Lancaster Examiner and Herald

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TOtxLi:
LANCASTER PA., WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 27.1867.
NO 15.
EJOLJilliyEB rfg 3BtERAXl»,
PttiUilied every WEDHESDATi iu the EXAlOinEB BBIXiDinf^i No. 4 Horth Queen
Streeti Langoster, Fa. TEBMg-^g^OO A YBAB Uf^ADTAyCE.
JSO. A. HUMPPANP, K. H. KLINE, J. I. ITARTMAJI
Editors and Proprietors,
TOTJB KISSIOir.
Kyoa can not on th& ocean
Sell among the swiftest fleet, RocMng on the higliest billows,
Laughing at the storms yon moet. You can stand among the sailors,
Anchored yet-vrlthln the bay; You can lend a hand to help them
As they launch their boat away.
Ifyou are loo weak to journey
Up the mountain, steep and hi{;l», You can stand within tho valley
"While the multitude go by: You can chant In happy measuro.
As they slowly pass along; Though they may forget the singer,
Tliey will not forget the song.
Ifyou have not gold and silver
Ever ready to command;' Ifyou cau not t'ward the needy
Reach an ever open hand; You can visit tho aflUctod,
0*er the erring 3*ou can weep; You can bo a true disciple
.(fitting at the Savior's feet.
Ifyou can not in the har\-eHi
Garner up the ricliest sheaves, Many agraln, both ripe and golden,
WiU tlio careless reapers leave; Go and glean among tho briers.
Growing rank against the wall, For it rany be that their .shadow
Hides the heaviest wheat of all.
Ifyou can not In tho conlUct
Prove yourself a soldier true— If, where Are aud smoke are thickest
Tliero'E no work for you to ilo: Wlien tho bnttletield is silent,
You can go with careful tread. You can bear away the wounded,*
You can coTer up the dead.
Do not, theu, stand Idly waithij: For .some greater work to dn;
Fortune is a lazy Goddess—
•   She will never eome to you.
Go and toll in any vineyard. Do nol fear to do or dare;
Ifyou want a field of labor. You can flnd It any whore.
lET THOSE lATJGH WHO WIU.
Jtr. Poiitifex PomiJailour -wiis a gen¬ tleman whose family record testified to Iiis liaviug breathed tho breath of life sixty years, and yet his appearance bore witness to not more than forty. Ap¬ pearances, however, though they .nre de¬ ceitful, result from causes more or less palpable; anil, in this case, they conld be naturally neeountcd for. Eece tcjitem !
Jlr. Pompadour's complexion was clear and transparent,—but it'wa.s not Iiis own. His teeth were white and regular,—but they were artificial. 111.=! hair was black and glossy,—but it was dyed. His whiskers were ibid,—but they were ditto. His dress wa.s tlfe perfection of fashion and taste, though rather youthful; and withal be carried himself with a jauiit.v air, and a light and springing step, smiling blandly on all he raet,as if smiles were dollars and he were dispensing them right royally. He" had an only son, Augustus Fit?. Clarence Pompadour, who was heir-ai)- parent to the veri- eonsider.able proper¬ ty suppo.?ed to belong to the "said afore¬ said." This son was twenty-three, and had graduated at college with some knowledge of some things, if not of some others. Ho was a modem Mith- ridates inhlspowcrto withstand strych¬ nine and nicotine; aud he bad devoted much attention to that branch of geom¬ etry which treats of the angle of balls on a cushion. One beautiful trait in bis character, however, was his tender affection for his father, which showed Itself most touchingly—-whenever he was in need of money.
In person he was prepossessing, hav¬ ing light-blue eyes, dark-brown hair, and a drooping moustache. Nor will I allow that he was a vicious lad. In¬ dolent and useless he certainly was,— an insignificant numeral in the great sum of humanity, but a roue he cer¬ tainly -was not. Tbe worst thing about him was his name, and that he reeeived from a weak, silly novel reading moth¬ er, who gave her life for his, and, with her dying breath, charged his father to pay this homage to the yellow-covered world in whicli she had lived.
If there was anything wanting iu tbe comfortable mansion, where the Pom¬ padours, father aud son, kept bache¬ lor's hall, it was the refining and soft¬ ening influence of ivoman. And this brings us to tlie consideration of the skeleton which abode in the closets of Pompadour and son.
The late Mrs. Pompadour had pos¬ sessed some property which she had re¬ tained after marriage. Before her death she made awilljleaving to Augustus the fee, and to bis father the income of the estate. In case, however, Augustus should marry before his father did, he was to enter into full possession of tbe property. Wives, in dying, do not generally ofler their husbands a pre¬ mium for replacing tliem ; and so the judges inferred that the real meaning of the testatrix would be ariived atbj' inserting the letter c in tlie word "did," thus making tbe contingency turn u})- on Augustus' marrying before his fa¬ ther died. How^ever, the lawyer who drew the will (his ancestor was limned by .lEsop in the fable of tbe Ass in the lion's skin) swore positively to this rendering beingin accordance with the wish of the deceased, and so the courts decided tbat in the event i)f Mr. Pom¬ padour's marrying before liis, he should retain his interest during lifo.
Now Mr. Pompadour, aside from mcr- . senary motives, was very uxoriously inclined; and would doubtless have married years before, had be not set too high an e'stiination on himself.
His condition of mind at the begin¬ ning of his history might be e.vpres.sc<I logically somewhat as follows :
Fli'st, he must get man led. .  Second, Augustus must not. , And Augustus, by analogous reason¬ ing  on  identical premise.'^,  mutanlis, inunttindis, had arrived at a duel cou- clnsion.
¦ First, he must get married. . Second, his father must not.
A vigorous system of espionage had been instituted by falher and son, ou the actions of each other. Skirmishes had been frequent; and it neither gain¬ ed any decided advan tage, neither lost. But the great battle of tbe war was yet to be fought, and it has been reserved for my pen toinseribe its history.
In the suburban village where Mr. Pompadour resided was a handsome residence; anditsowner, "visitingEu¬ rope," offered it for rent. The house ¦was elegant, and the grounds especially fllie. They were flanked by two shady streets and fronted on a third. A wi¬ dow lady with one daughter became the tenant; and, as is usual in such cases, the whole village called upon' her,—three persons prompted by po¬ liteness, and three hundred by curiosi¬ ty. The cards which did duty for the lady in returning these calls announced her to be " Mrs. TeUuria Taragon, nee TreUwney." IJy the same token her daughter waa discovered to be " Miss Terpsichore Taragon."
Mre. Taragon was one of the most be¬ witching of -widows. About forty (she acjnibwiedgeil to thirty-tiiree), she was the Tery incarnation of matronly bean- *y.    She wea just tall enough to ba
graceful, and just plump enough not to be unwieldy. Her eyes were black and dangerous. Her hair was short, and it clustered over her forehead iu little ringlets,—rather girlish, but very be¬ coming. •' Her teeth were white aud natural, and she had a most fascinating smile, whieh showed her teeth iu a carefully unstudied manner, formed a jiretty dimple in her chin, and enabled her to look richl.v without apparent in¬ tention.
Her daijgliter, Jliss Terpsichore, was twenty, with a slender, graceful form, and a pair of ros.y cheeks, before whose downy softness tho old simile of the peach becomes wholly inadequate. She had hazel eyes, whose liquid reflected the brightest and sunniest of tempers, and dark brown hair, with just a sus- Ijicion of golden shimmer filtering through its wavy folds.
Jfrs. Taragon, on the bare charge could not h.ave escaped conviction sis a "designing widow." SJie not only was on the lookout, perpetually, for an' in¬ vestment of her daughter, but she was flying cohtinually from her cax) a white flag of uneohditioual surrender to the first man bold enough to attack herself. Blr. Poutifex Pomp.idoirr "availed himself of an carl.y opportunity" to cap upon Jlre. Taragon. His fame luul i)rc- ccded him; and that estimable lady, who was in her boudoir wlion he was announced, gave a small shriek of dis¬ may at her dishevelled appearance. — However, no one need bo alarmed at such a manifestation ou tlie part of a " lady of fashion." It is indicative of perfect satisfaction with her general ef¬ fect. Mrs. Taragon flew to iicr mirror to shake out tuiollier curl — and her flounces'; smiled bewitchingly by way of rehearsal; hitherlij) frantically to bring the blood to them, and walked aimlessly about the room for a few mo¬ ments with her hands above her head, to send blood out of'hem. Then i>icking up her handkerchief daintily, and go¬ ing downstairs slowly, that her cheeks might not be too muoli flushed, she ac¬ quired .sudden animatinn at the parlor door, and burst into (lie room witb an elaborate rustle, and a tliou;iand apolo¬ gies for Iiaving kept Sir. Pompadour waiting so long,—and wasn't "the day perfectly lovely?"
If a conversation be iiiteresling, or serve iu any way to develop the plot of a story, I bold it should be given at full length; but the polite nothings which were repeated at this interview, come uuder neitlier of tlicsc bead.-^. They .served only to display Jfi'. Pompadour's false teeth, and Sirs. Tanigon's real ones (and the dimple) through the me¬ dium of Mr. P.'s real smile and Mrs. T.'s false one.
The two parted mutually pleased, and Mrs. Taragon said to herself, as she resumed the novel she iiad droi)pod at Mr. Pompatlour'sentrance, "ifi marry him, I will have that set of sables, and those diamonds I saw in Tifl'any's."
Mr. Pompadour beheaded a moss rose with his cane, as he stepped jauntily down the walk, and remarked to bis inner self, "A monstrous fine woman tbat, and I may say, without v/inity, that she was struck with my appear¬ ance. Why, ho! who the devil's that?" The acute reader will perceive a slight incoherence in the latter portion of this remark. It was due to a sight which met Mr. Pompadour's gaze on stepijiug into the street from Mrs. Taragon's do¬ main. This was nothing else thau Au¬ gustus Fit?. Clarence -walking leisurely up the street with a young lady whom we know—but the illustrious iiarent did not—to be Miss Terpsichore Tara¬ gon. ^
''Confound tbe boj-!" said the old geutleman, "I wonder who he's got there? Just like his father, though! For I may say, -tvithout vanity, that I was a tromendous fellow among tho girls."
Augustus Fitz Clarence was not at all jfleased at this chance rencontre. The intimacy with tbe charming widow, ¦ivbich it strongly hinted at, brought vividly to his mind its possible results upon his own prospects. Aud, moreo¬ ver, he was conscious of a iieeuliar and novel sensation in regard to the young lady, which made him rather shame¬ faced under th e paternal eye. In short, he was in love. All tbe symjitoms were apparent: a rush of blood to the face, and a stammering in tbe speech, when¬ ever proximity to the infecting object induced a spasm. He also had the s?c- oudary .symptoms,—a sensation of the spinal cord, as if molasses were being poured down the back, and a general feeling " all over," such as little boys call " goose flesh," and whieh is ordi¬ narily occasioned by a ghost story, or a cold draught from an opeu doorway.
To the writer, who stauds ujion the high level ofthe philosophic historian, itis evident that thesame feeling warm¬ ed the gentle breast of Tepsichore that burned inthe bosom of -Augustus. To furuish food, however, for the unextin- guishable laughter of the gods, this fact is never made clear to the principals themselves till the last moiuent. "Aud so from hour to hour we ripe and ripe .... aud there by hangs a tale."
With' the foregoing paragraph, I bridge over au " hiatus, .is it were," of several months.
Bespect for truth obliges rae to record the fact, that Mr^. Tnragon rcguvdod l\ar daughter with that unchristian feeling called jealousy.   But, if a heartless, she was a shrewd woman, and she meant to dispose of Terpsichore advantageously. There was at this timo, and I believe there is still, in the village of which I write, au " order of the garter," under tho control of one Mrs. Grundy, the motto of whieh was, " Those are evil of whom wo evil speak."    Its  evening meetings were familiarly kuown as the " nights of the sewing circle;" and it was the duty of each member to attend to everybody's business but ber own. An agent of this order promptly put Mrs. Taragon in ijossessiou of every¬ thing -which had beeu discovered or in¬ vented concerning Mr. PomiJadour, uot forgetting  to enlarge upon the condi¬ tions of the will.   Mrs. Taragon there¬ upon resolved  to marry Mr. Poini)a- dour; for, in addition to other reasons, she confessed to herself that she really liked him.   As may be supposed, there¬ fore, she looked -with much disfavor on the  increasing intimacy  between the young people; but she feared that any violent attemiit to rui)ture it would pre¬ cipitate the very result she would avoid. She sat, one daj-, iu a brown study, re¬ garding the subject in all ita bearings, with her comely cheek lasting upon her plump hand, and, at last, arrived at a conclusion.
" I think it would not be wise," she said, consulting the mirror to see if her hand had left any mark upon her cheek, "to interfere just at present; at any rate, not till I am sure of Mr. Pompa¬ dour; but I will keep a close watch upon them."
Not many days afterwards, a pictur¬ esque group occupied the bow-window of Mrs. Taragon's dra-wing-room. Mrs. T. herself, quite covered with an erup¬ tion of worsted measles, was the princi¬ pal figure. At her feet, like Paul at Gamaliel's, sat Augoatns; but, unlike Paul, he held a skeli of worsted. Nest¬ ling on an ottoman in the recess of the
window was Terpsichore, inventing floral phenomena in water colora, and looking very bewitching.
"'Twas a fair scene." -¦is under the shade ofsome far-spreading oak, when noon holds high revel in the heavens, tbe gentle flock cluster in happy secur¬ ity, fearing no dire irruption of lupine enemy, so—
"Mr. Pompadour," announced the servant.
" ThB devil!" echoed Augustus Fitz Clarence.
Sirs. Taragon's flrst impulse wtis to spring up and greet her visitor cordial¬ ly. Her second, to do uo such thing. Napoleon said, " An opportunity lost is an oce.isiou for misfortune." Here was ber Austerlitz or her Waterloo! With the rapidity of genius she had laid the plot for a comedy of " The Jealous Lov¬ ers," to the success of which the actors themselves unwittingly contributed.
Half rising, she acknowledged Jfr. Pomiiadour's elaborate bow, and, mo¬ tioning him gracefully to a seat, sank back into her chair. Then, pretending that tbe worsted was knotted, she bent her curls so near Augustus's face, and made a whispered remark with such a conscious air, that the blood rushed to that j-ouug man's face in an instant.
" I saw you out riding yesterday, Mr. Pompadour," said tho cheerful widow, pleased that her first shot had taken eifPcct. "And what a beautiful horse! and you ride so very gracefullj-!"
"Thank yon, madam," stud Mr. Pompadour, stilily; "I thiuk Xmay say, witliout vanity, that I do ride tol- erabl.y well."
"And you," (o the .son, " now your father is present, I must call you Mr. Augustus—intiy I not?" she said, coax- ingly. The "Mr." was emphasized, as if -n-hen alone she did not use it. But this was, of course, unintentional.
Now' Augustus, for sonic time,- had endeavored to ingratiate himself with Mrs. Taragon, but with little success, and, therefore, he was uttcrli' un.ibleto comprehend her sudden benignity. He glanced at his father, and met the eyes of that individual glaring at liim with tbe look of an ogre deprived of his baby lunch. He glanced at Terpsichore, but that young lady was absorbed witli a new discovery in botany. He glanced at Mrs. Taragon, but sbe was calmly winding v/orstcd.
"Tei'py, dear," said her mother, "do show Jlr. Pompadour some of your drawings. My dear little girl is so de¬ voted to art!" she exclaimed, enthusi¬ astically, .IS tho daughter j'o:-o to bring Iier iiortfolio. "Take care, Jtr. Augus¬ tus ; you know worsted is a dreadful thing to snarl." Augustus had invol¬ untarily sprung Ul) to ofler his assist¬ ance, but sank back in confusion.
"Arc you fond o.f engravings, Jlr. Pompadour?" asked the young lady.
"Ah! yas! I—I think I may say witliout vanity"—began Jtr. Ponipa- tlour, but ho ltni.slied'.si!onlly to him¬ self—"I)—me, I'll make her jealous!" Whose Austcrlitz or AVaterloo should it bt? He jiut on his cyo-glass to inspect the volume, and for a little while al¬ most forgot his egotism, in admiration of tbe beauty of nature beside him, if uot the beauties of art before him.
-4.ugn3tusAv:is not slow in i^ercei ving that for some unknown reason, Jlrs. Taragon's attention was gained, ahd he tried desperately to improve tbe occa¬ sion. Every once iu a while, however, his eyes would wander toward his fath¬ er, who p'ayed his part with so much skill that the bosom of Augustus was soon filled with burnings, and the mind ofthe widow with iierplexities. The gentle heart of Terpsichore was grieved also, and her mind sorely puzzled at the enigmatical conduct of those about her, -n'hile she was somewhat annoyed at the pertinacious .attentions oftho eld¬ er P.       '
Tho distinguished gentleman who wrote so graphically about the "Elbows of the Jlincio," must confess that our Quadi'ilateral is only second to that which be has bellied to embalm in his¬ tory. The Irishman's experience with the large boot and tbe small one, and the other pair Similarly mismated, was here reproduced with painful reality. Some evil genius had scattered'worm¬ wood on tho air, and asphyxia, or some¬ thing worse, seemed likely tosupervene, -when the entrance of another visitor broke the charm, and the telc-a-icle,aTid the gentlemen fled.
The thermometer of Jlr. Pompadour's temper indicated boiling heat. He sputtered aud fumed like an irascible old gentleman as he was, and managed to work himself into a crazy fit of jeal¬ ousy, about his son and the fascinating widow ; and, oddly enough, this feeling thus aroused by the green-eyed mon¬ ster, for the time being, quite eclipsed his mercenary muddle. So, upon poor -¦i-ugustus, as the available subject, fell palpable and uncomfortable demonstra¬ tions of paternal displeasure.
For several days Jlr. Pompadour stay¬ ed away from Jlrs. Taragon's, and that good lady began to fear lest she bad overdrawn her account at the bank of his heart, and that further drafts would be dishonored. Tlic thought of such a catastrophe was torture of the most re¬ fined quality. By an illogical system of reasoning, peculiar to the female mind, she imagined that Terpsichore was the cause ofthe desertion, and that young lady thereupon became the recipient of an ainount of small spite and aggravat¬ ed vindietiveness, whicii reflected great credit upon Jlrs. Taragon's inquisitorial capabilities.
She had, it must be obvious, set her heart upou httving those diamonds from Tiffany's.
' At the end of a week, however, Jlr. Pompadour called upon Jlrs. Taragon, aud this time he fouud her aloue. His countenance gave proof of some despe¬ rate resolution. His attire was more than usually elegant. His hair aud whiskers wore a trifle blacker and glos¬ sier than ever. He had a rose in his button-hole aud yellow kids on his hands. Solomon, in all his glory, was not arrayed (I sincerly trust) lilce unto him! Jlrs. Taragon rose cordially, and held ont to him her plump little hand; It lay a moment in his, as if asking to be squeezed. Jtr. Pompadour looked as if he would like to .squeeze it, and perhaps ho did.
The lady's cordiality soon gave place to a timid shynes.s. To use a* military phrase she was " feigning a retreat." Jtr. Pomp.tdour waxed bold and ad¬ vanced. The conversation skirmished awhile, the widow occasionally making a sally, and driving iu the enemy's out¬ posts, bis maiu body meanwhile steadi¬ ly approaching. The tone iu which tbey conducted lio.~tilities, however, gradually fell, aud if oue had been near enough he might have heard Jlr. Pom¬ padour remark, -n'ith a kind otquietsat- isfactiou, "For I thiuk I may say, without vanity, I still possess some claim to good looks." The widow's re¬ ply was so low that our reporter failed to catch it, and then—military phrase¬ ology avaunt!—the old veteran knelt on the carpet, aud surrendered at dis¬ cretion.
" Good gracious, Mr. Pompadour!'.' exclaimed the widow, with well feign¬ ed alarm, at the game time picking a thread offfaer dress, " Do get up, some¬ body may oome in!"
"Never!" said the old hero stoutly, seeing his advantage, and determined to have its full beneflt, " at any rate, not till you promise to marry me!"
A form passed tbe window. This time Jlrs. Taragon was really frighten¬ ed. " I will," she said hurfiedly; " now get up, and sit dowu."
Jlr. Pompadour leaped to his feet with the agility of a boy—of sixty, and imprinted a kiss lovingly upon the la¬ dy's nose, there not being time to cap¬ ture the right place ou the first assault. What followed we will leave to the im¬ agination ofthe reader.
It was now October, and the trees had adorned themselves in tlieir myriad dyes. The maple had put on crimson, the hickory a rich gold, and tho oak a decj) scarlet; while the pine and the hemlock " mingled with brighter tints tbe living green."
To the woods one balmy day Augus¬ tus aud Terpsichore weut together, to gather leaves for wreaths and screens. Both were carelessly happy, and the pines echoed their merry voices as tlicy laughed aud sang. At length the bas¬ ket, which Augustus carried, was lilled with gorgeous booty, and they sat down upon a fallen log, while Terpsichore wove a garland for her iiair. No won¬ der that in the tninquil beauty of the scene their noisy mirth should become hushed. , No wonder that, as the sun stole through the branches, and liko Jove of old fell in a shower of gold about them, upon both their hearts fell the perfect peace otiove! AVith the full tide ofthis feeling eame to Augustus there- solve to know his fate; for ho felt th.at upon tbat answer hung his destiny.
They sat in silence while he tried to teach his tongue the language of his heart. Then he glanced timidly-at the maiden, but her head was dropped low over the w-reath, ahd her cheeks reflect¬ ed its crimson dye. i
" Miss Taragon," he said, at length, abruptly, " were you ever in love ? " ¦ She started like a frightened bird.— Tho rich blood fled to her heart, aud left her face pallid tis marble.
" I—I—don't know," she stammered. " Why dii you ask me such a question ? " "Because," he .said, " tliftu you may know liowIfeeI,andpityme! OTerp- sichore! " he added passionately, " I love you with my whole soul; ami if you will but bless mc wilh your l»ve, my whole life shall be devoted to your happiilcs.s."
-'^ndso he talked on iu an iniimtuons strain, of mingled prayer and pcotesta- tion, whicii was stereotyped long before- the invention of printing.
Terpsicliore's heart beat wildlj-. The cofer.came and went in herehcolvs, ami she turned her head away to conceal her emotion.
Tlie wreath lay finished in,her lap; and at last, with a bright smile, she placed it on his brow; and, clasping his hand in both her own, she kissed him on the forehead. And now we might as well leave them alono together.
Mrs. Taragon, having made sure'of Jlr. Pompadour, now proceeded to carry out her plan of throwing obstacles iii the way of the young people. Augu.s- tus, of course, was aware of her com¬ plete information in regard to his "prop¬ erty qualiflcatious," and attributetl her disfavor to personal dislilvc. Whatever her motives however, her aetious were unequivocal; and' Terpsichore, especi¬ ally, had a sorry time ofit. So uncom¬ fortable ditl matters become, that, upou a review of the situation, and au elo¬ quent appeal from Augustus, she con¬ sented to ttike witli him tliat irrevoca¬ ble step, to which Virgil undoubtedly alluded uuder the fine figure or "De¬ scensus Averiii," in plain English, they resolved to run away aud bo mar¬ ried.
I will not weary the reader with de¬ tails of tbe preliminaries. They arc un¬ important to my narrative. A note dis¬ patched by Augustus to the Eev. Eben- ezer Fik-'uel, informed that gentleman that tibout half past ten o'clock' of an appointed evening be would be waited on by a couple desirous of being united in holy matrimony.
Augustus arranged to have a carriage iu waiting uuder Terpischore's window about ten o'clock, and with the aid of a ladder and the above mentioned cler- gj'man, he hoped to settle the vexed question of the property, and render all further opposition to their union of an ex post facto character.
The evening eame, aud it fouud Jtrs. Taragon and her daughter seated togeth¬ er in her parlor. Terpsichore was cro¬ cheting a het, which, liko Penelope's, grew very slowly. She was nervous and fidgely. Her eyes wandered rest¬ lessly from herjnother to the door, and she started at the slightest sound. Jlrs. Taragon seemed uiicoininonly suspi¬ cious and alert. She was reading, hut liad not turned a leaf for half an hour. Sbe glanced futively and continually about the room.
"She has fouud us out," thought Terpsichore, and lier heart alino.st stop¬ ped beating. With great eilbrt she cuii- troUed herself, aud had recourse to stratagem.
"Mother, dear," she said, dropping the net in her Lap, "you look tired; why don't you go to bed ? "
"Oh, no darling," saiil the widow cheerfully, " I don't feel a bit \yejiry.— But your eyes look red, and I tiiiuk 2/oiJ had better retire.-"' ¦ ?r"ft;,?Jt;
"No, mamma, not yet," she replied.: " I want to finish this net. I have done so little upon it lately."- ^ ;'i:,^^
Aslightshade of vexation crossed the ftice of the widow.
"Ifyou had devoted yourself to the net," she said, spitefully, " it would have been flnisheil."
Terpsichore blushed guiltily. Au¬ gustus had spent more than two hours with her that day; and she felt a pre¬ sentiment tbat impending wrath was about to descend on her devoted head. " I am sure, mother," she said, quiet¬ ly, "j/oi« can't complain of my seeing too much company.".
This sliot told; for Jlr. Pompadour had been very attentive of late. '
Mrs. Taragon nearly tore a leaf out of her book. ,
"At auy rate," she retoited, "my visitors are respectable."
Terpsichore's lip quivered.   The re¬ mark was cruel, but it roused her spirit. "If my company is not respectable," she said, with an incipient sob, " it is the fault of his bringing up."
Jlr. Pompadour was hit this time, right between the eyes. The widow bltized.
" You—you—you miux," she said an¬ grily. " I believe you'd like to see me dead, and outof your way!"
The remark was utterly irrelevant; but she saw it in the book, and thought it would be dramatic.
Terpsichore burst into tears, and beat a retreat in disorder, -•i.s she left the room, Mrs. Taragonsaidtoherself, with a sigh of relief—
" Well, the coast is clear for Pompa¬ dour, and she's safe for to-night, any way." Which was a slight mistake. Ten o'clock came, aud with it the carriage, A man glided silently under¬ neath Terpsichore's window, and a lad¬ der was reared against the wall. Si¬ lently the wiudow opened, and a form
descended the ladder, and was clasped in an equally silent embrace at the foot. Terpsichore had not entirely recovered her spirits, but she stifled her emotions for the sake of Augustus. For the same reason she did not scold him for rump¬ ling her bonnet. Hurrying into the carriage, they drove rapidly away.
As they turned the corner into the principal street, anothC'f'earrlage, going in the s.ame direction, came up behind them at a quick trot. Augustus sprang to his feet, and peered out into the darkness. "Betrayed," was the thought whieh flashed through his mind, and he muttered an eighteen-cornered oath. Terpsichore clung to his coat with an energy whicli indirectly refieeted last¬ ing credit upon his tailor.
" Put on more steam," whisitered Au¬ gustus hoarsely to the driver, and the horses dashed onward at a break neck pace, soon leaving the other carriage far behind.
At the rate they were going, it took but a few minutes to reach the parson¬ age. Directing the coachman to drive round the corner aud wait, Augustus half led, half carried tlie trembling girl into the Iiouse. The Eev. Fiscuel's family aud one or two neighbors were assembled iu the parlor. The ceremo¬ ny was soon performed, and an earnest blessing invoked upon tho married life ofthe young people. As they were re¬ ceiving the congratulations suited to the oceasiou, a juvenile Fiseuel came in and whispered something to his father. Jtr. Fiseuel, with a smile, turned to Augustus, saying, "Jly son tells mo that your father is coming in at the gate with a lady."
The uewly-inarried looked at each other-in mute surprise. "I'll bet a hat," exclaimed Augustus, suddenly, " it's your mother; and they've'eome to get married!" -       .   ¦ '
Tho Eev. Ebenezer spoke. eiigerlj-; " Did you send me two messages this morning?"
"No!" said Augustus; "of course I did not."
" Then they have, verily," exclaimed the clergymau, in a. tone of very un- clerical excitement; " forlreeeived two messages from Jlr. Pompadour. I spoke ofthe singularity at the time."
" Can you hide us someivhere?" said Augustus, " till you've ' done' the old gentleman ?"
" Come in here," said Jlrs. Fiseuel, who had her share of that leaven of un¬ righteousness which is usually'Called fun. As she spoke, she opened the drawing-room door.
The Bev. Ebenezer sat down to write a certificate for Augustus; and, as one door.closed upon tho youug couple, the other opened to tho older one. Ifnot in as great a hurry as their children, they seemed equ.allydesirousof making assurance doubly sure. The family and the witnesses, who had followed Jlrs. Fiseuel outof the apartment, were again summoned, and, for a second time that evening, tho words wero spoken which made a Pompadour and a TaragoU ".one bone antl one flesh." Watching the proceedings through the crevice of the half-opened door,' was a couple not counted among the "witnesses," aud certainly not invited by the principals. When the ceremony was over, Au¬ gustus and Tei'iisitihore entered the room. Thoir appearance created what Jenkins would call " a profound sensa¬ tion." Jtr. Pompadour looked bowie knives and si.t shooters, Jlns. P. darn¬ ing needles and stilettoes. Augustus was self-possessed. Perhaps he remem¬ bered tbe old saying, " Det those laugh who win."
" Wo happened here not knowing you were coming," he said, addressing both; " -vvoul you accept our congratu¬ lations?"
Suddenly Jlrs. Pompadour ncc Tro- lawney, gave a scream, and fell btickiu a chair, with symptoms of hysterics. She had caught sigiit of Iho ring on her daughter's finger, and comprehended evei^-tbing in an iustant—the carriage whicli had fled before them as they left the liouse;ltbis "accidental" visit to tho minister's; and, worse than all, how she had been outwitted!
Terpsichore spraTig forward to assist her.
"Go away from me! Go away! Don't let her touch me!" she screamed, throwing her arms about lilce a wind¬ mill. "I won't,havo it! I wont! I woiit!"
"Jlr. Pompadour, during this out¬ burst,' showed signs^of exasperation; apparently, however, lie did notseethe point, but was fast concluding tbat he had married a Innatio.
Terpsichore was frightened and be¬ gan to cry. Augustus, to reassure her, put his armarouud her waist. At this, the senior, Jlrs. Pompadour sprang up aud seized her husband by the arm, so energetically that it made him wince.— Pointing to the ;tell-tale ring with a gesture worthy of Eistori, she managed to articulate: "Don't you soo it'?— Tbat undutiful girl has married Augus¬ tus, and—and he has married her!"
Jlr. Pompadour " saw it," and utter¬ ed some words which were not a bless-
ASPIBATIOITS TO BE EICH.
Oiling a Vextbiloquist.—A noted ventriloquist once took his station near the engineer to see the working of the machinery. In afew moments a squeak¬ ing ¦ noise was heard. on the ojipo^ito side of the engine. Seizing tbe oil-ean the engineer sought out the dry spot, and to prevent further noise of the kind liberally apiilied the contents of his can to every joint. AU went on well for a while,when squeaking was hoard in another direction. The oiling process was repeated and quiet restored but as theeugineer was coming quietly around toward the spot occupied by the doctor and the stranger he heard another squeak. This time he detected the true cause of the difficulty. Tbe stranger was a ventriloquist. Walking directly up behind him he seized the astonished joker by the back of the neek and emptied the contents of the can down his spine. "There," said be, " I don't believe that engine will squeak again."
A Lesson pkom a Mouse.—In the nest ofa fieltl mouse, recently discover¬ ed in an English garden, there was found a winter store of one thousand three hundred and twenty-nine filbert nuts, which bad beeu accumulated there by tho industry of the little tenant ofthe nest. The store which it had thus accumulated to supply its neces¬ sities through the winter season meas¬ ured half a peck. In this trifling inci¬ dent improvident people maj' find a les¬ son against spending all aud saving nothing for times of emergency that is well worthy oftheir attention, although it comes from so insignificant a creature as a mou.se.
A youth writes us as follows—and his case is like that of ss many others that .we treat it.thus publicly, suppressing his name:
"i)ear iSi)': I am a poor boy. I would like to get rich. Now what shall I do ? I would like to quit this section. I don't want to remain on my father's farm. Please give nie the best advice you can, and oblige.   Yours, G. g. s."
Answek.—The aspiration to be rich —though by no means the highest tbat can; impel a career—is, in our view, wholesome and laudable. The youth who says, "Let me be rich any hoiv, "and before all other considerations," is very likely to bring up iu some State Prison; but he who consistently says, "Let me first bo just, "honest, moral, diligent, useful; then rich," is ou tho right road. -Every boy ought to aspire to be Kcb, provided lie cau be without unfaithfulness to social obligation or to moral principle.
But how shall he set about getting rich ? We would concisely say:
I. Firmly resolve never to owe a debt. —It is the fundamental misUake of most boys to suppose that they can get rich faster on money earned by others thau on that earned respectively by them¬ selves. If every youth of 18 to 2-3 j'ears were to-day oftered S10,000 for ten years at seven per cent, interest, two-thirds of them would eagerly accept it; when the probable consequouee Is that tliiee- fourtlis of them would die bankrupts and paupers. Boys do not need money half so much as they need to know how to earn and .save it. The boy who, at the close of his flrst year of independ¬ ence, ha.s earned aud saved SIOO, and in¬ vested or loaned it where it will pay him six or seven per cent., will almost surely become rich ifhe lives; while he who closes his flrst year of responsi¬ bility in debt, will probably live and die in debt. There is no greater mistake made by our American youth than that of choosing to pay interest rather than receive It. Interest devours us wliile we sleep ; it absorbs our profits anil ag¬ gravates our losses. Let a young mau at twenty-flve have S1,000 loaned on bond and mortgage or invested in pub- lie.securities, and he will rarely want money thereafter: in fact, that 51,000, invested at seven per cent., will of itself make him rich before he is sixtj-. Tliere is no rule more importaiit or wholesome foi'our boys than that which teaches thom to go through life receiv¬ ing interest rather than paying it. Of the torments -which afflict this mortal sphere, the flrst rank is held by Ci'ipie; the second by Debt.
II. A cquirc promptly and ihorough¬ ly some ^lseful calling.—Some pursuits aro more lucrative, some more respecta¬ ble, some more agreeable, than others; but a chimney-sweep's is far better than none at all. No matter how rich his parents may be, a boy should learn a trade; no matter liowpoor hera.ay be, a boy may leant «o;i;e trade if he will. This City is full to-day of,young'(and old) men who have been clerks, book¬ keepers, porters, &c., Ac, yet can find nothing to do, and are starving because their foolish parents did not give them trades. A trade is an estate, tind almost 'always a productive one. A good, effl¬ eient farm-laborer can generally flnd paying -ivork if he does not insist in looking for it in a city where it cannot well bo; while many a graduate famish¬ es because nobody wants the only work
he knows how to do.   Letnothiug pre- ventyouracquiringskill in some branch
of productive industry.
III. Resolve not to hu a rover.—" A rolling stone gathers no moss," but is constantly thumped and knocked, and often shivered to pieces. If you are honest aiul industrious, you must ho constantly making roputatiou, which, ifyou remain in one place, helps you along the road to fortune. Eveu a hod- carrier or street-sweeper who has proved that'his promise to appear on a given day autl hour to go to work may be trusted, 'has a property in tho confi¬ dence thus created. Ifyou cannot find your Avork where you now are, migrate; but do it once for all. When you have stuck your stake, stand by it!
IV. Comprehend that there is ivork almost everyiuhcrafor him lolio can do it.—An Italian named Bianconi settled in Ireland some sixty years ago, and got very rich thore by gradually estab¬ lishing Hues of passenger conveyances all over that island. Almost any man would have said that he who went to Ireland to make his fortune mu^t be mad. He who kuows how, and will work, can get rich growing potatoes in New-England, though he hasn't a live- cent stamp to begin with. There is work that will pay for a million more people on the soil of Connecticut alone. There are millions of unproductive acres within a day's ride of this City that might be bought and rendered largely fruitful at a.clear profit of SIOO or more per acre. A man in Niles, Jlieli., declined to go gold-hunting in the Eoeky Mountain.5 because tliere was more gold in Niles thaii he could get hold of. The reason was a good one, and it applies almost everywhere. If you can find nothing to do where j'ou are, it is generally because you can do nothing.
V. Realize thai he who earns six-pcyice p>er day more than he sp>ends must get rich, while hcinho spends six-pence more than he earns mttsi become poor.—This is a very hackneyed truth; but we shall never be done needing its repetition.— Hundreds of thousands are not only poor but wretched to-day, simply be¬ cause tbey fail to comprehend or will not heed it. We Americans are not only an extrav.agant but au ostentatious peo¬ ple. We habitually spend too much on our own stomachs and our neighbors' eyes. We are continually in hot water not because we cannot live in comfort on our means, but because we persist in spending more than we need or can af¬ ford. Our youth squander in extra food and drinks, in frolic and dissipationi which does them harm instead of good, the means which should bo the nest-egg of their future competence. When cares and children cluster about them, they grumble at their hard-fortune, forgetful that they wasted the years and the means which might and should have saved them from present and future poverty.
—All these are very trite, homely truths. All our boys have heard them again and again"; but liow mauy have laid them to heart? We assure G. G. S., and every other youth, that each may become rieh if he will—that "to be or not to be" rests entirely with himself; and that his very first lesson is to dis¬ trust and shun by-paths and short cuts, aud keep straight along the broad, ob¬ vious, beaten highway.-//brace Gree¬ ley.  ,
8ATUBDAT ATIEItNOOK.
I-love to look ou a sctne like this
Of ivUd and careless play, And pursaade myself that I am not old, - And my locks are not yet gray; For itstirs the blood ofan old man'ti heart,
And makes his palses fly, To catch the thrill of a happy voice,
And the light of a pleasant eye.
I have walked the -world for four scor« years,
And they say that I am old— That my heart Is ripe for the reaper De-tlh,
And my years are well nigh told. It Is very true—It Is very true—
I am old,;and I " bide my tlm«;" But my heart will leap at a scene like this,
And Ilinlfrenowm.v prime.
Piny oil! pli.y oa! I am with you t here,
In tho mid.st of yourmerry ring: J can fifnl the thrill ofthe dnrlngjunip
And I lie rush of the breathless swing. X hido with you In the fragrant hay,
And I whoop the smothered call; Aud my fuct slip ou the secfly-lloor,
Andl care not for the fail.
1 am willing to die when luy time .shall lome,
Aud I .shall be glad to go— n-'or the world, at best, is a weary place,
And my pulse Is getting low; "But the grave is dark, and the heart will full
In trending Its gloomy way; And It wiles my breast from ILs dreariness
To see the youngso gay.
"OID FAEHEa STEDDY'S STOEY."
HOW I.ACE IS HASB
An 'exchange paper furnishes this gratifying intelligence: "Crwdgimpes Ap Thomas, the Welsh bard, is coming to thia country. He will be received by theLlwgimntrsmsrath of New York, and his performance on the Qihmdah- rurgwttlyn, or Welsh harp, wUl be the most interesting musical event of the reason. He is a native of Moelgwystr- nwbstwith and his father ia the Invent¬ or of the Biywaw Cnhstagglwust.f'
A bill posted on the walls in a coun¬ try village announced that " a lecture willbe delivered iu the open air, and a collection made at the door to defray expenses."
"The winter of my life has come," said Jenkins, aa he looked at his white locks in the glass. " I perceive snow in the h'air.
However ill the world may have fone, the roaes still blow, and the thrnshee "I still sing in It.
There's a beautiful grove a milo from
the city of , aud just beyond it, ou
high grounds, stands a beautiful house, and in it lives a beautiful girl, witli brown hair, and brown eyes, and sweet smiles, who will be thirteen about the time the next liay roses are in bloom. A little farther on, in a large farm-house, lives a hard-fisted, but soft-hearted, farmer. The boys who have been caught stealing his apples call him " Old Farm¬ er Steddy;" but his name is Johu Sted- mau, and he is well knowu and highly respected not only as a very good, but as a very knowing man. His knowl¬ edge is not confined simply to the hand¬ ling of a hoe and spade, but he has a perfect understanding of the different soiIs,andofwhatthey will produce; and his vegetables aud fruits are celebrated for being Larger aud riclier than those of any other farmer in tho county.— Mauy a man who scorns agricultural pursuib might be proud to talk as intel¬ ligently about the soil, and the things that grow out of it, as Farmer Stedman can.
He has an admirable talent, too, for telling stories. One story, in partieu;- lar, he has told a hundred times, and will probably tell a hundred times more, ifhe should live long enough. The boy.s—tlie few who,have stolen his ap¬ ples—have given it the sobriquet of "Old Farmer Steddy's Story." They were familiar with it before he ever told it to any one, and it is that which puts them so out of humor- whenever they hear that he has told it agaiii.-^ And this is the stoi'i', as related by a listener:
" It was once my good fortune   to spend a day with Fanner Stedman.— We had just .started out, in tlie cool of tho evening, to go round tlie farm, when he said, 'Do you see that flne house on the rising ground by thut grove ?   Well I never look at my orchard  without tbinlcing of that house, and I never look at the house without thinking of the orchard.   They are inseparable in  my mind.   Five years ago I caught four boys .stealing apples in  my orchard.— Two of them wero up in tlic trees, shak¬ ing down the apples, and the other two were filling a couple of largo bags as fast as they could.   Tbey didn't see me until I was close upon tbem, and had tightly grasped oue of theni;   but  I never was tlio man to make an  e.\am- ploof.-i boy; so, after eniiilying their bags, I let them go.   That they would, one day, have their rovenge for tho ]o.ss of their apples and tho disgrace of be¬ ing cauglit never occurred  to me.   I supposed they would call me a good old soul for lettiug tliem ofl' so easy.   But there I made a mistake.   A mo'iitli  af. ter that, when I was fifty miles from home, they thought tbey wouhl  stone an old hen, of mine to death, and throw her into my well.    They pelted  her with .stones, and,unfortunately fortheir plan, chased her over into Jlr. Vauell's yard,—it's Mr. VanoU who lives iu that Iiouse I pointed out to you,—for his lit¬ tle daughter,  Jessie,  not  quite  eight years old tli';n,-^slie's almost thirteen now,—liapponed to be at the window, and saw the lieu come flying into the yard, and the boys after her with their missiles. " They thought,  as they did vvhen they were in the orchard, thutiio- hody saw them; but Jessie Vauell saw, and heard them, too, for she heard tbem say, " I wonder if the old man '11 know he's drinking chicken soup when he takes a drink of water."   She wasn't long in getting out into the yard, nor they any longer, in making their es¬ cape over the feiice.    They fled—^fled witliout carrying their seasoning for the well, as the poor, lame, bruised hen was lying on the ground, at some disttince from theni, when Jessie made her ap- peai'aiice.   The child took it up in hor apron, and carried it into the house, aud put it on a pillow b^ the fire, and talked to it, and soothed'it till it died.— I'll tell you the rest of the story" when Xve get to the orchard.'
" Farmer Stedman's friend had not gone far through the orchard when he spied a -wooden slab that told tho ' rest of the story.' It was painted white, and on it was printed with black paint, in full and distinct letter.s, 'This little grave is a hen's grave—good Jtr. Sted- man'shen. Some terrible boj-a almost killed it with stones, and I took care of it till it died, and then Charlie aud me, ¦we buried it under this apple tree.'
'" You have no idea what a price I set on that,'said the farmer, when his visitor bad flnlshed reading the inscrip¬ tion. ' Whj', I believe I would rather lose all my crops, for a year than have it destroyed. The boys who stole my apples know this, and tbey know, too, that if any harm conies to it, it will be au easy matter to fasten the guilt upon them; so they have never injured it.
" ' Tliat epitpah stands just as the brother took it from the lii tie sister's lip's. He printed it as she stood by, telling him exactly what to say,' con¬ tinued Jtr. Stedman; and he added, with mingled pathos and humor, ' This is the only " hen's grave " I have ever seen; and that precious child over there, who will soon be budding into woman¬ hood, is as ready as ever to nurse a dy¬ ing hen; and if she wouldn't think of putting it on a pillow, as she did wlien she was seven years old, it would be from no loss of loving kindness. Every¬ thing that has breath, and can sufl'er, comes -within the range of her .sympa¬ thies ; and she'll get her reward some timo or other, up yonder. It isn't tbe prophets, and apostles, aud martyrs alone who are going there, but such as my little friend Jessie. That's what I tell all the boys aud girls who read that epitaph; aud rtell them, too, never to get so old as to count any act of pity trifling or childish.'
" ' 1 shall not soon forget the story you have told me,' said the listener.
"' And don't forget,' replied Mr. Stedman, with a humorous twinkle of his eye, ' that the fourtrespassers on my
f rounds call it to this daj-. Old Farmer teddy's Story.'"
The good farmer's visitor left with the epitaph, particularly the last of it, running iu his head. He has never for¬ gotten It, and when tempted to consider any kindness smallj he repeats to him¬ self, •" Charlie arid me, we buried it nn¬ der this apple tree."
Life AjtoNG the Nottingham Lace-
IIAKEBS.
One of Professor Leone Levi's recent sketches of the Condi tion of the working classes iu England gives an interesting account of the Nottingham lace trade. This industry has increased verj* largely during the past flve years; the number ofoperativea employed In 1861 having been but 54,000 in England and Wales, against 13-5,000 In Nottingham alone In 1860.
KAKXIXaS.
In the lace manufacture the earnings of men are usually exceedingly good. JIany of them will earn some £2 or £3 a week, and some even £0 or jCS. Jlr. Felkin, in a paper read before tiie Brit¬ ish Association last summer, gave the wageS| of men employed in unaking machines, bobbins, carriages, points, guides, combs, needles, &e., at ii:!;*. a week on an average. In the larger factories, the flrst class leavens' liands earn 3-5s. a week, a much larger num¬ ber 2-5s., and many no niore than 16s. to 2O5. a week. The boys cin])loyed in clearing, winding or tliroadiug bobbins earn tlieir -js. a week. And among the women employed the wliite menders earn 12s., lace folders, 10s., and ovei- lookers 15s.
Till-; i-Ai."i'ouii'-S. Professor Levi .says: Itis truly ^sur¬ prising to see the roughest cotton or the most beautiful silk suddenly transform¬ ed, bj'the agency of that coiiiplicaled instrument, into the finest Hoiiitoii or Tambour lace, iiiflnitely'niore perfect tlian the most cducat&d fingers could achieve; a wonder, moreover, of pre¬ cision, uniformiti-tind cleanliness. The introduction of tlie Jacquard machine, for the purpose of ornament in large patterns for flounces and shawls of great beauty aud value, was itself an era in tlie manufaclure of lace. Nor h.as tbe warp machine lost its ground aUogether with the advance of tlie twist lace; for liglit aud fancy nets of a useful and elegant character the waip is still used with excellent efFeet. At the London International Exhibition of ISIiiit was reported by the juries, that in England there were 3,.3-32 bobbiii iietniaL'liines,of which 1,243 were of pl.iiu net, l,'J-37 of fancy net, and.>33standing. The exports of lace, trimniiiig am! hosiery from England amount to nearly SI,noo,'oi10.
Although a good d.'iil 'of tlu'   lace manufacture is cai-ricd 'iii iu lai'yc fac¬ tories, and is, tiicrcfori',  -subjiH-t tii the Factory acts, ilin'i'i'i'iit liranebe- nf the business   are    as    j'vi   itiiaci'imiitably omitted.   In thesame linildin>;  a  ]ioi'- tioii of tiie operations is under iIk; I'ac- tory laws, and another iioitiou, L-mpIoj'- ing almost as many persons, is excluded from their .supervision.    Yet, in lace finishing and the making up of lace— wliich include separating the breadth of lace hi' drawing out a thread', mend¬ ing, joining lengths together,  coniple ting patterns, pearling, grafting,  card¬ ing, setting oil' by facings of colored paper, clipping or removing sujierliuous tlireads from the edges, and   bouiiet- froiit making—the nature of tlie em- ploymeutand thecondilioii ofthe ware¬ houses arc in some cases more injurious lo health than the dressing-room.'*. aociAi. (.'oxiiri'iox. The social condition of the operatives is tiius deseriljsd:   " A   most pleasing feature in tlie mamil'ai'liiring towns of Nottiughamsliire and liCicester.siiire is the combination of the close labor of the factory and workBho|i with the healthy and invigorating liglit labor of a flower or kitchen garden.   A11 round the town of Nottingham a large space of ground laid out iu garden land, and  let iiut to the workmen iu small lots of four huii tired to six liuudred square yards at the very sniall rent of 7s per iiuarter more or less.   The tenant builds a small cot¬ tage on  his  laiiil, soiiielimes only plain lint for shelter.   Itc goes there early in  the  murniiig, .md -after  I; work in tlie evening to cultivate tlie land, and when there is no work to do in town lie bas always this source of useful emplojMiioiit.   Though the piece of ground is kept mainly for pleasure aud for the cultivation of flowers, (iisu- tdly potatoes, turnips, and cabbages are also planted, and their proceeds not only suffice to pay the .small  rent, but leave a certain amuiint of profit.   For thcpreservation of health notliing could be better tliau such a provision, while ill an educational aspect the coustant proximity  to   uature's   uiifatliomable beauties must have a considerable in¬ fluence in enlightening the tiiind and enlivening the imagination of opera¬ tives.   Would that some such arrange¬ ment were pqs-sible in tliis great Babj-- ion of industry!    How needful, how important, not only to preserve, but to increase the extent of our parks and pleasure-grounds in every part of this densely  crowded   manufacturing  me¬ tropolis !
"The houses of laborers arc small, but comfortably furnished. In Not¬ tingham they generally exhibit all the signs of plenty; and even although du¬ ring the year many articles of furniture may often pass through the hands of the pawnbrokers, it is a good symptom when the laborers invest their surplus iu what contributes to the comforts and welfare of tlieir families. In other parts, however, such as Towchester, iu Northamptonshiro, and Newport Pag- nell, in Buckiugliamshire, the dwell¬ ings uf the laborliii; cluiwow are often sinall, overcrowded, and ill-ventilated. As we might expect wliere so large a number of girls are assembled, marria¬ ges are numerous."
KDL'C.VTIOX.
As to ediicatiou, Nottingham "and Leicester are in a favorable condition. Whilst in England and. Wales the pro¬ portion who signed their marriage reg¬ ister with a marlc in 1804 was 22.17 per cent, of the males, and 32.37 of the fe¬ males, in Nottingham the proportion was li).S2 per cent", of tiie males, and 33.-51 of the females; in Leicester, 22.1-7 of tlie one, and ."13.14 per cent, bf the other. As regards iiitemperance, "too, these places are by no means in a bad state.
T-ACi; jrAC'lHXKUV. '
Professor Levi adds: " Tlie lace man¬ ufacture is a striking evidence of tlie immense utility of liiaehinery. Here wc have an instance where machinery not only improved but created an in¬ dustry. The laboring classes generally dread the approach of such an innova¬ tor, and to a certain extent the laborers may be excused if tliey arc not ready to regard the ultimate advantage to tlie world as a sufllcient set-oft' to the im¬ mediate luconvcnieuce of themselves. Nor can they in a moment realize tlie fact tbat the manufacturer, in adopting a new uiacliiue, insteail of acting upon caprice, obeys an irresistible law which compels him to do his best to economize the cost of production.
"After all, however, the laborers are not long in discovering that what is good for the world at large is beneficial to themselves also, and the evil of the change is conftned to the uneducated or Infirm, who, unable toadapt themselves to the exigencies of a new occupation, are thereafter powerless to earn their livelihood. In his address to the De¬ partment of Economy and Trade at York, Mr. Chadwick stated that whilst
In 1810 a laee-mak(ng machine made a square yard of plain lace in two hours, and the finished yard was sold for £3, recently the machine made a square yard ofthe same net in five minutes, which was sold In 1860 at 8d.; but that nevertheless the wages had advanced, and therefore the laborers were better off instead of worse.
" The Roman Catholic priests in Bel- glum and elsewhere are in the habit of adorning themselves with lace vest¬ ments, and celebrating their rites be¬ fore altars decorated with new and gor¬ geous lace cloths, imagining them to have been wrought in nunneries or by the faithful of the Koman Catholic flock. But in fact thehard labor of the poor worker of that fliielv, who was toil¬ ing hard at a rate <if five meshes a min¬ ute for poor Wiiges which rendered un¬ necessary the prohibition of the uso of meat 011 the Friday, and made her whole life a sevefo fast, has been su¬ perseded by the Nottingham maehine- iiiado vestments; which are produced at the fate ofa thousand meshes a minute, under the superintendence of men whose wages for fancy work arc iifl.s., or even liOs. a week. When tlie laborer reflects oil facts like these, all his oppo¬ sition to niacliinery must necc.s.sarilv be abandoned." '
F«o?.KN- IC1XDXRS.S.—The world If full of kindness that never wtis spoken,- aiid tbat i.s mueli beller than no kind¬ ness at all? Tlie fuel of Uie stove makes tlie wood warm, but there are great pilesof fallen trees lying among loeks on the top oftlie hill, where "nobody can get them ; these do not make any¬ body warm. Vou might freeze to death iupIainsightofaIIthe.se trees, ifyou liad no means of getting the wood and making a fire with it. Just -so in a fam¬ ily : love is what makes the iiarenls and children, the brothers and sisters happy ; but if tliey lake care never t.l say a word about it, if they keep it a profound secret, as if it were a crime they will not be much h.appier tliaij if there \vas not .any love among them; the home will seem cold even in .sum¬ mer, and if you live there von live there you will envy the dog W'lieii any one calls him "pooi' fellow."
BEE'VifrES,
About one week ago a young man, said (o belong (o one oftlie "first fjmii- ies" of Baltimore, arrived in JJclioil on what is vulgarly termed a "bender,"', and reniained in IliaU condition iiiUil yesterday. A ti-iegi-ani was sent to some parties tliei-f requesting tliem to secure the truant, ami a search being instituted, tiie Baltiiiiorean was found at a place of doublfiil reiiutation on At- waterstreet, with one eye in "mourn¬ ing." He was taken in cliarge bv his friends, and started <in his way home a-s a package by the .Merchants' L-nioii Express Cpnipany-
The moment a friend, or even a mere acquaintance, is dcail, how surely there starts up before us each instance of un- kinduess of whieh we have been guilty towards him. In fact, many and maii'v an act or word which, while lie was iii life, did not seem !o lie unkind at till, now "bites back" as ifit were a serpent and shows us what it really was. Alas ! 'twas thus we caused liiiu tosufiTer wlio now is dust, and yet theu we did not pity or reproach ourselves. There is al¬ ways a bitteriies ijcyond that of death in the dyiiigof a fellow creature to whom we have been unjust or unkind.   '
A man advertiscil lately to forward, on receipt of postage stamps, "sound practical advice, that would be applica¬ ble at any time and to all persons and conditions of life." On receipt of the -stamps hesent hisvli-tiin the following : "Never give a boy a penny to watch your shadow while you climb a tree to look into the middle of next week."
An old -woman on a steamboatobserv. ed two men pumping uji water to wash the deeljf and the Captain being near by, she accosted him as follows: "Well Captain, got a well aboard, eh ?" " Yes ma'am tilways carry one," said the po¬ lite captain. "Weil that's clever. I alwaj's did dislike tlie nasty river water especially in dog days." "-;:p
A gentleman roughly accosted a quack doctor aud accused him of swindling. " You sold me," he .said, " a pomade lo make my hair grow, and ray head is still as smooth as a piece of leather." Sir, an.swered the vender of oiiilmeiit ; " there are lands where the best scpil won't grow; It is not tbe fault ofthe seed, it is the soil."
"Pa," observed a young urchin of tender years to his fond parent, "dues the Lord know ever.vthiiig ?"
"Y^es, my sou," replied the hojiet'ul sire; "but why do you ask that ques¬ tion ?" "Because our preacher, when he prays, is so long telling the Lord everytliiug, I tliought he wasn't post¬ ed.". The parent reflected.
The principal ofan academy gave a pupil, who was an aspirant for tlie sit¬ uation of school teacher, a,eerlifii'ali' which read : "Thisyoung man is ca¬ pable of lilling any iiiisition for which he is qualified."
Wh.y cannotadeafman be legally con¬ victed ? Because itis not lawful In eim- deniii a man willioiit hearing.
Steam has been defined as a bucket of water in ajtremeiidons pei'.spii'alioii.
Why is a sellisli friend like the letter P ? Because, though he is the first in pity, he is tlie last in help.
Whj-talk about nol sleeping a wink, when peoplein tlieirsleep never wink?
Nature, when six; makes a beaulifnl lieail, is often -so absorbed with admira¬ tion of her own work tliat she forgets the brains.
Whieli is theistroiigestdayofthesov- eii ? Sjinday, becau-se - tho others are week days.
That man is not good enough for any place who thinlcs no place good euongli jor bim.
-Would you hear a sweet and pleasing echo, speaksweetly and pleasing your¬ self.
Steam has been defined as a bucket of water in a tremendous perspiretion.
The merit or our actions consists not iu doing extraordinary actions, but in doing ordinary actions extraordiuarilv well.
The public character of a man is tlie tinsel worn of court; Ills privaie char¬ acter is tlie service of gold kept at his banker's.
The aim ofan honest man's life is not thehappine* wliich acwca only him¬ self, bur the virtue which is useful to others.
The most common things are the most useful: which shows botn the wistlom and goodness of the Great Father ofthe family ofthe world.
Jones calldd on the man who " re¬ stores oil paintings." aud requested him to try to restore one stolen from his res¬ idenee a year ago.
Adversity has over been considered as the state in which a mim most easily becomes acquainted with himself—par¬ ticularly, being free from flatterers.
In the voyage of life we should imi¬ tate the ancient manners, who, witliout losing sight of the eartb, trusted to the heaveuly signs for their guidance.
In the natural history of insects, the grub turns iuto a butterfly; but it often occurs in the natural history of man, that the butterfly turns into a grub.