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GRASS VALLEY TELEGRAPH.
VOL. 1. THE TELEGRAPH: FCBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY MORNING, BY LILLEY & OJLIVER, Office on Main st., a few doors above Adams <fe Co.’s Express Office. TERMS t For one year, in advance, $7 00 For «ix months ’ 4’oQ For three months, 2,00 Single copies, ’25 ct». 0“ Advertisements at reasonable rates. The following exquisitely beautiful lines ‘originally published in the Sacraimnto Tran script, were the theme of universal commen dation at the time, but not beyond their in trinsic merit. Feeling.” but fortunately ’not “too deep for utterance,” is expressed in every line of this poetical genL.— .Sacra mento Union. Feeling.—bt ci.vcrs. “Thought is deeper than all speech ; Feeling deeper than all thought ; Soul to soul can never teach, What unto itself is taught.—Tns Put. 0 ! could we the bosom’s strange secrets unfold, And freely say all that we feel; What a throng of emotions that may not be told, What our tremulous accents reveal; But feelings lie hid in the heart’s secret caves, Too secret, too deep, to disclose ; Like gems that unseen ’neath the fathomless Waves, In quiet and beauty rspose. Some trace of what passes within may appear, By the treacherous features contest; A drop will gush up to the e..e in a tear, From fountains that weep in the breast; And from the heart's sunshine a ray often mounts. To break on the bps in a smile ; But the warm of that sunshine, the depth of those founts, Are searchless as springs of the Nile. The glittering cavern though gorgeous and vast, (Its mouth by wild thickets o’ergrown.) From the stroller who brushes unconsciously past, Keeps all its bright secrets unknown ; F.ven scat the door of the sjirits deep cell, ire Iciteier Ihoi gl tie; sly trends ; Nor dreams of the glorious wonders that dwell, Behind its dark rampart of weeds ! Full many a word from the lips we love much, (Though no trace of emotion be shown.) Strikes a chord in the bosom that thrill to the touch, With an exquisite deepness of tone ; The heart is a harp of such drlieate mould, No mortal can master its strings ; -Awhile ft breathes music impassioned and held, Then tuneless discordantly rings. The deer that is wounded forsakes the dense herd, In secret to suffer and moan— And the spirit withdraws, when its sorrows ire stir red, To bleed o’er the anguish alone ; But U ! could we speak to some genial heart, And share with another our grief, What sweet consolations might friendship impart, Te give the sad spirit relief. Alas 1 must it e»er be counted a sin, Our innermost thought to hhveil ? Must the vehement feelings that struggle within, Apart from all sympathy dwell? Unseen and in silence the passion stream flows, Whose tides the full bosoms employ— Never sounds in its surgejaour wildcring woes, Nor lips in its ripples our joy. Practice against Theory. A TALE OF WOMAN'S INFLUENCE. [Concluded from our last number.] The comra’ttee member sOon found it was no place for dignity, falsely so called, in this little company. Completely carried away with the enthusiasm around h m. he found h’mself utterly unable to explain the won derful effects produced in so short a time by | such an unobtrusive influence. Many of the i scholars he knew well. He marked one little ' fellow in particular. Everybody knew h : m. Six months before, a wilder. w : ckeder boy could not be found out of Randall's Island. Coarse, vulgar, rude, hated because he was ugly, and ugly because he was hated, he was ostracised from all boys’ society whose par ents hoped for th»ra better things. Now he was neatly dressed, orderly, quiet, subdued in his demeanor, and no one not’ced that, his vo’ce was worse than the others, though it did rise a little h’gher when he became exci ted in singing. There was another close be side him. six months before one of the dullest, laziest boys that ever found it his misfortune to live : stupid blockhead that he was. every idea had been put into h : s head by rule. Now. there sat on that bench no scholar from whose eye a brighter fire shone than from his, Backward, indeed, he was : but amb’tion was aroused. Sora" gentle hand had rolled away the great stone from his sepulchered soul, and it had r’sen to life and to light. Dr. Irving saw all tlrs. and he left the school-room that day a wiser, and, it is to be hoped, a better man. A week after this. Kate Stewart met her visitor at a small parly in the village. He appeared to seek her society with a k ; nd of exclusiveness perceptible to all but herself. In conversation they differed often : but. al though sh* opposed no opinion of h’s. he. strangely enough, almost always yielded to her at once. On th : s evenmg. Kate was in fine spT'ts. Worn upon somewhat bv the weary labors of a school ronm. she was h°ar t;lv reio’ced at the onro~tnn ; ty of °eeking that congen ; al ; ty of soe'ety that would give play to a h’gher class of thoughts and feel ings. In Henry Irving she found a most a greeable compan’on. and she had too much a ? mplic : ty of character not to make much of her chance association with him. It was BY C. S. R. GRASS VALLEY, CALIFORNIA, THURSDAY, OCTOBER 27, 1853. worth while for tche rest of -us to listen when they wore talking, frying Seemed determin ed to shine that evening in the eyes of all. And many believed he was mischievously trying to sound the depth of the poor, guile les. unsuspecting "school ma’am.” tie ran the conversation into history, and She illustrated his points for him hy simple facts as he went on. He quoted the poets, and she prompted him as he missed a word, of modestly reminded him of a parallel pas sage. He led the way into story, and she sk Ifully guided h's imagination into the fields of romance. He spoke of “Di Vernon,” she contrasted with her for preference “Flora Maclvor and “Jeannie Deans.” Thus at every turn she followed his thought, and sought to beautify it as he went on, listening with a noble enthusiasm, and ever putt : ng before h : m new fields to enter. Inadvertently, and inc‘dentally,he flung a sneer at religions feeling, as one who was a scoffer would fling. Kate Stewart was aroused. She had suffered h'm to run on in his own original thinking, hardly uttering a sentiment of her own. But she forgot herself now in the very depths of her theme. And. with flashing eye and glow ing countenance, the fair speaker stood for her faith. It was at th:s moment that onr eyes were turned upon. her. as she was half hid in the recess of the window. Irving, startled and surprised, bent h : s dark eye upon h'd* face in a kind of eager wonder at her pure and hum ble. yet soul storing eloquence. She was re plying to h’m : n a way no one had ever used w.th h'm before. Kate cared not to conquer; she meant to Convince. She was wielding no heavy spear of argument. I ke a weaver's beam : she stood only in the strength of ;n --ner truth hnrPng hm* fine Ittle thoughts wth beaut'ful s'mpl cty. as : f from a mag’c sling. She was not deeply read in the m. ta phys'cal reasonings of th ■ school of sc< pt> cism. She would not bandy argument to and tro if she could. But she told h'm of h ; 's own thoughts—thoughts she knew he possessed. She r< rn’ruled h’m of feelings that came ever and anon over h's darkened m'nd. fl'ttmg brghtlv as a twilight bird, and startling Ji m from h's unbeFef. She pressed these home upon h'm with a power and truthfulness he found perfectly He stood as if spell-bound, and that fa r. sp'r dial creature sent a vo'ce thr lling all through his being : and. even though his reasoning bad been unrefuted, and no efibrt whatever had been made to refute, he began to doubt h's doubting, and agahi he left Kate Stewart's presence a w ser and a belt r man. And yet Kate Stewart was not a professing Chr ,stan. Six months had scarcely passed over her head since first she had snug the new son gin trembling joy and hope. And. as the communion season drew nigh, it was wh s per ,d through the little church of W that on the Sabbath of its ceb-brat on she was te jtoin herself with the people of God. She had now the love of all who kaeW her, and worthy was she of it. De: r friend to us all, I fear not now to speak her praise, for the starlght has for many months lain quiely on her grave by the side of the old church anG she has long since entered into her rest. The relig : ous services of the morning were ended, and the covenant people of God had assembled in the body pews to enjoy theT peculiar comraemorat.ve feast around the mystic table of the Lord. It was a warm afternoon in the early autumn, when the leaves had just begun to change their color. Oh, how beautTul the country is then! The windows of the church had been thrown open, and the pure air was stealing softly among the aisles. The trees waved pleasantly in the breeze that wafted falling leaves over the graves in the bur'al ground. Bird, bee, and insect had hushed their humnrng harmony, rind all was peaceful w'tbout and within. Kate Stewart came forward alone, at the call for candidates for Un : on with the Church, and passed slowly up the broad a sle unfl she stood before the altar. Removing her hat and veil for holy bapt sm. she knelt be fore God, whose vows she was thus to take upon her in the presence of b : s people. Her long ha'r fell back profusely from her pure, transparent forehead, a tear of deep feeling, glistened in her mi id. hazel eye, and the deep glow that rested on her beautiful features lent an unusual loveliness to their expression. She felt her h'art fluttering strangely, when she knew she stood thus be fore the great con regat’on ; but holier, loft ier thoughts can « and the young Christ an forgot all save mat she was in the presence of Heaven, and that eyes, not of sense were gazmg on her from where the heart arid the soul's innermost chambers seem ala ay.* open to view. Her light dress of pure wh.te float ed in the breeze that was silently playing over her. and carelessly dallying with her rings of hair. A being of no earthly essence seemed to have winged ts way down to wor ship God in an earthly temple. Calm and serene, with clasped hands, she received the water-symbol on her forehead, and as the only vo : ce to break the stillnes came the sol emn words, “ In the name of the Father, and Of the Son. and of the Holy Ghost. Amen!” And. as she rose from her kneeling, a sm'le of ineffable brightness told of her spirit's deep joy- As soon as the services were over, the peo ple sought their homes in all that subdued qu'etude that commuiron with God gives to h : s saints. Henry Irving wandered through the yard behind the church, and cl'mblng the wall, was soon out of s'ght in the shadows of a grove that bounded its farther I m'ts. Fol lowing a well-worn path, trod smooth ! n the sward, he soon stoo I o i the border of the wood away from the vdlage. Th : s was h's favor'te walk, when professional cases would p n rm't h : m to wander alone. H; paused on the brow of a steep lull, overlook'ng the val ley of the Connect'cut River, wh'ch wound along in : ts maiesCc beauty before him. Its blue waters flashed in the sunshine, and far down the stream, in a long vista of loveliness. ! the eye caught glimpses of pleasant villages scattered among meadows and? hills. Ihe afternoon was far spent, and the shadows were lengthening before him. and the gaunt gnarled branches of the trees lay Stretched far down the slbpe, like the figtire of some long, coding mousteh The katydid screamed from the boughs over h : s head; and the in sects aiound him joined tbeir voifces to his in that mysterious murnter Of life that makes vocal the thanksgiving of natlire to its Maker. Who has l.stened to the impressive hum of a forest at nightfall without feeing that thus was going up the grand hymn of happy exist ences around him to H.s tar, who loves the song of praise from even the lowest of Lis creatures? Irving had been much excited by the scenes of the afternoon, A new spiritJjad entered his soul, and. I ke Hyper on's.ig was “rest less, and a voice sounded 1 ke the trump of the archangel, and thoughts long bur td came forth from their graves.” Argument he could ha\e answer d ; words he could have met with words; appeals with cav Is; but the S’lent exh.bit on before h m of simple, un affected p tty stole deipir into his heart, and he Mas disturbed in sp rt. He reasoned to h mself of life and immortality—that grand and mystical future, the ocean into w hich the deep and resistless current of his life was fiov ing. He knew he had no anchor for its storms, ho haven beyond it. What if all the asp rations of his opening manhood were granted at Once? He knew there was not a fadeless wreath Among tlum. And he- asked aloud,-Can there be ft realty to ties dtlu s on?” The vo celess image of the fa rl. bowing meekly at the altar, rosfe before h m. and he knew that no delns'dn had ever brought her sens th e nature to so publ C a place for such a purpose: it was a high re solve prompted ly a faith Irgher than bef fear—a love stronger, a trust holtr. And im morn sol long ago. of early 1 te. and youth, and hop-*, ot one who had k nit w.tb h in in the my .-ter ons Presence, and taught b s in fant 1 ps to pra se and pray, stole silently over his soul and waked the strong emotions of h s nature. They tore oft the th.n ve 1 that h id hong before his vision ; and. as he looked earnestly down into bis own individual ty, thus suddenly thrown open to h s honest gaze, he saw the pure eyi s of h s youthful look ng up hopefully and trustfully to him froth : ts depths. He saw, and, lor the t me. hilly recogn sed the ex sti nee oi a h’gh and holy pr'nc pie. of latir year's unknown to h m. but vvh’cli had ruled b s itlrly 1 fe. ere thought and feeling bad been taught to twine around the st’fb trill's of erected convention al ty and Wbrldl'ness. And when Henry Ir ving loft that hallowed spot, as the day fold ed its wings over him and sank broodsugly to rest, he" had knelt before Ins God in r j not yet an experienc d Chr st an. but no'lOn gir an unbelieving scept'c in the Infinite and Et< rnal. Time flowed on, and amid the associations of everyday life Kate Stewart more than once stood face to face with the young phy s c an. Of Ike tastes and sympathies, they j sought each others soe’ety in those many w ays in wh ch one can so ia sily seek, aw ay tfom the rstr ct o*,s of formality and a mu tual respi ct and regai d sprung up between tlufri. It was thus that he kit her influence most powerfully. Hir pur ty and refinement led h m toresp. ct h m.-ilt more, for be felt that vi hen he left lur society he toi k w th h m a port on ot its clear semi ty that made bis soul I ke the 1 fabulous gim glowing in the darkness wnth light inst iled into it wh it- be neath the sunshine. And esp c ally d d be feel her influence us a follow<r of Chr si. She newer pi’eached to h m ; but she livid a sermon, whose argument was too powerful and too subtle for h.m to answer or resist. And not many months elapsed before another communion season brought the proud and intellectual Irving to sit lowly and humbly at the symi ol c v o i from b s infidel ty by the calm and quiet influence of a young Chr st an. whose Ik art the Father had touch ed with no unhallowed ore. And th.s was not alb When the spring came, its early flowers wt re gathered for a I br.dal wreath, to be twined around the brow jof our lovely Kate. The cyn c poet, V.dal, ■ quoted w ith so much sp.rit, had lost One ot | his disc.pies. Henry Irving found he needed j a home-influence, potent as that wb eb had ; brightened his Me in early years. A noble pa r were they as they stood before the alter in the village church, on that early spr.ng morning. Perhaps sad sp rts were thtre. i for where two hearts are gladden d on the marriage morning many more are often made 1 sorrowful. Ties that years have strength ened are to be in a measure sundered, and life seems to stretch oat longer and more weari ly than ever before, as its great duties loom up in the distance* But not a tear fell on the morn of Kate Stevvfttt’s br.dal. She was to be joined with one worthy of herself, and glad happy faces looked joyously on. But when the words were said that tr - them one, and co.igratulat ons were em d* md the Villa gers had dispersed to the i monies, the young 1 bride took her husband’s arm as he led h-r through the churchyard, along th< path in the grove, unt.l th.-y stood together on the b it !by the river. They chose a seat on a bank of hallowed to Henry Irving by the memory of his first prayer tht re. and looked in silence for a little tim e on the scene before them. The spring had just burst forth and a thousand glad songsters over the r heads tol 'of love joyous as was theirs. The dark p nc leedles were strangely r ch on the trees, 1 he i brought in contrast with the early yel lo . leaves of the beeches. A thousand va ried colors were scattered over the thick clus ters of blossoms sparkl’ng in the morning dew. The river rolled majesfcally on. flash -1 ing in the sunshine, and singing its heavy ba«s to the song of life and joy that was rising , from every side. “Here on this spot, my Kate.” sa’d the , young man, “was my first near view of the mysterious God we have loth professed to love. Here, won by the quiet influer.ce of a young g rl, who has th s morning promised to gladden my manhood and sustain my age even as I havefefceived her happy heart, with the care ever to lighten its sorrow and dissi pate its shadows, I renounced my deef) infi delity; Two years ago I was a blind wander er, with no chart nor compass. Life was all dark; You havte given me light, lift, and hope; Every fool sh. though cherished opln on of mine, in youfown quiet way, you have completely overthrown.” “Then you trill grant now, Henry.” Re plied h s companion, with that kind of arch and provoking look that women, from Eve to Victoria, always put on when they teel they have gained a victory over scoffing man kind—“you will grant, will you. that there can be good done outside of the kitchen and nursery by women?” “Yes. indeed!” he replied. “And could your sex, emulating yourself, my Kate, qui etly and legitimately exercise that influence, then should we all, whatever nrght be our Thtor es. belie them, as you plainly see I have, by our Practice.” From the New Orleans FeUa. THE HAPPY-UNHAPPY COUPLE. We may be wrong, but somehow or other, when we hear a married couple “mydear ing” and “ my loving” each other in socie ty. we cannot help thinking they lead a cat and dog-l.fe of it at home. We have had this demonstration so often, that it appears like a fixed fact in our m ud. But whether this ho neymoon style oi address be genuine or af fected. we disfke to hear it very ranch. Terms of such warm endearment should be kept lor the closet. There is enough Of the animal to make t ai cut as disgusting and indecent as the parading of br dal chathbcrs on steam boats and hbttls; and we look upon the lat ter as the very arme of indebcaCy. Tin re were Mr. and Mrs. Stubbs that we had the nfelie ty of knowing some years ago. A couple of tnore loving people in company never existed. Th< y were billingand cooing all the time. Mr. S. appeared so kind and altent ve that he seemed as though he could not let the winds of heaven blow upon her ever so gently. “ Leonora, my dOvey, don’t sit near the window in the draft ; 1 know It will take cold, and ton whnt ill poor Lnbl y do?” Then she repl’e.; danger. Lul ly dear, and the fres' t. ■ o delightful:” “ Well. then, let Lobby put tb s haiiclketchief round your neck.” “Thank ybu. love.” “ Darling Leonora, y j know you rilust take care of yourself ter Lobby’s Sake : for what he this glittering wo>- ■ but a dismal tomb without you. K : f me, dear ’ Many such scenes as these have we wh .es sed between th’s happy couple. We were young then, and ti-fe thought it real aid li ed to tlTnk. when it became oui • rn to r the bauds of rtlatr’mony, if we should be as happy as Mr. and Mrs. Stubbs appeared to be. We have been father rudely wakened from the dfeam of Out* youth, and have long since discovered that Mr. and Mrs. Stubbs were a couple of hypocrites, who assumed, with their party dress, the garb in which we have en deavored to portray them. We were very ranch shocked the first fine we discovered the true condition of things between Mr. and Mrs. S. We had been in the habit of calling in upon the S.’s 9(i?iS ctr> monici One day, after stroll ng round the garden, We went into the house, and meefng no one. walked into the parlor and took cruf seat, to look over the an uuals. wh ch lay upon the centre table; We bad scarcely keen seated a moment, when we were startled by a loud and angry alterca ton in the next mem. the vo’et-s sounded vtry much like those under the government of Mr. and Mrs. Stubbs, but that seemed so mpossil.le that we felt inclined to doubt the ev donees of onr senses, until names were given, wh ch no longer left room to doubt. “ 1 don’t care what you say. Mr; Stubbs, if I can’t appear as other lad : es do in company. I will not go out at all. I have not a single dress tit to wear.” “ Mrs. S.. you must put an end to your ex travagance. It is not a month ago since you ru u me to a great expense for three new dress es. and now you want another. You cannot have one madam.” “ But I will.” “ But yon shall not. rriadam.” “ But I say I will; and *hen I say it, I mean it.” “ You shan't.” “I will.” “111 be d—d if I pay for it. Y'ou ought to be ashamed—a married woman with two chTdren, no longer young, and whose beauty is on the go.” An hyster’c scream followed the cruel speech of the irrate Stubls, which so startled ns that we kt fall the book we had in our hand. The no’sc of the 1 ook falkng. and onr starfng up, appr’sod them that they had been heard. There was a loud whisper from one of the party. “ There, now. w’e've a pretty expose : the story w 11 be told all about, and we shall be the laughing stock of onr acquaintance.” “ Well, my darling, why did you not say ton wi re only joking in refusmg me the gown, and making bel eve that you were an gry w’tii roor LeOnofa.” “ I thought. toy angel. you knew me well enough to know I should refuse yoti nothing in earnest.” We had just got outs'de the parlor door in the hall, when we heard the door wh : ch com mnn’eated w r th the sitting room and parlor open, and a footstep like Stubbs’ enter the latter. “ There ; s nobody here, madam !’ “ Well. 1 did’nt say th< re was 1” “ Indeed : vvell. now madam, I want to tell you plamly, d’sfrctly and emphafcally, that 111 be d—d if I pay for a new gown!” Such is the life of happy-unhappy couples. True affoct'on. devoted to a single object, is bm : d and rearing. It never seeks to display ■tself •• before folkand when we see a too open display, we always think it is a simula tion, and treat it as a cheat. “ Talkiko of Hats.” sa : d our friend, “ re minds me of a good repartee made by Prof. of Yale College. One day when he was hearing our class, some rough cub of a student wtote the word ‘ hog’ on a card, and sipped it in his hat. When the professor stepped down from the tutor’s desk, and he always stepped very quickly, and snatched up hife hat, and was hurrying out, when the card caught hie eye. He glanced hastily at it. jerked it out as quick as thought, and holding it up, said in his short, keen-aa a-bri ar way— *• Gentlemen, gentlebien. one of you has left his card in my hat.” Then depositing it on the table, the spry little man stepped out. Then there was my little friend John Trum bull, of Sharpstown, the most logical reason er in our part of the country. Clear aa a sunbeam in h ; s perceptions, he never failed to exhaust all the hypothesis of which a subject would admit. I'll give you a name in an in stance of this. He had written his name in the crown of his hat in letters thus: ** John Trumbull, Lawyer. Sharpstown, Pa.” One night some young fellows, who had got corn ed. took his hat, which was a large one, and shifted his name into one of much smaller di mensions.—John came out into the entry, in that boozy state w hen a man is the most grave. He looked for his hat, and reading the Card allowed, tried to steady the beaver on his head. Put it wouldn’t go on. THk* ing it betweeh his. bands, he f-ead out again the name : “ John thiinbull. lawyer, Sharps town, Pa.; I new I was right.” Another in effectual attempt to smash if Ou.—“ There’s a mistake, somewhere.” He looked puzzled; A sudden idea seemed to strke h r m. “ Ben,” sa ; d he, “come here, look at tb s man, and tell me whether he’s John Trumbull, lawyer, Sharpstown. Pa.” The answer was affirma tive. “ All right,” said John, as be gave another tug at the hat, lut it wouldn’t go on yet, “Well Ben,” said the bewildered Ibgi* c : an. if that’s my hat, and this me. I’m busi ed if my head isn’t terribly swelled.” ONE HAPPY HEAIiT. Have you made one. happy b ars day? Envied pfhfihge How calmly you can seeV your pillow •• sweetly steep] I* all this world t ■■■■>th>cg so sweet as giting comfr /stressed, ss getting a sun ray : y heart. Children of sorrow trier . cveltwe turn, there is no momer the ' ' and eight’ tutor*' Ye *Ue sighs are eaffsca vj oui . <fc u ;ntle»acM ! How many s daughter wrings the very soul of a fond mo ther by acts of unkH 1 ;c , ; aod i’gratitude, xiow many uusoanos, by one mtle word; make a whole day of sad hours and unkind thoughts! How many wives, by angry recri minations. estrange and embitter loving hearts! How many brothers and sisters meet but to vex and injure each other, making wounds that no human heart can heal! Ah ! if each one worked upon this maxim day by day— l, to make sortie happy”—jealousy, re venge. madness, hate, with their kindred evil asSoc : ates would forever leave the earth. Our minds would be so occupied in the contem plation of adding to the pleasures of others, that there would be no room for the ugly fiends of discord. Try it, ye discontented, forever grumbling devotees to sorrow, self caused ; it will make that little part of the world in which you move as fair as Eden. Bright Hours and Gloomy.— Ah! this beautiful world. Indeed I know not what to think of it. Somefmes it 5# all grandness and sunshine, and heaven itself lies not far off. And then it changes suddenly, and id dark and sorrowful, and clouds sbrtt out the sky. In the lives of the saddest of us, there are bright days like this, when we feel as if we could take the great w orld in our arms. Then come the gloomy hours, w hen the fire will neither burn in our hearts nor on our hearths; and all without and within is dis mal cold and dark. Believe me every heart has its secret sorrow, wh ch the world knows not. and oftentimes we call a man cold when fee is only sad.—long fellow. THE TOMB OF MR. WfiBSTER. A marhle block has been placed in front of Mr. Webster’s tomb at Marshfield—-s'mlar to those wh'ch he erected to the memory of hit# wife, son and daughters—which bears the fol lowing inscription:— Daniel Webster, Born Jan. 18, 1782, Died Oct. 24. 1852. Lord, t believe; help thou my imb^llef^ Philosophical argument, especially that drawn from the fastness of the Universe, in comparison w th the apparent inaignit.cance of this globe, has solattimes shaken my rea son for the faith which is in me: but my heart has always assured and re-assured me that the gospel of Jesus Christ must be a di vine reality. Ihe Sermon on the Mount can not be a merely human produefon. This be lief enters into the very depth of my con science. The whole history ol man proves it.> , Daniel Webster.- A Bi.ce Bose. —The horfcultur'sts of Pa ris, says a correspondent of the AVte Yerk Express, have succeeded, by artificial cros sings, in obtaining a natural rose of a blue •color, wh'ch is the fourth color obtained by artificial means—that and the yellow or tea rose, the black or purple rose, and the strip ed rose, being all invent ons, and the mull of skillful and scientific gardening. The Melbourne nugget has been mol* ted, and sold for $26,000. NO, 6.