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The Greorgia Literary and Temperance Crusader. Rallies’ gcjiailmcnt. BY MBS. L. VIRGINIA FRENCH. “ 1)0° in the Shade.* 4 A JULY REVERIE. BT L. VIRGINIA FRENCH. “The dog-star rages.” Phoebus! how the day-god brings down upon us with his burning sceptre! Every beam is as sharp and shining as a lance, and fierce os the eyes of a larotner- geyer! The only immortality which seems at present to attend those “children of Eternity,” (as Lander calls the winds,) is that they are apparently eternally dead. “Pity the sorrows of” the noon-day pedestrian, as lie passes along (lie burning pare, emblematical of the ancient ^hadrack, Mesheck and Abednego, who walked of «>ld in the fiery furnace. Smile, oh! favored denizen of some “ mountain home,” swinging idly in thy hammock, under thy loaf-darkened portico—smile at the self-delusion of some so ber “Cant-get-away” who reasons himself into the belief that there can be a “shady-side” to the arid pavement; and that ice creams, sher ry-cobblers and soda-water are M refresh ments.” 44 But,” says our friend, the honora ble member of the “C. ft. A. Club”—“our city is 4 open at the top*—you can’t deny that.” We will not a*tempt it, “most potent, grave, and reverend” Salamander, and yet we doubt not that with the rascally thermometer at 0G° you have an idea that it would be more oomf- r.^le to have all creation “ covered in.” Toti^re ••warmed up” just now, there is no denying the fact. The theory of old lier&clitus is in \ ogue at present—-just as well dispossess your self of the idea that you are not u convert to the doctrine that "Jirt is the first principle ot all things.” Practically, you are now suffering from the effects of this very “first principle,” and it is nonsense to attempt to ignore the fact All the ice-creams, and sea-breezes, and closed < urtains id the “three continents” cannot pre vent you from becoming a veritable victim—a sort of modern Gautemogin—be who under tbe old Aztec administration, is said to have •• smiled on burning coals,” you know. Yea, and verily the time has come when a close cravat is voted a bore by every reasonable man, and a laced hoddice is regarded as a “durance vile,” not to be tolerated by any ac countable feminine. In city homos the Veni- rians are closed, and more, from the dust accu mulated upon them; they look as though they might have belonged to Pompeii or Herculane um. The pillared portico look* dingy, the hell-pull is tarnished, there is dust upon your “household gods” throughout “kitchen, parlor, and hall.” Within doors you have dishabelle r.nd darkened apartments, variegated by an as- 'ortment of fans and refrigerators—yon look out and—dust—dust—like so many “sister Anne’s,” you behold nothing but those “great clouds of dust.” It has been said by some one that “the very dust beneath our feet was once alive, and wretched.” If so, we should expect that by this time such “mortal remains” would desire to rest, and decidedly object to be whirled hither and thither so unceremon ously. Who would have imagined that the “ dust of our ancestors” would ever have proved so an noying ? Proud as some mAy be of such dust, (if this is it.) we are sacreligious enough to consider it, under certain circumstances, a de cided nuisance. Shades of the great yone-by— forgive us! And, if you would but credit our authority —your city home is a nuisance also. Straw berries are now among the things that “used to was,” and iced juleps, ctsctery are a “ weak invention” of—the bar-keeper, not to mention the great “enemy.** The news-boys are odi ous, the street-cries abominable, even your pretty flower-vender mocks your fiery woe by the hues of her floral offerings. Her roses are burning crim.-on like a hectic cheek, her ver benas are all me, heir upon their stakes like the glowing fires of a floral auto-da-fe. “ Weary, stale, flat, and un profitable,” is the daily routine of your semi- purgatorial existence—you are enervated—en- nuyee—in short, you are, if yon would but ac knowledge it—a melting, miserable specimen of humanity. Learn, oh! denizen of brick and mortar, to consider yourself such, and vow 44 by all the gods of Greece’* (alias perspira tion) that you’re not going to stand it. Seize yourself with a fit of desperation some sultry, wilting, fainting morning—bang to the front door, lock up the “family supplies,” have your life insured, and register yourself O. P. H. Somebody or otheT—(it is too warm just now to exert one’s self to remember who.) has said, “ We have a need to piss the summer in some place that God has made !” We agree with whoever said it—such a sojourn is “one of the necessaries,” probably not of “life,” but of happiness. Therefore, oh ! inhabitant of star ing walls, and du9ty thoroughfares, decide at once that you have no longer an unconquera ble desire to be par-boiled this summer, and that you will postpone joining ♦ he ranks of the Fire-worshippers until a more convenient sea son. .-I la Martin Farquhar Tupper, of “pro verbial” and “philosophical” fame, sally forth, 9aying to cares and crosses, to dust And duns, to streets and suffocation, “get thee behind me.” Shake off from your feet the dust of the human ant-bill you are leaving, let it be where it may, and forgetting politics and prices current, be, for a month, or a week even, your “simple, honest, independent self” in “some place which God has made.” Remember also—but then 44 goodness gra- shus!” as Messrs. Box and Cox reiterate so frequently—who could moralize—who could tolerate moralizing, with the thermometer standing obstinately at even six degrees below “ ninety-six in the shade ?” As the boys say, please to consider that “w ere grilled." Yorxa America Wonders.—Why mamma keeps Bridget borne from the church to work all day, and then says it is wicked for me to build my rabbit bouse on Sunday ? Wonder why our minister thought that pretty cane with tbe lion's head on the top, and then asked me for ray cent to put into the missionary box. Didn't 1 want a Jews-harp just as ranch as he wanted tbe cane ? Wonder wb*i makes rape tell those nice sio* ries to visitors aboat bis hiding the master's 1 rattan when he went to sobool, end about bU running away from tbe schoolmistress when she was going to whip him, and then shut me up all d iy in a dark room, because 1 tried just once ’o see if 1 could not be as sra-rt a boy as he was. Wonder why mamma telis papa he is cross wheu he comes borne at night and Ihys tbe tea is cold, and th#-n lies a handkerchief over my mouth, so that I can neither speak nor breathe, bee tuse I said she was cross ? Wonder what made papa say that big word when Bet-ey upaet tre ink all over bis papers, and then slap my ears because 1 said it whec my kite strong broke ? Wonder why mamma told Better, the other day, to BiJ she was not at home when Tommy Day’s mother called, and then puls roe to bed without any supper every time 1 tell a lie? Wonder what make* paps, when he is telling mamma how much money be has made iu tbe month, and all almut how he made it, say 44 Little pitchers have great ears?” O, dear, there are lots of things I want to know. How 1 wish 1 whs a man. Boys Swearing.—We passed s bevy of little boys on one of our streets yesterday, and heard some ol them swearing like inebriates It is dreadful to hear cursing snd swearing from the lips ot man inured to profanity and atreped in profligacy, but there is s painful want of nature, corrupt and bod as it is, in such a disgtis.ing demonstration on the part of human being* ao freak from the creative hand of their God. Pa rents who counive nt such an exhibition by si- lowmg their children to run at large, info bed company, are not only re ponaible for the viola ted decency of the community, but will be held answerable to a higher power, and their punish ment will be inflicted in the future worthlessness and degradation of tbeir sons. The Go«>d Book tells ns that “those who sow to the wind shall rasp to the whirlwind.” and on tbia authority we cannot help thtnkiug that some parens in this city are sure to be visited with a desolate hurri- ncarta of sorrow in the future livee of their off spring. No sensible being can deny that per mitting young and impressible boys to room about the streets, with ovary temptation to vice and dissipation is but a poor wey to give them a right character.—Control Georgian. THE MOTHER’S MISSION. BY L. VIRGINIA FRENCH. is on yon—silent tsars to wsep. And pa tier t smiles to bear through suffaring’s Lour. And •anises ridiss from affection s deep To pouT on broken reeds—a wasted shower! And to make idols—and to And them clay— And oh! to love through all things— Houri. L A child of beauty rare Stood on a marble threshold all alone, Deep azure was his eye, and gold his hair, And musical his tone. A slender, crystal pipe he held uloft [soft. Thro’ which the sunbeam sparkled warm and With rich prismatic hue. Then lightly laughed the boy, so young and fair. And forth upon the summer’s morning air, His shining bubbles blew. 44 Mamma ! Mamma !” he cries, His dimpled Angers hold a crimson stain, His shattered p pe upon the marble lies Like drops of summer rain ! With hurrying feet his mother’s 9ide he seeks, The big tears coursing down his pallid cheeks, “ Oh, mamma see! what makes My finger hurt? See bow the red blood pours, Oh! take me up, and fold my hand in yours, Feel, mamma, koto it ache* !** II. The star-eyed evening wove Her mantle of the gold and crimson cloud, When, by the river side, and through the grove, A youth, and maiden proud, Carne slowly straying on. Like jewel-showers Thro* which in smiting April’s hopeful hours The amber sunlight shone, His passionate words fell fast, he seemed to pray That she would name tho hour when he might aay. “ My beautiful, rify own Gray twilight closed. The moon Looked wan amid her clouds, as tho’ she felt That sorrow which to mortal# comes so soon. -the lover, scorned, had knelt Down by his mother’s side, his bright young head Lay pillowed on her bosom, and he said, “Oh ! mother—sorrow wake?. Too early in my soul—where shall it rest ? Here, take thi* CA9t. off heart to thy warm breast— Feel, mot Iter, how it ache*!" HI. Out from the brassy sky l pon the dusty city’s moiling mart The noontide sun looked down with piercing eye; And on her secret heart Where, goading on a ho*t of Mammon’s slaves, (Forgetful of his early loves’ sweet graves In the wild hunt for gold— Forgetting God, in sordid, craving quest—) A man, in life's meridian, stood possessed Of treasuries untold. There is an humble street Where stands a modest cottage; all between Grow tall chrysanthemums :»nd asters sweet With shrubs of evergreen ; Here con es the bankrupt worldling now, to meet. To meet his mother's pitying eye; lo 1 at her feet His shattered being shakes ; “All’s lost my mother! ruined—ruined now, Ah ! press your cool hand on my burning brow And feel—feel how it ache*!'* IV. The idol of the crowd. One stood—Lite’s Autumn flush upou his soul, Up-breaking from his heart a thousand proud Tumultuous ihrobbing’s roll; And, he has left behind him in the race Of hot Ambition for tbe pride of place. The morning land of Youth, The heights of Honor, manhood's noblest dower. And, struggling on, still on, for pomp and power, The stainless shores of Truth. Deep in his dungeon cell, The traitor prone upon the flinty floor Seemed counting o’er the moments as they fell; He muttered, “Nevermore Shall morning come to cheer iny darkened doom— No little ray of hope to pierce the gloom In which my spirit quakes;. Mother! forgive—she's dead, the'* deed—lhank ala ad l—-— — She cannot feel beheatn the graveyard How this wrung spirit an! it—man i s<Ji rhefcP’ V. THE FIRST OTP JUNE. A STORY Of WOMAN’S LOTE. BT l. VIRGINIA FRENCH. CHAPTER VI. Scarchtag for Secret*. “‘Innvceot ■ ■■■ — Let the night be ne’er *o dark, The moon If sure! j tometohert in the sky; 8o surely is yonr whiteness to be found Through all dark facts.’ ” The poor lip Just motioned for the Mmile, then let it go; And then, with scarce a stirring of the month, As if a Ktatne spoke that could not breathe, "* i calm between its marble Mys— t spoke on c . glad—I’m very glad yon clear i Mrs. Browsing. And no one said to me, *Whjr monruest thou ?’ Because bUo was the unknown child of shame, (Albeit, her mother better kept tha vow Of faithful lore, than somo who keep their fame.) Poor mother, and poor child!—— Oh I many a hopeless Iotb like this may be, For lovs will live, that never looks to win; firms, rashly kat in Passion’s stormy sea, Ne’er to tie lifted forth when once cast lu!”— Mrs. Norton. “Why have you been making yourself look so smart, Ninette ? where are you going this evening?” I inquired, as my trim little maid, in a snowy mu-lin and broad pink ribbons, came into my dressing-room. “To vespers, if you please, mistress.” ‘•Oh ! very well; certainly, Ninette.” One long, long week had passed, and it was again the holy day of rest. What a week of impatient durance it had been to ine! With what a feverish anxiety I had counted the days until Madame Lesueur should return, deter mined, when she came, to go directly to her, and demand some explanation of that myste rious picture and letter. Oh! yes, I would wriDg the secret from her ; I would force her into a confession! And Lhen when Wednesday came, and I knew she had returned, how did my boasted courage, my stern determination fail me ! I remembered all that I had suffered and feared in going to her house, even with Sigismond by my side; and could I venture there again, and alone t I shrank from the at tempt, and for the present, waited, counting the days, almost the hours, until the return ol Sigismond. Twice during the week I had re ceived a mission of love from his hand ; tw ice I had written brief letters, urging his speedy return, but not explaining why I so greatly de sired it. My father’s health had served in some degree to distract my attention from the subject of Coralie and her antecedents, and I had spent much of the time by his bedside, reading to him. singing for him, or conversing with Lira. He was, I feared, gradually declin ing, still he would not allow me to say so. Privately that morning, I had sent for my friend, Dr. Dupont, and made him acquainted with the circumstances and progress of my father’s illness. “He ought to leave the city, Mademoiselle,” said the Doctor, after consider ing the case. “Do all you can to amuse and cheer him until Mons. Sanvolle’s return, and then I think we can manage it to get him off to Biloxi, or the Pass—perhaps to Bladen, though I presume from what you have told me, that he cannot travel far, at present. Were his strength sufficient, I should insist upou your all leaving New Orleans for the far North, and I should not allow you to return until you could send forward the white frost as your arant courier. You too, need a change of scene; your cheek is losing its freshness; I fear you are confining yourself too closely to your father’s room; you must be careful of yourself, my dear friend; there is much de pending on you. But be sure, above all, to keep up your spirits, and ju9t so soon as San- volie returns, 1 mu9t send you all out of town. It is absolutely necessary, and I wish it could be done to-morrow.” Ah! little did Eugene Dupont dream of all that was ‘depending on me,’ when he made that remark. But I felt it. On this Sunday I had remained at home, and except while with Dr. Dupont, attended my father all day; in ministering to his comfort, and using all my efforts to amuse and inspirit him, I had been crushing down that impatience and anxiety in „VVWMH • other young woman that always goes with her, and the gentleman anras a gallanting them was—you can't guess who, mistress.” “Tell me! tell me!” I uttered, breathlessly. “Why just your old beau—him as you de spised so, mademoiselle—Monsieur Berthel,*’ answered she. “Jules Berthel! then it is he that”—it Is he that is “watching” me, I had almost said, but I checked myself. Jules Berthel! and so it was he of whom Marquoritc had said, and seemed so frightened, li he's here !” “Yes, miss,” continued Ninette, “it was he; I’m sure I know him well. But as soon as I snw that Mile. Coralie had left the Squure, I knew that you would soou leave too; so I left Marie and—no, not Jacques, for he came with me, and I hurried home and got here some minutes before you.’’ As my maid chattered on, an impulse came upon me—I, too, would go to vespers. “Lay out my dress, Ninette,” I exclaimed, springing up from the sofa, and beginning to toss up my hair cn cavalier. “Which dress, if you please, mistress?” said the girl; “is it the grenadine robe, or the flounced organdie, or the—” and how far she would have run on with the inventory of my summer wardrobe, I do not know, had I not put a period to it at once with— “My ‘citizen’s dress,* Ninette.” ‘‘Mademoiselle is not going to wear that!* 1 uttered the girl, her large eyes growing larger every moment. “Oui," was tho reply, and (he costume was brought. As l threw open the top drawer of my dressing-table to get my watch, J saw little pistol lying by its side, and near it, too, was the roll of bills and gold, in a common leathern case, that my father had given me some days previous. Scarce knowing why I did so, I slipped both into my breast pocket, and accompanied by Ninette, took the way down the back staircase, and out through the gardens—the same path 1 had taken on the morniog l met Sigismond at the “Old Date Tree,” on our way to Carrollton. “Stay, Nin ette,” I said, ere she opened the gate at the back of the garden—“wait one moment. I do not wish to expose myself unnecessarily to public gaze ; I do not know whether or not I should be able to bear it ; so you must go on, enter the Cathedral and see if Coralie is there. If she is, and alone, take off this flaunting sash here I lifted up her broad pink ribbon on the point of a slender whalebone cane I was twisting in my hands while speaking, “and put it in your pocket as you come out of the church, I will bo at the door, and sure to see you. Now run on, service is half over by this time,” and Ninette disappeared. I sauntered on slowly, and coming up at last to the entrance of the Cathedral, found scarcely any one outside except the coachmen belonging to the long line of vehicles drawn up along the edge of the pavement. ‘‘Have a hack, sah ? ’ said a good-natured looking, ebony-faced per sonage as I turned away from the door, rather uncertaiu what to do. “Ah ! yes, IiTill take a seat in yours just for u little while—remain precisely where you are; is the service almost over?" I said, as I thrust some silver into the man’s hand, and sprang into the carriage. 44 Very near over, sah—bout half an hour, sah,” answered the driver as he dosed the door. “Very well; I only wish to remain here until that is over,” I said, and then it recurred to me that if Coralie was not at vespers, or, in other words, if Ninette appeared with her sash, I was very snugly esconced, and could b ' driven home, or very nearly so, without being seeu at all. The minutes passed on. To while away the time, which, short as it was, seemed an eternity to wait, I pulled down the blinds and looked out from behind them into tho Square opposite. Groups of people were there pa s- ing to and fro, and I had not been looking at them five minutes when, coming up a sidewalk No, no! there’s not an hour In which some darkened spirit doth not turn Back (like the chalioe of the sun god's flower,) To that over-flowing urn Of light, a mother's love—the best, the first. That ever on the pilgrim’s pathway burst. Oh! happy children, take And deeply drink, for never will the* gleams Of such another fount refresh your dreams, Till ye have slept in death, and by the streams Of Paradise awake! Sympathy of the Body with an Amputa ted Memser.—At Tower’s Mill, in Lanesbor- ough, Mass., on Tuesday, a young man named Jerry Swan, was caught by the arm in some machinery, and the limb was so badly broken and mangled that immediate amputation was necessary. This was successfully performed, but. According to the Pittsfield Eaglo, Mr. Swan's connection with the dissevered limb did not cease with the operation. The Eagle says; “ On recovering from the stupor (produced by the U9e of chloroform,) Mr. Swan still com plained sorely of an aching hand. Late in the evening his distress became very great, and he insisted that the hand was cramped by be ing doubled up. The limb hab been placed in a small box and buried. His attendants dug it up and straightened the hand and be was m easier. This morning the limb was again buried. But he soon complained of a sensa tion of colrl and great pain in it. It was ac cordingly taken up again, wrapped up, and deposited in a tomb, since which he is again relieved.” Texas School Fund.—Texas has the noblest school fund of any State in the Union. The State daxette says; “Its aggregate amount is already nearly three millions of dollars. Two million grows out of the United States fund received under the boundary treaty. In addition, these are increased by one-tenth of the annual revenue of the State. In addition, each county has four leagues of land devoted by the State for the use of common schools, and nine-tenths of tbe reversed lands in the tracts donated to railroad companies, the other tenth being ap propriated to the University fund. The Uni versity fund is now estimated at $1,000,000, composed of this tenth of the land reservation, and fifty leagues of land, of which sales have been made to the amount of $200,000, with e donation of $100,000 from United States bonds.” Tiie Tomato as Food.—Dr. Bennett, a profes sor of somo celebrity, considers the tomato an invaluable article of diet, and ascribes to it various important medical properties. First: That the tomata is one of tbe most powerful aperients of the liver and other organs; where calomel is indicated, it is probably one of the roost effective and least harmful agents known lo the profession. Second : That a chemical extract will be obtained from it that will su percede the use of calomel in the euro of dis ease. Third: That he ban successfully treated diarroboea with this article alone. Fourth: That when used as an article of diet it is an almost sovereign remedy for dyspepsia and indigestion. Fifth: That it should be con stantly used for daily food, either cooked or raw, or in the form of catsup ; it is the most healthy article now in use. Danger in Wearing Artificial Teeth.-h Several accidents have recently occurred it Boston from artificial toetb, which were se upon plates. During the inhalation of ether or chloroform, in order to produce insensibility for the performance of some surgical opera tion, false teeth have dropped from the plate, and been partially swallowed, remaining in the throat, and causing suffocation until they were found and removed. People wearing plate, therefore, should always be careful to remove them before breathing any aomstbetic, for it cannot be expected, by ladies especially, that tbeir physician will ask iham if their teeth are artificiaL What is that although four Inches broad and three inches deep, yet contains a solid foot ? A shoe. What word signifying wrong denotes also a young lady ? A mk. What playing may be deemed above every other ? ▲ top. What it that 'though almost stationary is ever in motion. A dock. Fame-—A meteor dattli&f with its distant (UK. towards the gate, I .aw Marguerite, and with regard to Coralie which otherwise dkjsJ im.. hei I ini Mi i ’ I * ‘ ’ rendered me completely wretohea. I had, in riding on the “Shell Road,” With Coral me. It wae a following after the feminine and maternal element, so natural in a child— eoiiaturnl to us all when we foci worn, or weary, or lost. “CoralieI said, iu a whis per, abruptly changing tho theme, “haTe you found out anything further concerning the—that piotur.J” she shook her head, then said, “I h$* twice tried to talk to my aunt about it, but she will not allow me to question her. I have bewildered myself over it, until my very brain seems almost turned.” “Ah ! and mine also,” 1 replied- “And so it was Berthel who carried you off from the Place d’ Armcs this evening a week ago. His appearance seemed to frighten you, and also to flutter Marqueriie not a little.” “You saw him, then—how rash in you to ex pose ^ourself so!” she exclaimed. “Yes, it wXs Mons. Berthel.” “And why is he ‘watching’ me?” I inquired. “Because you Lave come to visit me—and—” .'h^fhesitated. ‘•In short, because I love you, and he dares to do tbe same, cowardly villain as he Is I” 1 tfrt?Fed. She bowed her head, and a deep blush dyed all the pure white brow and cheek, and even cast its flush down upon the throat of snow. “I rather fear Mons. Berthel,” she said after a short pause, “and I dislike him even more than I fear him. Intuitively I feel that he is a bad man, and yet, though I cannot divine why, he possesses a great influence over my aunt. She is a strong and somewhat stern woman, and yet even she appears to fear Mons. Berthel.” “Yes!” I muttered, half to myself, “and 1 * out why. Does Berthed V* but I |\ed the cruel question ; it would be inso- I could not say, “does Berthel seek you is Ms wife f** I could not, would not, wound her by even questioning his designs; let us take it for granted that such was tho case. But I said, “Loved by such a reckless, disso- wholly unprincipled man as Berthel, I tremble for you, Coralie; I must get you avray somehow.” “Alas ! you know not how 1 tremble for my- she whispered passionately. “I am en vironed by dangers; ut limes I am half bewil dered by terrors, and yet I see no loop-hole of escape.” “Will you not come with me, Coralio ?” I murmured; “I have neither mother nor sister. Come with me, and I will protect you—love yoR—save you,” and as my arms encircled her, I looked into her eyes, ^waiting her reply. For one moment she seemed the embodiment and joy ; glad tears sprang into her soft, luminous eyes, blushes crimsoned her lately pallid cheeks, yet it wa3 but :i moment. Suddenly she withdrew front my embrace, her lip quivered, and yet her tones were icy cold, a> she said, “And who is to save mo from you ? nay, from myself 1 It cannot be—no, no, it cannot be. I live amid dangers, perplexities, temptations, but yet I cannot leave them to go with you. As ye f , I have never asked you aught concerning your family: but you have saul just now that you have neither mother nor sister, therefore you have no one in whose care you could place me. Though if you had, per chance it would be nothing in my favor, for they would scarcely be willing to receive such an, one as /. And even supposing that you had a mother, and that uhe was willing to re ceive me, my aunt’s authority intervenes ; X osfald not leavo her house without her consent. Henri, I long to break away from my pre- t Ufa—to cast it from me into a Lethe of for est, if that were possible, but I cannot o so until I can do it honorably. 1 have been finely educated, and I have, of late, implored Oijf aunt to allow roe to try to procure some ation far away from here, as a teacher, but && will not listen to my entreaties. I have talked to Marqueriie about it, and she laughs at pnd jeers mo. ‘And who do you suppose Id give you a place as teacher?’ 3he sueered. teacher, truly—from the Maiaon des Bi sooth, a very superior instructress for a casual way, and as if it were a sudden idea of my own, mentioned the project of leaving town, and he caught at it immediately. “Cer tainly, rny child ; why did we n>t think of that before ?” he exclaimed, with more animation than I had seen him evince for days. “Yes, yes, that will be the very thing. I shall be quite able by the time Sigismond returns to go lo tbe Pass—indeed, to go anywhere with you. Talking all this while of physicians, why did you not strike upon this idea before, my daugh ter ? or rather, why did I not think of it my self? Oh ! yes ; we will all go. I would that Sigismond were to return home to-morrow.” Ah ! and how did my heart re-echo that de sire ! If he were only come ! Having read my father to sleep towards evening, I had thrown myself down upon the sofa in my dressing room to “think it all over” again. Oh! how many times I had turned my affairs over and over iu my busy brain, and to how little purpose! And now a new impulse was added to urge me forward in unravelling, if possible, the mystery which that picture had hung around Coralie. In a few days, at far thest, we must prepare to leave the city, to be absent three or four months, perhaps, and in the meantime, what was to become of Coralie? I shuddered as I asked myself the question — answer it I did not dare do, not even in thought. 1 put it away from me hastily, as I murmured to myself, “I will not thiuk of it; before that time she will be beyond the reach of danger; she must—she shall—so help me Heaven!” It was at that moment Ninette entered, and I noticed her holiday dress. The girl for some time past, had per.-uaded herself that she was a Catholic in creed, and so, perhaps, she was; the imposiog ceremonies, the gorgeous cos tumes, and the stately music of that church had caught her fancy, and she delighted in them. I had never opposed her choice: she went to vespers regularly—it was a matter of course. Shall 1 not dress your hair, mistress, and lay out some fresh muslins for you before I go, or are you too tired to dress ?” asked Nin ette, as she poured out WAter and arranged fresh flowers on my dressing-table. You may brush my hair—just a little while; my head aches; I can’t dress now,” T replied, languidly. “Do you know, mistress, that I sometimes see your—your pretty lady at vespers ?” paid Ninette titnedly, as she passed the brush softly over my head, which lay upon the arm of the sofa. “Who ? whnt are you talking about, Nin ette ?** “The pretty lady you go to see when—when you’re a gentleman, mademoiselle,” she an swered. il Afa foi—how sweet she is! the an gels that hang up in the church are not half as much like they come from God as she is.” I had started up. “Is it CorAlie ? does tdie come to vespers, Ninette?” “Very often, Mademoiselle; I love to look at her; when the music is playing so grand, then her fa?e is like a prayer that is going right up to heaven. I’tn sure the good angels carry her prayer up to God first, always.” “That is, if site prays at all, Ninette,” I said, doubtfully, merely to see what clso she had to say. “Oh ! yes, mi.»tre*s, she doe pray,’ answered the girl, earnestly; “I *©e it in her soft eyes, and sometimes they are full of tears, too,” “Did you see her last Sunday evening, Nin ette?” I a*ked bujuily. “Yes, but not in the church,” was the reply. “You see, after you and Mat’ Sigismond left, l went to vespers, as you always allow »ue to. I did not see her there at all, but when service I was over. Marie Devreux and Jacques, her I brother, you know, mistresa ” I “Yes—yes, I know—your xweetheart; got Jules Borthel. Of course they could not see me ; they came up to the gate, paused a few moments, looking over towards the Cathedral doors, then turned and walked slowly back as they came. Evidently, they were looking for 8om^^e—Coralie, most probably, and I in- ferrec^Hfc she was now within the church. But was she alone ? I should soon see. The closing chant had died away ; there was a hum and a rush within the church, and oat poa*«4- tho worshippers in a gorgeous, living stream. I strained my eyes everywhere, from my con cealment ; Coralie was not to be seen. The crowd ebbed away, vehicles rattled off, tho side walks seemed almost deserted, and I was be ginning to think I had missed Ninette in tho crowd, when suddenly she appeared at the door, and as I realized in an instant, without her bright-colored sash. I sprang out, and as I passed her she murmured, “Up stairs.” On I dashed, nearly upsetting the old organist who was just coming down. I gained tho cp.ntrg^, Then would have been the moment, street beware would mock The good, respectable world has set upou our necks, Coralie Lesueur—best truggle so to throw it off, or it will stran- 8miling all the while in its good, up- ri^ht, respectable way, you know.’ And this ue ; I cannot deny it I am prisoned, fet id, and I feel every hour the galling, and the clanking of my chains. Oh! sweet jpint-Mother of Christ! is there no hope, for % as, voice, the manner, at first so haughty icy, broke down at last. It was enough reak oie's heart—those heart-wrung tones ’ull of more than sadness—a grief, which in X it was without hope, seemed scarcely less apair. It seemed an “Eloi, Eioi, lama sa&acthani" of tho soul, uttered while all hope anfl love hung in crucifixion and surrounded by? a “great darkness!” Her hands were clasped convulsively, tears rained over her white and suffering face; tears also rained The Nobler Bravery* Wo all admire bravery. Who has not felt hij cheek glow, and every nerve quiver with u thrill of admiration, as he read of the undaunted courage that led on a forlorn hope through the cannon’s iron hail, against an array of brist ling bayonets ? Who has not had his eyes to fill with moisture, as he saw life and limb per iled to rescue some loved one frotn the devour ing flames or a watery grave? Who has not experienced a tearful admiration at the hero ism which could enable its possessor to tread the scaffold with unfaltering step, and lay head upon the futal block ae if it were & pillow for repose? under such circumstances, human na ture exhibits itself in one of its loveliest forms; for when dangers threaten or perils surround, bravery rises to a high but most attractive sublimity. But noble as this is, there U a nobler type of bravery still. In all the instances which we have named, there are stimulants afforded by the external circumstances. In life, there are many dangers to be encountered, many difficulties to be overcome, when the drum’s rat tle and the cannon’s peal can not furnish the soul with enthusiasm. The courage to resolve and the energy to move, must all come from within. It is cool, deliberate, self-reliant— never waiting for occ&sicns to exert itself, never rushing forward with a rash impetuos ity. This is the kind of bravery which those who conquer in the battle of life must possess. It matters not what may be the object. It may be that the man aspires with a lofty aspiration to a seat in the National council, or seeks the chief control of her affairs. It may be that he only desires by his own honost industry to gain a support for his wife and children. But when the object is kept steadily in view and resolutely followed in face of all dangers and despite all difficulties, this cravery shines forth with equal lustre in eiiher case. No kind of bravery is so truly worthy of admiration as that displayed by the young man, where with out money or friends he enters a strange land, determing to cavre out his own fortune. It requires hardidood to stand at the post of duty on the deck of the burning ship, or to raise up a broken flag staff where the shot fell thick and fast around Yet there are thousands who thus fought their way unaided, of whom Fame has made no record and will leave no memento. Many a youth has left his paternal home with nothing but an axe and a knapsack, to gain a subsistence^from soil then covered with prime val forests. Many a couple have united their lots of poverty, and with no capital but indus try, and no encouragement but love, have wrung success from an unwilling world, and achieved a happy fortune. This bravery has not its praises sounded aloud ; but it is the kind that makes society strong and a nation great. We need more of this bravery at this day. Wo have too many weak spirited young men, who have not the courage to attempt or tlie energy to accomplish anything. They can not rely upon themselves. They want assistance to help them along in the world, and are wil ling to aceept it at any sacrifice of manly prin ciple. Many descend to the degrading pursuit of fortune hunting simply because they fear the responsibility of supporting a family by their own exertions. Others pass lives of in dolent ease, too slothful to acquire fortune by labor and too timorous to gain it by tho haz ards of speculation. This want of a firm self-reliance is one of the greatest defects in the present rising generation of young men—a defect which saps their character at the foun dation, and destroys the force of qualities oth erwise good. Prudence, patience and honesty can do little, when unaccompanied by that courage and power of will that will give them active exercise. If our young men generally possessed more bravery and less brag, more true working nerve and less fighting “spunk,” their chances of success in the several vaca tions of their choice would be greatly in creased. There a^o circumstances under which it ^“ lic of no humble type ofj^ravery even to THE NEWS. Tbe Uncommon In Style. Tlie time bus been when authors were not j xhe UnUed gts( „ frigttte Macedonia ba* »r- necessitated to resort to any trickery to prove rived at Portsmouth, Ya. tbeir original ly. Raring some new thought , Th< H(m . D E Sick!es D0W at hia resS . to present, they were not forced to tax their d nee in New York city, kept at home by the brains to invent new forms of expression for j i l bealth of Mrs. Sickles, old ideas. But when all the great leading thoughts that lay upon the surface, and were mo?t potent to excite, ar.d impress the public mind, had been Appropriated and announced those who sought to teach by writing had to labor more. They had either to search for new truths which had escaped the notice of those who first explored the field, or report the same old things in new phrases. With the great majority, the latter is preferred because it is the easier. Ilcnce it is that for every author we have whose paragraphs burn mag nificent thoughts into the soul, there are scores who speak nothing but vapid nonsense, bol stered up by unmeaning grandeur. This is the chief cause of that obscurity of style which prevails to such an extent among writers of the prosent day. They are con scious of having nothing that is worthy of be ing written, yet are they determined, if possi ble, to impress their readers with a contrary belief. Hence they adopt uncouth forms of expression, make unnatural in versions and violently disconnect clauses from the claues, with which they should be connected. This Chat, and Frederick Seibert were among the passengers for Bremen in the steamship New York, Saturday. The Cbesapeak and Ohio Canal, during tbe month of June, obtained an income from tolls of $12,500. A decree is said to have been signed by Gar ibaldi confiscating all tbe property of the Si cilian Jesuits. The Kopublicans of Missouri have nomina ted a fuP State ticket, headed by James B. Gardner, of Cole county, fur Governor. A convention lias hern sipned between Aus tria. England and the Porte, lor a submarine telegraph between Kagusa and Alexandria. In Virginia a State Democratic con vent r on has been called, to meet at. Charlottesville ou the 15th of August. The Governraet of Ilaytl i- encouraging cot ton planting in a portion of the island where the plant was formerly cultivated. Col. A. A. McOartnay, editor of the North Alabama Times, at Decatur, died on the 29ih ult. The new Neapolitan cabinet is composed ns follows: “Commander Spinelli, President of the Council; Commander Martini. Minister of impotes upon many. There is a large number | Finance : and Marshal Lcsiucci, Minister of of persons—of those too who arc not ordi rily esteemed foolish—who consider profound whatever they can not understand. It is with the greatest difficulty that they can be brought to believe that the defect is the author’s dul- ness—their own. We could nam than one distinguished writer, who are indebt for their distinction to the fact that, their writ ings always have been, and always will be in comprehensible. There arc undoubtedly some persons whose national habits of thought are peculiar. The form.' of expressions which they employ seem strange and awkard until frequent reading has rendered them familiar. Such peculiarities are not objectionable, but quite the reverse, j Mejor E. K. Young, d-ceaseJ recently in provided they do not weaken and obscure the j Thomasville, Virginia, bequeathed $30,000 authors meaning. No writer should drop his ! for the purpose of erecting a Female College own natural manner to copy that of another | l here. War. The Neapolitan Government continues its preparations for hostilities, the proclamation of reforms # not appearing to give satisfac tion. The Douglas Democrats of Xewvk.J ~ fusion Two DP^?7fttTrTTe7!orai t probably be run n the State. Madame LaGrange with her opera com pany, was singing in Buenos Ayres at the liiat advices, which were to the twenty-fourth ul timo. Accounts from Buenos Ayres to the seven teenth of May state that tho exploring expedi tion under Captain Page had nearly finished its work. on with your story, Ninette.” ••Well, mademoiselle, ns I was saying, they wanted me to tako a turn in the Sqnnre before f c.une home, hut I said it was gettin’ late, and time for ’speclahle colored people to be home at ther’ own firesides—end just then, while we was a discuesin’ f>f the propriety, we slopped at the gate, and who should eome out of it bat tbe pretty young lady yon goes to see, and the the gallery; there were many penitents below, kneeling about among the pews and pillars, some at the altar; but there was but one figure in the gallery, and it knelt humbly in an ob scure corner. Tbe face was partially turned away from me, but every curve of the lowly bowed figure said, as with an audible voice, Lord be merciful to me a sinner !'* She seemed engaged in earnest prayer, and from the corner where she knelt, her eyes were cast down to wards a sculptured figure of the Madonna which graced the altar-piece. After some min utes she rose, gathered up the rich lace shawl which fell like a clould over her robes of snow, and “turned in act to go.” Her face was now fall towards me; it was very pale—white al most as the robe she wore. A moment, and she perceived me, and a lovely half-smile light ed up her statue-like features as she came for ward timidly, and gave me her hand. I pressed it to my lips, and gently drawing her to a seat just in front of the organ, took my place by her side. W# sat for a few moments looking down upon the tuaguificent altar-piece with its sculptured marbles, its wrought drapery and great vases of flowers, and upon the kneeling votaries below, ourselves screened from obser vation by the carved railing in front of us. The tall waxen tapers were all extinguished, and profound silence reigned through tbe v< Edifice, except now and then as the sol fall of some priest who was stealing along tho maTble floor, fell upon her ear, or aa, pausing ever and anon among the penitents, ho would look up to the Madonna and murmur in a deep, solemn tone, “Sanctissima! Ora pro nobis l** “It never occurred to me that you were a Catholic, Coralie,” I said, at length, in a low, half whisper. “Nor am I,” she returned in the same un dertone; “lam uotbing; I do not dare cell myself a Christian of any creed.” “But you conic here often.” “Yes, I come here to pray, or rather to im plore the Modoftna to pray for me. I do not know if I know how to pray yet, for myself; mothers teach their children those things, I am told, but I never had a mother to teach me.” 1 thought I divined the beautiful sentiment in her heart, as I said, “And you think you can regard the Virgin as a mother, teaching you to pray, and praying with, and for you— is it not so, dear Coralie ?” Her eyes lit up in a moment, as she exclaimed, low and earnestly, “Yest yes! that is it! The M»- donna is a woman—a mother; I lovo her, and •lie comes between me and the great God and Father, whom, were it not for her, I should fear.” “But, Coralie,” I said, “can you uot recog nize in Jomir, the son of Mary, our great In- tercesHor, and enn you not see in God, the Father full of m«»rcy and love, whose ‘loving kindnesses are above all his other works V ” “I cannot see it so now,” -he answered ; “I have not been taught like you, and f am afraid. I cling to the Spirit Mother whieh yonder pure marble represents, and if I could only be her child, she would gather up tny broken thoughts and sentences whieh I mean for prayers, and ? ive them up to the Bavior and the Father!" felt that it would be wrong for me to oombat this fooling of the lonely child-heart before had I been the strong, manly lover which she deemed me, to have drawn her to my bosom and sworn to set her high above the “world’s dread sneer,” as mine—“my own”—my wife. Great Heaven ! how it wrung my soul to think that this was far beyond my power. Then the deception I had practised stung me to the heart. I do not know if she expected this oiu^-ge from me; it was at least natural that sTh* ‘should. Any lover—any true man would have dono it—thinking it the very len%t that he could do, after all that had passed. But I could not do that, and I did something that ner'man would have thought of—something whioh naturally was the first thing that would occur to a woman. I did not ask her again to allow me to guide and protect her ; I felt that we both needed a guidance and protection which no power on earth could bestow; and so^tljrowing my arm around her waist, and •inking to my knees, murmured, “Let us ask God for hope!” In our sorrow our souls prayed together— sjlfltly—hers for her own griefs—mine for light, for strength, for oourage, and the grent good Father heard us, and “gave his Angels charge concerning us.” When we rose, the twilight had desc< nded, t weary devoteo was leaving tlie shrine atron saint, and dark shades had gath- every niche, and swept around the base of *J€ry column. Ofoe tender, lingering kiss 1 pressed upon the pale lips of Coralie, as I held her for a few brief moments to my heart, then I took her haad and led her from the church. It was nearly dark when we descended to the street; there was a lull through the thoroughfares ; Marqueriie was nowhere to be seen. I could not have allowed Coralie to venture through th4$treets at this late hour alone, even had I chosen not to visit again the vicinity of the Maipon des Bijoux. Circumstanced as l was, these was no other course to pursue but that of Escorting her home, and ut range to sav, in mjupresent excited frame of mind, I felt not the slightest hesitancy or apprehension in do ing so. I felt strong, and full of faith ; I felt that I could even go searching the grave of a dead Past for their secrets, with the ghoul-like eyecta Madame Lesueur dogging a> d haunt ing me at every step. And with a determina tion to take advantage of any opportunity that might present itself, to “throw myself into the rolling of accident,” and if possible either fer ret out, or force, the secrets of those all-con- live. When the fondest hope of the heart has been disappointed and the prospect of the fu ture is all a baren waste—when former friends shun and the world neglect—when sicknes racks the frame, or when Penury’s agents—cold and hunger—pinch with relentness gripe, to die would be a relief. Then Infidelity stands by and whispers, in tempting words : 44 The future is all a delusive dream. Would you end your miseries forever ? Then, with one effort, break the slender cord that binds you to the world, and repose from all your troubles in an eternal sleep.” To this temptation the coward yields, and, by his own hand, dies before his time. But the brave live on, lustily beating off the waves that encompass thern, and hopefully awaiting the deliverance which the Supreme Ruler shall grant. L. L. V. Gist, of South Carolina, has received and acknowledge, in a letter of July 5th. one of the John Brown pikes from Ed. Ruffin, of which he admires : but he should continually strive to attain the three great qualities of style—neatness perspicuity and precision. During the period when his style is being formed, he should never allow a sentence to escape from him which can not readily he un derstood at a single reading. The reputation acquired by being incomprehensible is not to be compared with that lasting fame which is j gained by saying good things inso plainuman- j tier that they may be understood by all. Those aspirants for literary fame who aim at tlie un common in style, should enter a library, run I over the shelves, and see who are those who j have held places longest and highest in public _ T. 1. U r 1 * K *U u The number of Visitors to the Great Eastern estimation. It will be found to be those who , Tucsd . lyi !ls offioiil ny reported.was.1,123aiulu, wrote so plainly that their thoughts seem to i an d 847 children: total0,070, which, at there- have corne without study, and their sentences { duoed fare, amounts to nearly $2,800. without effort. Those who deliver their ut- The Prince of Wales has accepted ifce ir.vi- teranees with grand obscurity never obtain tation of tbe Common Council of the city In a case of poisoning by striebnine, in Hart ford. the other day, the doctor administered lobelia ns a remedy. It produced the desired effect, and relieved the patient. The Law Faculty of the University at Jena, in the Grand Duchy of Saxe Weimar, Ger many, has conferred on Horace Dreiser, of N. Y., the degree of Doctor of Laws. The malanga—a vegetable in extensive use in liayti—ha.s been attacked by a disease sim ilar to that which the potato is subject to in other countries. any influence over the public mind, nor any hold upon the affections of their readers, though they may be regarded with a blind idolatry by those who would think it a confes sion of ignorance not to express an admiration for such exalted genius. L. L. V. I WImU I Had Not. Philosophy tells us that it is folly to grieve over what we can not help. But we are not all philosophers, and we consequently often pursue a course different from that which true wisdom would dictate. Our past follies we can see as well as our neighbors, when they become past follies; but while they are being performed, we can not see but that we are act ing wisely. Were it as plain before us how wc ought to do, as it is how we ought to have done, wc should be able to direct our course without the slightest mistake, or the smallest deviation from the right track. But alas! experience is like the stern light of a ship. Its gleam is bright behind, but it casts no light ahead. Thus it is, that in looking back over the past of our lives, wo are always filled with mourn ful regrets. We see so many errors that a lit tle foresight and a little caution might have avoided ! There arc many acts, some great and some small, which we would pay any price to recall and reverse. “I wish I had not,” are perhaps very hard words for us to speak to another; but they constitute the com ment which every niau makes secretly upou ten thousand of his acts. Sometimes it is an insulting expression which we let fall from us in a moment of hasty (Mission Quick as it has left the lips, rises the words of regret, “I wish I lmd not said so," but this utterance is checked. Were they, too, spoken, the word of anger might, in effect, be recalled. But being thus'hushed by a false pride, thfr one whose feelings wc have woundtd, is suffered to believe that the pas sionate expression was deliberate and precon ceived. The tongue is loth to do penance for its own misdeeds, even when the heart orders that penance to be done. When we run over tho thoughts, words and deeds of a single day, there are always scores against which we have to write, “1 wish I had not.” A salutary influence is exerted by making this comment upon what we have done amiss ; it does not indeed prevent us from doing the same things again ; the repontanco lor past misdeeds does not remove them, or make them appear less heinous in tho sight of Heaven ; but it does convince us of our falli bility, and prevents us from cherishing any pride beoausc of our goodness. That sen tence, “I wish 1 had net,” oonsiantly stands by us, and like the herald of the Macedonian King, is ever sounding in our ears. Remem- oh ! man, thou art mortal. Whenever we have wronged our felloif-man in word or deed, we Tike Inspiration of the Bible. When De Tocqueville was here, he asked to see a Sabbath Bchool. He w;vs struck wuh seeing a Bible in the hands of almost every child. “Is this common ?” said be to his frierol. “What a mighty influence it mu*t have upon the nation.” Think of the unnumbered Sabbath school pupils in all Christian lands, each with u book in tbeir hands. More striking still is the thought of all Christians in all lands, sitting each in their private room, every morning be fore they go into the world, to read this one book. What most tbe book be to furnish the minds and hearts of spiritual peop'e with ex- - ttratrstlc^s Mtppliel of thought antF-emoiirtn. Not so Shak.-peare; nor even Bunyun, copy ing so closely from the Bible, can fill such a place. “Do not read Bucyantomeany more,’ said a distinguished missionary lady, near her end, to her husband : “Runyan tires me, bill l can hear you read the Bible without fa tigue.” Why has uot Josephus’s History of the Jews equal power with this book when relating the same tilings? Because inspiration has flowed into the very thoughts aud language of the l>i- ole. You cannot define it any more than you can anatomize u smile. A quotation, by a public speaker, ot Bible language, has power upon his audience which is beyond explana tion, except from its superuatur.dness. God, knowing that this book was to be the only souice of spiritual thought and life, would not have left it a fallible guide. He win 1 , hanging the earth on nothing, endowed the north with the mysterious power of magnetism to guide the mar ner, has not left tlie soul without a sure source of information to guide to heaven. But did a man have inspiration in saying •tune of these very common things! Certainly —to them just then, and just so, as a part ot the great whole. So that rope on the top of the cross, in Rubens’s picture? Was Rubens's genius requisite to paint that rope? Could no« a common painter have made it ? No. Ruben's conceived the idea; an ordinary man might not have done so. You might criticise little things, or statue, and fritter the whole away. The principles of criticism which some thus apply to the Bible, if taken into the Athemvum Gallery, would cause a man to be despised.— Dr. Aehcmiah Adams. cealtng eyes of Madame •; I drew Coralie’s | ell g( )t no ^ | 0 besittete in confessing our wrong arm within my own, »nd we tnrnod off In tho j M( , cr „ inK llig rorgivoneo*. Hut if pride will direction of the (to her) dreaded and detested * “Maison des B'jonx.” . ^ ■ A [to bk continued.] The age of a young ladv is now expressed by the present style of skirt*, by saying that “eighteen springs have passed over her head.” What is that which never asks any questions receives many answers ? The street door. No two things differ more than hurry andi dispatch. Hurry is the mark of a weak mind, difpaich of a wrong one. We pity the fsniily that sit down to a broil three timet a day. not permit this, we ought at least to confevs it to ourselves, and preservo the remembrance thereof, for the sake of the good it will do our own hearts. I*. L. V. Never Uaiisfikd.—Give a man the neces saries of life, and he wants the conveniences. Give him the conveniences, and he **raves the luxuries, and he sighs for the elegancies. Let him have the eleganoiet, and he yearns for tho follies. Give him altogether, and he com plains that he has been cheated bath in the pride and quality of the artlelee. Max.—A bubble on the ocean’s rolling wave. A witty niau can make a jest ; a wise man can take one. Why is a fool like a needle ? He has an eye, but no head. Did the horseman who “scoured the plain” use soap? What tree represents a person who persists in incurring debts!—Willow, (will owe”.) Boys reach manhood by a rather rounde boat j way. Grave.—A place of rest when ends life's weary day. Earth.—A desert through which pilgrims wend their wav. Death.—A knife by which the ties of earth are riven. Religion.—A key which opens wide the gates art' heaven. Biblk.—A guide to realms of .endless joy above. Charity.—A stream meandering from the front of love. Faith.—An anchor dropped beyond th*' vale of death. Love.—A morning stream whose memory glads the day. A modern tourist calls the Niagara River “the pride of rivers." That pride certainly has a tremendous fall. If you undertake to flatter, don’t overdo the thing. If you offer too much incense to a sen sible man he will be incensed. A Mr. Door has declined a challenge. lie says he will “fight under no circumstances.” He is no battle door. If a rich old gentleman has thought of mar rying, let him consider well beforehand what ii is ihat be stands in need of, a wite, an heir ess or a nurse. A youn.g lady says therevon she carries a parasol is, that the sun is of the ma«culino gender, anti she cannot withstand his ardent glanceo. Night brings out stars, as sorrow shows us truths; we never see the stars till we can see little or naught else—and thus it is with truth. The rhymer who wrote the line, “Dear to me is the surf-tossed beach,” probably had in his mind tbe recollection of his bill at some aea-eide hott l. A western editor has placed over bis mar riages a cut representing a large trap, sprung, with this motto; “The trap’s down—another ainny hammer caught.” It would be a great advantage to tome school maetcre if they would Rteal two hours a day from their pupil, and give their own minds *hc benefit of the robbery. When Pyrrhus had won the battle of Ilera- clea, at a great sacrifice of soldiers and allies, he was congratulated on his victory. “Alas!” was his reply, “another such victory, and lam ruined!” New York to visit that city at the close of l»i« public duties in Canada. A mot of Garibaldi's is quote 1 by tlie pa pers ; “ I came to Sicily, where I bea* an army wiibout a General; I am now froing to Il^nie, to beat a General without an army.” Hon. Richard Yaux, one of the Pennsylvan ia electors at large, has refused to a^ree lothe proposed Dougtas and Rreckin: id^e fusion, and will vote for Douglas ai.d Johnson! ns the regular nominees of the Democratic party. A New York correspondent of the Baltimore Sun says, a shipment of 10,000 chests of green aud black tea, trotn Japan, by way of China, will probably reach the port ot New X\rkabout the 1st of October. It is asserted that, iu conformity with legal advice. Count Mouialemhert and Don Fernan do have canceled the renunciari n of their pre tentious to the Spanish throne, signed by them when prisoner^ at Torioaas. The Spanish Government ana the Russian Government have both informed the Sardinian Government that their 1 ganons will he with drawn from Turin, if the latter continue to eu- courage the Gnr.baldi movemeut. Workmen commence! yesterday morning the removal of the Naval Monument from the fish pond on the western side of the Capitol It is to be transferred to the Naval Academy at An napolis, in pursuance of the recent order of Cougress. A revenue cutter has gone to overhaul the schooner J. B Taylor, which sailed from New Orleans, on Tuesday, forCeutral America, with “emigrants.” She is suspected of bei g con nected with some filibuster movement. I)r. William Langshaw, of East Cambridge, joined the Arctic schooner United States on Monday night ns surgeon and nn r tlist t«> the expedition. The schooner remained bcluw waiting for him. The Chat lesion Courier says : “Many citi zens of Auderson have joined in a r* quest to Hon. James L Orr to serve them in the ensu ing Legislature, in vit*w of the critical aspect of political affairs and the need fur political experience. It is said that the whole West, from the Ohio to the Missouri, is one vast grain field. It is estimated that the State of Ohio will have thir ty million bu-hels of wheat—five million more than it has ever produced before, and that it is of the best quality. The cotton market at Mobile rules quiet, and prices are quite nominal, although ten cents is the general asking rate for middling. The bale of new crop received at New Orlcaus a few days since from Texas was twelve days in ad vance of any previous season for twenty-five years. Notice lias been given of a resolution in the British House of Commons, which would bring to a direct issue the question of privilege raised by the House of Lords in rejecting the bill abolishing the paper duty. The report of the committee on the subject is published. It merely, ns already reported, quotes the prece dents, and makes no recoaamendat on. The United States Agricultural Exhibition is to be held at Cincinnati from September 12th to tho 20th. The premium list amouots to $20,000. No cattle will be received on account of the prevalence of the pleuro pneumonia, but large premiums will be offered for horse*, ma chinery and steam fire engines There is news from Mexico that Miramonha* been defeated at Salamanca, and made prisoner by Gen. Zarago, of the Liberal army; that Or tega has defeated Ramirez; and that Gov. Yi- daurri. of New Leon aud Coahuila. hr - put himself at thm • Read- -r»f IT new—rrnv, ment for^tr-TriTirn of Comonfort to the Pres idency. The Congress of Venezuela was still in ses sion at the last advices, which arc to the f»th of June. Deputy Mendoza made a formal im- peaiffkment of General Castro on the 5th of June, and the charges had been so extended as to apply to Don Francisco Aranda. D. Manuel M Echcandia, aud Estanislo Rendon. The Pennsylvania Slate Agricultural Soci ety will hold their tenth annual exhibition at the Wyoming battle ground, OAmiueucug on (lie 25ih of September n* xt. Colonel JacobS. Haldcman of York county, is the president of the society. A pamphlet containing tl e list of premium* and regulations has already been issued. The Secretary of the Treasury has invited proposals to be received till tho ]0th of Sep tember m xt, lor the use of the Government, for the construction of a line or lines of m ig- netic telegraph frotn the West lin* of the Mis souri to San Franci.-co, a* provid ed under the recent act of Congress; the lowed offer to be accepted, and a guarantee given tor the per formance of the service. From Washington*.—Despatches from the tronomical party bound lor Labrador in the coast survey steamer Bibb, Lieut. Murray, Commanding state that she arrived at Sydney, Cape Bri ton, on Monday evening, in four and a half days from New York. She called there and left the following evening. Notice is re ported in the Straits of Belle Isle, a circum stance which proves the progress of the expe dition in reaching its destination at CapcChud- leigh. Stage Horses Drowned.—As the stage car rying the Eastern mail was about crossing the river, yesterday alternoon, the bor^ca. vix in number, ran through tho ferry boat into the water. The stage, of course, want with them, but fortunately there were no passengera with in it at the time, thev having got out before reaching the boat. The horses were drowned, but the stage and mail were recovered. Tbe driver saved himself by jumping off before the stage went into the river. We hope that this affair was not tho result of carelessness.—Selma Isms*.