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r v WE [W A T^MWITT? Tf ^ A WWT^T5) ' ua US^lA' ui uLsLkljj?tjjj s TWO DOLLARS PER ANNUM.] "THE PUXOE OP XjHSJuitT-ST is ETEnwAij -u-iG-xSj-A-Kroia." [PAYABLE IN ADVANC? BY DAVIS & CREWS. ABBEVILLE, S. C., THURSDAY MORNING, SEPTEMBER 2!), 1859. VOL. XVI ...NO. 23. From Household Worth, THE UNWELCOME COMPANION. AN INCIDENT IN TIIK L1FK OF MDLI.K CI.AIHON. The occurrence related in the letter which \vo arc about to quote is a remarkable instance of those apparently supernatural visitations, which it has been found so difficult, jf not impossible, to explain and account for. It iloes not appear to have been known to Scott, Brewster, or any other English writer, who has collected and endeavored to expound those ghostly phenomena. Clairon was the greatest tragedian that ftver appeared on tlic Frcncli stage, holding on it a supremacy similar to thnt tif Siddons on our own. She was a woman bf powerful intellect, and had the merit of effecting a complete revolution in the trench sdiool of tiaj^ic acting subslitut ing an easy varied and natural delivery for the stilted and monotonous declama tion tfhich had til! then prevailed, and being tlic first to consult classic taste and propriety of costume. Iler mind was cultivated by habits of intimacy with the most distinguished men ol her day: and she was one of tlic most brilliant ornament of those literary circles which the contemporary memoir writers described in such glowing colors. In an age of corruption, unparalleled in modern times, Mademoiselle Clairon was not proof against the temptations to which her position exposed her. But a lofty spirit and some religious pi inciples which she retained amidst a generation of infidels and scoUers, saved her fivm degrading vices, and enabled her Lo spend an old age, protracted beyond tlio usual period of human life, in respectability and honor. She died in 1803, at the ago of eighty. She was nearly seveuty when tlie following letter was written. It was addressed to M. Henri Meister. a man of some eminence among the literati of that period?the associate of Dideiot, Grimm, D'llolbach, M. and Madame Xecker, etc., and the colloLorattier of Qrimm in his famous corres. pondence.1 This gentleman was Clairon's literary executorhaving been intrusted with ber memoirs, written by herself, ami pu' lislieiJ after her death. With th is preface we give Mademoiselle Clairon's narrative, written in her old agoi of an occurrence which bad taken place half a century before. * In 1743, my youth and my success on the stage bad drawn around me a good many admirers. M. de S the son of a merchant in lirittanny, about thirty years old, handsome, and possessed of considerable talent, w as one of those who were most strongly attached to me. 11 is conversation and manners were those of a man of education and good society, and the reserve and timidity w hich distinguished his ultitiilinn niK'l" I ?.?iuiikivM ?*tnv?w *% iu?ui(n;iii l II l|?l L'naiU II V711 mo. After a green room acquaintance of some time, 1 permitted him to visit me at my liouse, but a letter knowledge of bis situation and character was not to its advantage. Ashamed of being only a lourgeois, he was squandering his fortune at Paris under an assumed title. His temper was severe and gloomy ; he knew mankind too well, lie saiil, not to despise and avoid them. Ho wished to see no one but me and desired from me, in return, a similar sacrifice of the world. 1 saw from this time, the necessity for his own sake as well as mine, of destroying his hopes by reduc ing our intercourse to terms of less inti macy. My behavior-brought upon biin a violent illness, during which I showed him every mark of friendly interest, but I firmJy refused to deviate from the course which I had adopted. My steadiness only deepened his wound : and unhappily, at this time, a treacherous relative to whom he had intrusted the management of hie affairs, took advantage of his helpless condition by robbing him, and leaving him 60 desti tute that, he was obliged to accept the little money I had for his subsistence, and the attendance which his condition required. You must feel, my dear friend, the importance of never revealing this secret. I respect his memory, and I would not expose him to the instilling pity of the world. Preserve, then, tli& religious silence which, after many years, I now break for the first time. At longth ho recovered his property, but never his health; and thinking I was doincr him a service bv keeninfr him at a distance from rae, I constantly refused to receive either his letters or hts visits. > 'Two years and a half elapsed between this period and his death. lie 6ent to beg me to see him once more in his last moments, but I thought it necessary not to comply with bis wish. lie died, having with him only his domestics and an old lady his solo companion for a long time. He lodged at that time on tho ltampart, near tho Chaussee d'Antin; I resided in tlio Rue do Bussey, near the Abbey St. Germain. My mother lived witU. me, and that night we had a little party to supper. We were very gay, and I was singing a lively air, when the clock struck eleven^ and the sound was succeeded by a long and piercing cry of unearthly horror. The company looked aghast; I fainted, and remained for a quarter of an hour totally insensible. Wo then began to reason about the nature of 60 frightful a sound, and it was agreed to set a watch in the street in ease it were repeated. ) It was repeated very often. All our servants, my friends, my neighbors, and even tho police, heard the same cry, always at the same hour, always proceeding from under my windows, and appearing to come from tho empty air. I could not doubt that it was meant entirely for me. I rarely supped abroad ; but tho nights I did so, nothing was heard ; and several times when I camo home, and was asking my motherland servants if they had heard anything, it suddenly burst forth as if in the midst of us. One night, tho President do 1$ ' at whoso house I had supped, desired to see me safely homo. While ho was bidding me ' good night' at my door, the cry broke out seemingly between him and me* lie, like all Paris, was awarc'of tho stoiv; but lie was so horrified that his servants lifted him into liis carriage more dead tlian alive. ' Another time I asked my comrade, llosely, to accompany me to the line St. llonore, to choose some stud's, and then pay a visit to Mademoiselle de St. 1' , who lived near tho Porte St. Denis. My ghost story (as it was called) was the subject of our whole conversation. This intelligent young man was struck b\' my adventure, though he did not believe there was anything supernatural in it. llo pressed me to evoke the phantom, promising to believe it it answered my call. Willi weak au- i dacity I complied; and suddenly tho cry ' was heard three times with fearful loudness i and rapidity. When we ai lived at our friend's door, both of us were found senseless in the carriage. < ' After tliis scene I remained for some months without hearing anything. I thought it was all over, but I was mis- i taken. 4 All the public performances had been transfered to Versailles on account of the marriage of the l>aupliiit. We were to pass three days there, but sufficient lodgings were not provided for us. Madame Grandval had no apartment and I ottered to share with her the room with two beds which had been assigned to me in the avenue of St. Cloud. I gave her one of the beils and took the other. While iny maid was undressing to lie down beside me, 1 said to her, 4 We are at the world's end here, and it is dreadful weather; the cry would be somewhat mizzled to "et nt us.' I A - - O "" * Iii ;i inomcnt it rang through the roomMadame Grandval ran in her night dress from top to bottom of the house, in which nubody closed an eye for the rest of the r.ight. This, however, was the last time the cry was heard. ' Seven or eight days afterward, while I was chatting with my usual evening circle, Lho sound of tlie clock striking eleven was followed by the report of a gun lired at one of the windows. We all heard the noise, we all saw the fire, yet the window was undamaged. We concluded lhalsoino oue sought my life, and tlial it was necessary to take precautions against another attempt, '^lie Intendant des Melius Plaisirs, who was present, flew to the house of his friend, M. de Marville, the Lieutenant of Police. The houses opposite mine were instantly searched, and for several days were guarded from top to bottom. My house was closely examined; ihe street was filled with spies in all possible disguises, But notwithstanding this vigilance, the same explosion was heard and seen for three whole mouths, uhvays at the Bame licur, and at the same window pane, widiout any one being able lo discover whence it proceeded. This fact stunds recorded in the registers of the police. 'Nothing was heard for some days; but having been invited bv MadfitnoisnHn Dumesnil, the celebrated tragedienne, to join a, little evening parly at her house near the lurricrc Llanche, I got into a hackney coach at 11 o'clock with my maid. It was clear moonlight as wo passed along the Boulevards, which were then thinning to be studded with houses. Whilo we were looking at the half-finished builuingfl, my maid said, ' Was it not in this neighborhood that M. de S died V ' From what I have heard,' I answered,11 think it should bo there,' pointing with my finger to a house beforo us. From that house came the same gunshot that I heard before. It seemed to traverse our carriage, and the coachman set off at full speed, thinking we were attacked by robbers. We arrived at Mademoiselle Dumcsnil's in a statu of the utmost terror, a feeling I did not get rid of for a long time,' Mademoiselle Clairon gives some further details similar,to the above, and adds that the noises finally censed in about two years and a half. A miller, meeting a half-witted lad ono day, Said to him: 'Well, Tom, does theo know what beest thou thinking on V To which Tom replied : ' I knows what I know, and I knows what I donna know.' How is that?' quoth the miller, 'I never heard of a man as knowed what he did not know.* 4 O,' rejoined Tom, it's all right. I know you hn* many fat pigs, but. 1. dunna know whoso corn you feed ihem-1 oo v Exit wilier with u Ilea in hiS^f. 12 ?! ? 4 From the Phllwl' Iji/tta J'rcsx. GOSSIP ABOUT TOM MOORE. Moore had n higher nll'uotion for his own family, in liis most tuft limiting fancy, lie ever cherished for princess, peers, and highborn ladies, lie was as good a son, brother and father as ever blcathed? While his mother lived, and pIio Win lifty-thrco when j she died, Moore wiote to her twieo a week, i no matter what were the other claims upon I his time, lie was not ashamed of his lowly origin among his aristocratic friends. There is an anecdote, not related by Lord John Russell, that when Moore lir.-t sat at table at the Carlton House, the gue^t of the Prince of Wales, charming all by his companionable society,his 1 loyal Highness remarket!, " I suppose, Mr. Moon;, you are of the same family as the Mar<pisofj Uogheda ?" The poet's answer was: " No; i my father sells wine, spirits and groceries, j in a little store at the corner of Aungier street, Dublin." The I'rince immediately looked round tho tahle, saw some of the guests smiling at the brusque veracity of the little Irishman, and called out in his most impressive manner, " Let us drink a bumper to the health of Mr. Moore's father; I am sure he must be a very excellent gentleman." It may be that a scene not much unlike this occurred at the l'rince's table, in which Curran distinguished him - ! self, as Moore did by his candor. A dis- | cussion had arisen as to tho comparative | status of each profession, and Curran hap- j pily concluded it by giving tho preference j to the law, " which," ho added, " has j enabled tho son of an Irish peasant to sit j lib m<j uiuiu ui iii? |?riuce. " Xor in considering Moore's character, I should it ho forgotten that as a husband his conduct was not only wholly unexceptional, but always affectionate, considerate, reliant ami kind-lienrted. It is not worth while to tracc back the circumstances of the courtship, but the marriage was one of passionate love on both sides. Neither seems ever to liavo given the other any cause to regret the formation of the life lies which hound them. Mrs. Moore, (whose death occurred only few weeks ago) was a beautiful and charming wrtnian, who went very little into society, but conciliated the good will and kind regard of all who knew lif.r Tl..? n..lv f... a 11 ^ .. . X/...J tvsi vvui|<iaiut AIIC WiUUlM lisivo felt, was Moore's too frequently leaving her, while lie 11 uttered about in the gay and fashionable circles in which ha ao much delighted. Nor indeed should all the hlamc bo attached to Moore himself.? Ilis celebrity as a writer, his flashing wit and thorough geniality in society ; and above all, the singular fascination of his singing, contributed to inalce hint not only acceptable, but a most desirable guest in the highest and most fashionable circles of London. Living as he did in the country, yet within twenty minutes walk of IJowood, the Marquis of Lansdowne's splendid and hospitable country scat, Mooro was as much involved in high life as he would have been in London. For the Marquis of Lansdowne is a nobleman of immense wealth, and so mucii political power as to mako him a partisan, who, tho' lie cared not for place, used to gather around liim in the country, tho elite of all that was exalted, talented, and fashionable among his own class, and on his side of politics,tand also the whig opposition. Among these, Moore became completely at home, while his dear> st llessy would remain in their pretty cottage at Sloperton, contented among her children, and practicing tho most rigid economy to make both cuds meet. ]Jy the way, as wc have mentioned Mrs. Moore, let us here give an epigram upon here, written in 1815. Moore's first two children were females, Anastatia and Barbara. Announcing the birth of the third, in a letter to Tower, his musical publisher, August, 1814, Moore wrote,- "I think you will not grudge ten pence (postage:) for the intelligence of Jiessy's safely; it would bo worth twenty pence, if I had a boy ?/v !--? ? 1 >v nuuvuiibe lu JTUU, UUl UIIIUCKliy 11 is another girl." At tlie tiino of this occurence at Maryland cottage, Derbyshire, Mr. Josephine Atkinson, one of Moore's oldest and truest friend)*, was in the neighborhood, at Mattock, and he wrote the following, which was not given by Lord John Russell, nor indeed, do wo ever recollect to have seen it in print: I'm sorry, dear Moore, there's a damp to your joy, Nor think my old strain of ray theology stupid, AVhen I say that your wife had a right to a boy? For Venus is nothing without a young Cupid. But since Fate the Loon that you wished Tor re fuses, And granted three girls to your happy embraces, lie meant when you wandered abroad with the Muses, That your wife eliouhl be circled at home with the Graces." A * Joe, wby were you out so late last nigbt?' It wasn't so very late?only a quarter of How dare you sit tbero aud tell me lliat He ? I was awake when you came in, and looked at u*y watcli?it was 3 o'clock-.' VV<^ isu't.3 a quarter .of 12?'Hear no ill of a friend, nor speak any of an enemy ; believe not all you bear; aud ayp&tr what you are. !' i't THE CURSE OK PROSPERITY. It is on? of the saddest features in li man nature, that mankind generally t moro capable of bearing adversity th prosperity. When smitten by misfurltti man displays a patient fortitude that mal him an object of admiration ; lust if 1 course be uninterruptedly prosperous, becomes elated and pulled up with hnugli pride. It is strange, too, that those w have once endured the frowns of furlu arc most easily spoiled by her favors, might be supposed that their experien would leach them meekness and huniilit but is is rarely so. One who is suddei: elevated from a low estate drops his p ticnce, and often too many of his otli virtues, as bad ires of his de"r:id:itt?>n_ ;< puts on characteristics which he doei more befitting his new position. They ; like plants which, in the frigid zone, h:i so conformed themselves to the dim: that they are able to pass uninjured throw all its rigors; but transferred to th<- trop tli03* lose all their hardness, ami bccoi more delicate than the creeping annuj that never knew a chilling breath. We every day see illustrations of tl strange feature in our constitution. fi?r instance, that man who bears hims with such scornful pride, as if he thou^ the world could not boast his peer. Wh he moves amid a crowd of his follow-in he holds his head as one might do wl walked amongloadsand all kinds ofdisgu ing reptiles. You read in bis countcnati plainly enough thai lie ilcems himself lor ed of a purer clay than these coinm mortals. lie treads as if the ground w< too vile for his touch ; he speaks and acts if there was a fascinating eloquence in he says; a peculiar majesty in all he do That man was once poor, and then no could surpass him in complaisance and ; fabililv. lie had a smile and pleas; word for everybody, and with lawtii sycophancy, licked llio bouts of some win he now deigns to patronize. Hut it v his luck to marry a rich wife, and her g< has r-o wrought upon his conslition that finds it very unwholesome to bow politt to all whom ho meets on the streets, or stoop down and then lo press the roil hand of an honest laborer. AVhen he b comes a candidate for Congress?fur thinks his wife's money can carry him tin ?he will perhaps do those things; I now he is cold and still', moving along mechanically as a puppet skeleton stru upon wires. There is a ladv nrraj'cd in a splen< attire of silk and jewelry, upon whose f; pride an J haughtiness are as plainly wrilt as if they were printed. She is now ri and fashionable, and the " best circle" proud to claim her as a member. ]Jut was not always so. She was once an hu blc dress maker, and then all admired t patient and honest industry with whi she toiled for her bread. Her conduct home and abroad was, so far asau oi<Eeri could see, marked by a most commend ble propriety. Uut now all is changed. She married a rich man, and threw aw the little iustrumelit with which she h kej>t want and suftetinjj from her door. See now associates with those, the hems wnose garments sue was not prcvjoui worthy to loticli. Put where are tho who, in her days of poverty, gave 1 work and encouragement' She kito them not. They are not of her "set," a she passes them with a cold stare that sei the hot blood to the cheek, hut forbids recognition. Prosperity has changed 1 heart, as well as turned her head. We might go on endlessly, cnumeiati the transformations for the worse wli prosperity produces ; but let these snfli In all such instances it is a curse, and no blessing. The gratification which it fords the individual is more than balaiu uy liju which il makes in i morti! character. lieiter far it is to c< tinuo poor and honest, tlrnn, hy so sudden turn of fortune, to be Itfletl abc poverty and honesty. Neither uncxpeci adversity nor sucecss are desirable. 1 the effects are widely diflernt. Tlie fom seldom makes persons worso, but soiri times makes them better; the latter ofl takes away tho few virtues which they p sessed, and begets, in them vices to wlii they were previously strangers. It is yond all doubt, a blessing that " Life h mingled yarn?good and evil mixed 1 getber." Musical Catechism.?We find the f lowing afloat in the papers ;? YYliat is a slur !' 'Almost any remark one singer mal about another.' 'What ia a rest ?" Going out of the choir lo oat some J freshment during some time.'. 'What is called singing r l#tlu an u derstanding V 'Making timo on tho floor with yo foot.' 'What is a staccato movement ?' 'Leaving tho choir in a ha/f% becaii ono is dissatisfied with the leader.' What swell V *A professor of fnusic, iyho pretends know everything about the science, wh he can not conceal his ignorance*' In the affairs of life a man should prepared for tho journoy ho has to ma ika well as for hie ultimate destination. JEFFERSON'S WEDDING. u- The following scene is from the curly iro clays of Jefferson, in tlio New York (Jen- < Hi? tiny: I He, ''Helinda," (.jolVerson's Hist love) had I ;cs been married many years, ar.d her old ad- i lis : inirc-r was approaching thirty, when he I lie ! met with a young lady of twenty two, who ity produced a strong imprssion upon him. i ho ! She was a little above tlio medium height, '< tie slender, but elegantly formed. A fair coinIt 1 plection, with a delicate tint of the rose; ' ice I large ha/.e! eyes, full of life and feeling, ' v ; 1 and luxuriant hair of n rich, soft anburm ? ily j formed a combination of attractions which I a- | weiceminently calculated to move the heart ' icr ! of a youthful bachelor. In addition to all 1 ml . this the lady was admirably graceful; she ' ns j rode, danced and moved with elegant case, ! ire ; and sang and t-'avedon the harpsicord verv 1 ve j sweetly. Add still to these accomplish? 1 ite I incurs the possession of excellent good sense, 1 "h , very considerable cultivation, a warm, lov? ' ie'S | ing heart, and last, though not least, nota- 1 m: | ble t-ilciils fur house keeping, and it will ' d3 j not be difficult to understand how the vouth- 1 j fill Mr. Jefferson came to visit very fre? 1 ii? } <piently at the lady's resulcnce, in tlie coun* ! tv ol Charles City. It war, ealkd^The Fur- 1 elf K st,"' and tho name of the lady was Mrs. ;ht Mai t!ia Skelton. She was the daughter of (-'ii John Wayles, an eminent lawyer, and had en married in her 17th year. Mr. llatliliiirst lio j Skdton, who dying in 17GS, left his young st* j wife a widow at nineteen. As the three ice years of mourning began to expire, the in- j beautiful young lady found herself besieged on at "The Forrest" by numerous visitors. Of ' Jio these, three were favorites with the fair Mrs. as | Skull*>11, of wli*>in Mr. Thomas Jefferson all ' was one. The tradition runs that the prees. ( tenlioiis of the rivals were decided either mo | bv the musical accomplishments of the if- j young counsellor, or by the fears of his opuit | poiients. The talc is diffen-ntU' ii-lnt...! tig One version is, that the two unfortunate Jin mjutleineii encountered each other 011 Mrs. as Skel ton's door step, but hearing Mr. Jeft'er>U\ soi's violin ami voice accompanying the . lie hiily in a pathetic song, gave up the contest ily thenceforth and retired without entering, to convinced that the affair was beyond their gh control. The other story is, that all three met at he the door, and agreed that they would take . re their turns. Mr. Jefferson entered lirst, and nit the tones of the lady in singing with her as companions deprived the listeners of all ng hope. However, tins may be, it is certain that the beautiful widow consented to bolid come Mrs. Jellerson; and 011 the first day ice of .January, 1772, there was a groat festicn val at "The Forrest." F riends and kindred eh assembled far and near?there w?s froliek is ing and dancing after the abundant old it fashion?and we find from the bridegroom's 111- note-book that the servants and fidlers relic eeived fees from his especial pocket. 11 ieh snowed without, but within all was mirth at. and oniiivniAnt in ?! ? 1 ?- ' .-J.J...,..., ... >11U 11-lib <IUU wurilllll rer of tho <jreat log fires, roaring in honor of ;i- tlio occasion. Soon after tho performance ? of iho ceremony, tho bridegroom and tho ay bride set out in their carriago for "Montiad collu," where Mr. Jefferson had commenced ? building in 17G9, ju?t before the destrucof tion by fire of his patrimonial house of sly Shadwell.11 The journey was not to end se, without adventures. ler As they advanced towards the mountains, wu the snow increased in depth, and finally nd they were compelled to leave the carriage ids and proceed on their way on horseback, all Stopping to rest at 'Blenheim,' the seat of icr Col. Carter, where they found, howcvei1, no one but the overseer, they left it at sunng set, resolutely bent upon reaching Monti icn cello before night. It was eight miles (Usee. taut, and the road, which was rather a t a mountain bridle path than an honest highaf way, was encumburod with snow three foet :cd deep. .lie We may fancy the sensations of the 5n- newly wedded bride at the chill appearance mo of llio desolate landscape, as she passed >VC along the snow; but she v/as a woman of U?d courage and good sense, and did not caro for inconvenience. It wa3 late when thoy 1cr arrived, and a cheerless reception awaited IC_ them?or rather, there was no reception at Len all. The fires wero all out, the servants os" had all gone to bed, and tho place was 'ch dark and silent as tho grave. Conducting his wife to the little pavilion, which was tho 1 a only part of tho house habitablo at tho time, I o- Mr. Jefii.'rson proceeded to do the honors. ')n a shelf behind sonic books, part of ft bol j tie of wine was discovered; and this fornicd ?1" tlio supper of tlio bridegroom and the bride. ' Far from being annoyed or discomfited by their reception, however, it only served for ' JC3 a topic of jest and laughter1. The young , lady was as merry and' light-hearted as a , bird, and sent her clear voice ringing through the dreary little pavilion as gaily c? as bIio had evor done in the chcerful drawing-room of "The Forrest." Thus the loner hours of tlio winter night n? ? , * lieu away iiko minutes, winged with laugh- i ter, merriment, and soi?cj. The vigil was i nr a mirthful incident rather than a trial of ( their equanimity. They were young, and they had just been married. When hands loC arc clasped, and hearu beat close together, thcro is very ltttle gloom in darkness, and 1 (he winter nights are not ?o cold. This ' : ' littlo inoraV sentiment will Hot, I hope.be ? criticised severely as too romantic for the i)e "dignity of history." It, doubtless, clearly | - explains how a young lady afid gentleman, | both used.to every comfort and luxury, found the gloomy little pavilion in the kc? midst of llirco feet of'snow, neither .dark 1 nor cold, on that January night, ton'gvngo. j the Value of employment. Since both soul and l?oily arc made for 'J ,'xertion, tlicro is nothing mors conducive tion .o cheerfulness, the result of tiieir joint ,;'uv iiealth, than lit employment. A house be- It s reft of tenants goes to uec;>y. A vehicle ? laid up without use, rusts and moulders.? Sep] A line piece of machinery is never so sale nu., us when lubricated and moving. 1????!y a|to md soul, made for perpetual activity, int:<l .,,,v kvoik together, in order to be in good eon- | ],t lition. Of all engines, the human body is ;c;l the most amazing, l'rotn Llie days of So- |,i>,( irate, as reported by Xetiophon, philoso- i0 |?liy has been studying the mechanics, the | son ::heini.stry, llie vital forces, the adaptions, J |jn? the final calces of this structure, so fear- | ?mx fully, so wonderfully made. There is no ol . step forward to ne\r principles in physics, ? in optics, iti growth of structures, which hnil lots not find itself anticipated bv some j |;tr marvellous realization of its ideii in the I ?>,-,( liuman bodv. Considered as a working 2! gine, there is none which woiks so t l.ut .1 -- i-..? , nun ,iu uiii'j waste, ami so long, (nil i>r which contains such provisions for its ' w0 jivn repair. How every survey of tlio |,.11( skillful mechanism shows that il was made n,oi Lo move. Its central, propelling engine ?t.c, never stops, except in cases which cause jt.,_r instant dread of death, Heart lungs and ' son brains play on through all the thousand (>f 1 nights of sleep. An instinct of nature att, prompts the young to be in almost pel pet- prei ual motion. Absolute rest there is none, tlio And if, from necessity or choice, any ap- tint proach to immobility becomes the habitudo ?< of body, as is the case in some shiggi.-h |?->n and morbid natures, the result is lethargy and en<lless disturbance of the vital func- ?,c lions. This frame was made for labor. jn Equally true i6 this of the yet more sub- crrr tie because spiritual part. The soul is es- sc;l sentially active. Of a mind that docs not pj.,, milliv, nu hi,tn van torn) a lioiion. i lie I fu| human mind is made to be active. 11 is ! 0I1C inquiring, and athirst for knowledge. Its I fou active powers irresistibly seek for soma ol>? ject cn which to exert t^icmselves. Ifealtli- 1U0 ful, and moderate repose, chiefly by change mu of employment, is good ; but entire, con- ItK, tinual, unbroken <juiescense is misery.? tj,u fiever was there a more dire mistake than |j|ct that of men who abandon the honest and i useful business of life under the pretext of (]I0 rest. Unless they have singular resources ,rre in science, litcarture, or philanthropy, they sink into hebetude, weary of the everlasting holiday, let their heart corrode with sul- ' leu thoughts, and sometimes fall a prey to evil habits or premature dotage, i'hiloso- '',l' phy, no less than religion, enjoins?unless ,ne where invincible necessities fioin infirmity ^rii or ago clearly speak another language? l'ie that we should live working, and die in the l''11 harness. Hence the value of a trado m calling, anJ of working at it. I believe it MP lengthens life. I believe it staves off tribes 701 of maladies and conceits. I am sure it 1101 promotes that spring and elation of soul, without which life is a long discease. If Jusl you would find tho most wretched woman a,K in your neighborhood, look for the one who OIK has nothing to do. Unless allowed to prescribe employment, even the best physician cannot cure the valetudinary complainer.? 'ca For after all has been said, employment be- orgets cheerfulness ; and a merry heart wo doeth good like a medicine." f?r' ma Peytces of bliss in Jleaven.?Every true l)n child of God will reach heat-en, and dwell 1 there forever; but tlio scripture clearly Shii tcaclies that, although none will purchase l>y heavdn with works, nil wiil be rewarded eas according to their works. 'The more wo jun keep ourselves in love with God,'said Dr. talc A. Alexander, 'the more meet shall we bo the for the heavenly inheritance, where perfect wa; love reigns in every heart. Not only so, bui but tho richer reward will be possessed; for notwithstanding the imperfection of our ^ ( services, God is pleased to make our <rood ' 1 ? out works hero tho measure of the rev/ard he ^ ^ will bestow hcarafter. All his people are equally justified, but all will not be equally ^ glorified. 4In my Father's house aro many . . mansions,' and soino nre, doubtless, much j !* " nearer to tlic celestial throne than others life All will he happy as they arc capable of boiii" : bul the capacity of tho*o who h.ve . 3 i J God most constantly mid fervently, will ? he greater than that of thos-j who loved him less-.' 'c,,!! What an encouragement is offered by this doctrine to the cultivation of an indent 'x0I piety, and to the performance of abundaucc w'' of good works; 'Forasmutch as ye know '',e Lhatyour labor is tiot in vain in the Lord/ ow This can bo truly of no other kind of labor. ' There is no treasuro laid up for future riT use, so safe fts that which is laid up in heaven; and no labors so certainly vield lyr treasures as those performed of God.?J)r. l',c Rice. his 4 Why do you always walk with a stick ; ^ Baid Smith to llobinson, on meeting him rn tho streets; 'exceept the infirm, I re- ^ ward those who uso walking sticks as idlers, with nothing to do.' ' Quito the reverse,' replied llobinson ; * I look upon them as j ?ctive and industrious persons, who always. f?a?e something in hand I ... r . . ligl I wish- I could have seen- Jotfr gren1 pot Feat,' said a lady to a.young gentleman wha 1 tad- had a hazardous adventure 'in* the the Mammoth Cave. 'l TIiq^q they aro, mad- ant am,' said he, pointing to life pedal Cxtremi- Ion I ' ' * T P i- u ' ' tlCb A GIIEAT dnGAK. 'Iio Norton Trntincript. gives it descrip<?r u iicw orgaii, Jtist completed in tlint , ft r St. Joseph's C'tiiirelk in Albany; ays: Tliis organ, hnilt for tlic new St. .Toil's (.lli'Mvli, Albany, is the largest instruit in this country. As the clinch is ut two hundred and fifty feet lung, the f?r of tin- instrument is none too great: re may ho one or two orgahs In Ainerwliicli otiL-tiutnher this in registers of \s; l>tit, if so, the registers will be found lili 11:i 11" or inrfriiiiliil" ti??? *-? - - otv/1 ?;5| liacu iur ic mechanical purpose?such as coup;s or livimilaiils, while the number of jfl will by increased by tlie use of those miall or iiielliciciil size. This organ is the first in Xew England I upon a thirly-two fuel scab*, and, so as wo heve been able to ascertain, thd L successful one in thii to tin try. This ahum would make it superior in size j if we examine the list of the stops sailing tlie sounding of musical stops) shall find one of thirty two feet actual ?lli; live of sixteen feet, besides thred re giving the sixteen foot pitch ; seven) of eight feet, beside", three more givthe eight Ibot pitch. The size of th? nd?board, bellows, and the general plan lb.; organ are far beyond any hitherto * mi plod here. There are four d 'tie rent ssures of wind, which will account for fullness, roundness and firmness of toncf lughout the instrument. 1 Another thing which organists will ilily appreciate, is the introduction of pneumatic action; it is applied to thei at swell and pedal organs separately, and such ;i manner that the touch of the full sin, with all tlie couplings drawn, U rcely heavier than that of a grand no. Tlic advantages of this wonderincchaiiisiii will bo apparent to any Tl is said that it requires twentyr pounds pressure to play the full ori iii \ orkminster.' and certainly a rapid vemciit is out af the question where sd ch power is expended: In this instruut the organist can bring down all its ndors as easily as to make it whisper > Ariel. ' Tlio key action is reversed, so that organist faces the alter with the congalion." Only one Brick upon Another.?Edwin is one day looking at a largo building ioh they were putting up opposite to his fier'a house. IIo watched the workn from day to day r.s they carried up the jk and mortar, and then placed theitf irt ir proper ordef. Ilis father said Id i): 'lidwin, you seem to bo very much taken with the bricklayer ; pray what might i be thinking abottt ? Have you any no1 of learning the trade "No," said Edwin, smiling, "but I was t thinking what a little thing a brick iff,' 1 yet that great house is built by laying s brick upon another," 'Very true, my boy ; never forget ik it so it is with all great works. All your ruing is one little lesson added to anothII a man could walk all around the rid.it would be by putting on6 foot bfe c me ouior. lour whole lilo will be de up of one little moment after another^ :>p added to drop makes tho ocean." Learn from tlihi not to' despise littld rigs. Learn, also, not to be discouraged great labor. The greatest labor becomes y if diviiled into parts. You could not lp over a mountain, but step' by step ca yoir to the other side; J/o not fea^ refore, to attempt great things. AT-" vs remember that the whole of tho great Iding is only one brick rpon another. Lvvc.?Love makes drugery delightful \.ngei8 self, and lives for others. Love -nfris law;and leaves it behind. Not ttf iible and permitted to serve is a penalty . 3 question is not 'What must I dof , ' What may I do ?' To give pleas\iY?f Is joy. To grieve its object, is to grieve ilf. Love is the secret of the beff6f6r'<? ; and this often makes him pass in the rid as an enthusiast. It slops at notli. Mountains of difficulty are no morer it than plains. It clasps the cross and scs it. Love strengthened Mary when soldiers quaked with foar. Lovo >t lier hovering round tlio sepulchrtf uii all the disciples were scattered to ir owti homes. Love lias a joy of iU? n, which a stranger cannot understand* s fed by the unseen spfril of God, wliilet losing on an unseen Savioui. . To loser for him, is to gain it. To suffer mar? dom for Jesns, is to fee him standing at right hand of God, waiting to welcome1 servant into gJoJ'v. There is dew in one tlower and not tor >thcr, because one opens its cup and es it Wr, while Hie other close* itself audi drop runs off. God rains goodness and rcy ns wide as t^ie dQnr,/md if we lack in, it is because we will not open ouf irts to receive tlifih. ? O' .i ..!i J- r..t, I t-.L.lr'- : oh;,, s.w it jihio uiueiering mm) io a ffc*our opponent,-' to what scot do you stijw lo ljxilong l' v . i Weil, l don't Gxnclly know,' tapKedf olhtr; t>ut, to ,jd<Jge from your sil* 1 :i|>[tenn?nco, [ should think you god lo the claw generally catted j*T I*.'