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"LET US HAVE PEACE." ALEXANDRIA, PARISH OF RAPIDES, LA. .Ull.a.,.fnn ,ltInn ra long time. there was still vible a s liht I That stranger knew a little heb who I turn to his warv. 0 (Thd! anh Inn,.{ I . ..... . I miscellaneOJus eliecTlIons. THE CUCKOO. Fprth I wandered, years ago, Whena the summer snn was low, And the forest all aglow With his light : 'Twis a y of loudless skies ; When the trout declines to rise, And In vain the angler sighs for a bite. And the cuckoo piped away How I loved his simple lay, O'er the cowslip-efds of May As it floats I May was over, and of course Rc was t at little hoarse, Aad appmsI to me to force ertain notes. 81nce mid-April, men averred, People's pulses inly stirred By Ws ialse of the bird, Had apleapt: It wds now the close of June; I reteated that he'd soon 1ing entirely out of tune, And I wept. Lookllg up, I marked a maid Float ballon-Uike o'er the glade, Casting everrmore a staid Oaees around: And I thrilled with sweet surprise When she dropt, all virgin-wise, Fiat a ooartlsy, then her eyes To the ground. Others' eyes have prape to you Seemed ethereally blue, But you see you never knew Kate Adair. What a netin she had ! Her hat With what dignity It sat On the mystery or mat, ' OrherhaLr ! We were neighbors. I had doff'd Cap and hat to her so oft That the lsLter had grown soft In the brim : I had gone out of my wa To bid e'en her sire good ay., Though I wasn't I may say, Fond of him - And we'd met, in streets and shops, But by rill or mazy copse, Whe yar speech abruptly stops Andyou get Incoherent ere you know It Warn, thouh nothIng of a poet, Yon Inluitively go it Waver yet. So my ove had ne'er been told I Tll do do when fbrth I strolled Anad th e aT cuckoo trolled Naut ad st ixzt s two Save a bashub 'How d' e do' And a blushing 'low do you ( aloeag?' But that eve-how swif it it passed - Words that burned flew from me fast For the frst time and the last In my life : Low and lower drooped her Ohin, As I murmaured bow I'd skin Or behead myself to win Such a wife. There we stood. The squirrel leaped overhead: the throstle peeped Through the lesves,all sunshine-steeped, Of the lime. There we stood alone: a third Would have made the thing absurd: And she scarcely spoke a word All the ls. We've a little Kate, a dear I She's attained her thirteenth year, And declares she feels a queer Sort of shock Not unpleasant though at all When she hears a cuckoo call : So I've purcha her a small Cuckoo-clock. -January Scribner. A GHOST STORY. He had sat for hours In the snug, brown coffee-room of the Four Swans, Norham, and had ordered nothing, not even a bd room or a cup of fee. All in vain had the honest old waiter bustled in and out, stirring the fire and flicking crumbs from the table. He had only brought himself to the conclusion that this strange guest was "a quer sort," especially for a Christmas Eve. In fact, they of the Four Swans were not much used to strangers of any sort. They had a quiet, steady-going connection in Norham itself. Three or four' trade clubs held their meetinms there, and the six or seven bedrooms of the establish ment were kept In just the state of order and comfort which suited the individuali ty of the six or seven "eommerci gen tlemen" who, hen on Noeram business, had patronized thle Four Swamns for the last twenty or thirty years. Il ever a stranger appeared, It was generally with some such introduction as this: " Land lord, Mr. Dash, of Blank, told me you would give me good quarters foraday, or fora week," as the case might be. In deed, the Four Swans, had, as It were, hidden itself from all chance comers, for it was situated in a quiet corner of a very quiet street, down which nobody would think of turning unless he knew some thing of it Islorehand; and altogether, with its Interior of brown panneltng, Its wealth of qdaint and grotesqu. orna ments. its red-tiled verandah, anditscom municative confidential old servants, the Four Swans was an excellent type of those honest, homely hotels which are fast being "'Improved'" from the face of the earth. The gentleman iu the coffee-room did not notice that he had done an odd thing by coming In without a word, and re maining without an order. Perhaps he had other things to think about. He was a tall, middleaged man, with a ood s;eal of hair upon Ma fae-' and, though he was unmlstakably well dressed, hb had that Indetfinite air which most men carry who at any period of their lives have "k nocked about"' In ships and colonies, In canvas suits and oorhduroys. He had come In about five o'clock, and six o'clock struck, and seven, and it was within two minutes of eight, when an old Norham townsman came in to look over the paper. To the intense satisfaction of the waiter, that effectually roused the stranger. But so slowly-like the awak ening from a long, enchanted sleep And so lth'td been an enchanted sleep haunted by a dream of ve-dtwnyais ago. 'I want to stay bahere for the night, wait er," he said, abruptly. "Any comforts ble ort ot bed4oom WRl suit me. And bring me some tea and togast." The waiter a1 ert. '¶hr' little private room offhere, t.'," he said, thro tng open the do6or. "I'll at yoUr tr- there; it's more retied Ilke tt this." The gentlemen followed as invited. It was a square closet, with two or three stufed chairs, a polished round aes and a dull oul-painting over the mantel. That was all that would strike any strange eye. But the gentleman walked straight to n panel beside tlhe fire place, and peered at it. Under the slow dicoloration and many washings of long time, there was still visible a slight dashing pen-and-ink sketch of an old man, with a long nose and goggle specta " Dear me ! sir, you've got quick eyes to find that out directly," said the chatty old waiter. "Clever, isn't it? A young dare-devil he was that did it, and that was a portrait of the London detective that had come down to take him off to prison. His last meal in Norham he ate in this here room, sir, and a rare lot of ham and eggs he did get through, sir, and never minded a bit that the policeman was a watching of him." The gentleman said not one word. " He's queerer than ever," confided the waiter to the old cook, as he received the tea and toast from her hands. "I began to tell him about young Rogerson, but he did not listen a bit, did not even ask if he was hanged or anythink. It's like taking a meal to a ghost, that it is." "You might do better than poke up old stories about as bad a young scamp as ever lived to disgrace a honest family," retorted the old cook, who was sharp in her temper; "and as to ghosts, there's plenty o'ghosts everywhere, for them as has sense to see 'em, Peter, but I don't think you need be afeared." Meanwhile another Norham tradesman had dropped into the ooffee-room, and Peter, in the intervals of his attendance, came out and chatted with them in a cheer ful equality, wherein the sole line of so cial distinction lay in his remaining stand ing while they were seated. "Real Christmas weather this," said Mr. Johnston. "But Norbam's very dull," answered Mr. Lee. "They're a dead-and-alive set of peo ple, now, - the Norhamites," said Mr. Johnston, who was one himself, and would allow nobody else to abuse them. "It used to be different in my young days. I remember it quite gay, what with oxen roasting to be given in charity, and the puddings boiling for the same, and every body that was rnyways connected with the Church--and everybody seemed to be in those days-lqvited to tea in the Town hall. And used'nt there to be fine carol singing through the streets! And rare Christmas sermons he used to preach, the old rector that was in my young days." dAh, that was Mr. Rogerson," put in Peter directing his thumb toward the open door. "I've ust been showing that gent that bit of an old sketch up agen the wall. He broke the good old gentemaan's heart, that young scamp did. "Ah, yes, and did a deal of harm to Norham every way," pursued Mr. Johns ton: "we've never had a lively Christmas since; I remember the first after his go ing off. What could people do when they knew there was nothing but misery in the rectory house? The town just kept as quiet as ever it could, and it couldn't do less every Christmas after, during the old rector's days. And so it got out of the good old ways." "Poor young Rogerson," said old Mr. Lee. "I used to think there was some thing good in the young fellow for al his wildness, and I always hoped he'd right himself, till he went and did that wicked ness that set man against him, as well as Go 1." "I don't know about good or not," per sisted Mr. Johnston, "but I know that it took years and years before his sister Mary looked up again. Only at last, as time began to thicken over the tender spots o' grief and shame, she kind of took heart. Says she once to my dear wife that's dead, 'Mrs. Johnston, our poor Dick was the child of many prayers and I've faith God will keep hold of him.' And then she took fancies that he was dead. And I noticed she was happier like after that-just as one breathes freer in a house after the dearest corpse is buried. As for poor Tom Rogerson, his brother ruined him for this life. anyway. Maybe he needn't, but poor Mr. Tom was awful proud and sensitive. Miss Mary, she told my wife that her brother Tom said he'd never ask people t6 trust him, because he couldn't expect they would, after his brother's ways, and he wouldn't lay himself open to be half-trusted, and watched, and suspected all the time. And so, he that was so clever stayed a poor under-clerk all the rest of his days, and has left his poor widow just to strug gle on ad et what places she can for her bos. Such a pretty, dainty miss as she used to be, and now she's wearing an old rusty silk that's been turned and turned till she's forgotten which is its real right side. 'I should think what their uncle did won't go against my sons, Mr. Johnston,' she said only the other day. ' Bless you, Mrs. Tom,' says I, ' half the town-people are new since then.' 'I'm always so afraid he'll come back,' says she; 'I'm sure I don't wish him not to repent,' says she, 'I always hoped he would-but I can't help thinking of my own, mand for their sakes, I'd rather he never came back.' 'The more peni tent he is, the more he'll stay away, ma' am,' says I. 'It isn't as if the whole story was above ground still, and he'd only got to be forgiven and all would go well,but there's some that's dead that died in wrath and bitterness with others lbr his sake. Look at poor old Mrs. Rog erson-how she turned against Mr. Tom, good dutiful son as he was, because he wouldn't stay by Mr. Dick through thick and thin, and defend him as if he were In nocent. Poor dear old lady, she knows better where she's been this many a day. But Mr. Dick had better wait to ask your forgiveness till he can ask hers too. You forgive him, ma'am,' says I, 'and that's enough fbr you, but I maintain that he'd have no right to come disturbing your mind to ease his own.' " "There was one that would have been glad to see him, had he returned in ever esuch shame and misery," said kindly old Mr. Lee. "Aye, aye," chimed Peter -" I know who you mean. You know sie was on the chrity school committee, and when the 'leotion board met here, she always just stepped in yonder and took a look at that rum picture on the wall. She e4ver thought [saw hier. She never thought nobody was looking at her. My old woman says she always walked reg uar ameag them greea avenues by e old abbey, where she used to walk with Mr. Dick when he was court ing of her. May be she thought he'd be sure to go there, if ever he'd come back." At that instant the stranger came ind denly out of the brown closet, crossed the coffee-room, left the house, and walked i the street towards the main quarter of thie town. That stranger knew a little boy who had attended many a service in that cathe dral-awed by its sweet music, wonder ing at its white-robed choristers. The little boy had known every face on the quaint gargoyles of the ancient chapter house, and with child-like familiarity hbe had given a name to each one of those con torted countenances. That little boy, muflled in black weepers, had stood be side an open grave right under the great west window, and listened to a funeral service over a little sister. The stranger went to seek that little grave-went straight to it without one mistaken step. But it is not a little grave any more, for under the name of "Amy Rogerson, aged four," is written "Also the Rev. Richard Rogerson, fatherof the above, aged seven ty. Also his wife Amelia, aged sixty nine. Also their son Thomas, aged for ty-eight." Oh, little sister, who went so long be fore, how much did you know of earth while you were growing up in heaven ? Was not your father very glad on the day when he entered rest and joined the fold ed lamb of happier times? Oh little sis ter! Is there any look on the face on an angel, whose human heart was broken? The stranger stood still by that house hold tomb, and looked around. There was another grave which that little boy had known-the family grave of that lit tle boy's playfellow, the Herons.. But the stranger knew that he could not find that grave in the twi light, though he could have found the way to their house in the utter darkness ! He crossed the Cathedral Square, and issued out on Norham High Street. The shops were bright with Christmas goods, and busy with Christmas trade. There was a little, thin, sharp-looking widow, with a boy on one side and a girl on the other, gazing intently Into the best draper's shop. The stranger stood still when he first saw them, and then he went up slowly and stood behind them. 'It's no good wasting our time, Mar gey," said the mother "for we can't af ford to buy anything.' " But lookng doesn't spend mamma," pleaded Margey, "and I'd like to plan what I'd give you If I could, mamma, and to choose what I should like you to give me. There, you should have that beauti ful thick black silk, and it should be made with one deep flounce like the mayor's wife's, and you should have that soft grays shawl to wear with it. And I would have two of those merinos-a dark brown for every-day, and an olive green for Sun days, and one of those neat, plain black cloth jackets. And there's Tom gone off to look at the watches. Tom is going to save sixpenceaweek to buy one, mamma, but won't it take a long time?" "Ah, I with I could give you children pleasant surprises," said mamma wistful ly. " I was so fond of that kind of tricks once upon a time." "And so you are still, mammy dear," Margey replied, pressing fondly to her. " Isn't italways a pleasant surprise when you make us a fig-pudding? I'm sure we are very happy, and I wonj' talk any more of my nonsense if it wofries you.' Then the little group passed on; and the tall stranger followed them out of the glare of the gaslight into a small by-way, where they entered a house with " Mrs. T. Rogerson's day-school for young la dies," written on the door. Then he went back to the Hiigh Street, and that same night a large parcel from the dra per's came " For Mrs. Rogerson and Miss Margery," and a little packet from the jeweler's, for "Master Tom Rogerson." "Everything we wanted," sighed Mar gery happily. "I only hope they are real. How could they have come? The shop-people say they were ordered by a tall, dark gentleman, very pale. I wish mamma would let us believe in ghosts, and then we could understand it easily, for that description is like dear papa. But I never did hear of any ghost that had money. I wonder what Aunt Mary will say when she comes to-morrow I" The stranger went back to the Four Swans. Next morning he went to the cathedral, and stole into a shady corner to take part in the service. The sharp lit tile widow came in, looking sweeter and happier than would have seemed possible the night before. Beside Margery and Tom, she had a lady with her-an elderly, fragile-looking lady, with one of those pale, fair faces, that look as if perfect re pose was their only remaining atmos. phere of life, and any jarring element, even of joy, would shake and rend the tender spirit from its feeble dwelling. A fae bright with spiritual joy, aml pleas ant fancies and sentiments. God often sends pleasant fancies to those pure but weakly souls that could never rise to cre ate and grasp pleasant facts. What are such fancies but the dainty aroma of the royal feast awaiting them in their Father's mansion ? Lowly kneeled the stranger through the old familiar prayers. He sat leaning forwards with his face in his hands, while the whitestoled choir chanted the glorl ous authem: "Glory be to God in the Hlighest, and on earth peace, good will to wards men." Then be came out, silently, among the crowd of worshippers. People were ex changing good wishes with each other actually Peter, the old waiter, saluted even him with "A merry Christmas." A merry Christmas ! The stranger stayed and wandered among the graves. There was a world of silent memory seething in his heart. Be side that vision of thelittle boy, listening awe - struck to the choir, there were others of a young man, rain, extravagant, selfish, counting as of nought, or of little value, all the love and pride and household joy which looked so very air from this point of view, this lonely wandering among the dead! More pictures still. Of a on man reckless and crael in his sins f4o that bravado which dares God and good men out of fear of the devil and his minions ; of the ghastly horrors of a con vict ship; of a shunned man on a wild, lawless shore-the prodigal feeding on the swine's hnaks. Then of a little rough, miscelaneom group, listening toasimpt e mission sermon, which even "black el lows" could understand, and which, per haps, was the more likely to touch the white men, because It was so like what they had heard at their mother's knee, or in their Sabbath-schools; of a hard heart broken, of a sinner seelking salva tion, as men dying with thirst seek for water-springs. And then the sweet household instincts, dric, and dead under the forgetfulness of God. stirring again in the remembrance of Him, and the re turn to his ways. 0 God! such longings for a comforting word In the old familiar voices-such dreams of atonement and re conciliation ! All these memories between that little boy and this strange, silent man, whom nobody knew. Was there any long-tried servant of God in Norham that afternoon, poor, humble, stricken, and tempted to think that God in his mercy forgets his justice, and tears the moral from the page which He purities with his pardoning blood? Or was there any heedless young sinner, flattering himself that he will repent in time, and that then all will be asif he had never sinned? Could either have read the secrets of that silent wanderer each would have got a lesson never to 6e for gotten. "How can I bear it? he said to himself. " I wanted to hear the divine love and fobr giveness in a dear human voice; but I must not tear open old wounds, that are healed as much as such wounds can ever heal. It is just. They cannot forget. My life lies among theirs like a waste field, whence noxious weeds creep into other people's gardens. Will God Himself forget? How can I bear even his pardon, if his eye is fixed on the sins that hang about my neck ? And yet O God, though Thou slayest me, yet will I trust in Thee." And so he made his way among the long grass to a square, old-fashioned grave-with all the names on it very old, except one, whleh, with its remarkable epitaph, had only been written the very last year. To the memory of BARBARA HERON, Aged 47, who expressly desired that these words of God should be written on her grave for the comfort of whoever should come here, repeatant and sorrow stricken. "Who is a tod like unto Thee?... .Thoa wilt cast all their sins into the depth of the sea. "For the Lord shall comfort Zion: Be will comfort all her waste places, and He will make her wildernese like Eden, sad her 4eset like the garden of the Lord: oy gadnes shall be found therein: thanksgivin and the votog of met And the stranger bowed himself to the ground, as if he had heard an angel's voice. Perhaps he did. Here was the love-type of that heavenly love that he was wildly clutching In a faith that was half despair 1--the love that survived sin and suffering and death, and stretched a hand to save and soothe from the very grave itself. Oh, Barbara, Barbara, your tenderness had taught you to lay sweet snares for every possible opportunity ! Oh, Barba ra. Barbara! surely God must have com forted you in your lonely walkiags in those green avenues by the ruined abbey. He did not empty your pure heart of Its earthly love, but he dropped Into It a balm which changed its bitterness to ce lestial nectar. Up in heaven, where you are, Barbara, there is only joy over the returning sinner ! And still the stranger sat on the damp winter sod, with his face between his hands. He was not wishing herback, the dear love of his youth. Better where she was, where no mortal soil could ever touch that great love, which was long enough, and strong enough, to stretch from heaven to earth. Only there he sat, shutting out from his eyes the sweet, peaceful scenes around him, even as they must be shut from his life, and seeing far beyond the " waste places" and " Filderness" that his own sins had made, into that joyful country where " the ran somed of the Lord shall return," where " they shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away." That night the stranger walked again in front of that lowly house in the quiet by way. Christmas savors came through the kitchen window, bright light gleamed between the curtains, even sounds of glad young laughter and merry song reached the lonely watcher without. And he could thank God for them now. He could even smile in sympathy with the joy he might not share. He had his qwn. In that lowly house, after supper, when the young ones were quiet round the Are cracking nuts and asking riddles, Aunt Mary fell into a soft sleep on the sofa. They saw her smile In her slumber, sad when she awoke she told them in her sub dued, pathetic little voice, that she had been dreaming of poor Uncle Dick; she saw him with dear Barbara Heron, and Barbara looked so happy!" "And even in my sleep, dears," ahe said, *' I won dered within myself, were we all on earth still, or all safe together in heav en ?" It must have been about that time that the stranger left Norham by the midnight mail-train. He stood up in the carriage, and stretched out his head till the last spire of Norham Cathedral was lost in the darkness. But even he had gotten his Christmas blessing ere he departed-the prodigal son had found his royal feast heavenly pace and human love. "' He came and he went like a ghost !i" said old Peter, at the Four Swans.--uns day Magazine. Caunadtisa lrndependeace. In discussing the question .of colonial independence the St. John (N. B.) Globe re marks that there is no doubt that if Cat da made up her mind to disseve her rels tions with England no Englishman would do anything to stop her, sad many would be glad to let her go; but, tly ads the Globe, "th present laders in Canada will not take any steps to make the Dominion independent so long as they can persuade England to guarantee her loans and to create baronets and ta' of themselves and their fiends." T consideratlons should not have much weightin disenslng the question whether or not the Dominion of Canada shall be come a free and independent republic, and, like the United Sates, take care of her own loans and titles of nobility. It may be here mentioned that at the time of the American Revoelution a small par ty wished to retain titles of rank andthe prerogatives of aristeamtie hnd privileged classes, but the plain republican senti ment overwhelmed the adherents of a mock nobility, and they finally dwindled iqto country squires and Georgi .mafors -an aristocracy that exists to this day. When the Dominion of Canada becomes a republic, as in proper time It surely will, the "almighty dollar" is as likely to be the ruling element of her people as It i asserted to be that of her cousins acrossm the St. Lawrence at this time, and all thoughts of a blue-blooded nobility will be sunk into insignificance when weighed in the scale against dollars and cente, or - pounds, shillings and peIce.--Z. The Popular Capae*ty for Scadail. One of the most saddening and humill- I sting exhibitions which humann nature $3 ever makes of itself, is In Its geedy cr- J dulity touching all reports o the maIe gr meanors of good men. If a man stand we high as a morrt force in the community; I if he stand as the rebuker and denouncer psi of social and political sin; If he be looked ow up to by any considerable number of pec- mu ple as an example of virtue; if the whole 001 trend and power of his life be in a high and pure direction; if his personality and di influence render any allegation aanst his ex character most improbable, then most he, resdily does such allegation findeager be- the lievers. It matters not trom what source the slander may come. Multitudes will thi be inluenced by a report sganst a good a' man's character from one who would not an be believed under oath in any matter in volving the pecuniary interest of fifty kn cents. The slanderer may be notoriously mi base-may be a panderer to the worst pas- I sions and the lowest vices-may be a tat shameless sinner against social virtue- may be a thle, a notorious liar, a drunk ard, a libertine, or a harlot-all this mat- be ters nothing. The engine that throws me the mud is not regarded: The white ob- wiI sect at which the loul discharges are aim ed is only seen; and the deliglit of the by- 1 standers and lookers-on is measured by I the success of the stain sought to be in- his fieted. J As between the worldling and the man led who professes tobe guided and controlled lea by Christian motives, all this is natural * enough. The man bound up in his selfish J and sensual delights, who sees a Christian 00C fall, or hears the report that he has fallen, I is naturally comforted in the belief that, ws after all, men are adke-that no one of ry them, however much he may profess, is frii better than another. It Is quite essential fr to his comfort that he cherish and fortify Bi himself In this conviction. So, when any great scandal arises in quarters where he ase found himself and his course of life condemnqd he listens with ready ears, and is unmistakably glad. We say this is p natural, howevu base and mal tnt It on may be; but when people reputedo d-- t ft, people p song- to be Christian- the shru thir Virtouas bhoulders and shake a 1 their feeble heads, while a foul scandal an touches vitally the character of one of eon their own number, and menaces the ex- Hi tinguisahment of an influence, higher or (n humbler, by which the world is made bet, co ter, we hang our heads with shame, or wi raise them with indignation. If such a w thing as this is natural, t proves just one an thing, viz: that thes men are hypocrites. There Is no man, Christian or Pagan, who up aan rqjole in the faintest degree over the no reputed fail of any other man from recti- the tude, without being at heart a scamp. All eq this readiness to beleve evil of others, es- bu peilally of those who have been reputed da o be eminently good, is an evidence of the conscious weakness under temptation, or ryl of conscious proclivity to vice that finds of comfort in eminent companionship.- Ea Scri6ber's._ "= del Ds Cats Kill Babies i m The old superstition that eats sometimes Ti kill Infants by sucking their breath has the been lately revived by a story in a Port- we land paper, in which it is stated that a babe was recently tmnd dead in that city, th with a large cat lying upon its breast. A writer for the New York Tribune shows that it would be almost Impossible for a catto kill a child by sucking Its breath ha Alluding to the Portland case he says: thi "I do not doubt the death of the child, eff or that the animal was present at the time, lea but that a cat "sucked Its breath," or an would or ceuld do so,must be regarded as eel a piece of gross superstitious lgnomne; wi as such it i hurtih and ought not to wl pass unchallenged, Death ia serone str matter, and therefore this subject must be treated seriously, otherwise it were easy to ridicule the assumption made, which I do not now meet for the first time. net Let me say, then, that a cat could have At no possible motive for sucking a child's toe breath, even if it were possible to do so. of The breath of any animal after It has ean- t tered the lungs is disagreeable and poison- po eos, sad we know of so creature with a di, liking fbr suach air. eve Are we to suppose that the rat applied ele its lips dlosely to the of the child, andex- tl hauated the Ikags of the latter by filling ty its own? If so what next? The ca as -ust breathe or die. If it breather, the child will breathe also and live. But it may be said that the cat places e Its mouth in such proximity to that of the up child, as to intercept the pure air and so ne "suck" in that which the child required. fec This would involve the death of the eat be first, for It is the smaller animal; sd th wi hild's mouth most alo be In the proper he -alon to intercept the pnre air reqalred n the cat. That the latter, either from A mlignity or affection, would voluntarily cu ,.r seal-sfboation, is of course ab- wI surd. i In Ibet, the statement ts absurd alto- e gather, and it would requi the learest to circumstantial description of th way inC which the set was performed, and' that by t a disinterested observer, to eattle theau- h sertlon even to the eonsideration here tb r ven. The true eplantion of the ca e at s doubtles~.ery simple, The eat lay or upon the child's mouth, and so smothered of IZ or poa its steaeh uad ebest, and by t ts weight tired the respiritory muscles L0 so tat they gradually ceased to act, and al the poor little infant to breathe. Let me say, in conclusion, that such accidents are trequently facilitated by the senseleap way f in which mothers and uParses place their b children, deeply imbedded in soft elothes a and pillows, depriving them, by so doing,' of hl supply o hfefresh, puresir, It which i their very lre." A nax who sanores wasdeserlbed by his f mrild the other day as follows: "Snores? Oh no, I guess not-nonamefor it! When t y a wake up in the morning, and fiad that the hoUe ypu lodge in has beenamsoed half a mile during the night by the respi ratory vehemence of -Ioodg, you may get soe idea of that fellow a's per- . formane. tls landindy gets her houseo movedi ek by tuning hs bed swramd." ~ -y THn questaion f 'mture pnishment is h getting to be an intereslig one amoeg Leth , several pomtn at o minuers of bt denominaton being d known and others suspected of holding t views on the subject which, according to i the orthodoxy of the majority of the i Church, are heretical, s The Wealth of our Presidents. I. Washington left an estate valued at e $300,000. Jefferson died poor, and had not Con gress purchased bhis library his estate 6 would have been unable to pay his debts. Madison saved his money and was com. ir paratively rich, The (orteqd .of his wh. d ow was increased by the purchase of his - manuscript papers by Congress for $30, le 000. h James Monroe, the sixth President, Id died so poor that he was buried at the is expense of his relativýs, in a cameterv st between Second and Third streeth, near e- the Bowery, in New York city. to John Quiney Adams left about $O0,00p. 11 the result of industry. prudence, ld4 d a small inheritance. ike was methodiral )t and economical. I- Andrew Jackson left a valuable estate ;y known as the "Hermitage," about twelve y miles from Nashville, Tenn. I- Martin Van Buren died rich. His es a tate was estimated at nearly $800,000. James K. Polk left about $150,000., . John Tyler was a bankrupt when he t. became Presldelt. He hushandeu his ,a means while in office, and married a rich wife, and died wealthy in worldly fbrtune. t Zacry Taylor left about $150,000. r- Millard Flmore is a wealthy man. y Franklin Pierce saved $60,000 during r his term of service as President. James Buchanan died a bachelor, and n left an estate valued at $900,000, at the Sleast. a Abraham Lincoln let about $75,000. h Johnson I sidd to be w6rth about $50, n 000. I, President Grant was poor before the t, war. By a careful husbandry of his IM ,f ry and throwh the geeroa go l of Is friends before he became President, his al fortune is a handsome competence.--AAer. y Historical Record. re - A curlon state oft aairs exists in some s portions of the West. Farmers are not it only burning corn for fuel at the present time, but laying in supplies to serve for the winter. is asserted thaO corn gives e a better heat for cooking purposes than a any wood excepting h or, whild, for tf economy of consumption, it is cheaper. c. Hard wood on the spot costs $7.50 per t cord, corn, $5.60. As comlard with t. coal, it is estimated that three fon f of corn ,r will give heat equal to one ton of coa, a whilein economy of use, it is equal to one te and a half tons of the latter. a. That this is an unpleasant commentary o upon our tacilities for transportation can oe not be denied. The cost of food biere in i. the East is notoriously large, and it is 11 equally true that living expenses hbve in . but a small degree decreased' inad 'the d darkest period of the war. Yet, such are )f the rates of freight or the fewness of car tr rying lines that it seems a better paring s operation to burn food than to sead It to Sastern markets for sale. A contemporary aptly suggesta that evl dence is here bred of the grtdml di minution of our forests, a serious at to which we have frequently adverted. ns There are strong efforts being mtade by cs the National Burean of Agricultaue, as t, well as ,y State societies, to protect the a growing timber, aad ggestioas from r, these sources should he heeded andanted Supon. It, as the burolnng of g m r pies, the woodland in the nbelgb od a of corn-producing dial rcts in the West L has become so sadly depleted, it is time that protective means were adopted and , effiectlve means insagurated which will at , least supply the deficit to future inhabit r ants of the country. Corn my make ex a eellent fuel fbr future generatious, but it will se meely answer as a material from ; which houses or f roiture can be eon I sctrted.- nite American. e llaking Ralsis frees Grapes. a, - it It seems very remarkable that no sue neasful attempt had been made to dry our e American grapes. With thousands of 's toms annually produced-many hundreus ). of whileh In seasons of great abundance a- the owners would gladly take two cents a i- pound for-there seemn to be no way to a dispose of them bot ae wine4ub ; add even then, unless doctored with alooholle d elements, so Impsreto a large and con c- tinually er portln of the esmaani g ty, it is almost like throwing the grapes `t away. e The chief trouble with the American grape Is hald to be that the skin Is. "wa a ter-tight" that It will tather rot tien dry e up; and it Ia supposed that the tHmdekin oed msan grape is free from this de I. feet, and thus afrts the raisin-maker a st better tson fbr his efforts. But those * who have tried the grape as grown in our ,r hot-hodes report. tlat it LJsust .a diM d cult S.dry theeof the America riot. m As we undewsnd it,there is aproeas pe ly cullar to the rallmakcng countiem b- whi the goes through bq(ore it will dry. is dhtiefly th dipping of o each bunch in a weak lye. The ee~ct is at to open the ports of the fruit, or to marke in and la thbi way the surhee molos Sture raily escapes under the proper drs. slaating trehatent. In California. where re the grape of Europe thrives in theopen be dah, sat will not do for us, they have am y coeded in making raisins equal to tbest edof the Old World. These are Ingnl by the d Franceo marketat twenaty o ar per pound, whlah, alt deducting edse ex1 ~ cresfs tand mann ne( nrem ,s id to leav eIl. eeta per re pound forthegrower of the grapes. Now, ay [f we did not knew that in thbl regien, ir bythe ordlnarh etbodo dr y . there aes I no more auma s with t foren than with the native gra, one might ay that rit was beeastti ey have tbe European variety that tey m-e cd l; but as it is, it t evident that the whole asesrt Is in the manler of preparti o and It opBer eneouiam'ment to tfio& tho tjompmn of ms ore--toek of frult hem I the .ut, to Styonvr ada what can bedonenl the Tan glas-blowers In the vicialt of Boton are making a prondtab job oat of the gmat frfpthe sauo oc art us relieus. i of operaton is to blow bottles and o i sels Ianto al sorts of shahp,.5smbli th9 5ultloahte.e I heat. while the Inst onnaly niled ne with mlulds, fom ebeap wi y to eastor set ol. Cor are inserted showing every Ilr of Iterning, from a slight scorch in to hf consumption, while the contents to have the app erance of ha remained the intact. Te relles sell reaidiy for On I ocnts upward.