fife pan IteariWe, ■

VOL. X. CAPE ISLAND. CAPE MAT COUNT T, NEW JERSEY, THURSDAY. SEPTEMBER S. 186-1. NO. 15.

jhltct ^octtn. a soldier's fiseral. ] All down th* street ft r*«ti.«« throng j 1ft •urging, surging on Its war. While through this golden •unmet flay ; ■ And procoMion Bora ftloug. The soft ektudt float along the sky, ■ I know- these men are bearing by A soldier to •soldier'* grave. I Down through the croud the rrd flag gleams ; I hear the tread of many feet i One echo from that crowded atreet Throbs, like wild music, through my diesma. l cs-Md Use colors o'er hn btrsai. . Let this war be wrong or right, II matters not to him. to olght f Ills comrades take him home to trftt. ( Known uato God it this m/Ui'ft lifr ; 1| A watchful r.je'a vigil keepe— Ah Eye that slumbers not nor sleeps— And His Ttrte* calls hint from the strife. | Far from the city's busy hum ! I His mother hear* a footstep fall ; ' , Wna that Ars tread along the hall 1 Alas! she knows he cannot oomc. < tt nuy be V>»t this summer day ■hlnce where a thoughtful, fair-helm) girl ] (ess, though Use amethyst sod pearl. ( This faint, as set twilight fade away. • . , .. T_ H I Poor fluttering h-art, that will not rest : , That soiled ted flag too rrrU she knows ; She takes s cypress and a roar, ( And lays them gently oh his breast. j No more for him these human woes. j Row lay him where another spring . Around Use soldier's glare shall bring The blossoms of the sweet wild rose. We know God knsd him— that Is all : I We trust he died with faith In Christ. , O, by that srealth of lore unpriced. Take Thou the auflerrrs as thsy fall. ., I , f'elrtt SfgiscfUaa!!. ' father cax0v6 little vary. "0, A ant Sally, who will take csre of I ay baby t " I A pair of pole, pinched lip* ottered ; i tbifl plhint , BodgiB kjje driog eye* the i thick Aims were already gathering. "Don't JO tt.KOtqf fcttfsil that, M*ry Somen, baby, to Providence. , 111 *ee that she cocoes to no harm while I Ii*t, at any HHP « -< "If It wag oniy a boy I" sighed the ■flfferiog woman. "But it aint, and God saw best it sbonidot be. Pyrfaapa one of these day* these little feet may find their way to tbe door of a hard heart, and the little finger* unlock what in denied yon." "God grant it," quivered the pale lip*. "And now pat your tract in God. It wont be bnt a little while before you'll have your ohild — for looking beck it eeem* only yesterday that I wa* a little one myself — and there's no time to coont up there. You've got e good friend in the Lord Jesus Chrirt. 'He has seen all your wrongs and suffering, aed depend upon it_ He'll right every tbieg at last. There's perfcet righteousness, perfect love and perfect justice, somewhere, child, but not on this earth. , You're going before me to find it. Ycu • do believe in Jesns." •'Anrty, lie's all my comfort, now." "That's right, desr besrt. He won't . forsake yon as the earthly ooee has, not j He. Why, it'* worth ell tbe suffering to have Him for yoor iriend !" At twelve that night the homely cottage was honored by the King's netten- - ger. Nobody was there beside old Mr. Canon and bis wife, sad the wee frail babe Af three months. In a fine man•ion in tbe same town, the parents of Mary Somvrs lived in luxury. Her father had disowned her because of an imprudent marriage, and aa she would not dceert her husband, ho deserted ber. Her mother pardoned, and would readily haea taken her back, bnt she was a helpless paralytic, and if she had a-will of her ova, had no power to enforce it Bo the brief life was enidod, for oa tbe coffle lid the neighbors reed. "Aged nineteen " A abort jonreey from tbe cradle to the grave, and- to those who hnow of none bet earthly compensations, a and one. Tbe young face regained Its boasty la that aWp that knows no waking, 0*d assay who had known he: in ber gii&ood wept ea they gaaed. "It* a pity she named that actor fellow." said ono of them aa they came olanly from tbe graveyard. 'TtVher father's fault," murmured aa old tady, who had tended tbe girl in her childhood. "He . dragged ber to thoatres and Kke placet when (he was a ynepg thing of ten or twelve. He sow od tip toad and should ha' oakukted oa

"But who's to pay for all thfa ?" qoer- ! < ied ber husband. j i "She bad thirty dollars her hnsband i s I left her when he weDt awav. - She's s i killed herself, working nod trying to f j save it for her bahy, I believe " Tt < "But where is ber husband ?" ; s "Travelling about the country, I aup- j a j pose, lie's a poor stick — but be loved t ■ her, and so did she him, to tbe last." ti "Of coorw, he'll oome for the child." . t "I don't know about that." _ c Old dame Cauou and "her man," os^R • alie called biiu, were quite poor. He c ■ was a day-laborer — did whatever jobs c eould find at odd hours, and Ida wife " j washed, sod toiled, and took ber place " among the humble of the eaftb. Old 8 Mr Canon was not ambitions; he bad L I never eared money, but be was a good - man, who took the li^le for his guide a and trusted in GoaT When his wife' 8 ' decided to keep tbe child he said nothing j '' ! about their scanty means. If it was 1 Ileaveu's will it was all one to bim — the 1 mouth was small and tbey would fill it ' as long as they could. So the mother- 1 child was cared for, and small sums ' of money came occssiooly from the poor 1 father, who, reckless and dissipated as 1 he bad become, could not quite forget fi his child. " * 1 At length, when the little Mary was 1 five years old, good Aunt Canon was * called home. She did not ask, What c will become of the child ? for she bad c perfect faith in God, and left the little ' one in His bands. James Canon did I what he considered bis duty, after he re- 1 turned to bis desolate borne, lie looked 6 at the child, sitting there in her scant i black dress, her pretty hands folded, and ' j his heart ached to think how lonely and c j sorrowful he should be without the little « steady shining of 'ber presence. He < himself bad smoothed tbe curly hair, and 1 tied it round with a black ribbon, and 1 ; be had oot fooud it a hard task, for the j ' ) child was patient and obedient. Never- ; 1 tbeless, be left ber st a neighbor's end | ' ■ called npon ber baaghty grandfather, j 1 j who could baldly brook the presence of ' 1 tbe humble old man in his faded suit of 1 mourning. ' "I shall do nothing for the child while 1 her father lives," said the hard-hearted 1 rich man, and scarcely with politeness ' bowed him oot. Then James sat him ' down and considered. ' Would the little 1 Mary learn to live all alone ? to gel his J smalf meals ? to keep tbe house tidy ? I or should be bind her out ? But then to think for one moment of that plain 1 1 little room and no eager eyes to watch 1 1 bis eoming — no desr little body to climb 1 into •his lap and twine her soft arms ! 1 round bis ueck, or piece her cheek close 1 to bis as he told her Bible sWrtef— »o ! j gleeful laugh to waken bim in the morn- ' j ing. O, no, do, no 1 At least he woold i keep her for five years more, if Heaven bim. Borne might have smiled to see tbe ' old man, awkward at bis new duties — but teaching ell tbe time some oseful lesson 1 ' j to Utile Mary. He made the bed, with ! i her smell help ; be kindled the fire end i taught her how to cook, so Ibet in a ' year she was the tidiest little honse- ; '■ keeper in the place. And (t was a sight i . that mutt hare brought aogels into that 1 small room to eee him sitting there for Lthe one hour be bad allotted himself, r patiently hearing her liule lessons out ' the great Bible ; for he coeld not afford spelling books, and therefore he began I at Genesis, hard words and all. Love made tbe child a; ready learner. At tbe age of eight she was a fine reader, and i coeld repeat whole chapters which she I had made bo greet effort to commit to memory. The Bible was ber elL Peoi pie wondered by what knack James I Canon made that child such a perfect : little woman. By that I do not mean i that she had kdyish ways, and was not , apt at sports and a merry, laeghing I creature withal, but ehe was never awk- • ward; treated grown-up people with : politeness, answered any question readily, and possessed that iqnocence of der meaaor which proved that all she did . was prompted wholly, by aa unselfish desire to do right, i Whea Utile Mary was nine years olJ r her grandfather died, and then came tbe • greatest of all. Mary was takes to the t fine house. Her grandmother was lone- - some, and ail these long years had yeari aed for tbe child's presence. Sbelaogfat ed at tbe little oce's etd-feabieetd ao-i e j lions, bat, tbnnk God ! tbe good seed 'town ia little hearts seldom die*; the J

old-fashioned notions roold not be rooted op — the old fashioned Bible, with its i ' sublime lessons of God. bcaven and th^, t aogels. coold not be unleashed. The 1 gold might be covered from sight, 1 'but there in the daikness it would tie ] shining still, ready against tbe day of j adversity. Little Mary loved old James, j c words can tell how much. Every e • day she would go to see him. and some- i s . times he would call to see her, but the j j cold, fine ways of the tall woman who ] 5 sat all th# time in ber great bed of an i ' chair kept him from desiring to go j 1 often. It was not long before the grand- ' • mother said that Mery must be educated, j I and she *us sent to. a distant city to j school In this new field, in tbe midst j 1 ! "of temptations unthougbt-of before, i ! Mary's early education served her ay as nothing alse coold. Tbe grand old : i I sayings of the Bible here found their j i | exemplification in a thousand wsys j and frivolity, instead of alluring ; , ! the yonng girl, only brought the warn- 1 ] j ings of Sacred Writ to her memory, and j | j God's grace, saved her from many e"' , sin. Old James was delighted for many ; < ! years, by letters and occasional visits ; 1 , : but at last there came wtime when Mary i , seemed to have forgotten him. The j | truth is, she sent her letters addressed ( j to him io the same envelope' with those ! ( directed to btr grandmother, and tbe | I old lady said to herself that Mary was coming ont iu the*1 world a rich yonng j ( j and such intimacies must be drop- 1 j ped at ouce. So she continued lo keep | ■ tbe pretty, tender missives, which Mary i | ] sent regularly. I At last the young girl graduated with ; , | honors. On her seventeenth birth- ( 1 day she returned to ber home to find it . • : agaiu desolate. The old grandmother, j , ! excited too much by the anticipation of i arrival, had died on the night before. [ ; i and Mary was -once more alone. Pr6f- j j of assistance were not wanted by I the rich and beantifn! .Miss Somers — ; j help came ou all hands — relations sprang I as by magic, and her varied duties {bewildered her. Not till after tbe; < funeral did she have a moment to sit down by heftelf and think. Her first thought wi^s of the good old man who seemed yet like a father to her — was be not, in fact, all the father she had known? If she coold but see bim — but lean with the old childish reliance upon bis strong judgment ! Ouiy one look in bis kind, placid old face would strengthen her. It was a clear, bright, November day, and, wrapped in her warm garments, she set ont for her long walk. Ah, there was the dear old cottage, with its. not yet leafless wcodbine straggling in its old quaint fashion over the door. How ber heart beat as she lifted the little knocker! for she bad chosen a time when she knew be would . be at home. ' To her astonishment, a yonng and j blooming matron came to tbe door, a babe in her arms ''Does not James Canon live here?"' asked Mary, btr heart sinking with the i fear that he too was dead. "Dear, no, -miss — Mr. Canon that was was took to the alms-house nigh a j year ago. Something ailed his foot that be couldn't work, miss. But won't yon come in ?" Mary declined. Her cheek flushed high, ber heart beating with sorrow aud indignation. Good old Mr. Canon in the alms-bouse. He, with bis erect figore and strong love ot independence — O, it was too dreadful 1 He who bad shielded her when forsaken by ber own — who had taoghl her troths so valuable that only Heaven eould repay, his faithfulness — be to be dependent upon charity. Tbe woman stood looking at her, doubtless divining who she was ; for that the rich old grandmother should have forgotten the worthy old man was tbe town's talk. "How far is it to the alms-booae ?" she asked "About two wile." Her plan was quickly formed. Returning home, she ordered a good fire 1 to be made ia one of the beat chambers 1 in the house, and the furniture to be put in order. Then, taking the carriage, f the drove off to the aimt-bonse, and re- | ) quested to see old James Canon. She ! was ushered into a small room where ■ the old maa eat, still placid, though age- ■ worn. He looked np from the Holy - Scriptures he was reading. His eyes -lightened. I "I shoaid kno-v that boa," be said. I j softly. V <

"0, Father Canon J" she cried, throwing an arm about his neck in tbe old j 1 time way — "1 can't bear to 6ee yon here Why didn't you iet_ rn^know ? Your girl, Mary, has come bflck ! Bot I never dreamed to find you thus." "It is my little Mary, my sweet, sweet i j child !'' said the old man, drawing her ] closer. "I said 1 should be blest with i I sight of her before I died. God be | praised that I have lived to see this day ! So you're not ushmed of the poor old < ."Ashmcd!" and the tears ran over. I "asbmed of my dear old father—the only j fatherffTfever knew." • jy I "Thank you, darling — thank you — but I n'vvt-r got a letter the last veer — and — j I thought— " J "But I sent vou letters, regularly — " ; j the! there wns silence — both understood; ! neit'u-r could accuse the dead. | "And now, father, come home. 1 j want to s^t at your knee again with the j on nty lap. 1 want to hear you J prat for me as you used to. O, how Soften I bate thought of those prayers! | What a blessed start in life I had !" ehe j cried, amidst sobs and tears. "1 never i ! can forget what I learned then." Tbe bread was returned after many jdays. Old father Canon, to the joy of: i tbe townspeople, was duly installed in . luxurious home, and it became i > Mary's pride and pleasure, as well as ! i duty, to cheer his declining life. Many ; ! a time did she sit as of old, with the ' ; self-same Bible, reading tbe prophecies j and the promises, finding in his feet*, illumiuated by the Holy Spirit, many en : answer to what had otherwise been obscure and ; hard to understand. Soil f happened that beg hand in his — the old | Christian went cheerfully down into the ; valley of the shadow, into the eternal light oftthe presence of God. *. a d. j OLD THINGS. Give mc tbe old songs, those exquisite ' burets of melody which thrilled the lyres • of the inspired poets and minstrels of j long ago. Every note lios borne on the air a tale of joy aud raptarc — of sorrow and sadness! They tell of days gone by, and time bath given them a voice which Fpeaks to os of those who once breathed those melodies — of what they note are, and what te« soon shall he. My heart loves those melodies; may they ' be mine to hear till life shall end, and as . I "launch my boat" npon tbe sea of 1 eternity, may their echoes be wafted to 1 my ear to cheer me on my passage from ' the scenes of earth and earlhland ! ( Give mc the old paths where we have , wandered and colled tbe flowers of love uud friendship in tbe days of "Auld , uud friendship in the days o! "Aula , !

Lang Syne ;" sweeter far the dells whose i ' echoes have answered to our voices; I j whose turf is not a stranger to onr foot- 1 i '• steps, and whose .rills have in child- j i hood's vdays reflected back onr forms, [ , 1 and ihosa of c.tV flerty play fellows from 1 w hom we have parted and meet no moie # jin the old nooks we loved go well. May i the old paths be wateicd with Heaven's , • j own dew, and be green forever in my j k I memory 1 ' i Give me the old house, upon whose 1 stairs we seem to hear Ught footstep*, and onder whose porch a merry laugh ' seems to mingle with the winds that ', 1 whistle tbrougb old trees, beneath whose 1 branches lie the graves of those who ' once trod the halls, end made tbe cbam- • bers ring with glee. And 0 1 above all, ' give me the old friends— hearts bound } to mine io life's sunshiny hours, and a 1 link so strong that all the storms of esrth might not break it asondcr — spirits ' congenial, whose hearts thro' life have " throbbed in unison with our own ! O, e when death shall still this heart, I wonilT ' not ask for aught more sarred to hallow t my dost than the tenr of nn old friend Msy my funeral dirge be cbsoled hy tbe " old friends I love so fondly, who have not yet passed away to the -spiral's ! fright borne 1 e Random Exrnsuioxa. — "I'm tired to s death " So you have said very often, t and are still alive, and in very good >, health, t. "I had not n wink of sleep alt ni^ht." a And yet your bed-fellow heard yoo snore * several times. t- "I would not do it for the woyld." y And yet yoo have done many things is equally bad for a trifle. "Wa were np to onr knees io mud.'' i, Yoo know vary well the dirt was not our year shoes.

TUL PAPER SIM r UTl ill.. I The subject of paper making has been ; for some time one of unusual importance in < ; consequence of the great increase in its i consumption, without a corresponding in- ' crease io the materials from which it is | j made. The co*t of paper has risen eo.ir- < . » mously. and unless some .low infentinns I j supply less costly materia!, the day lor ' cheap liters tare. auJ the means for diffo-' I sing knowledge among the people, is ul- I ready pasrei It is well known thai rags ; have been Wie most available material for ; paper-staking, but any vegetable substance : having fibre may be\nsed. "Tbos straw is : 1 • . now freely mixed with tags, and paper : made ol' tbe combination -is om<! by .man) . newspapers, .but it is bard and brittle. . Strew, too. aud the process by which tt is prepared, hove become quite costly, and ' afford very little advantage m the way of . ; cheapness, ( sue. bebip. corn-l:Usks. wood ; and barks tuay all be mode to produce ! bsndsome paper, but the process requited : ; to reduce them to pulp ba«* been >o difficult and costly, tbst it has wot been found ' tbe most convenient' eubelanr-. and the • most simply cud cheaply reduced to polo. ' have been universale used. r A few years ago. an ingenious inventor contrived a plan for preparing pnlp from I ba»s wopd. and a whole edition of tbe .11- ' I baoy Journal was priuted from paper thus | made. It. was while and fair, but rather 1 i thick and clnmSy for use. Still, for a first r ' experiment, it appeared to be » remarkable S success. Subsequently a company was r formes for preparing palp from wood, and ' f we have seen beautiful paper uiude from it. j ; Indeed, an exteasite mill in this State. ' ' used iurga quantities of it mixed with linen ' . rags, to'ntcko the tine writing paper* lor government use. Its practicability was therefore abundantly demonstrated, but ' w hy it bas not been more generally used 1 we do not understand, unless it is because e ! rags still maintain tbetr. advantage in tbe ' .1 1 way of cheapness. [ Some yedrs ago experiments were made at KUrubelliporl with cane, which grows ; profusely at tbe South, uud along the bunks of tbe Mississippi. Tbe process was e to subject Ibeui lo a high pressure of steam, s ioi cylinder or • guu." uud then suddenly if | blow tbem out into the uir, by which pro- ,, ! cess tbe fibres are di-iirtegiated, uud a niac 1 ferial equal to cottou for ordiuury paper i wait produced. During the first exper:- i ' menu a prolniueot machinist of New Y»rk e { —Mr. StilUan. we believe-was. killed in • j consequence of an explosion of the guni J ! The invention, however, does iqrt appear V ! to have been abandoned, for we observe T i that a company bos been organized to make id ;1hi* pulp. It is called the "Fibre Disiule,f! grating Company." and they propose lo n erect commodious establishment* at Elizsi betbport and South Brook Iwt. wiib all the n " i • i J necessary ^appurat os for producing pulp ! wbicb thsy cao furnish to paper-makore. e ' The raw material is to be first reduced By e j tbeir works at St. Losis— (hat being tbe d most convenient place for receiving the most convenient place ior receiving me

j cane, wbicb will'be brought from tbe caneI field below Cairo, on the Mississippi. Tbe ' I company believe that tboy will be able lo J i supersede the cecetxitj of a-ing rugs in tbe . ^ { paper mills to a great exfent, and it is to j be earnestly hoped that they will, i Another cause of tbg increased cost of | paper is due lo tbe cost of imported chem- ! i icals used in* preparing' and bleaching the i stock— chloride of lime being the leading i I article io this process. We learn from the , I ! Boston Transcript that there is a prospect { i | of soan'e improvement in this respect, a j t : gentleman ofi that city having patented a l process by which it is claimed that one- I ] half of the chamicals now used for makiug | i and bleaching tbe slock (chiefly chloride . t of lime) may b* caved. There is do ind;- j I l cation of its practicability, for it appears ; not to bave been tested. i The truth is thai some improvement in i tbe way of producing cbeap paper must be : < made, or tbe newspapers and tbe literature 1 of tbe country cannot be afforded at any f such rates as the great mas* of tbe people ; i l can afford to pay, and tbe natural result ■ will be a diminished supply. Book* are i ' ntfw published very rpartngly and at greatly fMucreased cost, while newspapers are ud- ; r raccing tbeir rates beyond "the ability of ! ' readers of moderate means, and many of tbem cannot sustain themselves at all with 1 tba present tendency of the paper market. ' Toe paper mills have thus far iguordd all ' 1 i discoveries which changed the process under wbicb they bave been working with unusual profit, but the tune has now come > when improvements, if not • revolution, is , nece-sary ; and when so many minds are | at work it is reasonable to believe that desirable results will soon be accomplished, . and paper supplied at cheaper rales — though it may oot be so cbeap as it haa " been (ipF many years. — Xetcark Sentinel, t A 8kasct Child. — Aonl E. wma trying , to puranade little Eidy to retire at sundown — h "Yon aae, my dear, how the little chickens go to roost at that time." 1 "Yea, annty," replied Eddy, "bat the old ban always goes with theai."

A lyUUSll CLERK KOETIFIKD. The humorous clergy of the Knglich church seem always to have token pleasnre mortifying the vanity of tbeir clerks, when this vanity has obtruded itself Into public twrship. It may be doabtcd. howif the expedient* adopt- d for thisend not been more sacrilegious than the vanity itself. Tbe following anecdote ia told of Btv. Samuel Wesley, father of tbe famous Methodists : The Kpwnrth parish clerk was a welltneanin.; and honest, but an obtrusively vain frisn. His master, the rector, bo esteemed the greatest character io tho parish, or even in the country, and himself, li H • ..<• i .1 hint che.tch services, us cniy set ond to him. also, in importance and title to general respect. He had the pri* liege of wearing Mr. Wesley's cast-off^ • rlcrthcs and «!g». fi»r the letter of which bis houd was by r.r ton mull, y ml the figore he presented was ludicrous and greti sque. i tie rector, finding him particularly vain* ef one of the canonical subslii !uu- for hair which lie had lately received, firmed the design to mortify him in tbe fireseuce of that congregation before which ' . Jehu wished lo ap£<-ar ia every respect what be the 'tight himself in his near ap- ; preach to bis master. One morning, be- ■ fore church-time, Mr. V. said. "John. I i sbull preach otwi particular subject to-day, and shall choose lev own psalm, of which i 1 sbali give out the first line, and you shall r proceed a* usual." John was pleased, and l the service went forward us usual till tbey . cur.m to tho ringing, when Mr. Wesley ? gave out the following lino : 1 f "ULc to on -owl la nj Uish." This was eqplf. ai'" t,u following line, - John, peeping ou: of the large cononical i wig in which bis head was half lust.' gave r out with afi undibio Vein- uud appropriate » vounectiDg twang: t "That r.itlal thin- an I" The whole congregation, struck with ' John's appearance, saw and felt the simiii- • l tide, and could tict refrain from luughtcr. The rector was pleased, for John was more e titled, uud his self-conceit lowered. THE MAYFLOWER A SLAYER. It may not 1-e generally known to the descendants of ibo 1'uriUns thai tbe bark Mat-flower, which bore their ancestors to the reeky shore of Massachusetts, subsequently engaged in the slave trtde. The venerable Nathaniel Hawthorne alludes tt)' the circumstance in an article contributed to the- Atlantic Aloud!;/ for J uly in the following language : •There is an historical ciicouisteiice, known to few, that connects j tbe children of tbe Puritans with these Africans of Virginia, hi a very singular way, Tbey are our brethren, as being j lineal descendants from ihe Mayflower, tb« fatal womb of wbicb, io ber fiot voysge. • sent forth a band of Pilgrims npon Plymouth Bock, und. in a subsequent one, spawned eiavus npon the Southern soil — a . ' ' monstrovs birtb, but with which we have uti i instinctive sense of kicdred, and so are stirred by an (rreshtsbl • impulse to attempt tha.ir rpftrnp *-v*n ft the rnftt nf hTnnil .n.t of and

ruin. Tly> character of onr sacred sbip.^I I fesr, may suffer a little by this revelation ; but we must let her white progafl'y off-el ' ber dark one. and two such portraits never • sprung from an identical source before." A TIGHT PLACE. When Co!. Leo, of New York, was colj 'subscriptions for tbe equestrian ; statoe of Washington, now stand- { a monument of patriotism and art at ! the corner of Union Park, he had occasion ] to visit an old curntudgeoo in tbe neigb- ; burboud, and Ji-.iting out bis subscription requested bim to add bis name lo ! the li6t. But old Lucre declined respcclI fully"1 do not see," ba said, "what benefit this statue will be to me ; and five hundred ! dollars is a great deal of money to pay for tbe gratification of other people." "Benefit to you !" replied tbe Colonel, "why, sir, it will benefit you more than anybody else. This statue csn be seen . from every window of your bouse ; it will - be an ornament, and add dignity to the - ; whole neigliborhoodyand it will perpetually r. miad £.u of tlm Father ol bis Country—- ' the immortal Washington. ' "Ah, Colonel," answered old Lucre, "1 do not require a statue to remind me of him, for I always carry Washington hare;" and he placed bis hand ou bis heart. "Then let me tell yon," replied Colon- 1 Lee, "if that ao, all I bave to say i*. light place." A Cocktry Fkllow cmm lo thu city to see bis intended wife, and for • long time coold tbiojt of nothing to say. At last, a great .now falling, be took occasion to (ell ber that hi* fhtber's sheep woold all bewudooe. "Well," said she, kindly takiof t iu by tbe head, I'U keep one of them." Prort* are not floored by mtsfortonc so much ae by tba reception they meet with in it. WhewAgijb <*•* want assistance, , every one is obtrude It oa as as if it were advice.