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74 [COMMUNICATED BT A LADY.] PILGRIMAGE. BT J. WOOD DAVIDSON. I Once, ft pilgrim girt him ready For a journey long and lone. To a sane, upon whose altar Truth's eternal cresset shone. O'er his life-way far and near him Shone the fire that lit the shrine. And his holy heart-devotion Made his life itself divine. All his thoughts were always tempered, As he passed from clime to clime, By that holy heart-devotion — By that theme of themes sublime. Every hope and every feeling, Every wish and waking dream, Every prayer, and care, and passion. Caught the fervor of his theme. Every scene seemed something better— Better, brighter, yet the same— Wood, and flood, and wayside flower. Giving back that holy flame. „ it Then, a palmer turned him homeward. Back through stranger-lands to tread; And again his path was hallowed By the radiance round it shed. And again—to life returning— Little things he loved in youth. Dear by every earthly feeling. Whisper now a higher truth. And again—as day-dawn beaming, Brings to view scenes hid by Dight— go, his life, illumed by soul-dawn. Shines anew with inner light. in Thus, the devotee, adoring, Keeps his heavenly Truth in view, And in Faith's eternal radiance Reads life’s minor truths anew. IV So, the heart that pilgrims trusting, In affection's perfect dream— Pilgrims o'er enchanted highways, Lit by love's divines t beam— llourly hopes that gather round it — Like yon planet worlds above— Borrow living lustre only From the central sun of love. All the life that love has hallowed— Only in that love is life— Life-creating love that saves it, Blending God-like hope with strife. v Ev’n the heart ambition maddens, Bidß adieu to all beside— Lonely—coldly turns from pleasure, Turns from all of life, save pride. Pride's the wand that points the pilgrim On from love—from life—to fame; On, with single purpose giving Soul and life for nought—a Mine. VI One the purpose, one the passion, When a life-sun lights the flame— Only one the vital mission. Be it glory's goal, or shame. VII In the light by greatness kindled, Nations recognize a shrine; Thus, one noble spirit scatters O’er a land its light divine. In that light a pilgrim people Learn to tread an upward way, Higher, freer, nobler—onward— Guided by that God-like ray. Columbia, S. C. [Written for the Southern Field and Fireside.] TOIL AND VICTORY. BY MISS ANNIE H. BLOUNT. When the performance was over, Nettie Vin ton met them in the doorway. “Bon soir, Mr. Floy. Why, Theresa, is that you? Did you notice Carl Rodweski? ’Pon my word, I have not heard a word of the singing; have been exchanging love glances with Aim all the time— and ho what Ma contemptuously terms ‘a show man.’ Ts not he a fine musician ? I declare I held my breath while he was playing, lest one enchanted note should miss my ear.” “Are you crazy, Nettie ?” “Not quite; but I am determined to marry Carl Rodweski, if I can get his consent.” And the merry girl shook her curls, laughing ly, at Theresa, who was slightly shocked, and gave two fingers of her left hand to Carey. Carey and Theresa reached the carriage— how, they knew not, for the music had made revela tions to both; and when Carey folded her shawl about Theresa, he forgot to withdraw his arm, and allowed it to remain there. There is a joy in the first quick thrill which tells us that we are loved; but it is a brief deli rium, for “ the first step of love is on a rose—the second meets a thorn." Soon, withering doubts, chilling fears, and little jealousies, enter, serpent like, into the new-found Eden; and the love dream, be it long or short, bringeth more of sor row than happiness. Nettie Vinton came rushing in the room where Theresa was at work. “ I am glad you are all alone; my heart is bursting with its se cret; and you know I can’t live two minutes without a confidante. Ma is so wrapped up in her own flirtations, that she wont listen to mine. Well, still-mouth, I know you are dying to hear it, although you look as cool as Tin ice cream on an August day, and have less curiosity than any specimen of womankind I ever crossed. Give me joy! I have been introduced to Carl Rodweski; and he sat for an hour in my own house, and played me some of his divinest melo dies ; and, marvelous to relate, Ma is as much pleased with him as I am. You, see we have discovered, by chance, that he is of noble blood, and has a princely fortune, although he is a pub lic performer. That does not influence me, but it goes a long ways with old folks, you know. I have learned it all—how, having a roving ten dency, and an unconquerable passion for music, he ran away from his parents, and sought the stage. lie never hints such a thing, but pre tends that he has to support himself by his mu sical talent. Ah! Theresa, he is the handsom est fellow that ever handled a bow! and the way he does draw tears from my eyes, and lift me up in the seventh heaven of rapture when he plays, is—is indescribable. That's what I call music! And he says ‘Signorina’so sweetly, I can’t endure to be called Miss again; and I do hale our harsh, guttural language; the Italian is soft and musical. Well, I’m caught, I’m caged, I’m in the trap! Who ever expected to see me suffering under a real genuine love-attack ?’’ Nettie clasped her little hands over her heart with such a woebegone expression, that Theresa laughed aloud. XK& SOtrXKKKIS. VXSXD ME® YHUESXSS. “ Nettie, are you really in earnest f or is this only one of your many whims?” «In earnest! Os cowrie, lam. I wonder if I haven't had my own way ever since I was cre ated ? and a wild way it was, sometimes. I love Carl; and who dares say I shan't ? I expect to give up the ghost when ho goes away; and if Ma doesn’t let me marry him, I’ll enter a con vent, and take the veil —that’s all. I wonder if I am going to sacrifice my youth and beauty —(you needn't sneer—l am good looking, for my lovers swear it on their bended knees ten times a day)—to that cross old curmudgeon of a Withers my kinspeople have selected forme? I am no Eastern slave, but a free-born Southern lassie; and I will select a husband for myself. The life of a rover would suit me anyhow; and I won't marry a man who will sit me down in one place, and bid me stay there until I am called for. If Carl wont quit the stage, I guess I can go with him; and if he will, why, we will ‘travel through this wide world over.’ He is the only man in Christendom I would give the snap of a finger for; and all the rest may go to Jericho, for aught I care.” “ Why, Nettie, you talk as if you really meant to marry this adventurer, whom his friends would fain pass off as a ‘count,’ to humbugpeople. I think you are a candidate for the insane asy lum? What would Mrs. Grundy say?" “ What she pleases. Am Ito sacrifice my happiness for what the world says ? I don’t care for his profession— *The rank is but the guinea's stamp, The man's the man for a’ that!’ “I tell you, 1 love Carl Rodweski; seems to me you are crazy this morning. I wonder if you have a heart under that prim little quaker gown. I wonder if you don’t think it a sin to love — shouldn’t wonder if you did. And, lastly, I wonder if my heart, in your estimation, was made to lay down, under my chemisette, in still repose, until Lord Moneybags came and called for it. You are a little fool, Theresa —you always were, that’s the amount of it—but you are a good soul, too.’’ “Thank you! Your words have no weight with me ; I have heard you talk before. Is Rodweski your twentieth, or hundredth kindred spirit ? You fall in love, and out, every week.” “Oh ! hold your tongue. Until I saw him, I never found anybody worth loving. I have weighed all my grand lovers in the scales, and found them wanting. They are one half tailor’s and bootmaker's gear—t’other half, moustache and walking cane; queer anomalies, minus brains, minus heart, minus principle. Carl Rod weski is a whole-souled gentleman—intellectual and refined ; and three months from to-day, you may look out for a card,marked “Nettie Rodwes ki.” He has a heathenish name —not half so pretty as' mine—wonder if he wouldn’t consent to be called Carl Yinton ? believe 111 ask him ; but ‘what’s in a name ?’ Good-bye, Theresa; be in a better humor when I call again.” Nettie danced away gleefully, and Theresa looked after her with a queer smile, and little sigh. CHAPTER X. And dost though ask what secret woe I bear, corroding ioy, and youth ? And wilt thou vainly seek to know A pang even thou must fail to soothe ? Is It that weariness which springs From all I meet, or hear, or see; To me no pleasure beauty brings— Thine eyes have scarce a charm for me. Byeon. Now has descended s screner hour, And with inconstant fortune friends return; Though suffering leaves the knowledge and the power, Which savs : "Let scorn be not repaid with scorn.” Shelley. George now resided in the same city with Theresa—a city, which, for various reasons, shall still bo left nameless. He had struggled on with poverty —studied industriously, and had been admitted to tlio bar—tha meanwhile scarcely having a friend, and living, comparative ly speaking, unknown. Croakers predicted that as the profession was crowded he would ever be a clientless lawyer; and persuaded him to be clerk, mechanic, anything but an attorney at law. His sign, poor fellow, attracted but little attention, causing sometimes a derisive smile ; and he sat in his dingy office from day to day, poring over books, and hoping against hope.— But a brighter day was near—a client at hand! The case was a difficult one, and much legal talent was opposed to the young debutant—but on his side was justice and right. The closing speech of the suit, which had been long pending, was his. It was a splendid triumph, and he came forth viejorious ; and every one acknow ledged that right had triumphed because of the mighty genius and powerful eloquence of George Carleton! His client, by him lifted from poverty to almost fabulous wealth, paid him handsomely ; briefs poured in upon him ; admiring friends flocked around him ; the press, ever ready to applaud or censure, teemed with his praises; princely houses opened their softly gliding doors to him; brother lawyers shook him by the hand ; lovely maidens smiled on him— “ Gold, gold, yellow gold ! Heavy to get, and hard to hold,” sparkled in his long empty coffers; and his name and talents were on every tongue. Such is the power of genius ! He could no longer hide himself from society —society had made an idol of him, and society must parade its “lion” up and down before ad miring crowds —invitations crowded his table, morning callers gave him no time for thought; and fops and dandies, because sensible people called him a gem, worried him to death with ceaseless attentions. His fame followed him everywhere—every where he was feted and lionized —and his mother and sisters, away off in their quiet home, heard the story, and wept and rejoiced. A brilliant entertainment was given at the stately residence of Col. Winsliip—“Pelion was piled on Ossa.” and it was intended to be the triumph of the season. Conservatories had poured their wealth of treasures to deck the ta bles, and adorn the walls—the tables themselves glittering with silver, groaned underneath the weight of luxuries, and Col. Winsliip and his fat, fussy lady, flitted here and there to catch “the far faint sound of popular applause.” George Carleton moved among the assembled guests, anxious to escape notice, but failing of course—for the world had not yet tired of him, and no new “ star ” had arisen to dispute his laurels with him. Nettie Yinton, with no de sire to entrap, sparkled around him with, her coquettish smiles; and teased him about his “ youth and inexperience.” Mrs. Lightheart— a young widow, with greater weight of purse than brains, made room for him on the sofa, and begged him very prettily to fan her, for she “was heated and tired to death with waltzing”— looking up with a sham sigh, and a feigned shadow on her pretty doll-like face, and whis pering : “ Oh, it pains my heart to look at you: you so resemble one who is lost to me forever.” Mrs. Granby begged he “ would look after her dear Julia, and lead her ta a seat, she so feared that sweet child would fatigue herself with dancing.” Mrs. Larkin politely requested him “to dine with them at a social dining, and she would show him some of her darling Araminta s paintings—Araminta had borne away all the prizes in the convent schooL” Mrs. Clinton politely hinted that he should “go to the sitting room, and listen to her dear est Clio, who was then performing on the harp; and who, as everybody said, though of course 3he was not vain enough to believe it, sang like an angel." Mrs. Wayne, although she owned the time was inappropriate, requested that he should, at an early day, contribute something to her sweet Angelica’s album; and whispered confidentially, “ The dear girl writes beautiful, verses herself; and is said by her ultimate friends to eclipse Miss Landon—but she is excessively timid —a sensitive Mimosa; and could not be induced as some bold vain young ladies do, to write for the public. Count , the distinguished noble man, had dedicated some lovely verses to her beginning: “ Fair flower of the human race I bring this rose to thee; ‘Tis shamed by that upon thy face— But sometimes think of me. This gem, less sparkling than thine eyes, And brought from distant clime; I offer to thee in my own ” “ Weak, wishy-washy rhyme,” finished Nettie at her eltiow. Mrs. Wayne gave her a wither ing glance, which she meant to be deadly. But Nannie Winship, whom we have known as a rude, ill-bred child —now ripened into an unprincipled but wondrously beautiful woman, singled out the rising young lawyer as her victim. Perhaps he was not insensible to her devo tion —what young man ever is, when she who offers it is handsome, wealthy, and fashionable ? perhaps he was blinded by the bewildering light which shone so brightly in her eyes— caught in the meshes of those soft, silken curls —led captive by the dangerous smile which danced around her mouth. Nannie was dressed bewitchingly in a pearl colored silk, cut very low in the neck, and ex posing shoulders white as Parian marble—her round white arms were bare to the elbow, and covered with costly bracelets. The diamond pendants in her ears glittered and sparkled— and the rich lace fall, which drooped from her shoulders, seemed a ut adornment for a fairy. George lingered by her, at least fascinated by the spell she had cast over him. To tell the truth, he could not well escape without a breach of politeness, as she talked incessantly, and filled the pauses with arch looks and little sighs. Sho affected great simplicity—wore a baby look, and folded her hands in a child-liko manner, think ing to win him by her artlessness. 'While he was talking she would look up and say: “Ah do explain it to me. I am so ignorant; yet I am very willing to be taught by you." “ A finished actress I’’ hissed Miss Granby, who was verging on old maidism; and had in time angled for a husband with such bait her self. “ All that may pass current with a man, but it takes a woman to see through it—the idea of a grown up woman playing the child!” “ Women having practised the same arts, can read more rapidly than we poor men, who were made to be victims.” “Practised the same arts, indeed! I am obliged to you, Mr. Wayne”—and Miss Granby tossed her false curls contemptuously. George Carleton, with Nettie Vinton on one side, and Nannie Winship on the other, was standing near a table, looking over some en gravings, when some one from the dancing room approached him. “Carleton, you are such an able hand, wo have come to you to’decide a critical point. There is au animated discussion going on as to who is the most handsome lady in the city— now I want your opinion.” “ How can I offer one when surrounded by so much beauty ?” he replied gallantly. “Paris could not have been in a greater dilemma.” “ You, of course, need not confine yourself to the beauties who are present to night.” “ Well, then, the fairest and loveliest face I have ever seen—ladies, I humbly crave your pardon I—belongs to a little maiden who passes my office evefy day. Perhaps, if I describe her, some one may recognise the portrait. She is about your size, Miss Yinton, has soft brown hair —devotion's proper hue! classical features, and each one so delicately chiselled, she would make a fine model for a sculptor; her eyes are always modestly cast down, and I cannot de termine their exact hue. But—l remember now, I have seen you with her, Miss Yinton.” “Yes; and I recognise the picture readily, while I admire your taste.” “ Who is it ?” drawled Miss Winship, lazily. “ The young lady who is saleswoman for Miss Snipper.” “ A milliner girl, the beauty of our city! Preposterous! I have seen her in the shop at work, but was not struck speechless with her beauty.” Miss Winship spoke quite haughtily, and— but she did not know it then —by that one sen tence was undone the work o£ weeks. She un wisely continued; “ I had the misfortune to know this paragon of perfection in my earlier days. She was the child of a pauper, and my teacher had the audacity to admit her to the school which I at tended. Mama removed me immediately, for I did not recognise her then, nor do I now" “ Allow me to correct you,” said Nettie, politely, but with that keen edge of sarcasm which woman can use so well. “ The young lady was the adopted daughter of my Aunt, and when your mother learned that fact, she was very willing that you should remain at school, but Miss Dew, for reason? best known to herself, refused; I cannot expect your memory to retain all these little things.” Nettie looked as sober as an Autumn day, while Miss Winship, with a flushed face, and a bad grace, replied: “We will drop the discus sion.” The next morning, at an early hour, George found a dainty perfumed little note on his table: “ I am horribly dull this morning—take pity on me, and come over to cheer me up.” Nannie W—. He obeyed the summons reluctantly; and found Miss Winship reclining in graceful aban don on the sofa, attired in an elegant and richly embroidered morning dress. “ Excuse me for not rising. I have a woeful headache, natural consequence of last night’s excitement; for when one gets intoxicated on pleasure, one must pay the penalty.” She mo tioned him to a seat near, and remained silent like a spoiled child who wishes to be petted. But George was not in the vein—in fact he was disenchanted. In an unguarded moment she had incautiously allowed her mask to be come loosened; and he had viewed the defor mities which it was worn to conceal. Gradually sho became more social; and George, although he laughed and jested with her, yet seemed absent-minded. She felt that she had somehow lost ground— for quick comes such knowledge especially to woman—so crossing over, she took the cushioned footstool at his feet—perfectly in keeping with the child caracter she had assumed, and said : “ You look unhappy; if my poor sympathy can avail you anything; it is yours.” “ Thank you; but I do not know that I par ticularly need sympathy just now,” “You scorn the humble offering, then; and yet my heart tells me that you have some hid den grief which ‘corrodes your comfort’ and ‘de stroys your ease.’ Ah! it is not well thus to hoard up sorrow. The grief that is shared be comes less painful, even as joy is augmented when another partakes of it. Let me be your soul-sister —pour into my sympathizing ear that which troubles you.” George looked up in astonishment; here was, to him, a new feature in that intricate problem, woman nature. He smiled. “ I suppose I may plead that ro mantic disease, love disappointment" She placed her hand on his, unconsciously, and withdrew it quickly, with a vivid blush. “ I would not pine for a false one, nor waste one sigh on the faithless; other hearts will beat for you. Accept their love, and be happy.” She cast her eyes down, and played with a tassel of the ottoman. He disguised his rising disgust, and replied: “Nay, tempt me not to love again, I’ve tried It once, and found it pain." “ But that need not nerve your heart against its gentle influence. Your last love may be happier.” He could not mistake her meaning. Ah! when will woman learn that a heart easily won is valued lightly; and that her wooing can ex* ■cite no other emotion but contempt in the bosom of a man of sense and refinement. George quoted: 44 To me no pleasure beauty brings— Thine eyes have scarce a charm Tor me and walked to his hotel, repeating to himself: “ Thank God, I have no sister who resembles Miss Winship.” * * * * * * * Carey Floy was a fashionable, heartless, un principled young man. Ho never loved The resa ; he never loved any one but himself. He was incapable of a sincere, unselfish love for a virtuous and worthy object. He knew that Theresa was beautiful, pure, and excellent; and that she loved him with all of her woman’s truth and devotion. And he resolved to continue his attentions, prosecute zealously.his suit, and never to marry her. How often do we see—but it’s past my philosophy to tell how and why it is— how often do wc see lovely, pure, and excellent young women, well educated, too, and strongly grounded in religious principles, and seemingly capable of properly appreciating character, be stowing their priceless wealth of love upon the most wortliless and undeserving of the other sex! At an interview which occurred very shortly after the date at which we last saw them, Carey Floy, presuming upon the controlling strength of her attachment to him, had the audacity to in form Theresa of his own engagement to be mar ried to another lady, who was his equal in so cial position and of great wealth. “He did not love that lady,” he said, “and never would. It was, however, an expedient match, and he intended to marry her. But it was Theresa, and Theresa alone, that he really loved, and would ever love.” The unhappy girl, the moment sho comprehended his speech, started from hire «s from an adder. Not a worn escaped her lips. She stood for a moment like one staggered by a sudden blow; then, giving him a look of unutterable anguish and scorn, she fled from his presence. saw him again. But the shock was too much for her. This cruel termination to her dream of love —this* sudden, and ruthless crushing of hope, and of her fondest woman’s affection —with the bitter conviction, which was forced upon her, of the unworthiness and perfidy of him she had so deeply confided in, brought on a serious attack of illness with delirium. She lay for weeks, seemingly at the point of death. But the recupera tive energies inherent in youth finally prevailed; and at the date of the opening of the succeeding chapter, Theresa was slowly convalescent. CHAPTER XI. It was not thus in other days we met; Hath time, hath absence taught thee to forget? Remans. In the darkest night, and the bright daylight, In earth, and sea, and sky; In every home of human thought Will love be lurking nigh. N. P. Willis George Carlton at at his office window, look ing for Theresa-yes, allowing his eyes to wander up and down street in search of her, and she a stranger. He had watched her often as she passed to and from her work. And as he himself had toiling sisters, he began to feel interested in the pale, beautiful young girl who toiled early and late. His law office was directly in her way; and he saw her so often that he learned, naturally enough, to watch for her, morning and evening; and to feel slightly disappointed when anything detained her later than usual. Some times he saw her leaning glad and happy on the arm of one, whom he recognised as the son of a distinguished statesman and millionaire; and his heart trembled for her then; for his own sad experience had told him that between those whom fate has separated by a difference in rank and fortune there can be no love without misery. For several days he had missed the light footstep which tripped so noiselessy up and down the street; and he wondered at it, and worried over it, more than most people would worry over a stranger. The mystery was soon solved by a conversa tion which he chanced to overhear, between two girls who had paused beneath his window. “ A second edition of the downfall of Grecee and Rome,” said one—“ for I’m sure Theresa’s hopes towered as high, when Carey Floy was making a fool of her, as ever did the palatial mansions of those historic spots.” Her name was Theresa, then—George listened eagerly. “They say her life is despaired of; she has been sick for a week. 1 know the cause, and they needn’t talk to me of fever. Some kind friend has doubtless told her that Carey Floy is about to be married. / knew it all the while; but I wouldn’t tell her. I wanted to see how high she would soar among the clouds. Going to the Opera with Carey Floy! now, wasn’t she elevateds” “ I wonder how she feels now. I’m real glad of it—she deserved no better fate. It will teach her how to look above her betters; hut pride always will take a fall.” “Always.” They shook hands. “ What does Miss Snipper say?'’ “Oh 1 she is Theresa-ised. Nettie Yinton (or her purse,) has made her believe that Theresa is just from tlie moon. But I must go.” George curled his lips scornfully at these cow ardly stabs in the dark. If there was one class of mean persons ho detested more than another, it was the mischief-making and envious. Somehow, he began to feel an unaccountable, and also ungovernable, desire to see and know Theresa. His fancy painted her, ill and suffering, with no kind hand to bathe her fevered brow—no love-toned voice to murmur consola tion. Then, he went back to his own past — the wound which had been given him by fate, had been healed by the kindly hand of time—but it bled sometimes, even now, for “ Ever and anon, of griefs subdued. There comes a token, like a scorpion's sting." Venus had married Vulcan for, perhaps, the hundredth time; and Emma Weston, fair and beautiful as a dream, answered to the title of Mrs. Lipscombe. They bad met —met once only. It happened thus : he was walking down street one after noon, and saw some ladies endeavoring to de scend from a carriage—the horses being shy and restive. With that chivalrous gallantry, characteristic of the true Southerner, George lent his assistance. And when the jewelled fin gers of the last one who descended were placed in the hand he offered, he needed not to raise the veil which hid her features— the hand was Emma's! * There is something in the touch of a beloved hand, different from any other hand in the world —it sends a thrill through every vein, and, oh ! if that hand which has once nestled fondly in thine, be another's —then, God pity thee. Emma did not see him until he had taken her hand ; and as his well-remembered features rose before her suddenly, she repressed a scream.— She trembled in every nerve, and seemed near fainting, but he was outwardly calm and un moved. He made no attempt to speak, but touching his hat politely, as though she had been any other woman in the world, he passed on, leaving her, standing, gazing blankly after him, with the look of one who has lost all consciousness. Poor Emma 1 “Thy features do not bear the light They wore in happier days, Though still there may be much to love, There’s little left to'praise." —thy once round and blooming cheek is thin and sunken—thy eyes are dull and lustreless—the canker-worm within, while gnawing at thy heart-strings, has also destroyed thy young beauty.« And such are the consequences which natu rally result from those unnatural marriages, which worldly parents prepare for their victim ized children. Happiness must be sacrificed ; and hearts crushed under the Juggernaut wheels of Mammon. Every day some broken heart is laid an offering on the altars which Christian men have erected for the worship of their idol— Gold. We shrink from the thought that beautiful Eastern women are sold to the highest bidder ; but in our own fair land the same barbarous scene is enacted year after year. [to be continued.] — NAMES OF DATS—THEIR ORIGIN The days of the week derive their names from the idols, which our Saxon ancestors worship ped.” The Idol of the Sun. —This idol, which repre sented the glorious luminary of the day, was the chief object of their worship. It is described like the bust of a man, set upon a pillar, holding, with outstretched arms, a burning wheel before his breast. The first day of the week was especially dedicated to its ado ration, which they termed the Sun's Deny; hence is derived the word Sunday. The Idol of the Moon. —The next was the idol of the Moon, which they worshipped on the second day of the week, called by them Moon’s Deag ; —and since by us, Monday. The form of this idol is intended to represent a woman, habited in a short coat, and a hoop, and two long ears. The moon which she holds in her hand designates the quality. The Idol of Tuisco. —Tuisco was at first deified as the father and the ruler of the Teutonic race, but in course of time he was worshipped as the sun of the earth. From this came the Saxon words, Tuisco's Deag, which we call Tuesday. Ho is represented standing on a pedestal, as an old aud venerable sage, clothed in the skin, of an animal, and holding a sceptre in the right hand. The Idol Woden, or Odin. —Woden, or Odin, was one of the supreme divinity of the northern nations. This hero is supposed to have emigrat ed from the East, but from what country, or at what time, is not known. His exploits form the greatest part of the mythological creed of the northern nations and his achievements are magnificent beyond all credibility. The name of the fourth day of the week, called by the Saxons Woden Dory, and by us Wednesday, is derived from this personage. Woden is rep resented in a bold and martial attitude, clad in armor, with a broad sword uplifted, in his right hand. The Idol Thor. —Thor, the eldest and bravest of the sons of Woden and Friga, was, after his parents, considered as the greatest god among the Saxons and Danes. To him the fifth day of the week, called by them Thor's Daeg, and by us Thursday, was consecrated. Thor is represented as sitting on a throne, with a crown of gold on his head, adorned with a circle in front, wherein were set twelve bright bur nished gold stars, and with a regal sceptre in his right hand. , The Idol Friga, or Frega. —Friga, or Frega, was the wife of Woden, or Odin; and next to him the most reverend divinity among the heathen Saxons, Danes, and other northern na tions. In the most ancient times, Friga, or Frea, was the same with the goddess Hertha or Earth. To her the sixth day of the week was consecrated, which by the Saxons was written ,Freg%s Daeg, corresponding with our Friday. Friga is represented with a drawn sword in her right hand, and a bow in her left. The Idol Seator. —The idol Seator is represen ted on a pedestal, whereon is placed a perch, on the sharp, prickled back of which he stood. His head was uncovered, and his visage lean. In his left hand he held up a wheel, and in his right hand was a pail of water, wherein were flowers and fruits, and his dress consisted of a long coat, gorted with linen. The applica tion given to the day, of his celebration is still retained. The Saxons named it Seutor's Deag , which we call Saturday. 4>» ■——— Punctuality is but Honesty.— A committee of eight ladies, in the neighborhood of London, was appointed to meet on a certain day at twelve o’clock. Seven of them were punctual, but the eighth came hurrying in, with many apologies for being a quarter of on hour behind the time. It had passed away without her being aware of its being so late, &c. A Quaker lady present said, ‘‘Friend, I am not so clear that wo should admit thy apology. It were matter of regret that thou shouldst have wasted thine own quarter of an hour; but here are seven beside thyself whose time thou hast also consumed, amounting in the whole to two hours, and seven-eighths of it was not thine own proper ty.”-