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“ l ' l " !,rl^l ”^‘ l '* iitnip I r■; ■ a *HI HI a sogtmm fimi -Mfl'm. —mmm m mim tm am*s am mm, ahb to ffliiii limLissm For Richards’ Weekly Gazette. TWILIGHT SONG. By Mrs. C. \V r . Dlßose. Twilight eoftly stcalcth—stealcth o’er the earth ; Stars arc peeping in (he sky— Breezes sing (heir lullaby— In the west the shadows lie— sleeping silently ! Soft the dew now falleth —falleth dn the ground ; N’"W in lily-bells reposing— Now on violet boos soft dozing, While the flowers their cups are closing— Closiug quietly. Now the breeze is rising—vising ir. the sky; Scattering wide the bright dew dreqs— Hustling in the tall tree-tops— Leaving fragrance where it stops— Stops invisibly! Night’s dark mantle crecpeth—creepoth o’er the land, While the evening <h*w deacendeth, And the breeze its odors blendetli— \\ hile the plough-boy homeward wendeth, Whistling carelessly. Dewy mists are rising—rising from the earth ; And the pale red m .on is ( limbing In the sky, when stars are shining— While the clouds their silver lining Turn out 1m pefullv. ITn k! the dove is singing—singing to his mate ; While unto his song replying— On the breeze her soft notes dying— Still his mate keeps answer sighing— Sighing mournfully ! Silence calmly failedU — -falleth o’er the soul; Man unto his rest is going. While the river, darkly flowing, Murmurs onward* still unknowing Where shall be its goal. Night is gently closing—closing round the v orld; In their leaves the flowers are sleeping, While above them dews are weeping, And the stars their watch arc keeping— Keeping tenderly. TranquiHa , Sept., 1849. LILLIE LELFORD. BY METTA VICTORIA FULLER. Her laugh is like a fairy's laugh, So musical and sweet; Her foot, is like a fairy’s foot, So dainty and so fleet, Her smile is fitful sunshine, Her hand is dimpled snow, Her lip is very rosebud, In sweotness and in glow. [Mrs. Osgood. “Hush! Did you hear that burst of laughter and Let us peep in this rose-wreath ed window, and see from whose merry heart came those gushing and musical notes. She must be beautiful!” “ Who, Leslie V’ “ Why, the one who created the laugh— some fair, innocent young creature, with a spirit like sparkling waters, and a face all dimples and brightness.” “ Ah, brother ! in love with a laugh ! I shall tell Miss Merrill; she never conde scends to even smile.” “ Please forget Miss Merrill, till I catch a nearer glimpse of the light form which just glided past the window. Come, come,” whispered lie, a moment afterward, as he carefully parted the twining roses from the shadowed casement, “ saw you ever a be ing so beautiful V’ “ She is, indeed, very, very lovely,” an. swered Ada Ilerwood, as she obeyed her brother and peeped through the window. A young girl, of sixteen summers, with a profusion of shining brown curls, a form of exquisite gracefulness, and a face of soft and yet brilliant loveliness, was lean ing carelessly against the high back of an antique arm-chair. One bare and beauti ful arm was thrown aver the richly-carved and polished ebony frame-work, and one tiny foot was unconsciously beating a merry tunc on a protruding rocker. She was alone, and appeared to be lost in pleas ant thoughts, for a mischievous smile stole gradually out from the deepening dimples of her carmine cheek, and played around her blight and half-parted lips, whilst the dreamy light in her soft eyes, grew eloquent with sparkling merriment. At length, she started from her reverie, and throwing her self among the cushions of the high arm chair, again burst forth in a thrilling, music al, irrepressible peal of laughter, which rung through the little parlor, more sweet than the warble of woodland birds, or the ; gush of a merry rivulet. She ceased not till the glittering tears stood like gems on the long silken lashes, beneath which her violet eyes shone out like shadowed tva i ters and when those gay and girlish tones | no longer gushed out upon the ears of the I listeners, she bounded from her scat, and crossing the apartment, to an open piano, run her fingers lightly over the keys, sing ing : It is wicked, I know, to laugh at Lim so— Hut u>k me not to marry him—dear! W hy ! he s fifty, at least, and so oddly drest, And his qneuo and his coat arc so queer! It’s distressing—beigbo !—to hai eto say no To a quiet old gentleman, too : I never could se \ how he came to love me ; I thought he’d forgot how to woo—to woo— I thought he’d forgot how to woo. II Some sober old bachelor has been pro ; posing, and that is what makes her so mer ! ry. I hope she does not treat the young ones so,’’ and Leslie Herwood sighed. Ada was about rallying her brother on the sudden gravity of his handsome face, which the soft moonlight made provoking ly visible to her quick eyes, but at that moment the giddy creature within came , gliding towards the window, still merrily j caroling in a peculiarly sweet but unculti vated voice, her improvisatneed song, ar.d \ the two were compelled to make a hasty retreat. “ Well, Leslie, have you concluded to make this quiet, beautiful village oursum | mer residence ?” asked Ada, as they con | tinued their walk through the pleasant and i tree-shadowed street. “ Provided you promise to procure me an acquaintance with that bewitching : young creature of the silvery laugh. Ido ; so love to hear a free, wild musical, unre strained burst of laughter.” “No doubt of it, Lei,” replied Ada, with her bright eyes sparkling mischievously. But 1 am delighted that you think of re- maining, for our friends, the Harveys, wish us to very much, and have made arrange ments for a little party. You will have an opportunity of making the heartsof the pretty little village girls thrill, when pre sented to the dark, proud eyes, shining ringlets and faultless mustache of the princely Leslie Herwood! But take care that you do not get served like the quiet old gentleman, by the lovely girl we peep- ‘ ed in at.” “ Don't rattle on at such an eloquent rate, if you are released from the bondage of a formal city. No danger of my ’’ But the sentence remains even yet unfin ished, for at that moment they met their friends, who took them home with them, to discuss the subject of the party. The next evening came, and with it a gay and smiling throng of village lads and lassies, gathered within the neat and taste ful pallors of the Harveys. Many a bl ight eyed and dimpledtcheeked maiden, with an eye more brilliant and a cheek more dimp ling and rosy, was presented to the stately and elegant Mr. Herwood, but his restless glance found not the face it sought, anti the music tones of the beautiful unknown met not his ear. At length the buzz of many greetings and welcomings, and words of admiration, reached him from the adjoining apartment, and in a moment, the one be had so impatiently awaited, glided into the room, smiling and blushing, and saying gay things in reply to the flattery addressed to her. She did not, for a mo ment, observe Leslie, and he had full leisure to gratify his wonder and admiration at her exceeding grace and loveliness. A dress of snowy muslin fell in drooping folds around her form, which was of the most exquisite roundness and symmetry. Her beautiful arms gleamed xvliitely beneath a fall of shadowy luce, looped up with white roses, and her polished and dimpling shoul- j ders seemed laughing at the tresses which kissed them. A wreath of lillies seemed j designed to confine her redundant brown j curls, but they were not used to restraint, and bad stolen in graceful confusion upon > her slender neck and waist. Notwith-j standing her laughing gayety, there was an j expression of spiritual purity upon her: white brow, and evet and anon a soft i shadow in her deep violet eyfls. She was just making some careless repartee to the remark of some gay gallant, when her glance caught the earnest and admiring gaze of the proud stranger. The drooping fringes swept down quickly over her crim- | soning cheek, and then those large, eloquent | eyes were raised to his with a timid, inquir ing look. That blush and glance-—how i should he understand them 1 The thrill of a long silent chord in his heart answered him. Advancing with a bright smile, he i held out his hand. “ Lillie Leifordl Is it possible 1” “Quite possible. Mr. Herwood; none : ; other than little Lillie Lelford, whom you l so gallantly rescued from a home amid ! the mermaids, on the borders of the At* i lantic.” i “Ah! I suppose you would have been very glad to have reigned queen of the revels in coral palaces: but I prophesied that to reign the fair sovereign of one warm I heart would better gratify your taste. Was I right V and he drew her hand through his arm and led her out upon the vine-treliised j and star-lighted portico. After that evening, thS shadow of Lillie Lelford’s eye grew deeper and dreamier, and the laugh seldom came from her quiet ; lip; and when it did, her tones were so j low and sweet, and half sad, it w as like the tinkling of silver bells rung at a fairy’s funeral. Then there was such a soft sub dued light, slumbering ali over her beauti j tul features: and it even seemed as if the i rich golden-brown curls fell over hershoul-1 , ders in less wild and careless redundancy than was their wont. Lillie was no longer a child—her young heart had thrilled to i the music of words of love, and its strings I now vibrated to the touch of deep, hoi),! inexpressible feeling, till even her fair ; foot pressed the earth with a more thought ful step. The summer fled by, and Leslie Herwood and his sister Ada were compelled to return : to their city home. “Do not weep Lillie,” he said, as he bade farewell to his betrothed, “ the months j ! will soon flee by, and by Christinas ycu must be ready to return with me to my home as my bride. Ada wishes to write to you, and you must answer her letters. ,Do not weep—we will soon be hap]))*,” j and the sorrowing girl was left to wait! ! patiently for the time when she should see him again. Tlirown once more among the life and gayety of the city, fora time Leslie scatCe ! ly thought of any one but his distant love: but by-and-by her sensitive heart was pain ’ ed, receiving shorter and colder and less ; frequent letters. Christmas came, and the unhappy girl sat in her lonely chamber i with a throbbing brow and a bosom tortur ed to agony. No word—no lover! Where was Leslie Herwood ! At the j feet of his old love, Clara Merrill. Strange ; that he could forget the young, pure and bewitchingly beautiful Lillie, for that cold, j j disdainful, but brilliant creature, with her | scornful eyes and smileless lips. Oh! it was such a change, and men love variety ! j So while one young heart was silently ! breaking, another was feeding its fountain of vanity from the love-vows offered by j the proud, the envied, the handsome Leslie Ilerwood. Clara Merrill did not love him. i hut she was a belle, and it flattered self, to secure in her chains the one, so many less fortunate ladies were sighing for. The winter was nearly spent, when a new star appeared amid thegalaxyof fash ion and beauty. Great was the commotion among the upper-ten thousand ; and at the opera, the hall, the private circle, every where was ringing the name of the beauty , and heiress, Miss Manley. Leslie Herwood i procured a presentation to her—what was it caused his heart to thrill when her eyes met his, and made him for the time forget even Clara Merrill 1 She was very beau tiful ; could that be the charm ? He gazed and gazed upon her queenly and graceful form, her classically formed head, with its heavy braids of rich, brown hair folded ! around it; her exquisitely sculptured fea tures; her gleaming brow and large, proud eyes ; her clear, pale cheek mi l lovely lip —he listened eagerly to every tone of her low, musical voice, till he was convinced that it was one of his boyhood’s dreams, grown to perfection and gifted with life and ( breath. Clara Merrill's power was over. Days and weeks passed by, and he was ever lingering by the side of Miss Manley. There was something mysterious and in comprehensible about her which he could not account for. She ever treated him with the same unvarying coldness; she was ever proud and dignified ; and yet he dared to love—to worship her, mad'y and devoted- i ly. She was so peerless, so unequalled ‘ and yet every tone and look thrilled his heart like the foigotten music of old. She was very intimate with Ada, who often threw out mysterious hints which he could ; not understand. One day he found them in Ada's boudoir. There was a soft light ( in the eye and a warm glow on the cheek of Miss Manley which was indescribably beautiful. On some light pretence, Ada ! left them alone. Leslie was embarrassed, and he asked her to sing. She hesitated, 1 colored and began : A young heart is pining—forsaken—alone ; Tiie gladn *ss has fled f. om a once merry tone ; An eye has grown dim, and a ohoek ha* grown ; p ile: fchc was loved, was forgotten—and— j She attempted to finish, but her voice trembled, and she burst into tears. Leslie's heart beat faster, and he felt it was the mo ment to decide his destiny. In an agony of mingled hope and fear, he poured forth a wild and hurried confession of his love. He dared not look in her face, but he im plored her to pity him to speak and end his suspense. A low sob was the only reply. He raised his eyes to her face; tears were standing on her downcast lashes, and her cheek was burning crimson. They told him lie was accepted, and he caught her small soft hand in a delirium of delight and pressed it to his lips. It was withdrawn, and her large eyes were lifted half proudly, half mournfully to his, and her tones were low but firm, as she said— “ Perhaps, under other circumstances, Mr. Herwood, I might be induced to accept the hand you have so generously offered I me. But I have a young friend, surely you remember her, Lillie Lelford; and for her happiness and your own, 1 must remind you of your duty. Think not that I could cvci* consider you blameless or worthy of love, with the knowledge embittering my existence, that an innocent young being was sinking into the grave because her a£*r feclions had beea gained and then throwrt away by one whom I called my husband. Dream not, then, that I shall ever listen to vows which l havq reason to believe false or unenduring ; but if I have any influence over your feelings, prove it by returning to her you have so heartlessly forsaken.” She arose, and lef. him to the burning thoughts of shame and ~,ui!t and despair which agitated his bosom. A thousand conflicting emotions troubled his heart, as he tossed that night oil his restless couch, and when he came with heavy eyes anl aching head to the breakfast table, Ada in formed him that Miss Manley had left the city that morning. For a week he roved restlessly about the city, plunged into every kind of amusement, and striving to forget his late refusal by renewing his attentions to Miss Merrill; but that lady was no longer even interesting —the name, ‘ Lillie Lelford,’ was forever ringing in his memory. So one pleasant spring morning, Ada was surprised and delighted by the proposition of her brother, to return for a short time, to the residence of their friends, the Harveys. They were soon borne, I y car and carriage, back to the little village where they had spent the pre ceding summer so delightfully. As ihey passed again through its quiet streets, a ‘thousand olden memories’ gushed over The heart strings of Leslie, and a strange fear stilled his pulses as he passed by the silent cottage of Lillie. What if she had forgot ten him—what if she were dead ? Scarcely were the greetings of friends over, when Leslie bogged Ada to call on Lillie, and tell her of his arrival, his re pentance, and plead with her to receive him favorably. Ada consented to his wishes, and half an hour afterwards, he followed her. How his heart thrilled as he stood again on the vine-wreathed piazza, and looked into the little hall. A white muslin sun-bonnet lay on the carpet, which he knew to be Lillie's. He approached the parlor door and raised his hand to knock, but his courage failed him. The voice of Ada reassured him, and he tapped lightly on the polished oak panel. The door was opened and he stood in the room. A fair form was before him, and as his eyes rest ed on that face, he gazed in mute bewilder ment. “Miss Lillie Manley Lelford,” said the gay voice of Ada. Leslie comprehended all. Lillie held out her hand, and her smiles and tears told him he was for given. “ Strange that I never recognized you,” he said, as they sat together bn the sofa, where they had so often sat before. “Time and sorrow and entire change in dress and manner, made the difference.— But I should have been too proud to have won you back in that manner, had it not been through the persuasion of dear, good, kind Ada.” It was May-day, and the bells of the little village rang merrily. The snowy muslin curtains, in a certain parlor, were looped back by wreaths of pale roses, and the fragrant breeze, as it stole into the apartment, fluttered the white robes ot the bride. Orange flowers were twined among i iier shining curls, and a pale tose-bu 1 nestled on her bosom. The shadow had passed away from her clear, soft eye, and her dewy lip quivered with unutterable feeling, while a smile beamed ever and | anon for a moment on her young cheek, j and then fled back among its dimples as if | afraid to appear. She was very, very j beautiful, and the deep, proud eyes of the ! bridegroom rested on her blushing face with a look of holy tenderness, too deep for words. And Ada, who had brought all this about, was wild and merry as a bird, as she kissed her sister's cheek, and called i her Mas. Heuwood! ____________________ & I J ii 7, - —- HINTS TO MERCHANTS. [From “ Success in Life,” by Mrs. Tuthill.] KNOWLEDGE. “ It is not ‘how imicb’ a man may know, but to ‘what end and purpose’ be knows it, that con stitutes the value. There may be a man who lia* j a perfectly well-constituted and disciplined mind, and who yet does not know one letter of the al-1 phabet; and so may there be men who*e minds ; are unstable and Rood for nothing, although they \ have * gone through’ all the courses of education at all the schools and college.”— JMudie. “ O books ! ye m >numents of mind, concrete wis dom of the wisest, Swot t solaces of daily life, proofs and results of immortality, Gentle comrades, kind advisers; friends, comforts, treasures.”— Tapper. Your aim is to he a good merchant. A noble aim, if you attain the end by noble means. The Americans have frequently been taunted with the opprobrious accusation, that motto is, “Get money—honestly if you can, hut at any rate get money;' 7 as though the love of money were peculiar to j this country! Gold is everywhere worshipped; it is as truly an idol now, as it was when the Israelites prostrated themselves befoie it as 1 a golden calf, or the Greeks as a golden Jupiter. “ The appetite for gold, unslumbering,” ‘ continues from age to age, and too often becomes 44 a ravenous, all-devouring bun- 1 ger” “And many in hot pursuit have hasted to the! goal of wealth, But have lust, as they ran, those apples of go] 1, 1 the mind and the power to enjoy it.” The object of the merchant is, most as- ’ BUredly to acquire money; but he need not ; make it the sole end and aim of his whole mortal existence. He may become rich, and yet enjoy himself rationally while en gaged in the pursuit. We would therefore consider a good ed ucation, a thoroughly good training for the specitic object in view, as essential to the merchant, who, in his own phraseology, would rank as A .Vo. 1. The distinguished merchant, Thomas Eddy, of New York, to be sure, said of I himself, “All the learning l acquired, was reading, writing, and arithmetic as far as vulgar fractions. As to grammar, I could repeat some of the definitions by rote, but was totally ignorant of its principles.’’ This, however, was when Thomas Ed dy was only thirteen years old. Os his knowledge of arithmetic, he certainly made j excellent practical use, and his grammati- j cal knowledge undoubtedly had increased, when he afterwaids corresponded with such men, across the Atlantic, as Roscoe, j Colquhoun, Jeremy Bentham, and Lindley Murray, the very patriarch of grammarians. ’ No doubt Thomas would have been glad if he had, in early life, instead of merely learning by rote the definitions of English grammar, acquired facility in speaking and , writing the language grammatically. This every merchant should be able to do. 11 is own strong mother tongue lie ought to manage with clearness and pre cision. He is to come in contact with men in all the conditions and li grades” of human life. He may be required to use the re fined phraseology of the drawing-room, the energetic elegance of the senate chamber, and the nautical terms of the sea-captain. His intercourse with society will give him an opportunity to hear it spoken with flu ency and spirit; his intercourse with books, English and American, to learn to use it with clearness and precision. He. as well as the lawyer, is to employ language to in fluence men's minds, and sway them to his own purposes. That wicked wit, Dean Swift, says, that in the arithmetic of the custom house, two and two do not make four. The arithme tic of the merchant should never vary two and two make four to the buyer—two and two to the seller. A good merchant should have a thorough knowledge of Arithmetic anil Book-keeping: Attentive l>e. and I'll impart Wt.at constitutes the accountant's art. This rule is clear: uliat I receive, 1 debtor make to what I give. I debit Stock with all my debts, And credit it f r my effects. Tile goods 1 buy, I debtor inakn To him from whom those goods I take ; Unless in ready cash I pay— Then credit what I paid away. For wlmt I lose or make, ’tis plain I debit Loss and credit Gain. 1 The debtor’s place is iny left han 1, Creditor on my right must stand. If to these axioms you'll attend. Book-keeping soon you'll eoinprch ;nd ; And double-entry you will find Elucidated to your mind.” Although this waif from an old newspa- j per is entitled “The Poetry of Book-keep ing,” we confess there is more common j sense than poetry in the rough lines, and in fact poetry may be the book-keeper's j amusement, but it is not very nearly re-1 } latcd to his occupation. To be ready with | figures 1, 2 and 3, is of vastly more conse- j j quence to him than to be intimately ac- i ! quainted with figures of speech. “ Merchants,” says Roger North, “are infinitely curious in the fairness, regularity and justice of their books , which they es i teem as authentic registers, concerning not J only themselves, but all other persons they have had dealings With, or may de rive interest thereupon ; and to such books 1 appeals are commonly made, for they arc, j “f ought to be, the truth, whole truth, and . nothing but the truth, of all that is done ; j and disposed in a method, videlicet by waste, journal and ledger, the most e.vqui- j site for repertory and use that the wit of : ’ man, with utmost application, has been willing to frame.” “Appeals,” as North says, “are made to hooks, even by the law, if a man can prove that his books are kept with exact correct- i ness.” These correct books are the mer-! chant’s patent scales, by which a hair’s! weight of gain or loss may be detected. The lawyer and the author consider : themselves as having a special license to write illegibly. No matter how cramped and crabbed their chirography, they ex claim, “ Well, who expects us to write copy-hand TANARUS” A fault, indeed, it is; and many a client of the one, and type-setter for the other, has bitterly condemned the foolish notion, or tile carelessness, which has occasioned to them ro much trouble and perplexity. But the merchant—his hand-writing should be clear and elegant. Ilis books must be kept “ ship-shape and Bristol fashion”—no blots—no erasures; he prides himself upon their beautiful appearance. Besides a thorough knowledge of arith metic, the higher branches of mathematics will claim his attention ; algebra and geom etry are almost indispensable. If he can add to these some knowledge of surveying and navigation, they will be useful acqui sitions. The merchant may thus be able to test the correctness of the log-books of the sea captains who sail in his service. Moreover, mathematics so steady and discipline the mind, and give such power to the faculty of attention, that every young merchant would surely desire to avail him self of means so likely to ensure success. An accurate, extensive knowledge of Geography, will prove invaluable to the merchant. Not the superficial smattering of the school-boy alone, should content him. In his commercial relations with other countries, he must not only under stand what are the climate and productions of far-distant regions, in order that he may depend upon profitable return-cargoes, but he must be familiar with the social and poi litical condition of different nations, their tastes, manners and customs, that his ships may be freighted with those very articles which will minister to their wants—else he may send furs to Liberia, and ice to Norway. Look at a list of articles imported into China: Bichede-mer, betel-nut, Malay i camphor, nutmegs, elephant’s teeth, shark’s 1 1 fins, pepper, rice, Japan-wood, cubebs, gam- S boge, tortoise-shell, inangrove-hark, bees’- j wax, birds’ nests, cloves, ebony, fish maws, . ! gambir, rattans, sandal-wood, tin, dragon’s blood, mother-of-pearl shells, gold, eagle i wood.” What an assorted cargo would that be for Ireland during a famine, or even i lor the United Stales at any time!— A well-known merchant in Boston, who b'undered into a large fortune, inquired of Some person, what would be A profitable : “venture” for the West Indies. The re , ply was, “Warming-pails.” Accordingly j the eager merchant purchased a large t;uaii-’ tity for that market, where the heat is so intense that they cannot bear to look at a i fire, and forthwith dispatched them. And ; strange to sav, it proved a profitable spec ulation! the West Indians buying them for j molasses-ladles and skimmers. Soma English merchants, several years since, made almost as bad a mistake— worse in the result. Knowing that pastu* rage was exceedingly rich in some parts of ! South America, they sent out some of the finest milch-cows to that country, and eve rything belonging to and daily-, for the pur pose of making butter. They built their dairy-house—they were supplied with the best possible churns ; the pasturage was very grateful to the cows, and the blitter was at length made— “beautifuT’ butter, which would have gained a prize side by side with Orange County butter. But alas! for the sequel. The natives had no taste for butter! They preferred following the custom of their forefathers, ami eating oil on their bread—rancid oil; so the sjiicula* I tors neither buttered the bread of the na tives, nor their own. If the wheat crop j fail at home, the knowing merchant will I not send his vessels to the West Indies sos ‘ breadstuff, when the Vistula at Dantzic* 1 will serve his purpose far better. He will not send cotton to Egypt, for his maxim will be, “ Buy in the cheapest market, and sell in the dearest.” To spare himself the “want-wit sods ness,” of which Antonio speaks, in the Merchant of Venice, he ought to know of the periodical winds and storms which sweep over continents and oceans. This knowledge would relieve him, in part, from the trouble of ‘ ‘ Plucking the grass to know where sets the wind; Prying in maps for ports and piers and roads.’ 1 Salanio says to’his friend, the merchant! “ and should not see the sandy hour-glass ron, But I should think of .-hallows and of flats. Should I go to church And see the ludy edifice of at me. And not bcth.nk me -- tra ight of dangerous rocks t Which, touching but my gentle vessel's side, Would scatter all her spices on the stream ; Unrobe the roaring waters with my silks; And, in a word, but even now worth this And now worth nothing V’ The prudent Antonio replies; “ My ventures are not in one bottom trusted) Nor to one place ; nor is my whole estate Upon the fortune of this present year.” A young merchant heard it mentioned that a ship was in jeopardy. “Jeopardy,” said he, “what port is that?” and then, as if half ashamed to have asked a question which everybody ought to know, he quickly added, “Oh, I know : it is somewhere near Gibraltar.” This, however, is not a worse mistake than that of the lawyer; who, thinking quarantine was an island, said to a witness in court, who mentioned that at a certain time he was in quarantine, “Where is Quarantine situated?” interrupted the law yer. Geography, most assuredly, is not to be despised. Modern languages are of great use to the merchant. Latin and Greek are not of as much consequence to him as French and Spanish. These two he ought, by all means, to speak and write fluently. Por J tuguese, Italian, and German, he can add, if he have time and opportunity. His in tercourse with foreign countries may bting them all into requisition. lie should know something of the laws of his country—especially mercantile law: This knowledge may save the merchant many a fat fee, which would otherwise have gladdened the lawyer's pocket, and prevent losses of various kinds. An anecdote is told of an English judge, as follows ; In a case of mercantile law, which related to some Russia dudes, his Honor was very much puzzled to know how Russia ducks could be damaged by sea-water! Mercantile law, relating as it does to in* surance, brokerage, bills of exchange, in solvency, bankruptcy, and partnership, should be well understood by a thorough ly educated merchant. •An English merchant mentions that he saw t Dantzic heap* of wheat fivg or gii feet deep, and of considerable breadth, extending for sever miles along the Vistula. It was preserved fr m the effects of the weather by a covering of mat ting, or sail-cloth. Several thousand*of p r on. are constantly employed in turning this inline, so quantity of grain, upon which, meantime, t y subsist, boiling it in water from the river. This astonishing superabundance of produoe has been brought trotm Gallicia and Poland to its p- eneut situation, tftr the purposo of truing exported to I foreign countries.