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* I mmmmmmmmmmtmmmm VOL 2. . 11 tjf Inirtjjtrn dfrrftrjirise, % A REFLEX OF POPULAR EVENTS >Wr3)L!5.n^T IP. EDITOR AND PROPRIETOR. Vl payable lu advance ; $2 if delayed. tJLUBS of FIVE and upwards $1, the money la every instance to accompany tho order. ADVERTISEMENTS inserted conspicuously at tk* rates of 16 cento per square of 13 lines, and ftfl cents for each subsequent insertion. Contracts for yearly advertising ij>ade reasonable. AOKNT8. E. W. CArRj N: Vt. cor. of Walnut and Third-at, | Philadelphia, ti ditr authorized Agent. W. W. WALKER, JRi, Columbia, a C. PITER 8TRADLEY, ESQ., Flat Rook, N. C. M. PEOEN, Fairview P. O., Greenville Dis WM. C. BAILEY, Pleasant Grove, Greenville* CAPT. R. Q. ANDERSON, Cedar Falls. Greenville $tlcrtrit ^nctnj. ..... . a . From the Philadelphia American Courier. ]f\ Iff e h) o J* i q ft). LINES Oi% the Death of Mr*. Caroline Lee ffentz. F-rofre'), sweet sister?if that name from mo Be not presumption when addressed to thee, Whose light transcends my humble ray, as far, ^ep'er the glow- worm beams the evening star,? Farewell 1 If friendship's tear and fond regret Can soothe the moments ere our sun may set, . Serene indeed were thine, eould'st thou but know Ten thousand hearts would grieve and sad tears How, As o'er a continent the tidings spread: The gifed one, our favorite is dead I" Methinka 1 seo around thy death-bed stand A beautiful, but sad and silent b and. Thy failing eyes, that glance from face to fuce, Not ans reproach or look of censure trace ; But only gratitudoand sorrow And ] n thou the children?offsi>riuif of the mind. Above thy pillow see one bending there? Tie gentle "Rosa," but as bright 'TEcliur,** And by her side, with grief upon his brow, .Stands "Marcus Warlaad," ' Rosa's*' husband now, Fair "Linda's" soft bluo eyes suffuse with tears, As "Aristides*" mournful plaint she hears ; While "Robert Graham's" low and solemn voice Bids thy faint soul in heaven's pure light rejoice, fine "Tiada's" cherub boy with wouder ga.se Upon brave "Tuecnrora's" swarthy face, And with his tiny haud so vainly seek To brush Uie tear drop from his dusky cheek. Yair 'Snowbird,' "Rena," hovers near thy bed, Ilor bgght eyes dim, her blushing roses fled ; And dark-browed "Ilotuer,** new a radiant saint. Awaits the moment, when, with spirit faint And falling breath, and slowly-fading sight, Thy earth freed, being takes its upward .flight? Thai he, repentant, all his sius forgiven, May guide thee to thy future home in Heaven. YareweD, then, eiater! May oat thou calmly rest, By countless loving hearts so truly blest; Though thou are dead, thy memory will live While these thy spirit-children still can give One pleasure thrill, one sympathetic tear, To wake a thought of her who made them dear. By blessings, wafted, fettered not by siglis, Thy joyous spirit seeks its native skies; And while we mourn that earthly ties are riven, ^ There is one angel more received in Heaven. BESSIE BEECH WOOD. PiULADBLTRiA, Feb 22, 186?. JKiBwllBimma ^btcjjts. Ik Syipg fiilrl. ;< ?; IT VB8. M. A. DIKNMOS. 4Now doctor,' said a sweet faced girl, looking with confidence into the kind zkee that had bent over her so often, 'tell me is there any oertainty that 1 shall ever recover? I think not; so you see I am prepared for ill n -ifiirg"3, iiid I ?31 CC-atlBtSS!!? my. self with the question. Will yon not be candid witli me, dear Dr. Ellis f 'While there is life*?commenced the Doctor, but the frail young creature interrupted Lira, saying: 'No no, doctor, that won't do; I must l?av? your professional opinion ; and when I any that my sour* happiness, for the remnant of thia lifa will be effected by your decision, sure you will grant me tin* request.' I 'But could you bear .' 'Anything, doctor, but (hi* suspense. I am wiping to be told the exact state of the casefor, you %ee, some days I feel so really well, that my hope unduly excited, and again, when the sleepless hours and lerri bJe pain* oome, death lakes an awful shape, and frightens me out of my repose. But H I was certain'?she spoke with solemnity? 'I would teach my mint} .to dwell upon it in auok Way that my foolish fears would lea re roe.1 \-x My sweet girt,' said the doctor, taking hst wtbtod hand. 'I will grant this request You cannot certainly recover, unless some axtraordiuary providence occur*. Your life may be protracted some months yet ,bnt not sonn 1 GREEN VILLI I over a year at the farthest, bo it seems to me.' ' The pale cheek grew a shade paler, but the smile faded not on the gentle lip*. 'Thank yon doctor,' was Tier reply,#'thank you for your trust and confidence in me.? You shall see T wi|J not abuse them.* The beautiful consumptive sat alone in her large easy chair some moments after the doctor was gone. She gazed about her 011 luxuries which wealth unbounded had procured for her pleasure, and the large untroubled eve grew dim. 'Then I must die!1 said she to herself, 'and oh, this fear, not of an hereafter, but of that dread passing through the valley which shadows my hours of suffering 1 Even my religion does not dissipate tnat shrinking, shuddering fear. The impressions of ray childhood will not go away, but return with new force. And as she thus half whispered to herself, a lonely matron entered, but hurrying to her side, kicsed her fair brow. You are better to-day, child,' she said in tones of forced calmness ; 'nay, don't shake vour head eo mournfully; indeed, if you knew how much improved you appear,' and she drew a low seat towards the young girl and sat gazing in her eves with the holv love of maternity. 'Mother,' said the consumptive, as she took the nialrotTa li&fra Tn her own, there fir something I want you to do for me.' 'What is it darling? You know I would lay dowu my life for you.' For an instant the pale lip^quivcrcd; but commanding herself, tho young girl replied gently: 4I want you to talk to me of death?of my own death, which is certain soon.' 'My Amy I' was all the mother could articulate ; her voice seemed frozen by horror. os, mother; for listen a moment, it will make your poor sick child more willing to leave earth and find heaven. If you will talk daily aud cheerfully of my passing away ; if you will surround the thought with cheerfulness, and make the struggle seem pleasant to me, this strange horror with which 1 regaid it would fade away aud my mind bo drawn wholly to the better land.? It may bo a sacrifice to you, mother, hut, 1 shall learn to look forward to my deaih-bed with calmness, which I uow strive in vain to do. Will vou trv to do this, mother ?? Will you talk of it often ? Will you r?'i>e!it tlie sweet words that dying saints have spoken ? Will you speak of the smiles that repose upon theis faces, until I can think cheerfully, aiul talk without reserve of that change even as I would lie down, and put my garments by, ready to attire myself when I should awake in the fair ni<ruing? Will you tell thoso who cull to see ine never to shrink from speaking to me of death ? Will you do this, rnothor ?' The matron promised, and retired to her chamber, to shed the tears of anguish born of this request. She, too, had long felt that her child must die, but had put afar off 'the evil day.' . And in the strength of God she performed her duty. Seven months had passed, and still gentle Amy lived. The fatal crimvon burnt its uuuiu nre into ner cheek, and her eyes gleamed with the fitful Hash of disease; but about her sweet lips hovered n constant smile; she had conquered her fear of the king of terrors, aud dwelt upon departure with almost exulting joy. *1 knew through Christ I was prepared to go,' she said so her pastor ; 'I knew that there were glories in the bright world above, that the imagination cannot conceive of; yet I have shuddered from my infancy at death. The thought of dissolutioujwith its chill, and quivering breath, made me cold at my heart, and I strive to forget it but cannot. Yet, siuce you, since my mother, since nil who know ine,have made it a familiar household word? clothed it with beautiful thoughts; and surrounded it with' heavenly images, it has become lees and less terrible, till now I can hold ray hand to him who unlocks the spir it, and say, "Death, where is thy sting ?" As she spoke thus, a ray from the setting sun imaged a orown of glory upon her fair brow. Her mother and friends at that moment entered. 'Ilush,' said the pastor, with uplifted nanus, and they stood transfixed. With that last holy smile he had marked an instantaneou* change; and as he bent forward, through the lips so beautifully wreathed, there came no breath. 'Wall miorht iliA Aiftliim "Tl?#tli vhnr* it thy sting )H said the pastor, turning with tearful eyes ; "never saw I the king of terrors in so lovely a garb. How sweet she sleeps r? Aye ! sweetly still in a graveyard upon the hill side; and on the white shaft that bears her name, some loving hand has chis el led, "It Is not hard to die." A Fjbmalx Miskb.?An old lady died in Newton, N. H., lately whose property accumulated through her miserly propensities was worth f according to appraisal) ta8.419,74?about naif of the sum she was estimated to be posseeeed of. To show on what an extensive scale were some of her household arrangements, she bad 182 sheets, 63 coverlids, 60 blantets, 27 bed* with 1,200 pounds of feathers, 64 table covers and 42 handkerchief, while the whole amount of her wear' ing apparel did not exooed 910 in value. 1 Jm Jo Jill E, S. C.: THURSDAY &e 6?n?l???? iobing~?? Evei?v look you give?every word you apeak will live in some heart as a blighting shade, or cheering spirit. Every act of yours, though it be smaller than the dew drop thnt trembles on the flower, will cast its light or its shadow over your own heart ?will mingle in the dreams of joy that bless you by night, or the grim spectacle of your waking hours. You look bitterly at a friend. Years may not blot out ? tears of love m?r not the impression. That sensitive heart is still vibrating under your harsh touch, nnd the sad memory of the wrong, you yoursclfhave no power to bear. You wake in tho night to weep as you listen, not to the joyous song, but to the echo of a mournful strain, and it may never die away. A brother struck you in boyish heat. A gentle spirit whispered in your ear. Little sistor, be kind, put arms around his neck, and love him, lie wants you to. The tears are aro in his eyes, and he says that if you'll show him where ho hurt you, he'll kiss it, and make it well. You resisted that loving spirit, and your brother stole away from you Your mother told you to go and find him, for the dew was falling. You took your sun bonnet, and went out with a heavy little heart. You found him asleep on the grass, and a tear was in his face. You wanted to wipe it away widi a kiss, and tell him you were sorry. You didn't do it, for there came an angry thought?he was an ugly boy, and he sha'n't kiss me, and I won't kiss him. You waked him nnd he went into the house, with a greived little face. The next morning your mother told you that he was sick?that he had lain down on the grass nnd fallen asleep, nnd she thought hint very ill?indeed you had better not disturb him until lie was better. When yon saw him again, you told him you wero sorry, but he didn't understand you. lie tossed his little head on the pillow, and with eyes that could never know, you more, looked at you, wildly at you, and asked vou to show him where lie hurt you ?...i i.J'.I 1.1 ;? ?i ?: ?"t cillVJ lie II &I93 11 HUH llltl^i] It WVII, Oh I in that hour, how your little heart was bursting. IIo kissed you, but diu not make it well. Your mother gently led you away, and uncomforted and alone you wool to your little bed ; you went without your brother's kiss or sweet caress, and there were thorns in your pillow that night. Another night, and you sal by that brother's coffin?the fading sunlight shone on it, but it didn't shine into your heart. No, there was no light there, and your tears fell fast on that little face you wouldu't kiss. The coffin was nailed up?it was lowered into the ground?the dirt was thrown over it, you sat on the grass and wept. You have grown to be a woman?the sorrows of childhood are nearly all forgotten, but amid the gayty and joyousncss of life, you wake in the night to see a spirit. and you mark its coming by day. It in a reproachful spirit, and it says to you : "Show mo whore it hurt, and I'll kUs it and make it well." Oh f he gentle?be loving?be kind. ? - >. I lif tTrrtyrf iv/r . 3JU o ft)9 0 f b $ left) pf el*. A young man, of no ordinary promise, unhappily contracted habits of intemperance. Ilis excess spread anguish and shame through a large and most respectable circle. The earnest and kind remonstrances of his friends however, at length led him to desist; and, feeling that for him to drink was to die, he came to a solemn resolution, that he would abstain entirely for the rest of his days. Not long after, he was invited to dine, with otber young, persons at the house o?a friend. Friend / did I aay ? pardon me. He could hardly be a friend who would deliberately place on the table before one lately so lost now so marvellonsly redeemed, the treacherous instrument of his downfall. But so it was. The Tl.ie ic their fesit. He withstood the fascination, however until a Foung lady, whom he desired to please, challenged him to drink. He refused. With banter and ridicule she soon cheated him UUl U| 1JIM UUIIIV |IUI IUIU UCI VUHIIKIIgO was accepted. llo no sooner drank than be felt the demon was still alive, and thai from temporary sleep he was now waking with ten-told strength. "Now," said he to a friend who sat next to him "now 1 have tasted again, and I drink till I die." The awful piodgo was kept. Not ten days bad passed before that ill fated youth fell under the horrors of delirium tremens, and was borne to a grave of shame and dark despair. Who would envy the amotions with which that young lady, if not wholly dead to duty and to pity, retraces her part in the scene of gAjety, which smiled only to betray f?Rev. Dr. Potter. Many shine and figure away with gifts with whose spirit the Lord Jesus Christ holds no communion. Gifts are the gold of the temple; but communion with Christ is i that which sanctiAeth tho,gold. MORNING, MARCH 5 lahhotlj Trailing. Jt)e Bccepfed Ji foe. An industrious farmer, who was careful to improve his lands, hgd one field which was thickly covered with coarse gravel stones. These he wished to have removed. The work of picking these he divided among his children. He called them together and said : "Go now quickly to work, while you have time, and the weather is favorable." They all went earnestly to work, each on his ?part except Frank, who deferred his work and spent his time in all kinds of amusements with other boys. The rest finished their work before Frank had even begun with his. "When" they asked him, "do you intend to pick the stone from your part of the field ? See, we have finished our work, and you bavo not even commenced." 'O," said Frank, "is not the year long and summer is at the door. When summer has once fairly set in, 1 will do more in one day than you havo done in a whole week." As the sun rose higher in the heaven*, and the air and earth was made hot by the Dennrs, 1jb tweamo weary; for the work was now too hard for hint and drops of sweat rolled from his face when ever he made an attempt to work, and he gave up through weariness. Then h8 said to himself: "I will wait until the cool autumn time comes ; then this work will be easy to me, and I will finish it without difficulty. Thus the summer passed, and the air became cool by the winds which began to blow from the north. N'ow Frank was determined to go earnestly to work. Scarcely however, had he commenced when the fierce showers of rain drove him frequently from the field, and became wet to the house. "The showers will 9ooti cease,"' he said ; "there will bo many lovely days when once autumn with its rough storms is past, I efore the wiuter sets in." Thus spake Frank?and winter drew on l|pHcc. As the sky grew clear, the storms -ceased, and the sun shone, clearly from the cloudless heaven, he hastened again to the field, lint with what confusion did he now perceive his error, aud his folly, when it was too late. It was now impossible to pick stones, for they were frozen to the earth ! Sadly, and filled with shame, he was compelled to return to the house. What thou doest, do quickly. You will regret every delay in doi ng necessary work. The present hour is yours ; you know not whether a future one will he yours or not ! How will you once in old age be ashamed and filled with sorrow when you see that the most lovely part of your life is past, and you have not used it to proper purposes of iife. Not so your dying eyes will view, Those objects which you now pursue ; For so will heaven and hell appear When the decisive I Air is uenr. "1 Wu*i Go." A common word, and vet how full of I meaning! "The school bell is iin#i??gr," Ity iiiiiMiiii riltTer at play. "I must go." "The hour of labor has come," says the man of toil, "and I must go." "A dying parishioner has sent for ine,' says the clergyman, "and I must go." "Another weary, cheerless, thankless day calls me to the sanctum," says the editor, "and I must go !" "I have a weighty case on hand to-day, demanding nil my time and attention," says the lawyer, "and I must go I"?as if the universal motto of the age is heard, echoed and re-echoed on every side, by old and young, high and low, rich and poor, happy and i miserable. All must go, all are going, and yet the restless, heaving, surging tide of humanity is never gone. We might perhaps introduce this expressive phrase into scenes of gicater length, ami ot more tlinn ordinary interest; but having other thoughts and other duties to look after, we, too, "must go" and l>e content with sketching one or two. "Tie getting late, "saya the lover to the loved one, "and I must go; must bid fare well, for a time, to tlioae charmed, blissful hours, once more to mingle in the cares and perplexities of a busy world n Then clasping her fondly to bis bosom, and passionately pressing those sweet lips to his own, ho is gone till those happy days may return, or perchance till he may lead the gentle charmer of his life a willing captive to the hymenial altar. One short year rolls round, nnd how changed the scene 1 Again, as then, it is nigbt. A wan, pale being, of emaciated and fragile form, is lying on her dying couch. The long, weary daya, and weary nighta have pawed away, ller hours of anguish are no more. The insidious destroyer has done his work. Friends near and dear are around her?a tender huaband bends over her?but these cannot arrest the hand of disease, or postpone the parting hour. "Ilark 1 the angels are whispering, 'ootne! oomeand I must go; countless shining ones in white are waiting to welcome me. 1 mu^go!" "Farewell till we meet in hear rs ?? m !0, 1856. en !M The snowy hand falls lifeless, nerveless by her side ; a smile of ineffable sweetness and beauty rests on those pallid, marble-like features, and she is goue?gone forever I Gentle reader, like her, when the last of earth ahull come, inny you hear the welcoming angels, like her respond, "I must go !" Palmer Journal. " no C f oo l( c0 One cold morning last week, I heard the following conversation between a child and ? <v: i ...i * ... .. imcuu ?iiu *pcot me previous night in the family to which blio belonged. Said the girl to the visitor. "Whs you cold last night}" The visitor pleasantly replied, that "it was very cold when lie put his feet down in the bed, and he had to lie very crooked ail night.'' Immediately the child replied, That was because you begun crooked." Probably most persons understand the truth and fitness of the remark, who have slept ii? a cold room and a "spare bed," on a winter's night. liut the remark, so expressive as originnlly applied, is capable of a still wider application and is suggestive of some moral lessons, Look at Ihu youth, who is irregular in hie habits, and crooked in all the paths which he tnarks for his feet, and who is even now so near destruction as to be almost past recovery. lie has lost his regard for his parent*, lost his self respect, lost the confidence of his friends, lost all reverence for sacred things, and has approached to the verr verge of ruin. And as you look do you ask the cause of all this} We answer He bgun crooked. Look at that man in trade, who tells a dtliereut story to each customer, and misrepresents, and bows, uud liuiiois, and lies and says ail manner of crooked things to dispose (it ulilnli I...-. -- 1 *' v.?. nuivu tie ii.?n iur salt*, Willie I10I1C who know him believe h word be utters. Are you astonished at this, and do you inquire how one, in a Christian land, can be so perverse I We answer, lie beyun crookel. Look at that professor of religion, w ho is continually a sou ice of anxiety 10 his pastor whose conduct and feelings are as variable as the wtud ; who smiles to-day, but frowns and frets to morrow ; who is sometimes burning up with zeal,and sometimes as cold as an iceberg who is now here, now there, now this one's friend, now thuloue's friend ; who can bo as pliable as a willow, or as stubborn and stitf as the sturdy oak, and who is known to be a crooked disciple, upon whom little reliance can be had. Look at him, we say, and niaik his chiiivp ?n,l il?^*> wvu }\JU Hlftll to know wby lie is thus inconsistent and variable, our answer is, lie begun crooked, and lie will be crooked lo theeiid of his life. All Lite preaching iu the world never can get the crooks out ot him. There are straight men; the 13ible,calls lliem upright men?ao erect in all their moral beurings, thataplumbline would touch tlieui all the way from head to feet. These begun straight, and have continued as they begun. Very much depends upon the beginning. And you may know, when you see in any department of life crooked men and crooked woman, it is because they begun crooked.?Zion's Advocate }ncidei)f gt \\)& 5o3q 17e if 03P ilgi, A very pleasing and affecting incident is the following from the Gospel Banner: "As we were leaving one of the halls where several of the inmates weie moving back and forth, a woman, from some cause, was seized with a paroxyism of wrath, and followed after us with clenched tits, violent gestures, and loud vociferations. As the cioor closed finer us, she grasped the gra tings of the window, nnd scowled and fiown ed at us, and seemed in a peifect rage as she shook the bars between us We had, be fore entering, plucked a harebell?one of the sweetest flowers that bloom?and wo stopped to the window and presented it to her. Never did we see a change more instantane ous. Had we touched her with a magic wand, the etfect could not have been more wonderful. She was transformed in an instant. A smile was spread over her face? her whole attitude became one of gentleness ?and hor entire demeanor was a testimony to the power of kindness. The expression she wore as we left the place, proved to tu that a flower is more potent than s whip or club?good treatmeul bettor than strait-jackets and scourgings, and continued an opinion we long have held, that wo had rather risk our safety, and the welfare of the worst of the insane with a smile, a gentle word, a token of love, for our weapons, than to be ..?iik MvnliAra Tli.. Utl?? m?? bill the former transforms?coo veils." A DotiKOIR.?Mr. John Lawrence Uazlor, in the Louisville Times, offers to bet from 5 ,000 to $30,000 that he can Jo as follows: Jump five feet further on a dead level than any man in the United States, one foot further than any man in the world, or that he can stand flat-footed upon the earth and leap a brick wall fifteen feet high and four thick. .v ' "v '-i. iai? ii. ^ gWg^ggBWWPg NO. 45 * ?1 ^ J ! L?11 JL 11 I li 6uppolri (joulr otop Dfec^i)-' ics. The following sensible remarks, which w? find in some of our exchanges, we transfer to our columns, and would earnestly commend them to our readers in this place and the State at large. There is no truth more undeniable than that it is the bounden duty of every community to support its mechanics. They are n worthy ami indispon.sible class of men, and we find no town or village flourishing without their aid. Indeed their presence or nbscuee is always a true index of the condition of the place?whether it i . ? .vi oM?niiviug in | wealth nt?l importance or sinking into decay. Whenever we pass through a village and hear the frequent sound of the carpenter's hammer, the clink of the blacksmith'a ami!?that village we say to ourselves, is llonrishing. It cannot be otherwise, for the producers are actively eniploved, and outnumber the consumers. Whenever and wherever this is the case, the people are growing wealthy, and at the same training the rising generation to habits of iuduslry and morality. Where, if a city or village pursue the opposite of the course?neglects 1 its mechanics nnd supports those of eofne foreign town?those who can. will be compelled to go to some other place, nnd those who arc compelled by the force of circumstances to remain, will become idle nnd profligate?they will cease to produce, and be consumers?in a few years they become beggars, and their children ignorant aod vicious. If there is any truth in the assertion that I we ought, as a nation, to give the preference to domestic manufactures, the fact is equally true with regard to the community ; both are sustained by the same atgnments. If a merchant would have around hiin substantial customers, let hi in by every means in , his power, support and foster tlie mechanics (of his village, and as they-become more wealthy, their custom will increase, especially in those articles on which he makes the greatest profits, for it is undeniable, that as men become more wealthy, they also become more Insurious, and no mcrcbaut will deny that articles of luxury always afford the greatest profits. The habit 'I'"' large quantities of cheap ,*?nd half made articles of competition with our village mechanics, is short-sighted and wrong, both an regards the mechanic and consumer; and if the merchant would look further into the operation of things, he would tind that he crossed the path of his ow n interest by doing so. Let the merchant bring the case to his own door, nnd he, perhaps, may better understand it;suppose that every individual who possesses the means, and who uses in his family four or five hundred dollars worth of goods per annum, should, instead of buying of him at retail, go to some city wholesale establishment, and purchase his year's supply?w ould he uot in bitterness condemn such an illiberal course, nnd would he not say to him with truth, that he was warring against, his own interest, by destroying the business of his town and giving it to another ; nnd that his littleness would re-act upon him in double fold by the decrease of his property and business! So, in the case above instanced, could the mechanic say the same to the merchant. Wo say, then, let all classes sunnort e>irl? . ? , ! nnu UJ lllUllial exchange* keep that wealth at home, which, if necessarily expended abroad, tend to destroy the business of your neighbor, and which in turn destroys your own. Ti is if qr0 Ji foes. 4Tt is hard times.' says tha young man as he putt's a three cent cigar, or pays twenty-five cents for a circus ticket?"It's hind times, and I can't afford to take a paper." 'The times are hard,' says the man with a largo family : 'I have six children to vlotbe, I feed, and provide a school for ; T can't afford to have a newspaper.' Poor man! what a pity he does not. know that three months' schooling in n year w ith a weekly paper, is belter for his children, than six months without the paper. 'The times are hard.' sny9 the young woman. as she gives twenty cents just for a ribbon to wear around her neck?'the times are so bard, 1 cannot snberibe for your paper, though 1 like it, and should bo glad to have it.' Poor girl 1 i>ow my friendly advice to there and all others, is, to consider a pood paper a* one of # the turcggurieg of life, quite as needful to the mind as raiment and food for tho body. J'ortland Pleasure Boat. * Tite Idea of Goo.?Wherover tho religious element exists in human nutnre, the idea of God is a living fat-'. If atheism exists in. such a state, itjexists not in the understanding hut in the heart; not a conviction, hat a wish. Tiir. IIkaut.?In the worst oftimee there is still more cause to complain of an evil heart than of an evil and corrupt world. The snow-flake is one of the most cWfrwts ? and beautiful coinings of nature's laboratory The wealth of mind and heart, of fdtft and love, no change can Iftkoefrom us.