than that devoted to genralities. Dacre was not a man to brook defeat very atiently, and hearing that the Vere party ere soon expected, he determined to bring ffairs at once to a crisis, or failing a favorble hearing, to leave before Charlie's banering would chafe him beyond endurance. After a long conversation in the library I with Mr. Gordon, he formally requested "the ! honor of seeing Miss Bgerton for a few moments." .. i Miss Egerton's reply was brief and point- i id. She "commissioned Mr. Gordon to attend ; ;o all matters of business for her, and further 1 ;han this, Mr. Dacre could have no possible nterest in meeting her." He bit his lip as he read the chillingly- 1 worded note. "Tell Miss Egerton i accept her decision i ind will relieve her of my presence," he said, is he tore the little note to shreds; "you will < )ardon my hasty departure, Mr. Gordon; ] jut naturally choleric, I will not trust myself ,o meet your ward now. Though it would be ? worse than unreasonable to blame her in the natter, yet"?and he threw a book, which he ? iad taken up, violently on the table before > lim?"I cannot think of it with, patience^ i low, sir, and it is advisable I should leave." I IT * 1 1 1 1 _ A. ' I in (^persuasion coma inauce nun. m* remtun, i nd ordering his liorse, he thanked Mr. Gor- e Ion for kind, forbearance with him, left a t oiirteous farewell for Miss Egerton, and pass- i ag from the library, awaited in the parlor, ? he announcement of his horse.' ^ Since his arrival, Edith had always found i ufficient to engage her in household duties, t nd Dacre had never met her in this room, c xcept in company with her uncle, during the .c vening. Dacre had passed his time walking a the grounds, or reading in the library, and J ow, satisfied that his moody thoughts would v ot there be disturbed, he had entered the 1 arlor. Much to his chagrin, he discovered 6 Idith, who was standing at the table, arranglg fteBh flowers in the vases. He was hasti- o j retreating, when his impulsive nature led C im to a different course of action. ' ? "Miss Egerton, accident has forced upon n ou a parting which you would no doubt wil- b ngly avoid. I would thank you, before I n iave, for the kindness and consideration with a hich you have treated me. Perhaps I did ti ot deserve it, but I-am not an humble man, it nd will not dismiss that now. Good-bve!" Q Te touched her hand and. strode to the door. "But I have a bauble of yours," he said, C lddenly remembering, and turning, as raplly returned; "it possesses no value to me g ow," said he, as he strove to disengage it I om the clasp which attached it to his chain. u iut it resisted his efforts. "Can it be possi- tl le the senseless trinket loves the warmth and ^ Section with which it has been guarded ?" fee I lid. "Wrenching the chain, he broke it into a ^enty fragments. " Thus I sever memories," g rid he, as he placed the ring in her hand, d md thus I assert rights," he continued, with f< ipid utterance, as he grasped the hand which h as outstretched for the trinket. "Once be- n ire, I claimed the right that is equal to all il en, to love the good and true, and what li ould be to your heart vmship, was to mine 8< te expression of-that right. Now, by an- a her right which I have over you, I demand J least a hearing. Do not look so pitilessly ; a liigbtv. .and dcjiot.strive ?o. w.Uhdfajr. von*Th ma ; 7 will leave you free enougWdirectly. ti do not retract a single word I have said. I F we a right over you, for what greater right n in belong to a man than the right to repair " l the future the wrong of the past f Look at c] lat ring, and see how I would have repaired ." sj He drew the ring from her hand, and point- e' 1 to the sharp and clearly-cut characters, ti "Edith Egerton Dacke." i ter face was one1 burning blush, as she 2ad. Again he placed it in her hand, and g( poke more gently. "It was a blissful right; $ 0 you wonder I cannot yield it calmly? h Ince you promised that that silent token ^ 1 ould be eloquent to bring you to me. Edith, am not used to suing, and my pleadings & re all demands. Come!" C , "Massa Dacre, your horse gittin restive, e< ah?standin so long. Hue I put em up ?" fl "What horse, Jack?" said Dacre, in a tone ti f impatience, as if he did not care to be in- B| errupted. "Your horse you ordered, sah; he bin tandin in de cold now two or three hours, ^ .nd I done walked him till I cold mjself." ^ "Oh, Jack, a thousand pardons, old fellow! e; Take Speed to the stable and yourself to the M :itchen fire; I will not leave tomight." . . 81 "Miss Edie, massa say you gwine to give y dm any tea to-night? He better hab it, and u uassa Dacre can say good-bye in de mcrnin," ^ aid the complaisant darkey, all uncomcious ^ >f the innuendo which her message conveyed. "Tell Uncle Walter he shall have it now in ^ ive minutes," said Edith, passing quickly Q rom the room. But she had to wait ;n re- j( urn for her tardiness, for it was some time ^ >efore Mr. Gordon and Dacre issued from the ibrary, and the conscious blush with vhich y he met them was not subdued by her uicle's ^ juiet, "Edith, I hope it was not your late tea c vhich detained our guest." ^ "Well," said Charlie, as the two friends sat ' n their chamber together, "it will be the j achest sport to see you in love, Frank! Ida! ^ la! why a bear dancing on coals will be t lothing to it!" j "Don't be a fool, Charlie. Miss Egerton t s too sensible to expect me to write soniets y jo her eyebrow, or apostrophise a midnight noon. And another thing: you will lot lave the pleasure of enjoying the sport lorg; j i 1 i.1? ft 1!_J Tk ! or l mtena to marry snuruy, repucu c. "Whew!" whistled Charlie; "what is that pou used to tell me about when a man lovts, | be loses one half of that glorious indiviijality which is characteristic of his bachelor- ^ bood ? Have you, in a sane mind, concludel c to become half a man ; and pray, from what time will yon date your semi-manhood ?" "I do think Charlie, that for a man wh? makes any pretension to sense, you can con- t ceive and utter more absurdities?" ' 1 "Pardon me," replied Charlie; "I was only .c quoting Frank Dacrc, M. D. But look here, old fellow, how did you get it fixed up so f nicely ? I have a little job of the kind on ] hand, and it would be the part of friendship I to give me a hint or two ?" < "The one hundred and ninety-ninth one 'of 1 the kind,' to my certain knowledge," replied Dacre; "I don't wonder at your inability to j put them through. You have played the part of amaceur so long that no one believes you are making it a practical business. But it is very proper you should appeal to me in the present instance. I owe you one or two kind offices for the friendly relation in which you placed me with Miss Egerton." "Look here, Frank; 'no more of that an' you love me,' but speak a good word for me bo Vernon, when he comes to-morrow, and I'll?'" "To Vernon ? You are not courting Vernon, are you ? By the beard of the prophet, no! I might coo over^a woman a little for pour sake, but you must do the billing over the whiskered gender yourself. I'll none of it." "Hang you, Frank; stop that laughing 1 What do I care for Vernon, more than that tie has a sister?" "Is Dora dead ?" asked Dacre with the utmost gravity. "Dead ? What do you mean ? Dora is lown $tairs. I left her with Belle?ah?with Miss Vernon I mean." < "I thought it was Dora for whom your constant heart was beating," said Dacre. Pshaw, Frank! "Well, the truth is, you lee when Miss Egerton would not come home vith Vernon, but stayed behind for you to nake love to her"?said Charlie, dodging a "Haw T???onlr oonf of liia Vtoa/1?A I iuivn YT1X11/11 x x uuzv tJViiu mv Alio aavw\* rrj ook it rather stiffly, And Mis^Vere, whoriH^ trongly suspect thought more of Vernon han any one else?in evidence of which, she tsed.to turn up her pretty little nose at him, md generally walked out when he walked in? veil, as I.was saying, Miss Vere seemed to eel as sorry for the fellow;?clever -fellow, oo?and used to try and cheer him, innocent >f any design, I verily believe. But it's the ild story of the heart caught in the rebound." "So seeing Miss Egerton wouldn't have rou, and Miss Vere lost to you, you have rilfully, and with malice aforethought, made ove to that innocent child, Belle? You inorrigible trifler!" said Frank. "By the way, who made you the patriarch f the children, Father Abraham?" said lharlie; "True she cannot count her years y scores, but I can tell you that little specilen of a woman causes me to see more troule and vexation in a day, than any full-grown laiden ever did in a year. "Why, my life is burden to me, and I'll never be happy till? 111 lose onehalf of that 'glorious ihdividualy,' of which you formerly made such elouent mention." "Are you really in earnest in this matter, Jhairlie ?" Said Dacre. 1 "In earnest ? Now, by my honor, I have a reat mind to pitch you out of this window, f you had seen me yesterday trying to make p my mind to tell her my secret?which, by be way, she knows as well as I do?you ould not ask me if I Was in ear-neat. There stood, balancing myself on one toe, my face 3 red as a beet, twisting the fingers of my love, and all I could say was, T have been : esperately wretched, lately, Miss Vernon; I sel as if-?as if?' and there 1 stopped. And ow do you think the cruel litfle minx served le ? Called to her aunt that Mr. Norman was 1, and perhaps she could do something to reeve him; and with a glance, cunning as a ! >rceress, quietly walked off and left ma To 1 ftp the climax, the old lady peered over her 3ectacles, and asked if I was suffering from fit of indigestion, and recommended hartsorn and. lavender * ien tell me to pitch m again?if I can ! So, rank, tell me, like a clever fellow, how you lanaged. I've been in love a hundred times t my life; but I tell you honestly, that little reature is the first woman I ever loved !" "Ha! ha!" laughed Frank, "what a curious lecimen of literature your journal must be; eery chapter beginning, Tn love for the first me!' I say Charlie, when are you to write \nale/" ; "This day, as I live!" replied Charlie. "I'll 0 and ask her now, if she will become Mrs. [orman; and my life on it, I can prophesy er reply will be in the eloquent words of [iss Egerton." "What do you mean?" asked Dacre loftily, s he marked the dangerous merriment in fharlie's eyes. "She will say she will with pleasure," laugh1 Charlie, dodging- Frank's cane, which came ying toward him, and his wrath at the same ime, by a rapid exit and flight down the ;airs. ?i i i ...? t It is useless to add, that neither the Eger>n Seminary, nor the Dacre College, was uilt. The munificent bequest of Archie Egrton fell into the hands of those for whom it as designed. Under the influence of superior wisdom and mnd philosophy, Dacre continued to culti* ate, not efficiency in one department, but niversal efficiency?not a capacity to do one liing perfectly, but a capacity to grasp everybing. He was as earnest and enthusiastic in | - ^ 4-1* a i menoniUIJg uiill luipruviug tuc wuuiuuu ui | is slaves, as he had ever been in the pursuit f knowledge. He confuted, by his energetic ibor,>the dogma of the North, that the exis2nce of negro slavery deteriorated the charcter and habits of the people of the South ; dale his liberal and practical mind, in its! earings in every detail of the busy life of the j louthern master, proved, in efficient results, { hat slave labor was neither unskilful, sloven- j y nor superficial. A help-meet, in the truest sense of the worHf Sdith ably seconded him in his vigorous eforts for good. In the family, the church and he school?the three fountains which must be :ept pure as heaven, if we wish to overcome he contamination and foulness of earth?she vorked, as a faithful, single-hearted woman an work, and her modest efforts efficiently econding his, bound them together in stronger lords of mutual sympathy and love. True, no splendid monument was built for j >ublic charity, yet many a dwelling was vanned and many a heart made happy, not inly by his active and energetic benevolence, >ut by the judicious and gentle dispensations if Edith. the end. i The Speed of Birds.?Spallanzi found hat the swallow can fly at the rate of 92 uiles an hour, and he computes the rapidity 4A Ka nrtf lnafl r* Omil/vi or* )A UlV/ C IT ALU IV7 liUb IUUU JilliCO iMMM iour; If it can move at this rate for a short listance, the swift must be ranked as the swiftest of birds. The common crow can nake about 25 miles, the eider duck 90 miles, ;he eagle 140 miles, the hawk and many othir birds 150 miles per hour. The flight of migratory birds does not probably exceed 50 miles within the hour. A falcon belonging to Henry IV., of France, escaped from Fontaiubleau and was found at Malta, having made at least 1,530 miles within 24 hours. Sir John Ross, on the 6th of October, 1850, disjatched from Assistance Bay two young carrier pigeons, and on October 13, one of them reached its dovecote in Ayrshire, Scotland. Ihe direct distance being about 2,000 miles, tie speed was comparatively slow. Birds whose flights have excited astonishment have been in most instances assisted by serial curraits moving in the same direction. !1 CHURCH ETIQUETTE. As 111 persons are not as perfect in church etiquettes they might be, the following suggesti&^piay not be out of place: Atb|riing divine worship is not like attending aofblic show, though in this fast agej there afcsbme whose conduct makes the differene^vpear but smalL Firtt'j'hen, there is no etiquette for any place, lib the etiquette of common sense; it avai&flfcn the rules of the Chesterfields and the Ejcfoans often make one ridiculous. In enteral hurch with a lady, precede her wheaitoiding and descending stairs, as also in seeing a seat. In the latter case it is especialHpolite?^you act as sort of shield to her raitsty, ana then you save her the confusionVaelecting a pew. It {proper, if you. are a believer, to kneel /V- rMA J"- - 'l ' of thihurch. To disregard these is vulgar? at!le^itshows too much false pride, or too IBHUlfNluiihi ' Excefve whispering during service is decidedly Ugar. It is sometimes necessary to address n undertone remark to your companion | companions, but seldom. I Liste|o the service?especially the sermon, j In thif^fe of church opera, called music, you cannot olp hearing that part of the ceremony.' it would wake op a Van Winkle. But theermon you must not sleep over or disregard. It is wrong. Appear to hear if. you do not A good way is when the minister is dull, ad you can t listen?which happens often eiugn to make a rule?to study pnre noJOjgy-examining the bumps of heads before yon. yn hour may be passed thus politely and pfysantly. If yo. chew tobacco, do not use it in church. It is alloying to those around you, and then theae^ri gives you jesse. Nevr leave cnurcn during service, unless it is Osolutely necessary?as in sickness, a house-dire or a professional call. It isfrulgar to come late. Sometimes it is unavoiable?a person wishes to display a new difss, watch chain or perhaps a beau.. It -i wUiMpr sometimes mat a poor guvoe nnuw to*Ke oivoi from his seat?then it is proper enougbalso. These causes, and the like, excuse lae coming and the congregation endure them. Any other delay is unendurable. Drea as plainly as possible. We don't mean taat a lady should appear in her morn1 ing wiapper nor a gentleman in his^ shirt sleeves. A. nice medium is the thing in all matters?adies should not be taken for a miliner's show cases, nor gentlemen for be-jewelled and neclotied monkeys. A plebian goes to church.4x'show fine clothes; an aristocrat, to show resptct to God. In entering and in leaving the house, don't walk too slow like the shoddies, nor too fast like the bashfuls. In the one case, people ridicule you for affectation ; in the other there is danger of knocking down the mews or runningoversomebody. "Hasten slowly." When you look around too much in church, people think you. want to show your profile, or tnatyou want to attract attention to'your style, or that you want to marry, or that, like poor wht&i, there is not weight enough about your head1 to keep it still. Don't look too pious in church either?it is nasj^Absas too ^n^c^lev^.^JEleljgious you feel extraordinarily devotional begin to think about putting something in the treasury, and' it will shorten your face quickly, and spread (*yer it the pleasant look of duty. < ? C&tlBAT WITH AN ANACONDA. At tb? earliest possible moment after camp had been picked, says the late Capt. Speke, a hunfc.v# set afoot, and Capt. Grant, myself, and sdue attendants, were soon making our way to the "patch." There were no animals there when we arrived, except some hippopotami, and we were therefore obliged to await the coming of some more palatable game. Our patience; however, was severely taxed, and after a long delay, \ve were about to "bag" a hippopotamus, when an attendant, perched in a tree about half a mile distant, began waving his blanket. This was the signal that game was approaching. We immediately drew into cover, and awaited .* 1. A. ine approaun ui me inner. We were not long delayed, for presently a long column of animals, from the elephant to the hoojdoo, appeared in view, trotting at a good pace to the river. Their flanks were soon ptweifted to us, and each selecting his 'oTnrct,;?ea. McCail shot a fine young buffalo cow, whilst Capt. Grant was equally succesful in shooting a hoo-doo; and several spears cast by our attendants, stopped the career of one or two different animals of the herd. At this juncture, however, occurred an unexpected adventure, that finished our sport, lor at least that day. I had sprung forward immediately after firing, in order to obtain a fair shot at a huge elepliau# that I wanted to bring down on account df his immense tusks. I got the aim desired, and pulled the trigger of my second barrel. At the moment of my doing so, a wild cry of alarm, uttered by one of the blacks, called my attention. Glancing around, my eye chanced to range up in the foliage oi the trot-beneath which Captain Grant and myself had lain for several hours previous. My feelings may possibly be imagined, aa I beheld an enormous boa-constrictor, Whose head had projected some distance into view, ready to make the fatal spring. His direction was certainly toward me; and as he flashed from his position like a thunderup, for ere aid could reach moPtnFUi-^ of the monster would have crushed ray strong frame into a quivering pulp. I felt seemingly caught in a whirlwind of aust, and an indescribable scuffle ensued, In the midst of this strife, I suddenly became conscious of the presence of a second victim, and even after the time that has elapsed sinc^f then, I still recollect with what vividness thd thought shot across my mind, thai this secoltd victim was Captain Grant, mj noble Companion. At last, dfter being whirled about for several seconds, each seeming to be interminable there ensued a lull as of death, and I opened ; my eyes expecting to look upon the unexplor i pH ljradicanes which are seen only beyond the | grave. Instead of that, I saw Capt. Granl i leveling his rifle toward me, while standing | beside fcm were the blacks in every conceiv able attitude of anxious suspense. ! But in a moment I comprehended all j The huge serpent' had Btruck a buffalo cow between him and which I had unluckil) placed myself, at the moment of firing upor the elephant. A most singular good lorturn had, however, attended me, for instead o: being ijfcfched into a mangled mass with th< j unfortunate cow, my forearm only had beei ! caught jut between the buffalo's body and th< constrictor. The limb laid just in front o the shoulder, at the root of the neck, and thu had a soft bed of flesh into which it was jam med. As I saw Grant about to shoot, a terror pos sessed me, for if he refrained, I might escap after the boa released his fold from the dea< cow, but should he fire and strike the reptile in its convulsions it would crush or drag nn to pieces. Even as this idea came to me ! beheld Grant'pause. He comprehended all ! He could see how I was situated, that I stil , lived, and that my life dopended on the wil I of the constrictor. We could see every lin i on each other's face, so close were we, and would have shouted or spoken, of even whispered to him, had X dared. But the boa's head was reared within a few inches of mine, and the wink of an eyelid would perhaps settle my doom; so I stared?stared Kie; a dead man, at Grant and at the blacks. Presently the serpent began very gradually to relax his folds, and after tightening them several times, as the crushed buffalo cuuvered, he unwound one fold entirely, Thus he paused. The next iron-like hand waa the one that held toe prisoner; and as I felt it little by little unclasping, my heart stood still with hope'and fear. > ./ r! * ' f ? .Oh, how hardly, how desperately 1 Straggled to command myself! I glanced at Grant and saw him handling his rile anxiously. I glanced at; the serpent's loathsome head, and saw its bright deadly eyes, watchihg for the last sign of lifb fa its prey- Now, then, the reptiJe loosened its fold on my arm a hiiiFs breadth, and now a little more, until half an mch separated my arm from its mottled, akin. ! JLhe. second fold was removed, entirely, and i the nejt wa? ?aang. Should J dadi awuy ? m?re fagorafcle moment? Id*. j speed, I bounded away toward Grant, the _~l crack of whose piece I heard at the instant i For the! first tinde in < oughly overcome; and, sinking down, I re* i mained in a semi-conscious state several hours. When I fully recovered; Grant and the over- , joyed negroes held me up, and pointed out the boa, who was still, writhing in its death agonies. I shuddered as I looked upon the effects of his tremendous dying strength. For yards around where he lay, the grass, hushes mid saplings, and everything, except the - more fully grown trees, were cut dlean off, as though they had been trimmed with a scythe. . > This moDster measured fifty-one feet two inches and a half, in'extreme length, while around the thickest portion of its body the girth was dearly three feet; thus' proving, I believe, to be the largest serpent that was ever authentically heard of.?Ca.pt. Spcktft Journal of India, . >, ? ? "STONEWAtL" JACKSON'S GRATE# I made my way* out along the rutty road, with its high slimy banks/till, on the rising ? J ~ luiiTAnil Aa villflorA T ram ft to gruuuu Of 'iibbic UCJVUU IIUV * 444M^?J ? -a. long plank palisade, dingy and somewhat dilapidated, enclosing, as I could see, a graveyard. This, then, was the place. The wooden gates were fastened; but I found a stile'at one corner and got oyer. It was a small secluded place, with a sprinkling of white monuments,' a few pathways through it, and here and there a handful of shrubs or a tree. I; was not in ha&fe to find tjhe tomb. t It was somerthdng to feel that I wasnearitnow-rrthat the dead hero mighl be slumbering in that, next grave, or perhaps the one beyond., I had been told that a sprig of Iau rel brought from the grave of Napoleon at St. Helena was i planted at his head. ! At last, on a little cross-walk, I came to a grave in front of. two cypress tress. It was surrounded by a neatcast-u^on railing, through which, at the othet end, -the'branches , of a laurel were twisted. In the centrfe of the plot over the dead man's breast, there stood an iron urn, half-buried now in a tuft of withered grass. And there, at the grave, on a plain iwhite marble scroll, was inscribed the great [soldier's name. Beside him was the little grave of his child who had died before the -> q; JacWn lay?thai hero of a hundred ngh ts; wffBBSH&me nad once :rolled in thunder over the world. All Lu marchings, all his battles over now! Only five short years had gone since the Confederate armies were shaking the Continent with their tread ; and yet, in presence of this lowly grave, how long it seemed! The thunders of the war had died into everlasting BilencC; the Confederacy, with all its belongings, had van-1 ished like a dream. The world had made a mighty onward march, leaving the past behind ; and here, under withered grass, the dead hero of the South lay jnjiis lonely grave, [on which the rain was falling.. How sad the place seemed ! The sky overhead was silent and big with sorrow. The trees were dripping softly. Nature, more mindful than1 man, was weeping over the dead hero's grave* ' ' * - A willow tree near at,hand wits putting <* .1 !x_ j.ir?x. 1 J xl.? jorui lis ut'iiuuie grctsu ieaves, iui tue optiug 'was now come. I thought, "There is a spring .time, then, for the memory of this man?for nobleness never dies." 4 *. V, I had pluekfed'aome grass from the grtve and a few leaves from the laurel, .and was going away, when a slouched hat, who, without my knowing it, had come into the cemetery, and seemed to have been watching me, came up and spoke. "You have seen.his grave, sir," said this man. L '' .'' , S It seemed as if -to him there was but ohe ; he said so natii rally, "You have seen his grave." My errand had opened his heart He gave me his name, and said, "I was in the 27th, the first regiment Jackson raised?the Old Bloody Twenty-seventh it used to he called. Yes, sirj ITollowed Stonewall from < the time he left thfe Military Institute here to , the day of his dealth, and I helped to bury him." aft* ' He told me how the soldiers loved him? : ;how mysterious and silent he was^j and he described with something of awe in his strange ? fashion he had, at unexpected moments, of lifting his hands toward heaven as if in prayer. i Getting over the stile again, I took one last i look back at the cypress trees weeping in si, lence under the dismal sky, I had hardly gqfc into the road when a change, came over the . scene. The clouds parted suddenly, and .the {>ale sun flashed forth in silver from a sky of rquid blue, flooding the land with light. , ? MARRIAGE. In olden times, says a Frenchman, who, with the usual assurance of his countrymen, pretends to know something about women, feI male beauty was so fascinating that it was a certain means of securing a husband. Now a-days, he adds, men have reflected Upon the i- subject, and it is seldom that a girl is married p for her personal attractions,whatever they ;?*y be; so she runs a great risk of always hepp* - ing her honorable title of maid, ifher parents , are not rich enough to pay a handsome sum, I t/v AfiTTrp orflllnnt- rvr nthftr tn fhancG It into that ofcSifc* T""~-' ?!"?r :!;7. > It is an accident, or in fact a sort of prbdigy, t when a man marries a woman solely fbr hfcr \ beauty, a quality which has singularly fallen in value in onr mercenary days. If it ever should take a rise, it might be well to adopt . the Persian mode of reducing the number of , old maids. This consisted in selling the beanr tiful girls to those who were wiling to buy 1 them, and giving the amount to theingly} so i that the handsomest endowed the udies^ the f second in beauty, the second in ugliness, etc. 3 But this plan would lie, we fear, inapplicaI ble in our days, for there would be but few i bidders for the beautiful women, and the ugly, f if the money'was to go with them, would be s the only ones to find taken. Seriously, con tinues our Frenchman, who, it must be borne ! in mind, is speaking of France and not of tjie i-; United States, marriage is tending to disape ; pear from our social habits. The number of II old maids, especially of the middle class, is ; increasing daily. e | A laborer or mechanic has no difficulty in I getting married, for his wife takes her share of I. work. In such a case, matrimony is a joint II stock association. The working man, spends 11 less when married than single. His' clothes e ! being made and kept in repair at home, and I! the more wholesome and less expensive nour ishment more than compensates for any additional expense of having sno^er^powqp to provide for. this, weneiea not say, alludes to France, and may be morfc oHess true, as we hope it' js, to our own ooimtry. . . i; j Among the rich, especially, where the women bring a handsome dowry, marriage is also possible; but in the middle class how can, it he riow-a-dajsJ : All the young girls are brought up in the same way. Each one is so exclusively adapted for tfce great prize, that there are none, suitable for tne interior ones. luxuries of life. All kinds of equality have been tried at various times; but one only has been retejaed^andjhitthe most dangerous Every girl is brought up with the idea that Bhe will draw in the'lottery of marriage s first prize. It is imagined that style hwviiecomplishments will make up for a want of fortune. it is a mistake: tfiev will only nftke it more i necessary, in fact, absolutely indispensable. ' Alarritg?fcthegreatest/WWyi*/mancan i iwuglaup "*?w?- J ao longer any. marked distinctions as far ps < expense is concerned, and that thestandard of necessary living is fixed according to that^of the richest, a man must indeed be greatly in love if be does not hesitate before the "mountain of velvet, silk and jewelry" that he must , consume all his days in accomplishing, in order that his wife may beproperly^ drmed. . For men of'.this class woman is not a companion to take a share, in proportion to her strength, of the common careeand labors of life, but an idol that he must pass his days in adorning for the admiration of others. A poor man who marries such a woman without a dowry would be capable of buying a horse which nad to be fed upon topazes and emeralds instead of oats. So it is now rare to find a husband , of the kind, find will be impossible. This is what they are coming to in France, according to a very good authority. CHEERFUL COMPANY. A well-known citizen of Hartford, Connecticut, a few days ago, hod taken hisseat in the afternoon train for Providence, when a small, weazen-faced, elderly man, having the appearance of a well to do farmer, Came into tee car, looking for a seat The gentleman good-naturedly made room for him by .his side?, -find the ola man looked hitn over inom head to, foot : "Going to Ptovidence ?"*he skid, at length.' "No, sir," the stranger a'nsweibd politely;; "I stop at Andever." " ' "I want to. kriow! I belong out that way myself. Expect to stay long? , ?<rk_i ? \juiy uvw ui^ut, ou* lt-, A short pause. "Didyou cal'Iate to put up at the tavern ?" "No,' sir; I expect to stop with Mr. Skinner. "What, Job Skinner's ? Deacon Job?lives in a little brown house oh the old pike ? Or, mebbe it's his brother's ?. )Vae, it Tim Skinner's?&aus re Tim's?where youwasgoing ?'' "YCs, said the gentleman, smiling, "it was Squire Tim's." "Dew tell if you are going there to stop over night! Any connection of liis'n ?" "No, Siri'?.*; >. . . i; "Well, now that's curus. The old man ain't got into trouble nor nothin' has he flowering his v6i<$; aIhTt goin' lb serve a writ on him, be ye?" "Oh! no, nothing of the kind." "Glad on't. Nonarm intulrin'.I 'spose. I reckon Miss Skinner's some connection of your'n?" "No," said the gentleman. Then seeing the amused expression on the faces of two or three acquaintances in the neighboring seats, he added, in a confidential tone: "I am going to see Squire Skinner's daughter." "Law Bakes 1" said the old man, his face quivering with curiosity. "That's it, is it ? I want to Know! Goin' to see Mirandy Skinner, be ye? Well, Mirandy's a nice gal? kinder hombly, and long favored, but smart to work, they say, and I zness you're about the right age for her/too. Kep company together kmg7"> li'lf. "I never saw her in. my life, sir." j "How you talk! Somebody's gin her & re-. commend, I 'spose, and you're goin elear out there to take a squint at her! Wa'gl, I must say there's afi likely gal? in Andover 'as Mirandy Skinner. ' I've got a family of growed up darters myself. Never was married afore, ye ? Don't see no weed on your hat" "I have been married about fifteen years, sir. I have a strife and five children." And then, as the long-restrained mirth of the listeners to this dialoguebqrst forth at the old man's openmouthed astonishment, he hastened to explain': "I am a doctor, my good friend, and Sqtliri Skinner called at my office this morning to reqtest my professional services for bis sick daughter. "Wa'al now ?" and the old man waddled off into the next car. . _ . ?. ? t? ? > ?>>' Antidotes fob T0B4.cco.rr-A society has been formed in Paris to put a stop to the use of tobacco. Laymen can become members of it on payment of five francs, and churchmen by paying one franc. Wh'eth'erthe differenfce in the admission fees indicate* that the clergy will receive lees benefit :frdm the protective or restorative influences of the society, or that they are greater suflerers from the use of the weed, and therefore special.inducements are held out for their reformation,, does not appear. A French magazine says that' for one Buffering from excessive indulgence in tobacco it Js sufficient to drink a cup of strong coffee without milk; the coffee is said to be an antidote to nicotine. The government tasters in France, it is said, who ate obliged . to smoke an inordinate number of cigars, find that when their nerves are shaken .sind their taste impaired by excess, take some strong coffee, and immediately find that their delicacy of discrimination is restored, and they are able to go on with trials. The Turks would seem to have found out this secret long ago. They smoke and drink coffee alter* nately, and thus save their nerves and their taste, as the dangerous properties of each, it is to be presumed, counteract those of the : other.' A writer in Ltpptaeoffr Magtuine says that there is another remedy ibr excessive ' smoking, namely: the free use of fruit After smoking all the evening, he eats two or three apples, or as many bnnches of grapes, and finds himself in the morning none the worse for his tobacco or his fruit. Still another remedy, not so easy for habitual users of to* bacco, but invariably effectual if persistently followed up, is to abstain fiora the weed entirely. Those who find themselves suffering from its effects, had better try this first. 16T There are two little arteries which supply the whole face with blood, one on each ' sicte;'these branch off1 from the main arteries on each side of the wind-pipe, and, running upward toward the eyes, pass over the oiitside of the jawbone about two-thirds of the way back from the chin to the angle of the jaw under the ear. Each of these arteries, of '; course, supplies iust one-half of the face, the nose being the dividing line; the left nostril is supplied with blood from the left artery. Now suppose your nose bleeds by the right nostril, with the end of the fore finger feel ; along the outer edge of the right jaw until i you feel the beating of the artery directly unt der your finger, the same as the pulse in youi wrist, then press the finger hard upon it, thus getting the little fellow in a tight place between | your little finget and the jaw-boHe* (Theresuit will bethj¬a drop oi blood goof into the side of your&ee while.the puoshiro cm* tinues; hence the nose instantly stops Weed* ing &r(TM?ito/.Wt>od t() fltoiw continue the pressure for, five or ten miiwtep, "W tiie:ruy> tared yepeels inthe nose will by that tune contract so tjiat when yon let the blood into them they will not leak. Bleeding froifl a cut'or wound anywhere about "the faeie may be 8topped-ii.tiie same way. J] .. ^7?. % Action of the Heart.?AppletonVJouv: nal says that the, effect of everything that touches the heart is multiplied by themtentir ty of the heart's own changes 'Henceit Sstha't it is so' sensitive; so true and quick ah, index of the body's'State.' Heiice, alio, it is that if never wearies.. Let me remind yon .of 'the work done bT cmr hearta in a day. 'Mj? man's total outward work, his whbld effect ' upon the world, in twenty-four houxs; has beenreckbned at about three hundred ahd fifbr foot-lam. That ftito sayi'if aU the' pulses'of d da^ and night couldbe conoenttated and wedded into one great throb that ferefr <|rtaMboeiiti<Mtlr er weary. Many of us are tired after our feeble labors; few of uscan hold a pOker out at ana's length without, after ?:few minutes* :droppwgiL But a healthy heart, and mBhyaMTOBorod heart, too?though sometimes yon can tell in the evening, by its stroke, that, it hp been thrown off its balance by t^e turmoils .am) worries of life?goes on beating through the night while we are asleep, and whefLw?rewaka in the morning we find.it |rt,fork, fifesh.asjf it had only just begun to beat It does this because upon each stroke 6t Wdrt there follov^. a period, it' brief but k' tCaT period, of rest; because the hejrt trtrbke whhii Comes fit. but the natural sequence of thkt rest1, and made to match'ft; becatlse, in fiu^ eph bealt; is, in force, in scope, in character, In everything, the timpleexprtsskm of th'd hehiVs own energy and state, >iiti?> ifhtui,! *>di w. .!' ?' , '4 m V1 ? I Alaska.?General George H.' Thomas' report of his trip to Altoka appears among the documents which accompany the Secretary of War's report The rollowfag is Wnat fie sayi "I see no immediate prospect of ithe country being settled. The climate is.^rigidti; Xhew is too much rain and tmr tural purposes, , ^tmost^tj^ewfp there sMSi length of time. lEe ^pture ofthe. climate. is so'gfreat, these vegetable^ continue io; grow but do not ripen. The p&me difficulty has attended all attempts' to1! raise barter, oats or wheat The ttalk grogs'green and mih. but the seed does not come to maturity or ri?e^.' There is comparatively Httle land saitable fbr agriculture.' The soil -S an llltiviil san&jf. loam, Terr rich and deep; 'but thi Bummer, though pleasant while ft lasts, ^ is < not long enough for anccearful fiamingi - ' Tliongh the! timber is< of the: finest quality, and in many places conveniently located, stall tbesiipply m > Oregon,] Washington Territory and'J Columbia, is equuUieOodf and Abhodflit, M( much better located; for a iparket .The fishing banks along the North-Eastern coast of , theJUeutipq peninsula and islmdaaramr. extensivennd txwmtifal, and salmon abounds * I in all the streams* There are many localities of coal, but. the remarks as to the supply of | timber around the Puget Sound couptnaswill also apply to coal The United States Geasti. Survey, reports a large deposit of iron ore, and , gold has been reported .in several places, but is not found in quantities sufficient to encoarage minere." .. ,.l ...ii Christ's Preaching.?How . did Chrii*! preach the gospel ? He forbade family quarrels. He warned his hearers against the eyfl practices of the Scribes and Pharisees. He bade no one to come upto the Tenrtdfe to1 Wo^'' ship till ho bad paid his just debt*." "He not' only enjoined upon theta not to1 coramii adultery, but told them wbtf' the fftst step in adultery was, that might it' talked to them' about their families, and their lawsuits, and their habit of borrowing. He told them how they should accost people in the streets; when they should giVe, Unci ho#' they should give it ; bow they sboOld'keep" fast-day. He tqid thetffjtost 1h*W religion both' OM/J rliniv IlllllimilltlilUi upou I licit UUDUlOa (U1U tuui owwutHvawi He bade them, not to backdriteor slhnder. He warned them againsi preachers vrtm cam* > preaching fdse doctrines. Common things he discussed in common language* stdivehing his discourse with pungent questionings, illustrating it by numerous stories^ 'and garnishing it with vivid end beautiful piotates dnitnl from Summer fields andi humbler homes.' Through it all sang the tender tone,of Jove? pity for the suffering, strength &f,.jhg jreak, trust and comfort tor the poor. ; $0 wonder the people were astonished at his doctrines, and when he came down ffow the mountain, great multitudes follow^ him,.;; niatno't Hi* I t 1 iT>. * *;.!?!/.1 Jil'i ItS ;'t l'? Saturday night.-^saturday night makes people human, sets their hearts to beating soft* iy, as they used to d<J, before the world turn* v ed them Into yrar drums And'jArred thedT to, pieces with tatttoos. The ledger1 doses With a elfish, the iiun-doored vaults come Jo With a bang, up go the shutters with A'Will, elicit. goes the key in the lock.It iaSAtdfday night, ndMHea breathes free .gain" HomeSaiiJ,,' ho! The door that has' been &jai all (S, week gently closes behind him, the world 'is all shut out. Shut out ? Shut in, rathef. Here are his treasures after all, and Win the vault, and not in the book?cAve therecotd fn the old family Bible?and not in tbebank. Mhybe you are a bachelor, frosty and forty. Then, poor fellow, Saturday night is nothing to you, just as yon are nothing to anybody? Get a wife, black-eyed or bine-eyed; but Above all, true-eyed. Get a little home?no matter how little?'i sofa, just to hold two ortwoand half And tHen tret the two or two' and a half in fr of a Saturday night, and theft read ? this paragraph by the light of your wife's eyes, and thank God and take courage, .... 3 ft?i rj i . . A Siif^pLAB Fact,?"The peaoh was originally a poisonous almond. Its fleshy pattoi were usea to poison arrows, and. the.frui* for this purpose introducedi^utO Persia.. The i transportation and cultivation, howeyer, not only removed its poisonous qualities, outproduced the delicious fruit we nowtraqyl" . .j We take the above from W^P9%S, azine of * the ' 20th of January, jjjj 69^ We have often Heard, it said that the-'p anting of a peach-stone on this island would pfoduco the almond, such as may be seen' in ttavjJuf: torii-house grounds oh the island, and insev*, eral of the vards occupied by citizens^ Some eighteen months' ago, we planted two peach-stones as an ejtpdrihient fbr raising the peach on this' island.' We how have, in Ueu" ' of the pehifch', the1 cbarse, haid-8tone almond/ similar to those above mentioned. t We are not aware of any poisonous qualitiesin this almond; Although'we: have heard of children ' having'died from the eflfect of eating, iheih,' i which might have occurred fr^m ehtlng idmoat any other green fruit in earcetk'vWe have'ekten the fruit burself, withoat'Jiavibg ;l been poisoned. Can any of dur friends throw I light upon the subject P?Keg W<& Lhpatck. ?= * * * J6F A cruel man out West, speaking.of the singing of the village choir, says ib "is like i drift-wood in a stream?it drags on the bars, i yet don't amount to a dam." .1m