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THE CORNER STONE M PUBLISHED EVERY THURBDAY MORNING. JAMES N. BETHUNE— Editor. W. 8. REYNOLDS & C. H. YARBOROUGH. PUBLISHERS. TERMS. — Two Dollars pci.pnum. No name a to entered upon our book* unless the money id in advance. THE SLIGHTED oTeT “Man was made to Mourn.” T!io sentiment at the head of this sketch appears to meet the approbation of many persons. Indeed, some authors take pleasure in repeating the very words. Why this should be the case is the ques tion. Do not such persons know that they assert a palpable falsehood ? It is true that some persons do mourn, and that some have a great share of suffering in this world —sufhcient, indeed, to afford them an excuse for mourning. But to assert roundly that “man was made to mourn,” is to assume a position that can not be sustained by a course of sound Reasoning. When you look upon a chair, you at once conclude that it was made to sit upon. When you see a coach, you know it was made to ride in; and when you see a watch, you are certain that it was made to keep time. The fact is pal pable upon the face of it. Biit suppose you see somebody break up a chair and use it for firewood, would you then be justifiable in saying that chairs were made to boil the tea kettle with ? So if you saw a tin kettle tied to a dog’s tail, would yon say that dogs’ tails were made on purpose tew support tin kettles, and the latter articles were intended as orna ments to be suspended from the tail of a dog? Again, if you saw a man on a scaffold with a rope about his neck, would you declare thatsnch was the end of a man’s creation ? On the contrary, we can produce good authority to show, that the very worst use which you can make of a man is to hang him. Let us then examine the creature man and see if we can discover those infalli ble marks of design that would warrant us in proclaiming that lie was made to mourn. Firstly, man is said to be the only laughing animal in existence, for we cannot call the noise of a hyena a laugh. With much more propriety could we say that man was made to laugh. Other animals can mourn. The cow utters loud corn plaints at the loss of her cWf i the dog whines and howls, and I the crocodile weeps. Batman only taui laugh. There are many things which lie can do, and he possesses also theforgans for accomplishing them. He ,pan do many things much better than be can mourn. If man was made to mourn, all creation would be bung in black. It is a tact almost self-evident tir was not made to mourn. Those, therefore, who give themselves up wholly to grief, act an unnatural part. They do not subserve the purposes of creation—they deny themselves theonly consolation apart from the brutes, which belongs to tiieir physical nature. But i such an individual will plead in exten uation of bis monstrous and continued sorrow, that lie has been visited by some “peculiar misfortune.” That is no valid, excuse. They cut off beads in France/ and where is there a more merry and careless people? A Frenchman invited to a ball, though beheaded in the after noon, would take his head under his arm and go to the ball in the evening. Eve ery misfortune is peculiar. Every source of unhappiness sends us bitter waters: otherwise it would not be unhappiness, But why permit grief to avercorue you ? You thus chase from you those resources which are calculated to alleviate your grief; for it l'emainsto be as true now as in the days i ;of'€lpllins, that “pale melan choly” sits few ml. Nobody cares to meddle w.ith ller. The eye aches when it is fixes on an impenetrable blackness, and turns’ for relief to the soft green of the 60ul —to th(*se cheerful hillocks on which the sun-beams rest as they glance through the foliage of leaves and blos soms. The worlil shrinks, froin those who can impart no pleasured Many a fair one has given herself up to all-devouring grief on the account of disappointment in love. “She has been disappointed,” is supposed tobe a snffi reply, when the sad downcast eye, the trembling lip, and pallid visage have j drawn the attention of a stranger to some j neglected, forlorn maiden, who shrinks j from the gaze of others, and sits in a distant part of the room, wrapped in a speechless sorrow, “like patience on a monument.” We knew alight hearted damsel once who had the misfortune to fall in love, j She fancied one, who was in most re spects her inferior, and certainly so in j point of sincerity. She gave him her | heart embalmed in sighs, and its incense j went up to him like the perfume of a i holocaust from the plains es Isreal. In return he gave her fair words. He was i without feeling, but lie could discourse; he had no heart, for nature had worked it all up into a tongue, and like the ser pent, it wrought only venom on those who placed dependence on the words which flowed from it. The maiden be came attached to him She supposed that his admiration was equal to heis. It was not his intention to dishonor her, for that would have involved the possession of B.>me fooling on his part. lie had none. His vanity was gratified by her love, and he permitted tier to love on. Why she did love him was difficult to tell. An ordinary person set off by a fashionable dress, was all that he could boast of. In the course of a few months he left her and sought another dupe. THE CORNER STONE. VOL 1. Here was food for sorrow. Here was a inaid forsrken —true love crossed, and a real loving heart betrayed! The sickly pall of grief fell over her visage. Her bright eyes became dim and wandering. Her head drooped, and she scarcely seemed sensible of the presence of oth ers. Her iesponse to their words was faint and low. She was like a fading flower whose stem was bruised. The cause was a desperate one; for who can administer to a mind diseased, and last of all, diseased by hopeless love ? She loved to sit for hours together, by the side of a running brook, with her eyes fixed upon the stream, and if a cloud came over the sky, and the drops of rain began ta fall, it was slowly and and carelessly that she moved off to a retreat in the very heart ot the gF4HP, where the thicket was blackest ana secu rest. There she would sit and weep. She would repeat the name of him who had deserted her, as if there were no other names more’ musical—she would bring before her mind’s eve his features, as if there were no other features more comely—and would pander over the fine things he had said to lier ? as if more in genious and pleasing tilings did not re main to be said. Thus for eighteen months she lingered on refusing to be comforted, and when ever a word was drawn from her, it breathed only of the hopelessness of her j lot, and the weariness of blighted ex istence. Remarkable as the fact may seem, her runaway lover having visited distant lands, and become cloyed by the vani ties of this gay. world, did, most unex pectedlv, return to the town where the melancholy dove abided, presented him self to her, and repeated his vows in truth and sincerity. In this event there* was more truth than poetry, and this may also be said of the substantial pud dings ana tarts which graced the board on their wedding day. Now seven long years have passed, and our plaintive desolate heroine, counts Tour bouncing boys when she ranges the dishes on the table. She is a notable housekeeper; and if her husband in trudes too carelessly on a wash ng day or is guilty of any other inadvertency which seems,to invade her province, her voice is lifted up against him with no uncertain sound. liis part, ho is a vafian'ttrencher man, and an enterprising grocer. His wife is careful of the pence, and sees that nothing goes out of the fami ly Ti’HT’pfftjlCf tWWfflfffigP. -She Hkes her .husband for just what lie is worth; she th nks him a “provider,” and a decent sort of a body, hut she wishes him to keep on diis own side of the house, and she will manage her own affairs. She wonders that she ever pined and wept at his desertion, for she is sure that since her marriage she .has seen fifty men as good as he—when she is particularly angry, ‘she says better. Sad, sorrowful, pining, and melancho ly,maids, if you canriot get husbands, you are free from many cares and anxi eties—rejoice. Have you been deserted by a lover ? mourn not, but arouse and seek some other ppurce of enjoyment ; for the sorrow youTeel is the grief of in experience. Had you married him, a few years would have shown you that your fine fancies were-but the dreams of ignorance, and that lie for whom we now mourn, was worth just)’ 1 so much and no* more. CLEANING STAINED COTTON. Joseph B. Black, of Abbeville, South Carolina, makes the following communi cation to the Independent Press, which may be very valuable to the Cotton Planters, all or nearly all of whom, have stained cotton this season. Let the method be tested. Mr. Editor: —Having discovered a simple process by which cotton soiled by 1 | the late rains, may be cleansed and whi-; tened. I make the suggestion for the ! benefit of farmers. Take a common ! wheat thrasher, and raise the cylinder j I one inch, the box one-half inch, which will throw the frails an inch from the cross bar, and by placing the cross bars |an inch apart, the dirt and traStl pass through and fait in a heap near the thrasher, and separately from the cotton. In this way I cleansed enough dirty cot ton to make some three bales of ginned ! cotton in about two hours. It can he i cleansed as fast as several hands can feed | the thrisher, and wl en done, is as white j as that which has opened since the rain, i Very respectfully, JOSEPH R. BLACK. Johnson’s Creek, Sept. 23, 1853. S P. S. The thrasher I used was from j Enright & Starr’s factory, Abbeville C. H. , Stroke of Wit. —A stroke of wit, ac companied by a delicacy of insult was ; played off by a lady who was engaged j shortly to be married. The intend*! 1 j bridegroom perceiving her talking for a j considerable time, and with much appa rent pleasure to another gentleman, said ; to her, “I will he revenged of your infi- J i delity and show the letters you tyave j ! written to me.” “Do” said the lady, “I j j have nothing to blush for, except the I direction .” New York Whig State Convention as sembled sth inst. at Syracuse. 1 ♦ COLUMBUS, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, OCTOBER 13, 1853. [From the Coiirie.-.J DR. DODDRIDGE’S DREAM. Dr. Doddridge was on terms of very intonate friendship with Dr. Samuel i Clarke, and in religious conversation they spent very many happy hours to gether. Among other matters, a very favorite topic was the intermediate state of the soul, and the probability that at the instant of dissolution it was not in-j troduced into the presence of all the heavenly hosts, and the splendors around the throne of God. One evening, after a conversation of this nature, Dr. Dod dridge retired to rest with his mind full ofttlie subject discussed, and in “the vis ions ot the night” his ideas were shaped in the following beautiful form: lie dreampt that lie was in the house of a friend, when lie was suddenly taken dangerously ill. By degrees lie seemed to himself to grow worse, and at last to expire. In an instant he was sensible that lie had ex hanged the prison-house and sufferings of mortality, for a state of liberty and happiness. Embodied in a slendor aerial form, he seemed to float iu a region of pure light. Beneath him lay the earth, hut not a glittering city of a village, the forest or the sea, was visi ble. There was naught to be seen be low save the melancholy group of his friends, weeping around his lifeless re mains. Himself thrilled with delight, I lie was surprised at their tears, and at | tempted to inform them of Ins happy ! change, but, by some mysterious power, utterance was denied him; and, as he anxiously leaned over the mourning cir cle, gazing fondly upon them and strug gling to speak, lie rose silently upon the air, their forms became more and more indistinct, and gradualls melted away from liis sight. Reposing upon golden clouds, lie found lumself swiftly mount ing tlie skies, with a venerable figure at liis side, guiding liis mysterious move ments, and in whose countenance lie re marked the lineaments of youth and age were blended together with an intimate harmony and majestic sweetness. They travelled together through a vast, region of empty space, until at’ length the bat tlements of a glorious edifice shone in the distance, and as its form rose bril liant and distinct in the far off shadows that flitted athwart their path, the guide informed him that the palace I e beheld*, for the present was to he liis mansion off rest. Gazing upon'its splendor, lie re plied that, while on earth lie had often JbariUlMiUfop e . ve Ued not seel), lior had the ear heard, nor could it enter into the heart pf maiq to consider the things; which God lisiil.i prepared for those wtrep love him, hut notwithstanding the build ing to which they were then rapidly ap proaching was superior to any thing which he had actually before beheld, yet its grandeur had not exceeded the conceptions he had formed. The guide made no reply, they were already at the door and entered. The guide introdu-, ced him into a spacious apartment, at the extremity of which, stood a table, covered with a 6now white cloth, a gol den cup and a cluster of grapes, and then said that he must leave him, but that he must remain for he would re ceive in a short time, a visit from the I*>rd of the mansion, and that during the interval before his arrival, the apart ment would furnish him with sufficient entertainment and instruction. The guide vanished and he was left alone.—- fe began to examine the decorations of the room, and observed that the walls” were adoi ned with a number of pictures. Upon nearer inspection, lie found to his astonishment that they formed a com plete biography of his own life. Here he saw upon the canvass that angels,; though unseen, had ever been his famil iar attendants, and sent by God, they had sometimes preserved him from im minent peril. He beheld himself first represented as an infant just expiring, ; when his life was prolonged by an an i gel gently breathing into his nostrils.— j Most of the occurrences here delineated ! were perfectly familiar to his recollec- j tion, and unfolded many things which lie i had never before understood/and which had perplexed him with many doubts! and much uneasiness. Among others. 1 he was particularly struck with pic ture in which he was represented as fall ing from his horse, when death would have been inevitable, had not an angel received him in liis arms, ;md broken flic force of his descent. These merci- i ful interpositions of God, filled -him with ! joy and gratitude, and his heart over-! flowed with love, as he surveyed in them - all, an exhibition of goodness and mercy j far beyond all that lie imagined. The | Lord of the mansion had arrived, the door opened and lie entered—so power ful and so overwhelming, and withal of such singular beauty was his appear ance, that he sunk down at his feet com : pletelv overcome by liis majestic ap pearance. His Lord gently raised him from the ground, and taking his hand, lea him forward to the table. He press ed with liis fingers the juice of the grapes iu the golden cu , and after i . v, "fiL d . ra . nk > Resented it to him, sav j 111 Hus is the new wine in my fatli j er’s kingdom.” No sooner had he par taken tnan all uneasy sensations van ished ; perfect love had cast out fear, and lie now Conversed witli liis Saviour as an intimate friend. Like the silver rippling of a summer sea, he heard fall from liia Ups the grateful approbation, “Thy labors are over, thy work is appro ved, rich and glorious is the reward.” Thrilled with an unspeakable bliss, that glided over his spirits, a .and slid into the very depths of liis soul, he suddenly saw glories upon glories bursting upon his view. The doctor la woke. Tears of rapture from this joyfnl interview, were rolling down his cheeks; long did the lively impression of this charming dream remain upon liis mind, and never could he spdak of it withont emotions of joy and tenderness. / J. B. C. ■ THREE YEARS IN HEAVEN. Three years ago, to-day, lie went to Heaven. Three years he had lived on earth. He was’ the youngest of*our flock.— Three summers only lie had been here, and lie was brighter ad sunnier than any summer ay of them all. The vest of our flock were so much older than lie, that when we hurried him, all the frolic’ of childhood that our house knew was hid with him in liis grave. Since then our hearth has been desolate, and our hearts have been yearning for the hoy who is gone. We think of him as gone, not lost, living and blessed in another and happier home than ours. He has been there just three years, this day. Three years in Haven! 1 hey do not. measure life in the world of spirits by days, or months, or years, hut we know that all the time of these three years while we have been mourning his ab sence here, lie lias been rejoicing there. We are willing to believe that the last are as much better than the first, as the heavens are higher, and brighter, and more glorious than the earth. llis pa rents, his brothers and isters and friends were all sinful; lie had not lie holy play mate, companion or teacher during those three years that lie dwelt among us.— And sometimes when we looked on him in his sleep or in liis play, the thought would come to us, “lie is too pure tor earth, lie looks like an angel who has strayed, and will soon find his way home.” But, now he lias been three years in the company of Heaven. Three years with the redeemed and holy inlfeavm! He is one of them, ’ and like them. He sits down with Sam uel, ond Timothy, and John ; and they tell him of Jesus, in whose blood they washed heir robes, and whose righteous- tfaefcr stoviitron. *Phere urawme among the redeemed in Heaven who wonkl have loved him had they been here with him, hut. they went to glory before he did. They have welcomed hknj now to their company. lam not sure’ that they know him as our child. But we love to think of him, in the arms of. th >se who were once in our arms; thus broken families are re-united, and made perfectly blessed 111 the enjoyment Pripfod and each other, among the re deemed and holy in Heaven. %gjtSirec years with anyels ! They have b§en liis companions and teachers. What tlljpfes of wisdom and love he must have leaped from three years’ instructions in WBk a school. The cheruhims are said JfcßMcel in knowledge, and this seraphim Savc. Our child lias been three years iggfp them, becoming more and more MBhotli. What, an angel of a child he Rt he now. We thought nun almost |W before liis wings were given him.— gMBv child, who was pleased with the rattle, is flying among the an jKnc throng, at home with Gabriel. lie walks and speaks with the tallest spirits in aie presence of the Infinite, and is as free and happy as any who are there. Wfi'hree years with Jesus , the children's 1 9!Aior! While with us he knew but little of Jesus and His dying love. But he |ia seen and known and loved Him am. The blessed Savior said that “of I 6iiai is the kingdom;” and there is a gHgl which only a bleeding heart can kulw, that a loved child is in liis pres the bosom of that Savior; look- ES§j up into His face, and making Ilea. e 1 vojal with hymns of gladness and love. ! Blpsed Jesus! Blessed child! Our j SiJ’ior, our child! AThree years in Heaven! Three years without a pain, a sigh, or a tear. He J oftfejrwept while here; he suffered dread fullv before he went. away. For many days, and nights he was torn with fierce convulsions, eite his spirit was released, I But now for three years, just as many : as the years he was in this vale of tears, j he bjs been where up one ever says, “I ; am fok;” where the Savior wipes-away ! all tutrs, where sighing and sorrow nev er come. AVid though tiie light of our house has gone out, and our hearts ache to-day for Ibe loved one that is gone, we are more than reconciled to the IV ill that has tallied him to the other and better world. This is the anniversary of our loss; a death-day here; but liis birth-day there. Loiig and lonely have these three years been to ns; .bright and blessed years to our sen in glory. “Even so, Father. — Not for will, hut thine he done-” Spurters.—A waggish spendthrift said: fFive years ago, I was not worth a cent in the world—now see where I am through mv exertions? “Well, where are you ?” “Why, I owe more than §3,000!” THE- CLIMATE OF COUNTRIES. Although Edinburgh, in Great Brit-! ain, is situated ten degrees further north | than the city of New York, it lias a-1 much wanner climate in winter, and the j heat and cold never attain to such ex tremes. The climate of England is, to most of our pe pie, a mystery. The is land is situated between 50 and 55 deg. i I north latitude, and it has a milder cli mate than any we enjoy in the latitudes of 40 and 45 deg. The British Isles are situated in the path of warm ocean cur rents, which How across the Atlantic and heat upon and circulate around them. The wild Orkev islands, which! are situated in 59 deg. 5 min., have war mer winters than we have in Netv York, which is situated aljoiit 17 deg. further south. In the city of G a-gow, the mean temperature in the month of January is 38 deg., and it was never below zdvu but. twice in forty years, and then onTy 3 deg. for two davs. r* ./ - * In Hast, in the Shetland Isles, in lat. 60 deg. 5 min., the mean temperature in January is 40 deg. In many places in the United Slates, ranging from N. York to Maine, in lat 45 deg. the mean j temperature is 6 deg. below zero. Last i is only one degree colder than Constan tinople in January, and no count® in Europe, nor the world, perhaps enjoys the mildness of climate peculiar t4> (4. Britain and Ireland. This must have a'wonderful elicet npon the health and organization of the people. The 1 cause is, as we have stated, generally attribu ted to the currents of the gulf stream ; one philosopher, however, aftritfc:e.s the genial warmth to moist breezes rram Af rica, which come over the Atlantic, cros sing the equator. In Russia, Moscow is on the same line with Edinburg, yet its temperature in winter is at,least 13 deg. lower. The climate of England is moist and wet. To foreigners, accus tomed to clear skies , it is disagreeable. . o The atmosphere is cloitdv in summer, and this is one reason, why it is not so warm as in other countries in the same northern latitude. Were it, not for the warm ocean currents and the warm breezes, the coast of England would he ice-bound, and many of the plants which now flourish there as evergreens would he unknown. On the northern coast of onr continent —in northern (.'regon—tlie climate is much warmer in winter than in places on the same lines <>f latitude iri our Eas tern States. _ It is believed that currents w4h the Oregon shores, as the Gulf stream of the Atlantic does the British Isles. During the oast winter the tlier- monefer ranged at 17 deg. above zero, and the prairies were green all the time, except when covered by occasional snow storms. The farmer is not compelled, as in the Eastern States, to depend for the winter sustenance of his cattle on hay raised the previous season; his cat tle can graze here throughout the jvhole year, and wild flowers may often be plucked in the months of January and February. — Scientific American. PRINTER’S DEVIL. ) We have so ‘frequently been asked by friends and others, “why the hoy. in a printing office is called the ‘■DmiiV ” that we give below what little we know upon the subject. M The first persons who carried on print ing to any extent, were John Giitfen berg, Jolla Faust (or Faustus) and Pe ter Sclueffer. Germany was the place where the art was invented and first car ried on. The following story is told of the first introduction of printing into France: “In 1462, Faust c&rred a number of Bibles to Paris, which he and his part ner, SchoelTer, had printed, and disposed of them as manuscripts; at this time the discovery of the art was not known in France. At first lie sold them at the high price of 500 and 600 crowns, the sum usually obtained by the scribes; he afterwards lowered the price to sixty*, which created universal astonishment; but when he produced them according to the demand, and even reduced £he price to thirty, all Paris became agitated. The uniformity of the copies increased their wonder, the Parisians considering it a task-beyond human invention.. In formation was given to the police against him as a magician; his lodgings were searched, a great number of Bibles were found and seized; the red ink with which they were embellished, was said to be bis blood; it was seriously adjudged that he was in league with the devil; where upon lie was cast into prison, and would most probably have shared the fate of such, whom ignorant and superstitions judges condemned in those days for witchcraft. He now found it necessary, in order to gain his liberty, to make kno .n the discovery of the art. This <4rcnnSßtttnce gave ri e to the tradition of ‘The Devil and Dr. Faustus,’ which is handed down to the present time.” The ignorance and superstition that considered printing an invention of the Evil one, would also very naturally sup pose the men engaged in it were ttie ser vants of Satan, if not actually fiends in human shape. It is universally consid ered that the above story gave rise to the practice of -ailing the office-boy by the name of Devil, RATES OF ADVERTISING. Advertisements inserted nt One Dollar pej square for the first insertion, mid Furr Cents for each subsequent insertion. A liberal deduction will be made for pearly advertisements. Legal Advertisements inserted nt the usual rate*. Advertisements, without limitation, w ill be pub lished until forbid, and charged accordingly. Offt'-e No. (53 liroad Street, next (fear below Harrison ct Ayer's. NO. 37. GETTING FORTUNES BY LOTTERY; A Pennsylvania paper has taken some pains for the purpose of showing how near a man may come to drawing a prize by buying a lottery ticket, hirst, (lie says) there are upwards of seventy number* used in making out the ticket, and there are three numbers on each ticket ; now the question is, how many different tickets can he made i If hut. ten figures were used, instead of seventy, there could he issued 3,(538,800 tickets, each different from -the others; and if twelve figures were used, instead of seven ty, there could he issued 479,000,600 j tickets; so a man, in the first instance, where there are ten numbers would stand one chance out of 3,628,800 chan ces, and in the last instance, where there ! are twelve numbers to change by, he j would stand hut one chance out of ’ 479,000,600, and if the whole seventy i figures he used, and if as many different tickets were issued as could be formed by the permutation of these numbers, it is probable that there would he enough to more than carpet the whole territory oftheUnited States. Os course very few are printed, com i pared to what might be printed, yet there is just as good a chance for the prize to fall to an imprinted, ticket as to apr.nted one. Il in does so, as no one can claim the money, it remains with those making the lottery. There are, in such a case, thousands of chances in favor o: the Lottery maker. Again, if lotte ries were fairly conducted, there would he hundreds or thousands each month’ receiving a fortune by the high prizes alone; and each year there could be named from 1,000 to 10,0(10 persons thus favored by fortune. In this we have only been speaking of one single prize in each lottery, and as there are many important ones in each, the fortunate persons ought to greatly exceed ten thousand annually. Yet, how seldom do you hear that even a SIOOO prize is drawn? Still all the prizes of every lottery should fall on someone at each drawing. Who gets them? where do the favored ones live?—and how does it happen that their names arc not para ded before the public each week, and thus used to induce 1 others to buy ? It is simply because no ole holds a ticket entitled to the prize, ahd of course, the money remains with the.-‘maker of the lottery. The whole system, would be a perfect scheme of gambling, even i’s hon estly conducted, but managed as it is, it .loses the character- of even honorable gambling, and should rank with the low est species of fraud. Go out beneath the arched heaven in night’s profound gloom, and say, if yon can—“ There is no God !” Pronounce that, dread blasphemy, and each star above will reprove you for vonr unbro ken darkness of intellect—-'every voice that floats upon the night winds will be wail-yonr utter hopelessness and despair. Is there no God? Who, then unrolled that blue scroll, and threw upon its high frontispiece the legible glearnings of im mortality? Who fashioned the green eart , with its pe-petual rolling waters, and its expanse of island and main ? Who paved the heavens with clouds, and attuned amid banners of storms the “ voice of thunders; and unchained the lightning that linger and lurk and flash in their gloom ? Who give to the eagle a safo eyrie, where the tempest dwell and beat strongest, and to the dove a tranquil abode amid the forests that ev er echo to the minstrelsy of her moan? Who made thee, oh man, with thy per fect elegance of intellect and form ? Who made light pleasant to thee, and the darkness a covering and a herald to the first flashes of the morning? Who gave thee that matchless symmetry of sinews and limb? That regular flow of blood? The irrepressible and daring passiou of ambition? And yet the thunders of heaven and the waters of earth are calmed ? Are there no floods, that man is not swept under a deluge ? They remain, hut the bow of reconcilia tion stands out above and beneath them. And it were better that the limitless wa ters and the strong mountains were con vulsed and commingled together—it were better that the very stars -were conflagrated by fire or shrounded in eternai gloom, than that one soul should 1)3 lost, while Mercy kneels and pleads , for it before the altar of intercession. Jennv Lxxd has got a baby. The “Otto of Roses” is distilled. The foun tain that has fed multitudes with the af fluence of holiest song, now feeds holiest humanity that does its own singing. more white gloves enclosing frenzied fin i Jiers, applaud the virgin cantatrice, but little hands, softer than kid, pat one an other gently and joyously in the eyes of the ydnng mother. ‘ “An monx I sung no inure over tli; Parqnette, but over the cradle. What a dear little dar ling the baby must be? We think w<- see Otto going into the room conning his double treasure. Wliat to him i. operas, as lie bends over the sweet little snub-nose that nestles in its noble moth er’s arms! Think of them all there to gether, and tell us oh! ascetic old bach elor and old maid unmarried from choice, (if there exists such a marvel, i whether you think such happiness to Ik; cavalierly sneezed at? —SjinngfieliJ