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By this I do not mean that liPcatild name, among his ancestors, one single nobleman, knight, or even esquire; but I mean he could trace his ances try back to tho time when the first Bentley left England, and could say that not one of them had ever brought disgrace on the name. Not one of them had ever been hung, not one had ever stolen; not one had ever been known as a hypocrite, a slanderer, or miser. Many of them had served in the war of the revolution, and the mi* mcrous Indian wars, and not one had ever sustained other than the highest reputation for courage and daring. The first Bentley came over to Geor gia about the year seventeen huudred. He was a hard-fisted, independant yeo man, whose object in coming to this -country was to be free. Although he 4iad no genealogical tree, lie knew enough of the stock from which he sprang, to tell his children in the New World that, centuries before that time, their ancestors had been distinguished by a mixture of sturdy independence .■and proud loyalty of character which greatly endeared them to their feudal .chief. In his day though, things were ■changed. There no longer existed in England the same organization of so ciety which rendered the life of the English yeoman one of excitement and adventure, iu the service of his chief tain. tu those “piping times of peace,” the men who occupied a low position in society had leisure to look around them—to view their social inferiority and to become dissatisfied with it. About this time, the discovery and colonization of America afforded an outlet for many a restless spirit which, though kept down by the stern law of caste, yearned for liberty, and the po sition of a man. Balph Bentley was one of these jestless spirits. lie was a, younger son; and the law of primogeniture which ex tended through all ranks in England, cutting him off from all hopes of a share in his father’s small but snug property, he came to the colony of Georgia with his young wife. Here he lived, iu the full enjoyment of those two great blessings—liberty and plenty -—till the day of his death. He led the life, to some extent, of a careless, roving hunter, besides accumulating a comfortable property which he left his children. These children, after their fathers death occupied a social position which the children of their father’s contem poraries and equals in England, never dreamed of. In a very few years, the expansive and improving influence of liberty made itselt apparent to a very remarkable degree in the case of the Bentleys. In the course of one or two generations, they had accumulated fortunes, educated their children, and at the declaration of Independence oc cupied a high position for wealth and intelligence. As has been already hinted, they were also distinguished for a stern unbending integrity, a high sense of honor, and a courage and dar ing which was remarkable, even at that day. Os such a race sprung Horace Bent ley ne and his sister -were the only children of wealthy and indulgent pa rents. Fortunately for Horace, he was not easily spoiled, or the system of in dulgence pursued by liis father would t?CTi««<wn hjar-o U&cl Tlui liio father always contended that the fact that Horace was not easily spoiled was the reason why he indulged him iu so many whims. He said lie had made it his business to study the characters and dispositions of his children, had found with joy inexpressible that Horace, though rather impetuous,— which he could forgive as it was a fam ily failing—was a boy of warm, gener ous disposition, and a nice sense of honor which would never allow him to be led into the commission of a mean act, however many lie might commit which would be deemed by the ■world imprudent. He said too that if he had found his boy needed curbing, lie would have commenced with him in tinic. Asa natural consequence of these notions and tins system, Horace had few ungratified wishes. He had guns and horses and dqgs, at an age when most boys are satisfied with hoops and tops. He had a tutor too, who won his regard and prevailed on him to devote more time to study than was thought possible, by the neighbors who saw him so often scouring the fields and woods with gun arjd dog and horse. Indeed, few boys vyho were not de signed to fill professor’s chairs, studied so much as lie did. And lie not only studied what .are termed text-books, but he read |pn his tutor a great many of the of English Lit plays, poems, novels, ct cetera. At an early age he was sent to West he learned a little of mil itary drill and science. Here, his chief delight . was in the riding school where he excelled, from the simple fact that, like all Georgia boys, he had been ac customed to riding on horseback, al most? from infancy; and he went to pFest foint a first rate horseman, while most carets are glad to go away , toler able W<&Jf The disciplin^main taiqed was little to his taste though, and he , petitioned to be taken away, before his course was half through. — To this his father consented, on one condition —that he should resume his studies, under his old tutor. Horace readily' agreed to this, as he said lie had no idea of yet quitting his books. Accordingly he came home more in love with Georgia and every thingconnected with it, than ever. But notwithstanding his ardent love for the place of his nativity his love of travel and adventure was fully as ar dent, He pleaded with his father that youth was the time to travel—when the fancy was free, the imagination vivid, and the world appeared clothed in colors brighter than any it wore ever afterward. “Men,” said he, “generally wait till their education is finished—till the freshness of feeling incident to youth is worn oft’—until they have in a man. tier grown old, before they indulge in travel. Travel is a part of education and should be taken, not after one has gone through with his books, but along with them. Men should not quit their books to travel, they should take their books with them. If they arc to be gone long enough to interfere materially with their studies, or if they are not to be gone so long, let them consider the tour a change from one text book to another for the relief of an overstraiued mind. “In a few years, I shall feel called upon to assume the duties and respon sibilities of a man, and I cannot then, with an easy conscience, waste my time in trampoosing over the world.— Before that time, I wish to visit our western frontier, where the buffalo and the wild-horse roam free and un tamed. I wish to wander through our primeval forests and our boundless prairies, where Nature lies in all her grand and unmutilated magnificence. Where ” “But my dear boy,” interrupted his father smiling at his enthusiasm, “you must recollect that travelling is such a pleasant and fascinating branch of ed ucation, that in pursuing that, one is liable to forget the other branches. — You surely do not wish to break off from your books, now that you are just beginning to penetrate the mys tery of mysteries—the inner temple of learning?” “By no means father,” answered the boy. “I do not wish to “break off,” but merely to enjoy a temporary recess which will better fit me for pursuing tlie study of books. I shall only be gone eight or possibly twelve months, when I will return, spend six months with you and sister—convince Jack Royal that despite his practice, he can not kill more snipes and than I can; and then I think it will be high time for me to take my books and tutor, and commence that Euro pean tour which you promised me I should make, and which you yourself consider a part of my education.” And Horace had his own way as usual. Avery good way it was, in this instance, I think. Do you not think so, reader ? He started, a mere youth, to the West, in company with an old friend of his father’s who was fond of such expeditions. But his restless activity soon rid him of this olit ti-Si-rotter, Tvhcf ctcohtxtjvl liv Luul rather be condemned to follow a young Camanche than this hair-brained youth- Attended only by his constant follow* cr and valet —Howard—our young traveller pushed on. He had his fill of adventure. lie shot the buffalo— he noosed the wild-horse—he fought the Indian. Nor was his tour unat tended with danger. He was once captured by the Indians, and would have had a practical experience of one of their most time-honored customs— roasting prisoners—had it not been for the impression his handsome face and figure made upon the imagination of an Indian maiden, who loosed his bonds, and gave him a horse and a her blessing, while the rcstofthe lodge were asleep. Nor was this his only dangerous ad venture with the Indians. The negro Howard, who attended him, saved his life ou one occasion, at the risk of his own. Ilis whole tour on the frontier was one continued series of adventures, more or less rash and dangerous. He nad what he sought—excitement— life—activity. Besides, he noted eve ry thing which he considered an ad dition to his stock of information ; and he said afterwards that his-expedition had proven fully as useful and enter taining as fie expected it to be, Just then the hand of affliction smote heavily on Horace. I believe I omit ted to state that hjs inothor had died during his infancy. G rowing up then, with only one parent to love—he lov ed that ono almost to idolatry. When he was almost ready to-start home from the West, he received a letter stating that his father \yas dead, I will not attempt to . describe his grief. He among my readers who has gone forth from the home of his childhood, and left a father there—and who has returned to find that father gone, with the cold sod resting upon his breast— and to hear that, he passed away—that his life went out and his last words werer spoken while he--—the lion, was far away, with jest and laughter on his lips—ho who can say, “But when I saw thy vacant chair, Thine idle hat upon the wall, Thy book—tho penciled passago where Thiuo eyo. had rested last of all— ****** And thought, while countless ages fled, Thy vacant scat would vacant stand Unworn thy hat—thy book unread— ****** Oh! father! then for her and thee (lushed madly forth tho scorching toars”— —lie who has felt all this, can under stand Horace’s feelings. Others cannot conceive of them. As soon as the first paroxysm of grief was over, llorac* set himself se riously to work to carry out his father’s will. It was but little trouble to do this however, where he and his sisters were the only parties interested. He lived with his sister a year, or more, in the house where their father died. Active business, assisted by time, blunts the most poignant grief; and at' the end of a year, Horace felt his grief so softened, that his old desire to visit Europe returned. His uncle insisted that they should quit their lonely re sidence, and reside with him. Ho race’s sister accepted the invitation, while he prepared to leave for the Old World. The preparations were soon made; and collecting his books and summon ing his old tutor, he set out. Never perhaps was there such a tour made before or since, as this one. It is use less to attempt to follow him in all his wanderings. Sometimes traveling with all the speed lie could command from one place of pleasure, and, it must be confessed, of dissipation, to another— then, halting for weeks or months, and unpacking his books, studying with all the avidity of the mere book-worm; now frequenting some old gallery, where hung the master pieces of art, studying them with all the enthusiasm ot his nature, lost to all the world be side—then betting, with a recklessness which seemed madness, in some Pari sian “ Hell”—to-day, reposing peace fully and contemplatively in some ru ral villa, on the bank of the- Loire or the Po, where every thing was so se rene and calm, it seemed as if no dream of ambition or excitement could ever disturb him who had once tasted of its delicious repose —to-morrow, hunt ing with all the recklessness and im petuosity of his nature, the Wilde Schwein, in some German forest, or scaling the tops and leaping over the precipices of some Alpine height—now lingering, with his tutor on some clas sic spot, the very Mecca of the literary pilgrim —now revelling, weeks at a time at some modern Spa —now laugh ing amid the grisettes cle Paris —now stealing glances with some soft-eyed Circassian —such were some of the features of this extraordinary tour. Besides the book part of education which Horace never lost sight of long at a time, he improved himself in oth er parts of what he considered the ed ucation of a gentleman. In Paris he continued his fencing, which he had begun at West Point, besides learning something more of the Art Terpsicho rcan than he had known before. He practiced pistol shooting, and he prac ticed billiards, wherever he halted long "enough to do so. Indeed, lie com bined, in a manner scarcely ever wit nessed in any one —perhaps never in one so young improvement and amusement. Consequently, when he returned to Georgia, he was a young man whose attractions a romantic young lady would have found it hard to resist, even if his handsome person and manifold accomplishments had not been backed by great wealth. Horace was by no means an unsus ceptible young man ; and he found it hard to resist the promptings of his heart, which bade him return, with interest, the bright and kind glances which greeted him on his return, from eyes such as in all his wanderings among the far-famed oriental beauties, he had never seen surpassed. But though lie saw among the now young ladies whom he had left girls, several whose glances were calculated to make his pulse beat quickly and his heart flutter strangely, when he saw that the beauties of Eastern Georgia were ex celled by the bright beauties of his na tive Georgia; and though he saw, among his lady acquaintances, several whom he thought he might have been proud to win, he exerted a string self-control, and addressed them mere ly as old acquaintances and play-mates. This self control rpay seem strange in one so impetuous as Horace Bentley; and in truth this was one of the seem ing inconsistencies of his character.— It is true he was naturally a fiery, im petuous man; but ho had labored with a view to control himself in this regard, until he had, in a great degree, been able to do so; and now amidst his seeming “madness,” in a common way, there was a “method,” Indeed it was frequently the case, that when he seemed inost reckless, he was most cool and prudent. For instance; when he was betting in the gambling saloons of Paris, or some German Spa, and losing thousands, without, appa rently, having an y idea what 'was the amount of his' losses, and seeming* from his reckless, excited manner to be bent on ruin, the spectators were fre quently surprised to sec him. cooly quit the game, while his pocket-book was yet stuffed; when they had thought from his previous course, that he would have gambled on, as long as lie had a franc to lose. - At another time, when he had had a long run of luck, and his winnings were enormous, he would break short off, on the very first re verse, however trifling. This again would excite surprise, as few men who are fond of the excitement of bet ting would have nerve to act in this way, although in their cooler moments, they will acknowledge it to be the best policy. Horace’s philosophy in the matter was this. He believed that even the passions could be made useful, and con ducive to the amusement of a man, provided he made himself master of those passion?, and subjected them to his control. On the contrary, he knew that if the man allowed the passions to be the master, they would lead their unhappy slave through many a rugged path, and over many a break neck precipice—that they would in fact render him continually miserable, as all tyrants do their slaves. For the reason that he believed the passions, when properly directed might be ren dered useful, lie endeavored merely to control and not to eradicate them. He did not wish to eradicate the passion of anger because, for instance, that in connection with his sense of justice, would sometimes cause him to knock down a stronger party for in sulting or oppressing a weaker one, in his presence, when, if it had not been for anger, prudence would have pre vented the act, and the oppressor would have gone unpunished. An ger was sufficiently strong to arouse him to action before time had been al lowed for the intervention of cold pru dence. If instead of having anger un der his control, to some extent, lie had been entirely under its control, he would, instead of merely knocking the man down, have shot or stabbed him. I might take other passions, and il lustrate Horace’s peculiar notions, but this example will suffice to give the reader some idea of his system. Be sides, I have filled all the space allow ed me in this week’s paper, and must wait for another number, to give some further particulars concerning the early history of the owner of Bentwold. — Whether I do so iu the next number is a matter of doubt, as the reader doubtless wiahco next to hear some thing of those long expected guests. [TO IE CONTINUED.] Jttisirllancons. Hurry- Graphs. No. 3. SOCIA, DISTICTIONS. One of the nost ridiculous errors of republicans, is that of claiming dis tiction on the score of distinguished ancestry —boasting of the good blood —the untarnished honor, and the wor thy deeds of one’s fathers, as though they were necessarily inheritable by, and gave merit to, their descendants. We would not detract from the re spect Avliich every one owes to the memory of ;iis fathers —we would not diminish that regard which all should cherish for the virtues and the noble ness that may have distinguished their ancestry through successive gen erations. But we do urge an uncom promising warfare against the idea, that the hondr and virtue of the fath er, are always perpetuated in the son, and that the latter is entitled to the respect and consideration due to the to the former, as an inalienable in heritance. We cherish an unmitiga ted contempt for those degenerate cions of a noble stock, who, having no vir tue iu themselves, are everlastingly boasting of their family , the qualities of the Wood that courses in their veins; and who insult you by obtruding their diminutive selves upon you, at all times as the representative and embod iment of all the virtue and honor of a long line of illustrious ancestry. Such specimens have been very aptly compared to certain well known plants—the only valuable portion of which is buried under ground—while they merely vegetate upon the sur face, These distinctions, predicated upon a supposed nobility of blood—or su periority of lineage—rather than upon individual merit, may be very well cherished and preserved in communi ties whose political organization is dif ferent from ours. Where power is in heritable —where those in authority owe their elevation to the acoident of birth alone, it may bo nqocs.wy that they should be regarded as of nobler stock apd better blood than the masses —when place and influence descend from father to son, it is consistent to maintain that superior merit and ca j paeity descend along with them. Other wise, wo do not see upon what the people are to base the respect and con fidence Which they owe always to their rulers. But this idea has no foundation in the necessities of our political constitu tion. With us, place is bestowed where it is deserved. Office is con ferred upon those who merit it, and who arc competent to its responsibil ities-; and fooqor belongs to those who win it, by laudable effort. And this without any regard to birth or an cestry. Pope has said : “Honor and slianio from no condition rise, Act well your part there all the honor lies.” But the truth of this sentiment is real ized fully, only in republics, andbeau ful instances of its illustration occasion ally occur in our midst. Witness the recent correspondence and interchange of compliments between Judge Pep per and Gov. Johnson of Tennessee. High places of honor and profit in the land, may be filled by those whose ap prenticeship was served at the forge, or the tailor’s board, as well as by those whom fortune may have raised above the necessities of daily labor—and by those of humble birth and pedigree, as well as by those whose ancestry furnishes a long catalogue of illustri ous names. We all admit this truth, and boast of it in the praises we so liberally and deservedly bestow on our “peculiar institutions,” and our political organi zation ; yet how sadly do we disregard it in our social arrangements and in tercourse ! We theoretically recog nize individual merit as the standard and measure of our estimate of men, yet we graduate our respect for them, by their wealth and social position ; and this is the rule by. which society ar ranges itself into classes. llow often do we hear among the fashionables (for whom we have in store a bottle of wrath) “Mr., or Mrs. or Miss such-an-one doesn’t belong to our circle.” And why, pray, do they not belong to your circle? The reason is just this (or something else about as sensible) Mr. —Mrs. is perhaps the daughter of a mechanic, and Miss ’s father can not afford her a carriage to ride in.— In the name of all the gods, what de merit is there in any, or all these things? Wherein do they tarnish honor —detract from worth, or corrupt the heart or mind ? Yet such is the arrangement of our republican society. Oh, for a realization of that republican simplicity of which we talk so much and see so little —where true merit, wherever found, should meet its just reward, and the hollow emptiness of the proud and vain, its merited rebuke. Then, many who now walk in humble ness and obscurity would stand forth as worthy examplars to their race— while others, who move in high places, and 11 seem at home when angels bashful looks would descend from their high estate —disrobed of all their false col ors, and be honored even in being as signed a position astride the line that divides man from brute. The Hurry-Grapher is no model re former, but if he possessed some magic influence, and was commissioned to purge society of wliat lie considers its greatest evil —lie would banish all social distinctions other than those founded on individual merit, and feel that he had done the greatest service in his power. Hurry-Grapher. Not Bad. —A correspondent of the Country Gentleman, speaking of book farmers, says: “Yet oft-times I am reminded of an anecdote of Judge Peters, of Pennsyl vania,' who was somewhat noted for his agricultural papers many years ago. A certain' German farmer, one of the best in his neighborhood, having been much pleased with the Judge’s essays, concluded much more benefit might arise by a visit to his honor’s residence, expecting to find everything in its place, and a place for everything. But, on the contrary, the gates had no hinges, the barn only part of its weath ering, a plough in this fence corner, at, and a harrow in that; so that the hon est yeoman was quite astonished.-- Meeting the Judge, he expressed his surprise at the departure from the or thodox practice of farming, to which the expounder of Blackstone and the statutes, replied,—‘Why, man, you certainly don’t expect me to write and work too.’ Just so, friend editors, you can’t expect farmers to work and write too. ‘llowsomever,’ as the chronicler of Slickville says, they can and do write, and though not always accord ing to Murray, yet with pretty good effect; and perchance having a two fold result, teaching their fellow-work ers of the soil some of their knowl edge, and also prompting them to a more careful scrutiny of their experi ments,” Printers’ devils are generally ladies men, notwithstanding they have pret ty hard names. Some time ago, one of these hard named fellows and his lady-love were walking along, and chatting very briskly upon the numer ous topics of the day, when she sud denly caught his hand, and looking smilingly into his faoe, asked: —“Do you know why I cannot got religion ?” “No my dear l do not,” he replied.— “It is because J am in love with the cleviL” An Excellent Plan for Grow ing Cucumbers. —We clip the follow ing from an exchange. Wc have tried the same plan and proved its ex-cel- Icncc i Take a large barrel, or hogshead; saw it in two in the middle, and bury each half in the ground even with the top. Then take a small keg and bore a small hole in the bottom; place the keg in the centre of the barrel, the top even with the ground, and fill in the barrel around the keg with rich earth,- suitable for the growth of cu cumbers. Plant your seed mid-way between the edges of the barrel and the keg, and make a kind of arbor a foot or two high for the vines to run on. When the ground becomes dry, pour water in the keg in the evening—it will pass out at the bottom of the keg into the barrel and rise up to the roots of the vines, and keep them moist and green. Cucumbers cultivated this way will grow to a great size, as they are made independent both of drought and wet weather. In wet weather the barrel can be covered, and in dry the ground can be kept moist by pouring water in the keg. Never Treat Religion Lightly- Impress your mind with a reverence for all that is sacred. Let no wanton ncss of youthful spirits no compliance with the intemperate mirth of others, ever betray you Into profane sallies.— Besides the guilt that is thereby incur red, nothing gives a more odious ap pearance of petulance and presump tion to youth, than the affectation of treating religion with levity. Instead of being an evidence of superior un derstanding, it discovers a pert and shallow mind, which, vain of the first spatterings of knowledge, presumes to make light of what the rest .of man kind revere. At the same time you are not to imagine that when exhorted to be religious, you are called upon to be more formal and solemn in your manners than others of the same years, or to erect yourself into supercilious reprovers of those around. The spirit of true religion breathes gentleness and kindness. It is social, kind, cheer ful—far removed from that gloom and illiberal superstition which clouds the brow, sharpens the temper, dejects, and teaches men to fit themselves for an other world by neglecting the con cerns of this. Let your religion on the contrary connect preparation for heaven with an honorable discharge of the duties of this life. Os such religion, discover on every proper occasion that you are not ashamed; but avoid ma king any unnecessary ostentation of it before the world.— ltd. Herald. Large Stories. —We have all heard of big “fish stories,” but the fol lowing, which was related some time ago, by one of a lazy crowd in a bar room, will, we think, “take the palm.” After all the others had told a yarn, Bob Bonkeye’s turn came, and he com menced : “Well, I’d been out hunting one af ternoon, had dreadful luck, fired away all my shot, and had’nt brought down anything yet. I began to get discour aged, and was thinking about going home, when all at once a lot of robins — there were fifty of c’m, and all in a row—llew by. Here was a capital chance to shoot; but the worst of it was, I had no shot. So I did the best I could. I put in the ramrod, and fir ed; and wonderful to tell, I took the first robin in the eye, and it passed through the whole row of e’m so they fell to the ground all strung on the ramrod as neat as could be.” “How many robins did you say there were ?” asked a bystander. “Just fifty.” “Sartin. Have you anything to say agin it ?” “0, no, certainly not; only it must have been a pesky long ramrod, that’s all.” Yankee Blade. A Miser. —A miser, who, in order to save expense used to draw water ev ery day for his daily use fell into a well. Several persons ran to his aid, and stooping down, said with compas sion : “Give us your hand, and we will draw you out.” “Give ?” cried the miser, “give I I never give an}*thing!” So he sunk beneath the water, and was drowned. “Position of Parties on the Sla very Question.”— The Philadelphia Gazette , a leading and influential Whig paper, in an article under the head “Attempt to Repeal the Fugitive Slave Law,” says : “On the vote in the House yesterday on Mr. Elliot’s application for leave to bring in a bill for the repeal of the fu gitive act, the Democrats rallied to a man in support of the law, out of pre tended devotion to the compromise measures of 1850. It is natural that that party, fresh from the unprincipled violation of every other portion of that compromise, should adhere to this pro vision of it. Avery few Northern Whigs voted against Mr. Elliot’s mo tion, because they consider it inoppor tune. But the position of parties is still sufficiently clear and definite. The Democrats of the North are the' party of the fugitive slave act; the Whigs of the North are opposed to it, and desire its repeal. The question has been sufficiently argued, and the n)le will decide between the parties ic controversy.” The truth of this, says the Savannah Georgian, Will bo questioned by no one. The pasition of parties is unmista kably “clear and definite* The Dem ocrats of the North are the party of the fugitive Slave act; the Whigs of the North are opposed to it, and desire its repeal.” And yet we find men who have for years been the political asso ciates, and still are, of these. Northern Whigs, seeking the votes of the Southern people. We find them det nouncing administration and North: ern Democrats, and striving to bring* political defeat on the candidates of of the Democratic party because of their support of (be gdnpnistrotion and their connection with the North ern Democracy, The Southern pie are not likely again to be mislo.i by their appeals.. | ‘Arrah Jammie,’ said one Emeralde r to another as'they stood 1 gazing upon the fountain on Boston Common ‘what is it that makes that water sphurt up so, do you know ?’ ‘Och, now Pat, an don’t be after ex posing yer ignorance and want of sonce,’ was the reply, ‘everybody knows it goes by steam !’ “Jim, does your mother whip you?” “ IS -o-o—but she does a precious sight worse, though.” “ What is that ?” “ Why,- she washes' me every morn ing.” ♦ «♦- . Tiie Tidal Theory ExPLiMEh.—- A “scientific writer” in the Washing ton Union thus disposes of the moon theory in causing the tides of the oceaui If there are such deep wide caverns, many miles in length, and some of them of unknown extent, on the dry portions of the earth’s surface, and if there are doubtless other caverns quite as extensive in the submerged moun - tains plains and valleys ot the ocean,- as it is our belief that there are, and lienee that in these huge recesses of of the oceanic "lobe are the source of the rise and fall of the tides, into and out of the internal depths of the oceans the waters are regularly flowing as the earth regularly revolves, and neither the moon nor the stars, nor the sun, nor the winds, nor the clouds, can pro duce any sensible effect upon them, •f Promising Specimen , [We may have copied the following before, but for fear we have not, we give it a start. Children are growing more precocious every day: ] “ What are you writing there, my boy ?” asked a fond parent of his hope ful son and heir, a shaver of ten years. “My compothition, thir,” replied the youthful Grotius. “ But really, I shall be unable to contbentrate my ideas, and give them a logical relation if I am conthantly interrupted in thith manner by irrelavent inquiries.” Taking Mfoien a •fudge. One of the old fashioned attorneys practising in Indiana, insisted on ar guing a case before Judge 8., after it bad been decided. The Judge repeat edly told the unfortunate attorney that lie would listen to no further argument in the case. “ But, may it please your honor, ” says the advocate, “your honor will cer tainly hear an argument if your honor has decided wrong ?” “No” replied the Judge, “if you de sire to argue the case any more, take it to the court of Errors.” “ May it please your honor,” I don’t see where in the devil I’d go to, for if this ain’t a court of errors, I don’t know where to find one !” Revenge. Bruise your shins against a stone step on a cold day, then retaliate b v trying to kick it over, especially if you are troubled with corns. A Slight Mistake. —A wag in a country bar-room, where each man was relating the wonderful tricks they had seen performed by Signor Blitz and the rest of the conjuring family, ex pressed liis contempt for the whole tribe, declaring that he could perform any of their tricks, espcially that of bea ting a watch in pieces and restoring it whole. It being doubted, lie demanded a trial.—Several watches were at once produced for the experiment. ‘ There,’ said he ‘there are the piec es.’ ‘ Yes,’all exclaimed,‘now let’s see the watch.’ He used mysterious words, shook up the fragments, and at length put down the pestle and mortar, observing,— ‘ Well, I thought I could do it, but by G eorge, I can't P Virtue of Asparagus. —Liebig (the illustrious German chemist) says that asparagus contains, in common with tea and coffee, a principle which he calls “ taurine,” and which he con siders essential to the health of those who do not take strong exercise. Taking the hint from Baron Liebig a writer in the London Gardeners' Chronicle was led to test asparagus as a substitute for coffee, lie says: The young shoots I first prepared were not ageeable, hav ing an alkaline taste. I then tried the ripe seeds; these roasted and ground make a full flavored coffee, not easily distinguishable from fine Mocha. The. seeds are easily freed from the berries, by drying them in a cool oven, ami then rubbing them on a sieve. In, good soils, asparagus yields seeds abun-. dantlv; and if thgy are charged with “taurine,” and identical with the seeds ; of the coffee-plant, asparagus coffee, may be grown iu the United, States, at less than half the cost per pound of the article now so largely imported. The bell on St. Stephen’s Church in Vienna weighs 35,400 pounds. A small family could live conveniently under the immense structure. It is II feet high and 11 1-2 wide. Eight men are required to ring it, as the clapper alone weighs 1400 pounds. It was cast in 1711 by the Emperor Jo seph 1., from 180 Turkish Cannon, ta-. ken by the Austrians. At the height of 250 feet is the clock. Dry Weather Sixty Years Ago. In O’Riclly’s History of Western New York, Dr. Coventry, who settled in 1790 with his family at the outlet of Se neca Lake, furnishes a sketch of the seasons and the health of this region for a series of years. He says “in 17 95 no rain fell either in June or July ; the water in the lakes lowered more than a foot, the heavens seemed on fire, the earth scorched, and the air saturated with pestilence.” In 1816, the cold year, the season was very he(dt{iful,