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Ailvtrti^mcnta not subjectt..contract should hare the number of insertion a marked upon them. They will bo published and obarged for till ordered out.. ill ? frlcrtri) ^artnj. ^7~ 1 1 Oh! Where are My SehoolmateeY Oh! where are my schoolmates gone f The shy, the dull and the gay; They have left me all heart-sick and lane, To drag out life's shortening day. The house yet remains where it stood. When it's mass-covered roof I first saw; The playground?my eyes 'giu to flood. When I think of lite play ground of yorel . The ^>?re, too, that pointed to truth, And the fall in its habldfng rage. So r??i I" the days of my youth? Ho small in the night uf my age. Oh ! where ft re my fclioolmiUi gone ? Do they yet toes on life's stormy wave*! Or (MMefclly sleep sli alone, 'Neath the flowers that bloom o'er their graves? ' . |.Wlist dav-dreams are mine to enjoy, As I *it and gaze into th? past, I Till again I'm ohatiged to a hoy:? Hut dreams are too airy to last. Farewell I scattered friends of my youth, Tie your memory dime these old eyes; 1 liny your thoughts, like yon spire, point to truth. And we'll talk o'er the past ia the skies. 1 ?J- ?L -J1JJ* LL ; Sin 3ntrrrsting ?tnrtj. ; from the Home Journal i THE PHANTOM BRIDE. ] 44 Wijlvott love me even beyond the tomb r The qm-stion came from the vermil- 1 lion lips of n young girl mi a-fancy IvmII in Paris during the reign of Louis XV. She was a brilliant brunette, with wbundant raven hair, and wore the Spanish veil and mantilla which she had assumed for the occasion, with all the grace of a daughter of Andalusia. Iler 1 iuterlocuter, a young -viscount of twenty, arrayed as a page of Mary Stuart, in Scotch plaid and Highland bonnet and feather, had been persuing the fair unknown all the evening with protesta tions of loCe and eternal fidelity. Ilia answer was prompt and unhositating. < 41 Yes, 1 swear u. If I die, I will dream of you in the sepulchre, and a thrill of^oy will welcome you if your f. ot but press the grass over my head." " And if 1 should die I" inquired the young girl, in a sad tone. ** It ypu should die, I will be as faithful to you dead as Iking ; and if you should Ad permitted to visit me, I will kiwi your cold,hand with a* 4??uch love as at this moment?snd he Erased io l.8? K. _ ?.!fj I ? ? -!- I - V.J I m? up* uie nine nuiio nana 01 me ueauliful tyftnUrd.". "Ah, well! I will permit vou, then, to love me. We ?hntt eee if you will ? be ooiiauuii. Farewell; we shall meet gain." ' where? whenf" demanded llie viscount, anxiously. 1 cannot" tell.? l'ur|tHD>? h*ro?perhaps else where?but ydu will see nie." And with a geaiyre which forbade him to follow her, ?ht ^ ^ dimppeaeud lit the crowd. Two year* passed, during wltich Vis count liilpb sought vainly at Mady, nt Versailles?in every place of public re ?ort?for hi* beau11ful unknown, lie M7?e gk. kmit/iiunun l?u Kirifi ami lil'A 1 many of bii countrymen, bad enl 335! the tervice of the King of Fiance. Hut a court life did not coinjHtrt very -voll with lii? slender fortune, and ho become, ere long, deeply involved in debt. " You must find aotne rich heiress," aid hie sympathizing ftienjs?it wm the Usual resource of embarrased gentlemen qftthat d?y. Hut the v count J had not fo Jtowii clung An datuejen, and was in uo mood for the March, lie. vm altered the troubit, however. Ilia uncle, who was arch b>?bop in partibut of au Assyrian cUy destroyed by the Romans, itifbrtitfd him oprr day, that it tb time for him to marry, arid that he had found a wife fbrhiro.* ?- >$% * it - I? aire rich T Ralph. . " I do not aak Ifabo ia proUy?it ia ail Urn Mine to me." I Very rich am) mr pretty." The Vtaeouet thought of hiildtiMown, and sighed; theo thought of hie credifotu, aa4 fonefled. The uncle arrang ed everything, nil when all was settled, be gave the nephew his benediction and two hundred pistoles, and >ent him oft* to Burgundy to pay his respects to N'lle de Roche Noire, whom be waa to marry-in a fortnight. A gloomy journey of several davs duration brought him at length to tfie ancient feudal manuor house of Boche Noire, situated in the heart of a forest, on a lofty rock, from which it derived its name. lie was srpeci^,., tlie grand door of the mansion was open, an'd an aged servant met him at the ilire?hhold, and conducted him tea largo hall; at the extremity of Vhich sat an old man and a yonng girl. The former, whom he divined at once to he the Baron of Roche Noire, rose at his entrance, and, saluting him in the somewhat formal fashion of the day, present ed him to his daughter lleroiiue. The latter had the delicate beauty of the flower which has unfolded under a northern sun. She was pale, with fair hair, and eyes of the deep bine of an ftnlinn ?Vv ll?w fimtr.* u?t. liwln !>>?? graceful, her lunula exquisitely shaped, and transparent as alabaster. So much the viscount Raw as lie bent low b?-fote Ida betrothed, and in spite of Ids pro fessed Indifference, he inwardly congrat ulated himself on hi* good fortune. The viscount and baron exchanged the usual reciprocal complimenta and en quiries. Ralph was accustomed to so ciety, and understood well the art of making himself agreeahle ; the baron, spite of bis seventy winters, bad no*, forgotten how to be n courtier, and llernriiife had the simple grace, the*dignity, die modesty without pronderv, of a young girl of high birth, religiously ed ucaed, but 'without any rigidity. The conversation soon l?ecainc animated and sparkling, while Ralph watched Hermine, and now and then murmured to himself, " She is charming ! blessings on my uncle for finding me a wife at once bo pretty and so rich." When sup)>?r was nnnonnced, lie of fered his hand 10 the young girl, who accepted it with a blush, while the baron led the way to die dining. It was a lofty apailiueiit, fatnidied in the massive style of I>>uis XIV., and upon die walls v/ere suspended ancient aiui ly portraits. As Ralph's eye glanced over these, it was attracted by ooe whose freshness formed a striking conI runt ii\ f liA enwil-r r*unt/uccc of lis** At* funct Barons of Roche Neire. ft. repre rented a young girl of dazzling, but foreign beauty, such as is only found under the southern skies. A more brilliant daughter of Spain never danced the fbtlero in the perfumed gardens of the Albambra. The eyes of Ralph w ere fixed immovably u(ton the canvas*; the first glance had told him that it was his long lost unknown of the fancy ball. * Come, my dear viscount," aaid the luron. "* let ua be seuted" Kalpb slatted and obeyed, then tinned bis eyes from the portrait to Her mine. In contrast with that glowing beauty she appeared to biiu utterly insipid. He made some remark about the picture. The Baron did not reply, but a cloud passed over bis face, and Mermiue turned pale, and sat silent with downcast eyes ' A chill seemed to be thrown over these three persons, just now talking so joyously. Brief remarks were made occasionally, in a constrained tone, and the *ii|>per ended almost in silence. At ita close the viscoutu made the fatigue of bis journey an excuse for leiiriitg early. Aw the Servant was conducting 11itit to .his apaiimeiil, lliev passed again through the dining lsitll. "Whose pot tail is this?" he a*ked, pointing U> the picture of the lady. The servant lie-bated. " Sjteitk !" said the viscount, inipeticandy. " It is the portrait of M'lle Fulmeii," aid the old in.m, tieinblhig. " And svliu is she ?" "The elder sister of M'lle Ilei mine." . " Hut hlio is drtved in Spanish costume" * Yes, her mother was a Spanish lady." " And Fulinen, wheie is she now |" " She is dead," said the old inan, solemnly. "She lies at the Feft of the nltar in the chapel of the ek'iUati /" Fatigue had no power thnt night to biing sleep to UalphV eyelids. It was in vain that be extinguished the can dies, and burifd bis bead tinder the blankets} the image of Kidmen still pcisued linn. Now, it wh* J*'ii|tncii ih with beauty, asdic wax representcd iii the picture, and a* he had m??ii her ht the fancy hull; again, it wax Fulmen, pate Mild cold. extended in her coffin Under the pavement of the chapel. Then he reineinbied hi* oath, to love . her as well dead a* Jiving, and u cold went bathed hi* brow. At that mo ' tnetit, it light at the opposite extremity of the apartment attracted'his attention; a door, whowe exist vine he had not sua {reeled, turned iioi?ele?>l\ on it* hinge* ; the candles relighted ih*ui?elvn* sponi tanaously, and a figure, draped in a ! wiuditig'wheot, entered the room and ! approach* d his lied. It advanced alow1 ly; the most acute ear could have detected no aottnd of footstep*. Brave as ho was, the vtwootmi trembled at lh? apparition. When the figure was within a few feet of the hud, the winding beet was thrown back, and revealed a young girJ dressed in Spanish costume. D " Fulmen !" he murmured ihe pic- r1 lure has descended from it* frame 1" I{. was indeed Fulmen, just as she g was painted, save that the lips were pale, the eve mournful, the whole ex- *1 predion uuspeaknblj? sad. a u Fulmen !" repealed the viscount, tl with a tone of terror, in which was inipgled a sort of feverish jov. *< "It is I," she said. "f>o you re- h member vour oath ? They havo told <a you mat 1 iuu dead. *i The teeth of Ralph chattered ; hut ti the voice was bo pure, ao inelodiou?, p that it aided him to shako off the torpor which was creeping over liiui. " No, you are not dead," he exclaim- ti cd, with an effort. 14 I have been dead ? year," replied g Fuhnen, sadly. They buried me in the w chapel. You can read iny epitaph on p the marble slab, the third from the high e allHr." 11 Ralph could not detach his eyes from y this singular creature, whose marvel y loua beauty countered in some degree the terror which the apparalion would otherwise have caused. u , 44 Alas I" resumed the spectre^-drap- b ing the shroud about her form with all the coquetry with which a living belle might wrap an opera cloak around her, h " I am dead, really dead, at seventeen ; y when life was full of light, and peifumc, p and music; when tears, e\en, were so sweet that they resembled smiles ; when y the present was so happy that the future v was quite forgotten. And then. I loved you. 1 trusted in your oath ; but you y did not eare for me. You have come here to marry my sister." n " Fulmeu 1 murmured Ralph, who ii felt a pang of remorse at his heart, " I V have loved you; I love you still." She shook her head. u The dead are never loved," she said, sadly. h Ralph trembled. lie felt his blood curdle in his veins, lie remembered his oath. Yet Fuhnen did not complain. She did not overwhelm him d with reproaches. She seemed resigned, si He saw her lean Iter head upon hei p hand ! a tear shone ill her eve. and a V shiver passed ihrough her frmne. fi 44 I hiii cold/* she suid, and, lising from the chair in which she had seated i herself, she approached the fiie-place, <i and bent as if to warm hen-elf by the halft-cxiinguished brands. 44 The dead t are always cold," (.lie murmured. 44 Heavens," exclaimed Ralph, 44 you are not dead; but, dead or living, you are beautiful, moie beautiful than any living woman, and I love you at on the day T first saw you." 44The dead are never loved," she re- I: peated, mournfully. 44 Hut you are not dead. The limb* fj of the dead are rigid ; the flesh corrupt; n they cmiuol apeak ; you are not d >ad ? it is i hi possible." 44 I am dead," repeated Fulmen. iu a tone of authority which admitted of no tl question ; 44 dead?and yet 1 sutler." 44 You suffer !*' the viscount exclaim- p cd. 44 Yes. Because I died with a rruiltv l< thought in my heart. I remembered li i lie hall where I met you. It was earth i ly love, not penitence, that engrossed o my last hour*. Yet, if you wuo are ii alive can love me still, God will perhaps pardon me, and I "hail sutler no longer." " I do love you,*' cried Ralph, gazing at the young girl ?o beiiuliful in her m sadness. Yet a secret voice said within him, " Ah ! if she were onlv alive I" A pale smile pas ed over the face of u lite phantom. It. rose and advanced to ward him. Ralph iuvoluuiarily shrunk < back at ita approach. | " You see," she said mournfully, "it is always so. The living fear the dead.'' r " No, no V said. he. eagerly, ashamed I of the momentary terror ; " uo, Fultntn, |i my beloved, come 1" / I She oxtended her hand, and took thai I of lite young man. Ralph uttered a try. Ilis I and was press* d hy the cold. \ clammy Angers of a corpse. She let v his hand fall. ji " No," she repeated, in a half suffo v cated voice, "You see it cannot be; ^ 1 shall auHVr always!" ' And she Aed; while Ralph was so c overwhelmed- that he had no power to speak or move. The candles went out q mhI.I. nly ; silence leigncd again in tlie n chamber; the phantom bud vanished, v Tim iiexl day dawned bright and l>??uuiif'nI. T1 e Union de Roche Noire, t who did not appear m notice the pallor > and aliMriictinii of lii? guest, projiosed a I hunt. The day whm spent in the open I air ; and if, amid the excitement of the c chase, the viscount thought of the occuriencuH of the last night, they seamed a to him only as a bewildeiiug dream,? I Hut with the return of daiknees, and as pvcially at the sight of the picture, the a apparition again seemed to him a leali i t\, and he determiued to ascertain the I, truth, l'lvading.a headache he retired I to liis room, and, extinguishing the can li dies, ha called, softly ; li Kidmen ! Fuiuien I1' There was no answer. Again he called : * Kulmeu ! 1 love you, though dead !" c Immediately the candles were re- t lighted, and Fulmen again appeared.? I She threw off her winding sheet and I i seated herself in a chair by hi* side.'? 1 i Her face bad the cadaverous paleness of s the tomb; her eye was sad; her step ? low aud painful; yet her exquisite beau- s i ty exerted the same fsstyuetion ever t In1|?li as wlieu sparkling with life Mid f? ivacity. F 44 Kidmen, I loVe yon P* lio repented, s axing at her with admiration. f * Yet if my hand should touch yotrr?,n lie replied, with a end smile, "you f -ould utter n cry as you did last night; l tie dead are always oold." "Give me your band, and you will I pe," said Halpli, extending re*olutely e is own. She took it, and again there b sine Over him the same terrible sen- s uion as before; but he bad self-con- f rol enough to conquer it, and again re- t eat: .. ( " 1 love you !M ? A bright smile illuminated the fea- * iires of Fulmen. t 44 My poor friend," she said 441 would r ladly believe yon ; but if your love rould end my hiitiering*, it must be so v rufouud, so ardent, that it can conquer p ven the desire to live. A tomb with a ie must have attractions for you. Atid ou are but twenty-two, Ralph. At our age, life is sweet." The viscount shook his head. 44To live without you is death ; to be ~ nited to you, even in the tomb, would e life." ,4Take care, my friend." 44 Of what, dear Fulmen f" exclaimed Lalpli, over whom the smile of the oung girl seemed to exercise an over- j owering fascination. 44 Do you know," she said 44 that if on utter such a wish, God may hear our prayer!'* 44 Ah 1 if he would I An eternity by our side would be infinite happiness." 44 Ralph, my fiiend," interrupted Fuluen, while a smile of celestial joy shone ii her faoe, 44 take care; you w ill die it ou love me." 44 I wish to die." 44 Hut you are betrothed to my sister." An exclamation of anger escaped ira. 441 hate her!" ho said, vehementlr. Why!" 44 Because she is alive, while you are ead. What has she done that she liotild enjoy the light of the snn, the erfume of flowers, the melody of birds ! Vas she any younger or more beautij|?" 4 Ralph, you are unjust. My sister ad no control over her destiny or une." " Vou are right, perhaps; but I swear > vou thnt I will never inarrv Hermine. wish lo l>e tour's, and . nlv your's, | * rever " " You are mad, my friend ; I cis"' ?ept lin|i|iinHM at such a sacrifice." SIih rose ^'owly. . , * Adieu, Ralph," she said, " Mar lerniine and prav for tne." " Fulmen! Fuluten ("exclaimed 1 dling on liit* knees at her feet, ot abandon me?I love) .t " But your iove is det " It is happiness. It His tones wis so ear^uelj Ital tiie young girl hes " Let niu live oleriutfou, ersisted. j j " Listen, my frien ?nrrlli Aft if ulin fVkiiM nrt hmir??r r# lis entreaties," in this ca>ket," point t. 0 o a richly carved box which stood up>n the table, " there is a phial containng a dark liquid." "And thin liquid t" 1 " Is death I" " It is happiness," exclaimed Ralph, 1 eixing the casket. 1 Fijlmen slopped him by a gesture. 4 Not yet," she said ; bv-and-by?at ' nidnigbt?but first?reflect!" Immediately the candles were extin- ' pushed, and he found himself in coin- 1 lete darkness. < If Viscount Ralph had been n French- ' nan, as soon as Fnlmen disappeared, ' ie would have opened the window. and 1 ct the cool night air play upon his ! irow. Then, the fever fit being over, * ie would ha\e said to himself: * All this ia folly, i am twenty two I ears old, an officer in the king's ser 1 ice, and am about to marry a young * fill, blond as Madonna, fair as a lily, 1 vho will bring me an income of a luin* 1 Ired thousand livres. I have only to >e quiet, and let things lake their 1 ourse." . 1 After which lie would lime sb-pt J jiiietly. and tireamed no inure of Kill j ' nen. Hul Ralph was ? ^wtebiniui ' ulli an imagination as susceptible of | 1 xulutlion an most of his countrymen of ' lie land of mountain nnd mist. As J oon as the phantom vanished. lie reiglit the candlo hy the nid of a half or- ' iiigiiiidii-d firebrand, and, opcuing the ' asket, he took out the phial. 44 Fuliiu-u ! Kuhneh ! wait fur me ! I ' mi coining!" he murmured, and swalowed the contents at a draught. For u inonieiit he experiticed a strange ' irid iuexplicahle seii>aii<>n ; n coldness 1 n the chest, a heat in the head ; thou ' lis eyes became heavy ; his limbs trein led ; an extreme languor crept over litn, and he sank ii|>on the floor, still nm iiuning faintly : Fiiltnen wait for me?I love yon." When Ralph swallowed tlx- contents >f the phial lie expected to awake in he other world, lie was mistaken.? t he phial contained only a narcotic, and ie was very much astonished on opening | lis eves, to And himself in lied, and to ?e the sun shining through the curtainsi windows. A woman sat hy the bedide. It was Fnlraen I hut no longer he pale,sad Fulnr-*t with livid lip*, and ; M >roi .^nvel?n< cl in a winding-sheet; Inn 'Uhtt*n, lVe*h, radirnt, joyJdif, in the Hnie oonttnue which she wore ?i tiie snoT-ball ?" The reader will understand the oxdanatioti of nil thin more readily than be young viscount, whose head was stilf oiuewhat confused from the effects of he narcotic. The toung girl had wish<d to |>ut the sudden passion of her all room lover* to the test; and with ouio ditliculiy she had persuaded her olid old father, and her cousin llennine 0 lend themselves to the mystification. V little ingenuity, some invisible nasi*ance, a ttansparenl glove, of seipent kin, aided hv the native superstition of he young Scotchman, were all that was iccessaiy to the success of the scheme. We need not sav that the viscount,' vhun he recovered his senses, was very ;lad to exchange his phantom bride for 1 living one. ftlistrllnnrntur Urniing. From the Georgia Tetnperauue c rueader, "I'm Tired." M I'm tired,'* said Ilie little urchin, as 10 threw down his liat and ball, and rour.d up Jtis kite slritig and went and ast himself upon the carpet at his timber's feel. " Tired of what!" asks the bnd parent, a* she gazes with maternal iride upon the prostrate foim of her iarling son, as ho seeks to regain the strength that had been wasted by en piging too freely in his boyish s]iorts. O, I'm titcd of playing with my ball, tnd driving tny hoop and flying my cite ? how I wish I was a man and had omcthiug to do besides piny with these hiugs from morning till night." u If 1 tt . 1_ _1. 1 h ... ? I i in ureo, says me scnooi uoj , as ie throws aside hi* books and escapes rom the dull routine of-school room, ind cools bis brow in tbo sparkling vaters of tlie neighboting brook?" I'm ircd of poritig over these dry studies? see no use of conjugating Latin verbs md worrying my brain with the lire oine details of Euclid. How 1 long or the manly sports pf the field, where can exercise my limbs at my will, or ango th" ** ^ady woods in search )f tho> iL that are forbidden vithi ? the school room." the bright-eyed lit le freed from the re:n^r room, and en'jt.in the ruder ? the grassy or so straight * had much ' nrlie, and fall fiom t fcml (lash V tl>e gay VeK upon / to seek 'o the clev k\ of this r.d dressing fcaori of findWorn McFliin%remo good fo Bs of a tnore M mine." ^Khnr.t, as he clc ^Bres to leave his ^Fbe sighs for the Jnod to arrive wb wbalance sheet, tnd no is a million lire. 1 ? " 1 m l^mation of the nwyer. 4>rief for the next a? 'glorious ?n;erlar r\ he looks forward |p*tlofta of the future I. Vie shall be en rolled on the of fame, md shall ha- Iruling pasdon of his m * Pin tired, /jorer, na he ^tiUhes his d? \ prepares to return to hi* r>tiage, there to teek rest at. it order that he may go fort* '-his accustomed toil. " I'm* .ng coin|>elle?( to work for tl ies of liie, while ihoitsand.s of t- teliow beings are surrounded with all of its luxuries." " I'm tired," says tire preacliet, as he -lose* his labor of preparing bis di* ,i.? ...i ... t iroiirau i*> iiivci uiu pj'nii wm wnin.i ??i iiis clutjg?. TirvJ of piaying and preaching when I fear there w ill bo so low brand* plucked frotn the eternal burning as tbe fruit of his labors, and again lie renews Ids vow lliat bo will Eotiliiiue to labor in his Mauler's vine yard and win souls from death to eteriuil life. " I'm tired,*' says llio gray-haired sire, ss he leans upon In* staff and looks back upon a life of three score year* snd ten, and reflects that lie has allowed so many of those precious years to mn to wasie ; fired of life, and longs for the time tu come when he shall lay Ihie body down to aieep the *leep of death. Ala*! ala*! thought f, is there no reeling place in (hi* life where the wearied *0111 shall find repose, where we can say man i* truly bleat. Every pha*e of life return* the mournful an ?wer?None, none. I opened (hat Messed Book?God'a beat gift to fallen and polluted man? and there I found the guide to that place, where "ihe weaiy are at reel." Bl*a*ed auuraace, thought X, there ie a place where poor tired mortal-* can find that rest that is sought for in vain here below. And yet how few are seeking to obtain that haven of happiness, where " Tile weary are at rest," whore innocent childhood shall no longer tire, while engaged in something more than harmless sports; where bud ding youth shall' acquire knowledge that will last when the sun shall cease to be otaervant of the hour. There, too, in that land of re*t, the watchman npon the walla of Zion shall see the frttlts of his labor, where he was almost rfcady to faint by the wayside. Yes. theie is a place of rest, but it is beyond the confines of this world : it is that liotirne from whenco no traveler has ever yet returned, whose portal is the tomb, through which all must pass to reach the haven of eternal rest. Teach kr. The Fable of the Wandering Jew. The legend of the Jew ever wander ing and never dying, even from the cru oi fix ion of Jesus to this day, spread over many European countries. The ac counts, however, as all fables, do not agree. One version is this: When Jesus was led to death, oppressed by the weight of the cross, he wished to rest | himself near the gate at the house of a shoemaker named Ahasnerus. This man, however, sprang forth and thrust him away. Jesus turned toward him. saving, " I shall rest, but thou shah move on till I return." And from that time he has had no rest, and is oblige;! incessantly to wander about. Another veision is that given by Mathas I'arisiensis, a monk of the thirteenth century When Jesus was led from tl?e tribunal of Filatus to death, the door keeper, named Cartafilious, pushed him from behind with his foot, saving. " Walk on, Jesus, quickly; why dost thou tatry?" Jesus looked at him gravely, and said, " I walk on, but thou shalt tarry till I come." And this man, still alive, wanders from place to place in constant dreau of the wrath to come. A third legend adds that this wandering Jew fails sick every hundred yea is, | hut recovers, and renews his strength ; hence it is that, even after so many centuries, he does not look much older than Septuagenarian. Thus much for the legends. Not one* of the ancient authors makes even mention of such an account. The first who report some such thine is a monk of the thirteenth t century, when, a* is known, the wot Id I was filled with pious fiction even to dis' gust. However, the story has spread far, so thai it lias become a provuih, "He runs about like a wandering Jew.'* There aie not persons wanting who as seit they have seen the wandering Jew. But when their evidcuce is examined by the test of historical credibility, it is found that some im -oster had made use of this fable to itnpoae upon simpleminded people for some purpose of his own. However, the legends are not altogether untrue; there is a wandering .lew who roves about Europe, through out every country. This imperishable being is?pkkjudick againhtthk Jews. Boys. The bov is a small specimen of masculinity?but he is not a man ; tliougl now a days he thinks he is. lie is > sort of a one dog man. Now, we lik< to see bovs lively?rattling?full of life yet we liko to see tbem polite, respect t'ul to th*ir superiors, obedient, nnd dis posed to keep themselves within proper bounds. We have no objections to l>oys flying kites, shooting marbles, spinning tops, eating gingerbread, but we do object to their smoking cigars, chewing tobacco and cursing like sail ors. We like to see boys go to Sunday School, and to Church; and we like to see them behave themselves; hut we don't like to see them wriggling and twisting in Church, getting up and going out, slamming the door, or com ing to the door nl the close of service, pushing it open and rushing back with a wild noise; or 10 near them taiKin.' and laughing aloud, disturbing tliw congregation. Now, many boys conceive this to be the very (dement of smartness. and the high road to distinction; well, it does seem so. All great men onco learned their A. 13. C.; yes, very distinguished men have commenced life this way; for instance. John A. Murrei, Monroe Edwards, John 13rown, Captain Kyd. Jack Shepherd, and a host of others equally illustrious. One thing cer tain, however, their rush light whs ex t ngnished by a piece of Acr/tp,-attached to a wooden structure?called a gallows. Look out, bovs-?you smart fel lows?you aro certainly on the high road to distinction?and, from appear ance, yon will go out in a Blaze a) Glory. O, Solomon ! Solomon ! thou Ifiror itf tlu> .Imuc I llow trim tlm ra. iiimiIch; ' 1 "Spare the rod and yon spoil the child." Lovk can excuse anything but mean ness; but meanness kills love, and crip plea even ruiural affection. " Thrrr is only one thing," any* the proverb, *' easier than flogging a coward ; it is to frighten him. Rrmkmiiv.r, young ladiee. that oranges are not apt to be prised afier being squeezed a few time*. |Aflr The Sea-or Lire.?Much iaeaid and sung of ihe treachery of the " waves of the dark blue sea," out how much mora treacherous the sea of life, upon which the bark of man's hopes an?l prospects for time and eternity. is -launched.? In the spring tide of life, when the sail* are set to catch the breezes of pleasure and enjoyment, the murky clouds of disappointment scatter our brightest anticipations and bury them beneath the waves of chagrin and mortification.? In msnho d'a early inorn, when the b< a? con fires of prosperity and popularity lure us to the desired haven, the rocks , of dissipation and ingratitude intervene and we are wrecked and stranded upon their desert coast. And when our craft seems in full view of the harbor of su?coss, (he storm of uncurbed passion and apj?etite buries her beneath tho dark waves, with crushed hopes, blasted prospects, ruined intillects and blackened characters. In a word, nil that is noble and good report are " in the deep bosom of the ocean " of dissipation and iiapiety sunk and lost forever ! IIow important then that the Pilot atthe heltn be of a clear bead and undimned eve?how important that every thing that would rob us of our power to rido tho waves of danger and peril j that beset us in the voyage of life, should be eschewed and renounced forever. The sailor's grog has buried many a gallant craft, and the landsman's glass has sunk its millions of uoMe spirits to irretrievable woe! Let the living beware in time, ere a similar Into befall them.?Spirit of the Age. 1 ^ | Livr Without T ,nvp?\V? ?amn limes meet with men who seem to think that any indulgence in an affectionate feeling is weakness. They will return from a journey, mid greet their families with a distant dignity, and move among their children with the cold and lofty splendor of an iceberg, surrounded by its broken fragments. There is hardly a more unnatural sight on earth than one of those families without n heart, A father had better extinguish a boy's eyes an take away his heart. Who dia i experienced the joys of friend-bip. and values sympathy and alfectionr would not rather lose all that is beautiful in nature's scenery, than be robbed of the hidden treasure of his heart f Cherish, then, your heart's best affections. Indulge in the warm and gushing emotions of filial, paternal, aud fraternal love. Aoe dims the lustre of the eye, and pales the roses on beauty's cheek ; while crow feet, and furrows, and wrinkles, and lost teeth, and gray hairs, and bald head, and tottering limbs, and limping feet, most sadly mar the human form divine. Hut dim as the eye is, as pallid and sunken us may be tbe face of beauty, and frail and feeble that once strong, erect and manly body, the immortal soul, just fledging its wings for its home in heaven, may look out through those faded windows, as beautiful as the dew-drops of a summer's morning, as melting as the tear that glistens in affection's eye?by growing kindly, by cultivating sympathy with all human kind, by cherishing forbear1 trice towards the follies and foibles of ' our race, and feeding day by day on * that love to God and man which lifts 1 us from the brute and make* us akin to angel*. oats to uk uorn on. Horn on u Sunday, a gentleman. Morn on a Monday, fair in faco. liorn on a Tuesday, full of grace. Morn on a Wednesday, &uur and grum. Morn on a Thursday, welcome home. 1 Morn on a Friday, free in giving. Morn on Saturday, work hard for : your living. We do not remember the day we were born on, but, according to the ' above, ii must have been on Saturday. ?ExehaWfft. We wuie born on Saturday, certain, if there's any truth in the nbove. A Mischievous Parrot.?One day a party of ladies p>tid a vidt about.t, and several had been hoisted on deck by the usual means of a " wien' .11 the main yard. The chair had descend' .1 t .. ... 1? n 1 ... CU lur lllI'Mlin I MIL M'HIt.t'lV had its fair freight been lifted out of the boat alongside, when the unlucky pnrrot piped, *' Iyet go 1" The order being instantly obeyed, the unfortunate lady, instead of being comfortably seated on deck, as hod been those who preeeded her, was soused os*er head in the -ea.?Autobiography of a Seaman. Tuk remedy of to morrow is too Ut? ?vi mo cviio vi The worth of a thing is best known by the want of it. ' Th* shortest Answer is doing the thing. Thj whet von owe, *nd wh*t you are worth yon will know. A man of word* and not of deoda is 1 like a garden full of weeds. * One hour's sleep before midnight is worth two after. Worn- i.nd uot words are the pi bf of love. We have forgotten more than we rc* member.