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Youth will not last forever. Those who are young and gay now, will in a few years be aged and infirm.

Yes, little boys and girls, old age will come sooner than you imagine. Time flies very fast. Then if you should be deaf or lame, or blind, you will want somebody to soothe and comfort you. When this time comes, it will give you joy to remember that you did all you could to soothe and comfort those who were old, when you were young.

Susan's grandmother is almost blind. She cannot see to read, even with her spectacles.

So every evening, after tea, Susan gets the bible, and sits down by her to read a chapter

aloud.

She also goes out with her to walk; and takes care she does not fall over anything that may be in the way.

She never misses saying, "Good morning Grand-, manima; how do you do this morning?" and always wishes her a good night's rest.

These attentions are a great comfort to grandmother, who does not feel the loss of sight half so much as if there was nobody to read the bible to her, or to walk with her.

gradually softened, a piece of printed paper ap- {
peared-the wadding of the gun, which proved to
be half of a ballad. The other half had been found
in the man's pocket when he was taken. He was
hanged.-Lord Eldon's Note Book.

-O

DUTCH ACUMEN.
"Look o'here, Hans Van Dook," said a Mo-
hawk Dutch Justice, "I'm bound to decide dis
kaase by de weight of de desdimony-yaas, by de
desdimony-dat ish de law. Ver well; here ish
Hans Von Pelt, Nicholas Vedder, Brom Vander-
speigelnal, and Abraham Von Brunt, who shwear
dey did not see de brisoner dake de boots, and
only three shwear dat dey did see de brisoner dake
be boots. De weight of de destimony is in his fa-
He may go way-and de gonsdable shall
pay for de boots!"

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A RESPECTABLE DISTANCE. A FIRE-EATING Irishman covered with wounds reherceived in duels, challenged a barrister, who gratified him by an acceptance. The duellist, unable to stand without support requested that he might have a prop. Suppose," said he, “I lean against this milestone?" "With pleasure," replied the lawyer," on condition that I may lean against the next. The challenger burst into a roar of When she grows old, it is hoped she will have a laughter at the joke, and swore he would not fight grandchild to be kind and attentive to her.

She often says that Susan is the comfort of her old age, and Susan feels quite happy to hear her say so.

ment."

EXAMINATION OF A JUROR.

so good-humored a gentleman.

SOME years ago a person requested permission of the Bishop of Salisbury to fly from the top of the spire of that cathedral. The good bishop, with an anxious concern for the man's spiritual as well as temporal safety, told him he was very welcome to fly to the church, but he would encourage no man

"WILL any evidence satisfy you of the guilt of a party in a capital case ?" "No. My principles compel me to find any man innocent if he deserves to be hanged, as I am opposed to capital punish. "Do you consider any kind of evidence conclusive?" "None whatever." "Can dem-to fly from it. onstration satisfy you that two and two make four?" "I should consider myself at liberty to give the benefit of a doubt." "Would you doubt the nose on your face to be your own?" "Well, I might. It may have been intended for another man." By the Court." This is evidently a conscientious man, and we need such on the jury. Let him be sworn." Result. Some three weeks after, the jury having retired to consider on their verdict, return into court and say they cannot agree. Eleven for conviction to one not guilty.

POLITE HINT.

AN acute Frenchman has remarked that the modest deportment of really wise men, when contrasted with the air of the young and ignorant, may be compared to the different appearance of wheat, which, while its ears are empty, holds up its head proudly; but as soon as it is filled with grain bends modestly down, and withdraws from observation.

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HE that has energy enough in his constitution to root out a vice, should go a little farther, and try to plant a virtue in its place; otherwise he will have his labor to renew a strong soil that has pro

It would be better for society if the memory of the giver were transferred to the receiver, and the oblivious forgetfulness of the obliged were consigned to the breast of him that confers the obligation.

IN Brazil, the common form of introduction is said to be as follows: "Sir, allow me to introduce to your acquaintance my friend Mr. Jones. If he steals anything, I am accountable."

OCCUPATION, action of any kind, is as opposed to sentimentality as fire to water; and a few years of labor, or study, even a few months or weeks will bring a young head into the right track.

The Rural Repository.

SATURDAY, MAY 25, 1850.

GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK.

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In this city, on the 13th inst. by the Rev. H. Darling, Mr. William Henry Blake, to Miss Cordelia Haviland Smith, both of this city.

Our thanks to Mr. Blake, and his fair bride for their kind remembrance of us, may their star of happiness shine bright

"I po not wish to say anything against the indi-duced weeds, may be made to produce wheat with
vidual in question," said a very polite gentleman,
"but I would merely remark, in the language of
the poet that to him "truth is stranger than fiction."

far less difficulty than it would cost to make it and brighter each succeeding year.
produce nothing.

CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE.

I HAVE heard some very extraordinary cases of murder tried. I remember once in which I was counsel, for a long time the evidence did not seem to touch the prisoner at all, and he look about him with the most perfect unconcern, seeming to think himself quite safc. At length the surgeon was called, who stated that the deceased had been killed by a gun shot, in the head, and he produced the matted hair and the stuff cut from and taken out of the wound. A basin of warm water was brought into the court room, and as the blood

A WOMAN who loves-loves for life, unless a wellfounded jealousy compels her to relinquish the object of her affections. So says somebody. A inan who loves-loves for life, unless he altars his mind. So says somebody else.

The unjon of two loving hearts, will brave the inclement
blast;

And still retain the bloom of spring when summer days are
past;
And though the wintry sky should lower, and dim the cheer-
ful day,
They still preserve a vital power, unconscious of decay.

On the 7th inst. by the Rev. Leroy Church, Mr. Levi S.
Lee, of the firm of Dean & Lee, to Miss Jane Coffin.
On the 2d inst. Mr. Ariel Moore Gamwell to Miss Catharine
Eliza Burget, both of Stuyvesant Fails.

At West Taghkanic, Columbla Co on the 6th inst. by the
Rev. S. M. Knapp, Mr. John Reynolds, of Sullivan Co. to
Miss Harriet Eliza Knapp, of the former place.

In New-York, on the 16th inst. by the Rev. Dr. Ferris, Cyrus 1. Coffin, to Jane Morrison, daughter of the late Daniel

He that knows himself, knows others; and he
that is ignorant of himself, could not write a very Morrison, all of New-York.
profound lecture on other men's heads.

EVERY fool knows how often he has been a rogue but every rogue does not know how often he has been a fool.

DEATHS.

In this city, on the 13th inst. Miss Maria R. Cornwell, aged 36 years.

At the residence of his father, in Valatie, on the 14th inst. Mr. Henry N. Wild, in the 37th year of his age.

Original Poetry.

For the Rural Repository.

JUDAS.

THEY call me "treacherous, traitor;"
"Perdition's devilish son!"
Yet, in the world's salvation,

I stood, the needful one!

What if, as did my brethren, 1 cowardly had fled ? Afraid to do my mission

To that great living head!

Think ye, the mighty ransom,
Had ever been achieved?
Or, that upon a "Crucified,"

The christian had believed?
No, in that rich atonement,
I bore a needful part ›
Although the fatal issue

Was the bursting of my heart

I scorned to shrink from duty,

My path was "onward still," And I helped, 'mid bitter anguish, The Scriptures to fulfil.

When round that blessed table

I heard my master say
That one, from out that number,
His person should betray;

My agonized feelings,

I feared all would espy;

And with a forced composure,

I too said, Lord, is't W

Ah! had it been consistent
With his embassy below;
Instead of the accursed sop,
To have replied "no,"
Oh, how with grateful fervor,

Would I the power adored,
That spared me from the anguish
Of yielding up my Lord!
But thus from the beginning
It was not meant to be;
And 1, in that transaction

Was the band of destiny!
Then call me not a sinner
Above my brethren all;
With them, I was regenerate,
Though doomed from first to fall,

My life, up to that period,

Was free from darksome stain,

As mortal life can ever hope,

Or mortal life attain!

I held high offices of trust

Among that chosen few;

As treasurer, and steward,

My deeds were just and true

Then christian, why condemn me
For that repented deed!

Since Christ a pardon on the cross
For me, and all did plead!

May rather bless the Great, "I Am;"
Who in his holy word,

Hath taught, that prayer of his blest Son,

In vain, is not preferred.

Eternity thou vast abyss !

How deep-how dark, and how profound!
Fain would I soar to view thy bliss,

And fly o'er thy unmeasured round.
Sweet is the thought, sublime and grand,
That through thy realms the undying soul,
Shall rise forever-and expand-

Where countless years successive roll !
Tears, clouds and storms forever past,

All tumults hushed in sweet repose:
The soul on pinious soaring fast,

Beyond those heights which Gabriel knows!
Eternity! thou rolling stream!

In thee, time sinks-is known no more!
And ages past are but a dream,

When viewed from that unbounded shore.
Unbounded shore! what words are these?
And shall I view that Ocean strand ?
Shall my frail bark o'er life's rude seas,
Securely reach that better laud ?
Ab, yes-if mercy guides her way,
My little bark shall safely rove,
Oh, may it in that joyful day,
Contain the souls of all I love.

Sag Harbor, L. I., N. Y. 1850.

For the Rural Repository.
WEALTH OF LOVE.

I ASK not, I seek not, a name great in story
No charm for my soul, in my heart no desire,
To wear the green laurels, bright records of glory-
But give me the heart that I love and admire.

I seek not the pageant that dazzles the vision,
Or floats on the pinions of fame through the sky,
Her presence to me is a happier Elysian,

And brighter by far is the light of her eye.
The stoic may sneer, the Misanthropic laugh,
And stride over love as a fabulous art,

To the dregs, such a beaker in peace let them quaff,
But give me the smiles of the girl of my heart.
Though liveried lackeys might wait on a beck,
And luxury loll in her cradle of ease,

Of these, ah! how little my spirit would reck,
If failed they my star of existence to please.

A palace may tempt us, when shining in splendor,
A crown may entice as a bauble of power,
But did I command them, I freely would tender
Them all, for her smiles if enjoyed but an hour.
The wealth of a kingdom, the pride of a nation,
Would in possession, but make me unblest,
Combined with all else, that may live in creation,
If deprived of the heart of the girl I love best.
Though love is enjoyment, it scathes but the bosom,
And weeping sits over its desolate urn,

And mourns in low sadness its young banished freedom,
When hope in despair has forbade a return.
Barre, 1850.

For the Rural Repository. TO

JACQUES.

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BOUND

VOLUMES.

We now offer to the Public, at the lowest possible reduced prices, any of the following Volumes. viz: Vols 11, 12, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21. 23, 24. and 25, handsomely done up in Pamphlet style, with Cloth Backs, and thick Colored Paper sides; one side printed with Title Page, the other with beautiful Engravings. These will be furnished for 624 Cents single, Eleven Copies for $5.00. They will last nearly as long as those bound, and as they are trimmed a size larger it will not injure them for future binding.

Also the same Volumes half bound. in a very neat and tasteful style with Leather Backs and Colored Paper sides, with Printed Title Page, &c. for 75 Cents single, or Nine Copies for $5.00.

Also the same volumes half bound, in a neat, substantial and durable manner, with Leather Backs and Corners. Marble Paper sides and Lettered on the Back, for $1,00 single, or Seven Copies for $5,00.

The Postage on the Stitched Volumes, will be about 16 Cents; the Half Bound, 18 Cents to any part of the United States.

We have also on hand any of the Volumes above mentioned bound in Double Volumes (iwo Vols. in one) for $2,00 single or Three Double Volumes for $4.50. These are bound in the neatest and most substantial manner. Postage about 40 Cts. each to any part of the United States.

New Volume, October, 1849.

RURAL REPOSITORY,

Vol. 26, Commencing Oct. 13, 1849,

EMBELLISHED WITH NUMEROUS ENGRAVINGS.

Price $1 Clubs from 45 to 75 Cents.

THE RURAL REPOSITORY will be devoted to Polite Literature, containing Moral and Sentimental Tales, Original Communications, Biographies, Traveling Sketches. Amusing Miscellany. Humorous and Historical Anecdotes, Valuable Recipes. Poetry, &c. The first Number of the Twenty-sixth Volume of the RURAL REPOSITORY will be issued on Saturday the 13th of October, 1849.

The Repository" circulates among the most intelligent families of our country and is hailed as a welcome visitor, by all that have favored us with their patronage. It has stood the test of more than a quarter of a century; amid the many changes that have taken place and the ups and downs of life, whilst hundreds of a similar character have perished, our humble Rural has continued on, from year to year, until it is the Oldest Literary Paper in the United States.

CONDITIONS.

THE RURAL REPOSITORY will be published every other Saturday in the Quarto form, containing twenty six numbers of eight pages each, with a title page and index to the volume, making in the whole 208 pages. It will also be embellished with numerous gravings, and consequently it will be one of the neatest, cheapest, and best literary papers in the country.

TERMS.

ONE DOLLAR per annum, invariably in advance. We have a few copies of the 11th, 12th, 16th, 17th, 18th, 19th, 20th, 21st, 23d, 24th and 25th volumes, and any one sending for he 26th volume, can have as many copies of either of these volumes as they wish at the same rate as that volume. All volumes not mentioned above will not be sold, except when a whole set is wanted.

Clubs Clubs! Clubs! Clubs!!

2 Copies for $1,50, being 75 Cents Each.
3 do.

$2,00, do. 66

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11

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Names of subscribers with the amount of Subscription to

be sent as soon as possible to the publisher.

No subscription received for less than one year. All the back numbers furnished to new subscribers during the year until the edition is out, unless otherwise ordered.

WILLIAM B. STODDARD. Hudson, Columbia, Co. N. Y. 1849.

NOTICE TO AGENTS, &C.

The present Post Office Law, will probably prevent our sending a Large Prospectus as heretofore, in consequence of the extra expense; but the matter contained in one, and all the necessary information concerning Clubs, etc. can be ascertained from the above. We respectfully solicit all our subscribers to endeavour to get up a Club in their vicinity for the next Volume.

EDITORS, who wish to exchange, are respectfully re quested to give the above a few insertions, or at least a notice and receive Subscriptions.

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A Semi-monthly. Journal, Embellished with Engravings.

ONE DOLLAR PER ANNUM.

VOLUME XXVI.

TALES

W. B. STODDARD, EDITOR AND PROPRIETOR.
HUDSON, N. Y. SATURDAY, JUNE 8, 1850.

From Godey's Lady's Book.
GOSSIP ABOUT CHILDREN:
In a Familiar Epistle to the Editor.

BY LEWIS GAYLORD CLARK.

MY DEAR GODEY:

I LOVE Children. I used to think, when I was a bachelor, (it is a good many years ago now,) that there was something rather presuming in the manner in which doating fathers and mothers would bring their "wee things" around them, and, for the especial edification of us single fellows, cause them to mis-speak half-uttered words," and to go through with divers little lessons in manners and elocution. But both parents and children were made so apparently happy by it, that I never could think, as certain of my irreverent companions were wont to think, and to say, that it was "a bore." No, I never thought or said that; but I did think, I remember, as I have said, that there was a little bad taste, and not a little presumption in such a

course.

I don't think so now.

and I cannot but believe that many who shall per-
use these sentences will find something in them
which they will remember hereafter.

"The sorrows and tears of youth," says Wash.
ington Irving, "are as bitter as those of age;"
and he is right. They are sooner washed away, it
is true; but oh! how keen is the present sensi-
bility, how acute and passing mental agony!

My twin-brother Willis-may his ashes repose in peace in his early, his untimely grave!-and my self, when we were very little boys in the country, saw, one bright June day, far up in the blue sky, a paper-kite, swaying to and fro, rising and sinking, diving and curveting, and flashing back the sunlight in a manner that was wonderful to behold. We left our little tin vessels in the meadow where we were picking strawberries, and ran into a neighboring field to get beneath it; and, keeping our eyes continually upon it, "gazing steadfastly towards heaven," we presently found ourselves by the side of the architect of that magnificent creation, and saw the line held it reaching into the skies, and little white paper messengers gilding along upon it, as if to hold communion with the graceful artificial "bird of the air" at the upper

PAYABLE IN ADVANCE.

NUMBER 18.

and tears of youth," of which Geoffrey Crayon speaks. We dreamed of that kite in the night; and, far up in the heaven of our sleeping vision, we saw it flashing in the sun and gleaming opaquely in the twilight air. In the morning, we repaired betimes to the barn; approached the barrel with eagerness, as if it were possible for the kite to have taken the wings of the evening and flown away; and, on looking down into the receptacle, saw our cherished, our beloved kite broken into twenty pieces!

It was our man Thomas who did it, climbing up on to the hay-mow.

We both of us "hated with a perfect hatred," for five years afterward, the cruel neighbor who laughed at us for our deep six months' sorrow at that great loss-a loss in comparison with which the loss of a fortune at the period of manhood sinks into insignificance. Other kites, indeed, we constructed; but that was the kite" you read of," at" this present."

Think, therefore, O ye parents! always think of the acuteness of a child's sense of childish grief. I once saw an elder brother, the son of a metropolitan neighbor, a romping, roystering blade, in the mcrest" devilment," cut off the foot of a little I am describing this to you as a boy, and I wish doll with which his infantine sister was amusing you to think of it as a boy.

When a father-and how much more a mother-end. sees for the first time the gleam of affection illumining, with what the Germans call an "interior light," the eyes and features of his infant child; when Well, many days afterward, and after various that innocent soul, fresh, from heaven, looks for the unsuccessful attempts, which not a little discomfirst time into yonrs, and you feel that yours is an fited us-for we thought we had obtained the answering look to that new-born intelligence-"principle" of the kite-we succeeded in making then, I say, will you experience a sensation which is not" of the earth earthly," but belongs to the "correspondences," of a higher and holier sphere. I wish to gossip a little with you concerning children. You are full-grown man now, friend Godey, quite full-grown ; yet you were once a boy; and I am well assured that you will feel interested in a few incidents which I am going to relate in illustration of my theme-incidents which I hope you will judge to be not unfruitful of monitory lessons to "children of larger growth" than mere girls and boys.

Don't you think that we parents, sometimes, in moments of annoyance, through pressure of business or other circumstances, forbid that which was but innocent and reasonable, and perfectly natural to be asked for? And do not the best of parents frequently multiply prohibitions until obedience to them beconies impossible?

Excuse me; but all your readers have been children ; many of them are happy mothers; many more that are not will be in God's good time

one which we thought would fly. The air was
too still, however, for several days; and riever did
a becalmed navigator wait more impatiently for a
breeze to speed his vessel on her voyage than did
we for a wind thrat should send our paper messen-
ger, bedizened with stars of red and yellow paper,
dancing up the sky.

herself. A mutilation of living flesh and blood, of bone and sinew, in a beloved playmate, could scarcely have affected the poor child more painfully. It was to her the vital current of a beautiful babe which oozed from the bran leg of that stuffed effigy of an infant; and the mental sufferings of the child were based upon the innocent faith which it held, that all things were really who they seemed.

Grown people should have more faith in, and more appreciation of, the statements and feelings of children. When I read, some months since, in a telegraphic dispatch to one of our morning jourAt last it pleased the " gentle and voluble spirit of nals, from Baltimore, if I remember rightly, of a the air" to favor us. A mild south wind sprang up, mother who, in punishing a little boy for telling a and so deftly did we manage our machine, that it lie-which; after all, it subsequently transpired that was presently reduced to a mere minature kite in he did not tell-hit him with a slight switch over the blue ether above us. Such a triumph! Fulton, his temple and killed him instantly-a mere acciwhen he essayed his first experiments, felt no more dent, of course, but yet a dreadful casualty, which exultant than did we when that great event was drove reason from the throne of the unhappy mothachieved! We kept it up until " 'twixt the gloam-er-when I read this, I thought of what had ocing and the mirk," when we drew it down and deposited it in the barn-hesitating long where to place it, out of several localitics that seemed safe and eligible, but finally deciding to stand it endwise in a barrel, in an unfrequented corner of the barn.

curred in my own sanctum only a week or two before; and the lesson which I received was a good one, and will remain with me.

My little boy, a dark-eyed, ingenuous, and frankhearted child as ever breathed-though, perhaps, "I say it who ought not to say it"-still, I do say

I am coming now to a specimen of the "sorrows it had been playing about my table, on leaving

which for a moment, I found, on my return, that 1 my long porcupine-quill-handled pen was gone. asked the little fellow what he had done with it. He answered at once that he had not seen it. After a renewing search for it, I charged him, in the face of his declaration, with having taken and mislaid or lost it. He looked me earnestly in the face, and said: "No, I didn't take it, father." I then took him in my lap, enlarged upon the heinousness of telling an untruth, told him that I did not care so much about the pen, and in short, by the manner in which I reasoned with him, almost offered him a reward for confession-the reward, be it understood (a dear one to him,) of standing firm in his father's love and regard. The tears had welled up into his eyes, and he seemed about to tell me the whole truth," when my eye caught the end of pen protruding from a portfolio, where I myself had placed it, in returning a sheet of manuscript to one of the compartments. All this may seem a mere trifle to you-and perhaps it is yet I shall remember it for a long time.

But I desire now to narrate to you a circumstance which happened in the family of a friend and correspondent of mine in the city of Boston, some ten years ago, the history of which will commend itself to the heart of every father and mother who has any sympathy with, or affection for, their children. That it is entirely true, you may be well assured. I was convinced of this when I opened the letter from L. H. B—which announced it, and in the detail of the event which was subsequently fur. nished me.

A few weeks before he wrote, he had buried his eldest son, a fine, manly little fellow, of some eight years of age, who had never, he said, known a day's illness until that which finally removed him hence to be here no more. His death occured under circumstances which were peculiarly painful to his parents. A younger brother, a delicate, sickly child from its birth, the next age to him, had been down for nearly a fortnight with an epi. demic fever. In consequence of the nature of the disease, every precaution had been adopted that prudence suggested to guard the other members of the family against it. But of this one, the father's eldest, he said he had little to fear, so rugged was he, and so generally healthy. Still, however, he kept a vigilant eye upon him, and especially forbade his going into the pools and docks near his school, which it was his custom sometimes to visit; for he was but a boy, and "boys will be boys," and we ought more frequently to think that it is their nature to be. Of all unnatural things, a reproach almost to childish frankness and innocence, save me from a "boy man!" But to the story. One evening, this unhappy father came home, wearied with a long day's hard labor, and vexed at some little disappointments which had soured his natually kind disposition, and rendered him peculiarly susceptible to the smallest annoyance. While he was sitting by the fire, in this unhappy mood of mind, his wife entered the apartment, and said-

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"Tell Jane to tell him to come here this instant!" ceased boy, bringing the low stoods on which it was the brief reply to this information. was to stand in the entry-hall.

Presently the poor boy entered, half perished with affright and cold. His father glanced at his sad plight, reproach him bitterly with his disobedience, spoke of the punishment which awaited him in the morning, as the penalty for his offence; and in a harsh voice, concluded with-

"Now, sir, go to your bed!"

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But, father," said the little fellow," I want to tell you”

"Not a word, sir; go to bed!"

"I only wanted to say, father, that—" With a peremptory stamp, an imperative wave of his hand toward the door, and a frown upon his brow, did that father, without other speech again, close the door of explanation or expostulation.

When his boy had gone supperless and sad to his bed, the father sat restless and uneasy while supper was being prepared; and, at tea-table, ate but little. His wife saw the real cause or the ad. ditional cause of his emotion, and interposed the remark

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I think, my dear, you ought at least to have heard what Henry had to say. My heart ached for him when he turned away, with his eyes full of tears. Henry is a good boy, after all, if he does sometimes do wrong. He is a tender-hearted, affectionate boy. He always was."

And therewithal the water stood in the eyes of that forgiving mother, even as it stood in the eyes of Mercy, in "the house of the Interpreter," as recorded by Bunyan.

After tea, the evening paper was taken up; but there was no news and nothing of interest for that father in the journal of that evening. He sat for some time in an evidently painful revery, and then rose and repared to his bed-chamber. As he pas. sed the bed-room where his little boy slept, he thoughts he would look in upon him before retiring to rest. He crept to his low cot and bent over him. A big tear had stolen down the boy's cheek, and rested upon it; but he was sleeping calmly and sweetly. The father deeply regretted his harshness as he gazed upon his son; he felt also the sense of duty;" yet in the night, talking the matter over with the lad's mother, he resolved and promised, instead of punishing, as he had threatened, to make amends to the boy's aggrieved spirit in the morning for the manner in which he had repelled all explanation of his offence.

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I was with Henry," said the lad," when he got into the water. We were playing down at the Long Wharf, Henry, and Charles Munford, and I ; and the tide was out very low; and there was a beam ran out from the wharf; and Charles got out on it to get a fish.line and hook that hung over where the water was deep; and the first thing we saw, he slipped off, and was struggling in the water! Henry threw off his cap and jumped clear from the wharf into the water, and, after a great deal of hard work, got Charles out; and they waded up through the mud to where the wharf was not so wet and slippery; and then I helped them to climb up the side. Charles told Henry not to say anything about it, for, if he did, his father would never let him go near the water again. Henry was very sorry; and, all the way going home, he kept saying-

"What will father say when he sees me tonight? I wish we had not gone to the wharf?""

"Dear, brave boy!" exclaimed the bereaved father; "and this was the explanation which I cruelly refused to hear!" and hot the bitter tears rolled down his cheeks.

Yes, that stern father now learned, and for the first time, that what he had treated with unwonted severity as a fault, was but the impulse of a generous nature, which, forgetful of self, had hazarded life for another. It was but the quick prompting of that manly spirit which he himself had always endeavored to graft upon his susceptible mind, and which, young as he was, had always manifested itself on more than one occasion.

Let me close this story in the very words of that father, and let the lesson sink deep into the hearts of every parent who shall peruse this sketch .———

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Everything that I now see, that ever belonged to him, reminds me of my lost boy. Yesterday, I found some rude pencil-sketches which it was his delight to make for the amusement of his younger brother. To-day, in rummaging an old closet, I came across his boots, still covered with dock-mud, as when he last wore them. (You may think it strange, but that which is usually so unsightly an object, is now most precious to me.') And every morning and evening, I pass the ground where my son's voice rang the merriest among his playmates. "All these thing speak to me vividly of his active life; but I cannot-thought I had often tried But that morning never came to that poor child—I cannot recall any other expression of the dear in health. He awoke the next. morning with a raging fever on his brain, and wild with delirium. In forty-eight hours he was in his shroud. He knew neither his father nor his mother, when they were first called to his bedside, nor at any moment afterward. Waiting, watching for one token of recognition, hour after hour, in speechless agony, did that unhappy father bend over the couch of his dying son. Once, indeed, he thought he saw a smile of recognition light up his dying eye, and he leaned cagerly forward, for he would have given worlds to have whispered one kind word in his ear, and have been answered; but that gleam of ap. parent intelligence passed quickly away, and was succeeded by the cold, unmeaning glare, and the wild tossing of the fevered limbs, which lasted until death came to his relief.

Two days afterward, the undertaker came with the little coffin, and his son, a playmate of the de

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boy's face than that mute, mournful one with which he turned from me on the night I so harshly repulsed him. . . . Then my heart bleeds afresh !

"Oh, how careful should we all be that, in our daily conduct toward those little beings sent us by a kind Providence, we are not laying up for our selves the sources of many a future bitter tear! How cautious that, neither by inconsiderate nor cruel word or look, we unjustly grieve their generous feeling! And how guardedly ought we to weigh every action against its motive, lest, in a moment of excitement, we be led to mete out to the venial errors of the heart the punishment due only to wilful crime !

"Alas! perhaps few parents suspect how often the fierce rebuke, and sudden blow, is answered in their children by the tears, not of passion nor of physical or mental pain, but of a loving yet grieved or outraged nature."

I will add no word to reflections so true; no correlative incident to an experience so touching.

THE GENTLEMAN

WHO NEVER HAS CHANGE.

LADIES who contemplating the matrimonial union should beware of the gentleman who never has change. He may possess a thousand recommendations. He may be handsome, graceful, in. telligence, and kind hearted-nay, he may even be generous and fond of giving, but it will always be out of another person's purse-most likely his wife's not out of his own. He may be a man who makes large payments, too in the form of checks, and these he may pay punctually and without grudging, but come to him for a small sun, and he never has change. It would seem almost It would seem almost as if the fault were in his purse, for he cannot listen to the appeals of poverty and distress without immediately feeling in his pocket for that, to him, most unless article-unless because on drawing it out, it is always found to be light, thin and empty, without so much as a stray, sixpence lurking, in its lowest corner. Thus while he feels all the pity and all the pain which other people feel on being solicted for charity, he is either compelled to refuse, in consequence of the state of his purse, or to look about to see if there is any one within speech of him of whom he may borrow a shilling.

The man who never has change always feels poor, whatever his resources may be; and during the greater portion of his life he feels cross. He feels poor because he is unable at the moment to gratify the generous impulses of his heart, and ab. solutely cannot give where he gladly would; and he feels cross because is he always in debt for small suns, and liable to paltry claims from all parties with whom he is associated-claims of so trifling and vexatious a nature, and often, too, preferred at. such inappropriate of times, that his whole life becomes a secret of petty annoyances, which he would at any time willingly get rid of by the pay. ment of a good round sum. In fact, he would do anytning but adopt the habits of having change. But the reason why this gentleman's peculiarity needs to be made the subject of a warning, is this that the consequences of such a habit fall inevi. ably upon the wife, who often finds herself involved in the disagreeable predicament of being compelled to let it pass that she and her husband are the meanest couple in the world, or to throw her beloved spouse into fit of rage by plucking his sleeve at some critical moment, making mysterious signals, whispering, or actually speaking out; or, lastly, paying the money out of her own purse, and leaving grooms, coachmen and porters to wink and draw their own conclusions as to who rules the roast; to say nothing of the consequent dudgeon in which her husband drives away with her after he has seen this conclusion written upon the countenance of every bystander.

The way to avoid being plunged unconscious into these difficulties, is, if possible, to travel in company with a gentleman before marriage, and to watch his small payments; to ascertain if he gives the servants anything on leaving your father's house, and what; above all if he should happen to leave small debts behind him, for the mending of whips, boots, or fishing-rods to make the dis

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Well would it be for some lovers if they were as quick to see small delicate points of this nature, as they are perceive a trifling flaw in dress or manner, or the fainest shadow of a slight towards themselves. Let not, then, the present of a gold bracelet, or a collection of popular songs, or any other evidence of tenderness and generosity on the part of your lover, beguile you into forgetfulness that the poor boy who held his horse was not promptly an pro

How much good might be done to society, and to the world, by the combined instrumentality of ladies during this brief season of their power, it is really quite encouraging to think. If, for instance there should occur such a thing as a general strike amongst unmarried ladies, all protesting against marriage until certain ends were brought about. In the first place, if all would shake hands, and set their maiden facts against the delayed pay-perly remunerated. ment of just debts, and would vow that no church bell should ring the marriage peal for them, until this great work of social improvement was accompished; what a delightful sound would that be to many an honest and industrious tradesman, when the merry peals rang out again to announce that every bill had been faithfully paid up, and that no others would be contracted.

But with the man who never has change, this habits is sarcely a cause of greater uueasiness to others, than to himself. Amongst many vexations it is not the least that he has a sort of standing con. viction of being poor, of money being perpetually oozing away from him in minute fractions, of tradespeople being troublesome, impertinent, and reproachful, because they add the borrowed shillings to their accounts, and of small bills being always sent at the wrong time, inasmuch as they invariably arrive when he has no change, and therefore cannot pay them. He has an impres sion, too, that even his friends behave unhandsome. ly when they gently remind him, as they would, wish to be reminded themselves, of the five shillings which they advanced for him, towards a public subscription, on an occasion when he happened to be without change.

It is beforehand that this and many other items of public as well as private good might be attained, if ladies would but think so. It is beforehand that they are all-powerful and may then, with a reasonable amount of certainty, secure some requisites to their own happiness, even if they look no farther. In order to such happiness, it is extremely important to study, not only how to please, but how not to vex; for that is what it comes to after marriage; and, as already stated, there as a world of vexation to both parties consequent upon the fact that the If the gentleman in question be a benevolent gentleman at the head of an establishment never and kind-hearted man, which is very probable, the has change A wise and prudent woman will there- case is still worse, because charities accumulate fore avoid this vexation, by looking well into the upon him in the shape of debts, and so become so matter beforehand. Once married to such a man, odious and offensive, that he resolves and re-resolves there is no escape from the trials of such a lot; he will never be charitable again, if such must be the tenderest affection will not be able to keep a the results; for having in idea bestowed his gift, supply of ready money in her husband's purse; the and thus dismissed the supplicant, he has little rel. profoundest regard for his honor will not be able to ish for paying the sum over again in hard cash to cover the disgrace of those humiliating exigencies the party from whom it was borrowed, and that at which must necessarily occur: the most magnani-some after-time, when the object of interest was mous determination to discharge for him on the forgotten, and the fountains of pity in his heart instant whatever claims are due, will only make again sealed up. the matter worse, by the aspect of assumption and If the man who never has change be naturally forwardness which her act will unavoidably wear. a miser, and anxious on all occasions to save his There is, in fact no other alterative in such a case, money, this plan will answer his purpose admirathan either vexing your husband, or allowing him bly; but we prefer to describe a man who is natto be thought mean. Watch carefully, therefore, urally generous, and rather lavish than stingy in before marriage: that is the time to escape.his gifts, only they do not come immediately out Watch when you are out together on an excursion of pleasure-see wether he pays the boy who holds his horse or whether on receiving the bridle from his hand, he clbows the boy off as if he had done him an injury instead of a service: for those people who are not going to pay where they know they ought, do generally put themselves on the defensive, even before the application is made-watch, then, whether he fumbles in his empiy pocket for change, which he knows he has not got, and then mounts his horse, and while the poor boy respectfully touches his cap, says, not unkindly to him, "I have no change about me this time, my boy, "I will remember you the next." Watch also whether he says to a gentleman close at hand-" Lend me six-pence will yon. Barlowe? you poor fellow has been holding my horse for this half hour, and I haven't got a farthing of change." All this may sound very kind, but it is at the same time very suspicious.

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In one of Sir Walter Scott's pleasant ballads it is said that

of his own purse. Indeed, he has an habitual impression that he himself, in his own person, cannot very well afford to give, or pay so much. His wife and daughters may do so, if they like. He seems rather to prefer that they should, for he does not wish the poor to be sent empty away. It is true he does not promise to repay them, he leaves this an open question; but as they give at his suggestion, they very naturally come upon him for the sum, and come, perhaps, when he is least prepared to welcome such an application. Hence, sometimes, as a natural consequence, follow a few sharp words, and a few wounded feelings.

Acting upon the dictates of a kindly heart, our gentleman not only gives, but employs. Perhaps he finds a poor man whom he pities and respects, out of work and he contrives for him a few days occupation in his garden, his farm, or his house. Nothing can be more opportune for the poor man.

He has

a payment to make on the following week, and he has been at his wit's end how to raise the whole He asks on the Saturday evening for the

amount.

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