Huntingdon Journal

              VOLUME XVI.
HUNTINGDON, PA., THURSDAY, JUNE 26, 1851.
NUMBER 25.
I'rom the Draiciiig Room Companion.
Tbe Dead Men in the Chapparel.
BY WII.I,IA.W J.   MILLER.
Thoy heeded not the harsh command. But stretched tlicni on tlic stranger's saud. And heavenwiird cast a vacant stare. In broken I'rugmeiits breathed a prnycr. Grounding tlieir waning weapons there; Alus! how nmny—who can tcll— Sleep thoir last sleep in the cliupparcl.
No more thc bugle's mellow struin Shall wake those slumbering dead ngain; Their bones blench in a boundless tomb, Wliere prickly pear nnd cactus bloom; And oblivion casts her sad, sad spell O'cr nameless dead in the chapparel!
How many hearts yct bleed nnd yearn
For sons who never will return;
Wlioso pillow, dewed wilh tears each niyht.
With weary watch by taper's ligiit!
But liltle lhcy know, and who shall tcll.
They fill a grave in llie chapparel!
No more at morn sliall those warriors hc
Awaked by the martial reveille;
They've marched tlieir last inarch, drilled their
last drill. Taking their rest with their arms at will. For tho freed war spirit hns bid farewell To their lifeless clny in tho chapparel!
There the wild dog prowls on the sea-girt shore, To mingle his wail with the breaker's roar; And tho prairie pack, with tlieir yelping cry, I'ursuo the young fawn that is doomed to die. And the nightingale, perched on banyan tree. Pours fortli its soul's best melody; But nothing can breuk the sad, snd spell Of their last sleep in the chapparel!
My Boyhood's Home.
RAPPIXG TO SOMK  PIIRPOSE:
on.
The Sorrows of a Man  'who  didu't
pay tl;e Printer.
uv   ,1.    D.   ItlOUARDSON.
IIY URNKST II., WALTOK.
Bring back my boyhood's golden hours
From the treasury of the past;— Oh linger nigh! life's ftrst Spring llowcis,
That faded 'liiro the blast; The rocky dill', tho hill and glen,
Tho joy and liuighlc^ free; I would I were a boy ngain—
Oh bring them back to me. •
Bring back my early childhood's home —
Tho allcr and the hearth, Tho aong of praise—devotion's tone —
The lov'd that Hed from earth; The day's that flitted by 30 fust,
—Life's streamlet to its sea,— Whicii lio deep luiricd in the I'.i.il; —
Oh bring theni back to mc.
In fancy's realms, I wander slill
By my boyhood's chcrisli'd homo, And gather flow'rs by brook or rill.
And over wood-lands roam; Oh linger nigh! thongh vision-- dim
And shadows faint yc bo;— 'J'ho' tilled life's chalice to the briin.
Yet bring them bnck to nic!
Speak uo III.
>>'ny speak no ill! a kimlly word
Can nover leave a stiug hohiiid; And, oh, to breathe each tale we've hc.iij
Is far bcnenth a nohlc mind. Full oft a bctlcr seed is sown
By choo-sing thus the kinder pLiii, For if but little good be known.
Still let us speuk the best we cmi.
Givo mo tbe heart that fain would hide,
¦Would fain another's faults cfl'acc; How cau it pleasure human pride
To prove huuiunily but base! No! lot us roach a higher mode,
A nobler estimate of mnu; Bo earnest in the search of good.
And speak ofull tho host wb carl.
Then spoak no ill—but lenient be
To other's failings as your own; If you're thc first a fault to see.
Be not the first to make it knoivn. For life is but a passing day;
No lip may tell how brief its span; Then, oh! lhe Iitllo linio we stay.
Let's speak ofall lhe best wo can.
(iood .^cnsc.
Good sense, or what is usually called common senso, is the basis of good tasto. It tcaclic: man in the lirat place that more than two elbows aro highly inconvenient iu tbe world; and, in the second, that tho fewer pooplc you jostlo on the i-oad of life, the greater your chanco of success among men or womon. It is not necessary tliat a conimon sonso man need bo an iiiiiniagiiiati bnc; but it is necessary thathis imagination should bo well regulated. Gooil taste springs I'roin good sense, because the latter enables a man to under stand at all times precisely where ho is, and what lio ought to do under the circumstances of his sit¬ uation. Good tasto is a just appreciation oftho relationship aud probablo ellijcts of ordinary, ns woll as extraordinary things; and no man can bave it unless ho is in thc habit of considoring his own position, and planning bis own actions with coolness and accuracy.
HisiNTEUKsrUD Patkiotisji.—Prenlice of llio Louisvillo Journal, iickiiowledgos a complimen¬ tary notice in an exchange in the following style:
"We scarcely know, doar sir, how to thank you sufliciently. We wish you wcro thc .ion of the President of the United State.', and we wero your I'ather.
Mil. FuA.NitLiN Blkuaxk WUS a lucky man.— Everybody said so, nnd ofcourse what everybody saya raust bo true. Not that I intend to vouch for the truth of any statomcnt because everybody bcliovoB it; in fact, I havo a faint recollection of Iiaving hoard reports at tiines, which were quite extensively circulated, on tho truth of which 1 should not bc ready to stake anything I valued very highly.
Bc that as it may, of the truth of the fact re¬ corded at the commencement of this article no one ever expressed a doubt; so allow me to repeat emphatically that Jlr. Franklin Burbaiik was a lucky man. Somo pooplc, indeed, went so far ar, to say that ho was born wilh a silver spoon in llis mouth ; but in regard to thc truth odhis state¬ ment, I do not feel prepaied to give any ovidcnce, for the best of reasons. IIowcvc.", Mr. Burbank was a nianwell-lo-do in the world. Ho had a pleasant wife, half a dozen interesting chiblren, and moreover, was the possessor of a block of buildings up-town, which wcro a sore temptation to certain persons to disregard thc first clause of the tenth commandnicnt. And when he rode out of a pleasant ufteiiioon, behind his elegant silver- grays, there were mnuy wlio envied his position.
Everybody know -Mr. Burbank. Elderly ladies always recommended bim to thoir nephews as a model mau ; and what was of far moro practical benefit to llim, hi.s name ivas good on Change for almost any sum. People said, too, that be wa happy man, nnd on the wholo, I um iaclincd to agree with theni in this respect. Had yon mark¬ ed his round, jovial conntonuucc, and portly form, yon would surely havo pronounced him a man who made thc most of the good things of this life. Mr. Burbank was a punctual man. So said .Madame IJnmor, and who ever ijueslioncd her veracily? I'crhaps, too, bis conduct afl'orded suflicient ground lor such a bolief. Regularly, at thc end of every (luartor, he settled all his bills with a proniplitude seldom witnessed. .Ml, did I suy? No: there was oni; bill which had been ac- ciiiniilatiiig for the last ilo/.cn years, and that was the printer's. For all that time, ho had enjoyed the fruits oftho printer's unceasing toil.
Ilo had always hroakfastcd over tho contents of the morning paper, and as systc'matically smoked over tlic evening edition. And if, through the negligence oftho carrier, ho had not received his paper, or had received it an hour behind the time, he had alw.iys cslccnicd it his e.-ipccial privilege to speuk of it iu a tone as near grumbling ns such an invariably good-humored man cuuld approach.-— Why ho had never paid for his paper, I do not profess to know. It wns one of those mysteries whicii inortnls are not pcrmilled lo look into.— Certain it is that ho had been presontod willl bis bill times without numbor; but we will bo charita¬ ble .Illd suppose that the remembrance ofit always slipped from his miud the uiomciit it was fairly de¬ posited in his pocket-book.
Now, the printer was onc of those whole-souled, gcncrous-Iieartcd beings, who are constantly on thc lookout for the " good time coining," and wait ils approach with a patieuce highly coninicndable. I'or years hc hail toiled on, early nnd lale, in sea¬ son and out of season, St Jlr. Burbank had enjoy¬ ed the friiius ofhis nnrcwardod labors. For aught 1 know, bo would have enjoyed tbem still, had not an event occurred which some-what disturbed thc usual ciiuanimily of his fcolings. The circum¬ stances were on this wise:—One evening, having returned to llis household gods rather later than ho was wunt he was fairly established in bed and bad fallen into a sound slumber, when suddenly there came a secession of sounds apparently from thc ceiling besido him.— Uap, rap, rap.
Mr. Burbank uttered a sound somewhere bc¬ iwccn a snore and a gronn.
Bap, rap, rap, again was lic.ird. Mr. Burbank rolled over. Blip, raji, rap.
Sir. Burbank—now fairly awnkc—started  from Ills pillow and listened eagerly. Bap, rap, rap.
" Wife!" said he, "wbat can that bc >." " What?" inquired his  belter hnlf, just awa¬ kening from a picnsant dreani. Bap, rap. rap.
" That t" answered Mr. B., firmly. " Spiritdal rappings," suggested Mrs. B. " Do you think so?" gasped Mr. B. " That is mg opinion," roplied Mrs. B. witli the voice of a woman who has made up her mind.
At that momeut, as if to domoiisti'Ate the truth Of hcr opiuion, agaiii the sounds were distinctly beard—
Bap, nip, rap.
" Would you speak to it?" inquired Mr. B. " By all means," replied his holp-mcet. Mr. B. attempted to speak, bul the words stuok in bis throat.    At longth, aflcr several uusiieocss- ful efl'orts, ho faintly urliculatod— " Is it a spirit?'' Bap, rap, rap.
•' Docs tbe spirit wish to coiumunieatc with me?" Rnp, rap, rnp.
" Is it on an errand of peaco ?" Mr. B. emphasized the last word peculinrly; but be waited in vain for an answer. The spirit seemed very taciturn aud would impart no infor¬ mation in regard lo its message. Of course no more sleep was to be enjoyed llmt uight. Mr. and Mrs. Burbank held a long consultation and finally agreed to say nothing in regard to their nocturnal visitor; but awnit further devclopincnls.
The next night they retired nt an early l^our, and had just composed themselves into a quiot slum¬ ber, when the ::arac scene was re-enacted. For several weeks their spiritaal visitof continuod to disturb them in the same manner, and soon the loss of so much sleep began to alfoct seriously the the lioaUli of Jlr. Burbank. His rouud, jolly countenanco grew thiu and haggard, and ho was reduced almost to a walkiug skeleton. Wherever ho went ho was assailed with inquiries in regard to bis health, and sympathizing friends always concluded by kiudly iuformlng liim that ho was certainly ill, and advising him to go lionic and call his physician. Of course such advice was calcu¬ lated to calm his nerves, and to produco very un¬ enviable feelings on his part. The gossips assign¬ ed difl'ercnt causes for the marked cliaugo iu hi-s appoaranco. Some supposed he bad engaged iu some uiifortunate speculation, and others de¬ clared tbat his worthy partner was a shrew ! Both of these conjectures wore ahout as ncar tho truth as gossips usually come.
But all tbis time his spiritual friond continued its annoyance wilb a pcrsovcronce whicli nothing could daunt. One morning afler its demonstra¬ tions had been unusually noisy, ar.d he had passed a sleepless night, Mrs. B. suddenly assailed her ¦• worsor half" witb the inquiry—
" Jlr. Burbank, do gon owe the printer f" " Why ?" demanded that individual,  who,  it must bc confessed, experienced some qualms  of conscience on that score.
"I was thinking that ifyou did, thtil might bc tbe cause ofthcso ti oublosome rappings."
Mr. B. acknowledged the reasoii of tho sugges¬ tion, by seizing bis li.it and lenving tbc house wilh an alacrity whicii astonished cvon his dutiful part¬ ner. Ten minutes aller fuund liim at the office of tbc printer. He found tbat individual nttlie post ofhis unwearied labors.
How much do I owe you sir ?" inquirod Jfr. Biirbnnk, nervously, the nioment he entered the room.
The printer smiled graciously, as lie made out the bill, and tho delinquent .subscriber " cashed'' it on tho spot. That morning our hero took his breakfast witli an ap]ictitc which he bad not known for mouths. Ilc soon regained his health, aiid since that time has never been annoyed by spirit¬ ual rappings; but ho lias nevor neglected to pay thc printer in atli-nncc.
Council to Boys.
Be brisk, energetic and prompt. Tho world is full of hoys and men too, who drawl through life, and decide on nothing for tbemselvc!i, hut just draggle one leg after the other, and lot things takc their own w.iy. Such people arc the dull stufi'of thc earth. Tbey h.trdly descrvo as much credit as the wooden trees, for the trees do all thcv can in merrily growing nnd bearing on' leaves and seeds. But these poor, drawliii; draggling boys do not turn their capacities to profit half as far as they might bo turned; they aro unprofilable, liko a rainy day in harvest time.
Now tbc brisk, energetic hoy will bo continual¬ ly awake, not merely with bodily eyes, but wiih his mind and allentiou duringthe hour of busi¬ ness. Afler ho learns what to do, ho will takc a pride in doing it perpetually aud well, aud would be nsbamed not to do what he ought to do wiih¬ out telling. Thc drawling boy loses ill fiva niin¬ utes tlio most important advice; thc prompt, wide aw.ake boy never has 10 be told twice, but strains hard to make himself up to the mark, as far as lible out ofhis own energies. Third-rate boys arc always depending on others, hut first-rate boys depond upon themselves, and after a littlo teach¬ ing, just enough to know what is to be done, lhcy ask no further favor ofaiiy body. Besides, it is a glorious thing for a boy to get this uoblo way of self-reliance, aclivily aud energy. Such a one is worth a hundred of tho puor, draggling crea¬ tures who cau hardly wash their hands witliuut being told each timo how it wns dono. Give mc the boy who will do his own work promptly and well, the boy who has bis wits about him, is never behind hand and don't lot tbo grass grow under
his bools. ^___^	
Love of Ufe.
Whala nativo clinging of mankind to this pocr life thcro inust be, wbiitan inoxtiuguishablc sweet¬ ness in the moro fiiet nf existence, or at loast whnt a dread of tho hour of dissolution, which millions of human beings placed in circumstances which many oftheir tcUow-creatures regard as insufl'er- ably wretched, yct pursue their weary journey faithfully to its nnturnl end, grudging to lose tho smallest inch! Watch a poor old man in rags, slowly dragging hinisclf aloug iu a mcau street as if every step were a pain. His life has boen ono of toil and hardship, and now ho may bc wifeless, friendless, and a beggar. What makes that man bold on any longer to cxistenco at all! Is it any remnant of positive pleasure bo still contrives to extract from it—the pleasure of talking twaddle to people who will listen to him, of looking ahout him at cliildren playing, of peering into doors nnd entries as be passes; is it fear and a calculation of chance, or is it the mere imbecility of habit? Who
can tell? '	
Simplicity. The moro I soo of tho world, tho moro I am salisfied that simplicity is inseparably the com¬ panion of truo greatness. I never yct know a truly great man—a man who ovorloiipod his fel¬ low men—who did not possess a certain playful, and almost infanlilo simplioy. True grentness never struts on stilts, or plays the king upou his stago. Conscious of its elevation, and knowing in what that elevation consists, it is happy 10 acl its part like other men, in tho cominon amusc- monts uf inankind. It is uot afraid of being 1111- dervaliicd for ils humilily.—/'ni'^/inj;.
Home.
"Home, thyjoys arc passiug lovely— .Ioys uo stranger heart can tcll." What a charm rests upon tho endearing name— my Homo ! consecrated by domcslic love—that, golden key of earthly happiness. Williout this, homo wonld bo Iiks a temple strijipcd of its gar¬ lands; there a father welcomes, with fond afl'ec¬ tion; a brother's kind sympathies comfort in the hour of distress, and assist in every trial; there a pious mother first taught the infant lips to lisp the name of Jesus; and there a loved sister dwells, the .'ompanion of early days.
Truly, if thcro is aught that is lovely bore bolow it is homo—sweet homo! It io liko tho oasis of tho desert. The passing ofonr days may be pain¬ ful : our path may be checkered with sorrow and care; unkindness and frowns may wither the joy¬ ousness of the Iicart, ell'ace the bappy smiles from tho brow, and bedew life's way with tears; yct, wben the memory hovers over the past, there is no placo which it so delights to linger at, ns the loved scenes of childhood's home ! It is thc pi; lar star of existence.—What cheers tho mariner, far from bis nntive land in a foreign port, or toss¬ ed upon the bounding billows, as be paces the deck at midnight alone—what thoughts fill his breast? He is thinking oftho loved ones far away at his own happy cottage; in his mind's eye he sees the smiling group seated around thc cboorful fireside. In imagination ho hoars them uniting thoir voicos in singing the sweet songs which he loves.—He is anticipating the hour when he shall roturn to his nalive land, tu greet thoso absent ones so doar to his heart.
Why rests that doo|) shado of saduoss upon tho stranger's brow as he scats himsolf amid tho fami¬ ly circle ? He is surrounded hy all the luxuries thut wealth can aflbrd; linppy faces gaiber arouud him, and strive in vain to win a smile. Ah! be is thinkingof his own sweet home; of the lov?d ones assembled within Ids own cheerful cot.
Why those tears steal down the cheeks of that young and lovely girl, as she mingles in ilic social circle? Ah! sheis an orjih.an ; shc, loo, had a bappy homo; but that house is now forsaken and desolate; its loved ones aro now sleeping in the cold and silent tomb. The gentle mother who watched over hcr iiifimcy, and bushed her to sleep with a lullaby, wbioh a mother only can sing, who in girlliood's days taught her of the Saviour, nnd tuned hor youthful voico to sing prnises to His name, has gono to tbe ni.ansionsof joy above, nnd is mingling hcr siiiigs, and tuning hor golden harp with bright angels in heaven. I'oor one ! She is Hi-w left to tread thc gulden ,>ntb oflifc, n lonely, homeless wnndcrer.
Thus itis in this changing world. Tho objects must dear arc snatched away. Wo are deprived of the friends whom most wo lovc, and our cber- ii^hcd home is rendered dosulatc. "Passing awav," is engraved on all things earthly. But there is a home that knows no changes, where separations never take place, where the sorrowing ones of this world m.ay obtain relief from all their griefs, and where tbu sighs and tears of earth are exchanged unending songs of joy. Tliis homo Is found in henven.
Ill the shadowy past, there is ono sweet remini¬ scence which the storms of lifo ean never wither: tli» rocollection of homo.    In tho visionod fu¬ ture, there is ono bright  star whoso  lustre  never fades: it is the hope of home-of a heavenly home. l.lliisieal I 'isitor.
Ilf:in.v.Nii.s.—The iiilluence of a sensible woman is of no ordinaiy kind, and liaiipy is the man who is thus favored; not, indeiid, that sensible women are more rare ihnn sensible men; but be¬ cause men aro too apt to monopolize the entire senso of the family, (in their own opinion,) to de¬ sire tho woiiian "to leavo the kitchen to tbem," to Iroat tbe women ns automatons, objects rather of amusomout ihan rational beings, as eliildreu or dulls, to bo coaxed and mndo I'ools of, rather than as equals or friends, bound to one eternity; fellow- snfl'crors who wocp in their misfortunes; as parta¬ kers nnd heightcuers uflheir joys, aud as heing equally accnuulable to unc Gud. Others, again, look on wunicii ns the mere slnvos of their will, a sort of safety valve for their sjilecn, by menns of which their ill-tempers find vent. Both the char¬ acters, I trust will be far from my reader; but, if he should have enlertained such erroneous ideas of what woman, in her higher moral capacity, is, aud ought to bo, let mo entreat him to try, for a short timo, (and ho will then continue to do so,) by kindness aud alfeclion, to draw forth the hidden treasures from the mind and the heart ofhis wife; if ho buvo treated her as a moro cypher in his family, let bim gradually introduce her to trust and responsibiiily; il he have treated her ns a child, incapable of maturity of mind, let bim now make her as his cuufidant, and in the many oppor¬ tunities for infcreiico which will thcu occur, hc will soon be uware how much he has lost by past neg¬ lect; and, if ho have treated her as a tyrant, ifho have crushed tho but hali-tiltorod sentiment, if he havo satirized hcr tastes and opinions; If by cold¬ ness, ho have thrown tho oft-springing ali'eclions back upon tho heart, thcro to wither and die, or witb the wound to rankle and to become gall, let him try, hefore it bo too bite, to restore suincicnt confideuce to elicit opinion; Ict him then, by special gentleness, awaken tho dormant nBcction, and by the warmth of his love, perpetuate its flow. The imailulterated love of woman is the greatest hoon heaven itsolf can, in this world, bostow on man." [.Mrs.  Ottkimlth.
A Sixpence  -well Invested.
The other day we saw n bright eyed little girl tripping along the street with a basket on ber arm, apparently sent on somo errand.
All at once she stopped and coniinenced seareli- iug for sometbing she had lost amid tbo snow and
It was evident that it was something of value, and that she was iu trouble.
Her search was cagor and nervous; tho bright smile had vanished from her face, and tears wcrc rolling down her checks.
A gentlemon passing at that moment noticed the trouble of the littlo creature and asked her what was the matter.
"Oh! sir," .said she, her little bosom swelling, and tears falling fast, "Oh! sir, I've lost my six¬ pence!"
Tho gentleman took a piece of money from bis pocket, and called hcr to him saying, "Here, sis, don't cry for tho lost sixpence, hero is another," aud placed it iu hor hand.
"Oh, dear sir!" said she, as she bounded fur¬ ward, "bow I thank you."
Her grief wus removed; the bright smile was restored; the fear ofa mother's frown for hcr care¬ lessness was gone, and bor liulo heart beat lightly agaiu.
Think you that man, as ho remembers that pretty face, beaming with gralitudo and joy, will ever regret that well invested sixpence?
A whole ivorld of happiness bought for 11 six¬ pence! How easy is itto shed sunshino ou the hearts oflhose ahout us!
A .Revolutionary Matron-
rerhaps no saying of Wasliington, say-s tbc Richmond Kcpublican, is more frequently quoted uiioii patriotic occasions in Virginia, than this: "'Leave me but a banner to plant upou the moun¬ tains of .-Ngustn, and I will rally around mo the moil who will lift our bleeding country from the dust aud set her free."
The incident, however, which lod to this re¬ niark, is not so gonerally known; but it is ono which doos iniinortal honor to tbu women ol Vir¬ ginia, and lessens our wonder ut tho deeds of ihc Virginia heroes who sprung fr^iu such a stock. It is tlius related in Howe's iiistorical C'olloc- tioiii—"When tho British furce, under Tarlcton, drove tho Legislature from Cliarloltsvillo to Stan¬ ton, the stillness of tbe Sabbatb eve was broken iu the latter town by the beat of the drum, and Volunteers wcro called for, lo prevent the passage ofthe British through the mountains at Rocklisb Onp. Tbe elder sons of Jlr. Lewis, who Ibon re¬ sided nt the old fort, wcro absent with the north¬ ern army. Three sons, however, were at homo, wliose ugcs wcro soveutccn, fiftcon, and thirlocu years. Mr. Lewis was confiucd tu his ruum by sickness, but bis wife, with the firiniiess of a Ro¬ man matron, called them to hcr, and bado thom (ly to the dofonce of thoir native land. "Gu, my children," said she, "I spare not my youngest, my fair haired boy, the comfort of my ciccliu years. I devote you nil lo my country.—Keep back Iho fuot oftho invader from tbo soil of Agus ta, or see my faco no more." It was lhe narra tiou of this ineident lo 'iVashington, whicb caused the enthusiastic exclamation so often quoted.
Bc.irTiruL Pii.iter.—'Lord bless and preserve my Im-sband ; let his lifo bo long and blossod, com¬ fortable and holy; and let mo also become a great blessing and comfort uiitc hiin, a sharer in all his joys, a refreshment in all bis sorrows, a meet helper for bim iu all the accidents .and chances of tho world ; make me apii.able forovcr in his eyes, and very doar to liim. Unito his h.eart to mo in thc doarost union of luve and holiness, and mine to him in all the swoi'tnoss of charity and compliance. Keop mc from all ungcntlencss, all discontcnludnessand unreasonableness aud un- scasouablcness of passion and humor, and make me humhie .and obedient, ciiaritablc and loving, patient and eonteiited, useful and observant, that we may delight in each other according to thy blessed word and ordienanoe, and botb of us may rejoice in tlioc, having onr iiortion in tho lovejnud service of God forovcr.
Accent Uiout.—"Ah, my good friend, where have you been for a week back!"
"For a weak back! 1 have nut been truublcd with n weak back, I thank you."
"No, whore havo you been long back!"
"Long back! dun't call me long back, you scouiidrcH"'
iS^'Tiii: ancient palaco of tho I'opo.s, and the most magninccnt iu tbe world, stands on the right bank of the Tiber, at Rome. The palace takes its namo from the hill on whicii it stands, derived from one of thoso ancient imiiosilions, knoi™ as oracular deities, called by the Romans "Jupiter Vaticanus." AVho began the building is not known, but it was occupied by Charlemagne, more thau a thousand yeors ago, and has been in¬ creased by successive I'upcs, until it has reacboir its present immense extent. The number of rooms in the ¦Vantican exceed 4-120, and its treas¬ ures in marbles, bronzes, frescoes, statues, paint¬ ings and gems, are unciinnlcd in the world, and its library is tho richest in X-lnropo. The length of the museum of statues aloue is computed to be a mile.
A Vankee Trick.
A crowd collected around a dilapilatod speci¬ men of humanity yesterday evening, near the cor¬ ner of Fifth and Sicamoro streets, to ascertain what he was in search of, and his object in feeling in the gutter, wilhout a candle toguide his course.
"O, darn it, I've lost some monov," was the re¬ ply.
One of ihc pariy, wbo is over ready lo assist his fcllow-liciiigs w hen ill distress, lost nu timo in pro¬ curing a light. After searching for a long lime iu tho water and filih lhat nccuniulales in tho gutters, the "Green Jluniiiaiii boy" turned 10 his numerous lookers on and assistants, and remarked:
"I dou'l care a daru fur the cenl; I jusl wanted lo see whar the thing nould roll lo."
Thc Yankee escaped a ;-cvcie tlira:-liiug unlv bv tbc use ofhis legs.
The Two Roads.
It was New Year's night. An aged man wa.s standing at a ivindow. Ho raised bis mournful eyes toward the deep-blue sky, whore tbo stars wero fioaliug, liko whito lilies, on thc surface ofa clear, calm lake. Then he east them on the earth, where few more hopeless beings than himself pow moved towards their certain goal—tho tomb.— Already be bad passed skxty of the stages whicii lead to it, and ho had brought from his journey notliing but errors and remorse. Ilis health was destroyed, his mind vacant, his heart sorrowful, and bis old ago devoid of comfort. The days of Ilis youth rose up in a vision before him, and hc recalled the solemn moment when bis father bad placed llim atthe entrance oftwo roads, one lead¬ ing inloa peaceful, sunny land, covered witha fertile harvest, and resounding with soft, sweet songs; while the other conducted the wanderer into a deep, dark cave, whence there was no issue, whore poison flowed inslead of wator, and serpents hissed and crawled.
He looked toward tbo sky, and cried out in his agony, "O youth, return ! 0 my father, place mo once more nt the entrance to life, tbat I may choose the better way I"
But the days of his youth and bis father bad both passed away. He saw wandering lights floal¬ ing far .iway over dark marshes, and then disap¬ pear—tliesc were tho days of his wasted life. Ho saw a star fall from lioaven, and vanish in dark¬ ness. This was an emblem of himself; and the sharp arrows of unavailing remorse struck hume to his beart. Tbcu ho remembered his early com¬ panions, who entered on lifi; with him, but who, Iiaving trod the paths of virtue nnd ot labour, wcro uow hnppy and ho;iourcd on this Ncw-Yoar'a night. The cluck in the high cburcli-tower struck, and tlio sound, falling ou his car, recalled bis par- Diits' early love for him; thc prayers they had of¬ fered up on his behalf. Overwhelmed with shnmo nnd grief, he dared no lunger look toward that heaven where his father dwelt; his darkened eyc» dropped tears, and, with one despairing eflbrt, bo cried aloud, "Come back, my early davs ! come back!"
Aud his yonlh tlitl rclurli; lor all tbis was but a dream ivliiuli visited bis slumbers on Neiv-Y'car'i liight. He was still young; his faults alone were roal. Bo thanked Oud, fervently, tbat limo was still his own, that be bad not ycteuteicd the deep, dark cavern but that he wns free to tread the road leading to tbo peaceful land, where sunny har¬ vests wave.
Yo who still linger on ilic threshold of life, doubling wbicb palh tu chouse, remember that, when years are pas-scd, and your feet stumble on the dark mountain, you will cry bitterly, but ery ill vain : "O youth, return ! 0 give me buck my early dnys I"
The Mofli?! Daughter.
C'unttaiilly she comes duwn tu brcakfiist before the lea things are takon away. She ia alwaya ready for dinner. She curls her own hair, nnd can undress herself without a servant. She is hnpiiy at home, without going to a ball evcy night. She bas not a hoadache wbcu her piqia asks her to sing. Sho iiracticcs only when he is out. Sho dresses plainly for church, and returns to luncheon without her head being enmimed chock full of bonnets. She is uut iicrpctually embroidering niystorious braces or knitting secret purses. Her fingers aro not loo proud to mend stockings or make a pudding. Slie luoks most attentively afler the lioles in lier father's gloves. She (3 ik clever adept in prejiaring gruel, white w inc whey, tapioca, chicken broth, boof toa, and tlio thousand little liouseliuld delicacies of a siek room. Shcis a tender nurse, moving noiselessly about, whisper¬ ing words of comfort and admiuistcring medicine with nn alfeclion tbnt robs itof hnlf its bitterness. She dos not scream at a leech, or faint at the sight of a black beetle. Shc docs not spin poetry, or devour it in any quantity. She docs not inveiit excuses fur nut reading thc debates to hcr father in the evening, nor docs she skip any of thc siiccchcs. She always has the pillow ready to put under his head when be falls asleep. She can behold an oflicer with womanly fortitude with¬ out fiiiling in lovo. Sho nover contracts a milli¬ ner's bill unkown to hcr parents—"she would dio sooner." She never stitchiid a red turk in hcr life.—She soars above Berlin wool, and crying, oiic-two-threo, ono-two-thrce, continually. Sho studios houskeepiug, is perfect in the common rules ofarithulotic,andean tcll protty nearly how many long sixes arc in the pound. She checks tho weekly bills, and does uot blush if scon in li buicber's shop on Saturday. She is not continu¬ ally fretling to go lo Paris, or dying to see Jenny Lind, nor does she care mucli nbout that love, JIario. Sho does not takc long walks by herself and come homo saying she lost ber way. Sho trcals hcr father's guests with civility. She nev¬ er drosses iu silks or satins tho first thing iu tho niorning, nor is sbc looking out of tho window or admiring herself in the looking-glass all day long. Sho makes thc children frocks and plays a little at chess and backgainmon—anylhing to please hor doar falher. She does not sond homo lovoly jewelry for hcr dear fiither lo look at. She has a, terrible horror of coiiiictling. She is kind to tho servents, and conceals their liltio faults. Sho nover pouts when scolded, nor shuts herself up in It room to cullivnic the sulks. Sho is the Tet of her darling papa, nnd warms bis slippers ou a wiulor's night, nnd lights the candle beforo guiug to bed. Shc is her mamma's dear, good girl, as is sulliciently proved by her beiug entrusted with all the keys ofthe hoiusekeeiiiug. There is a ter- tible cryiug when she io married, uud fur day» af¬ lcr her absence nulhing is heard in the house but rrgiel--, and loud iiraitcs aud prai ers fot the hap- piucs'- oflhc   " Jlodcl Daughlcr.''