Newspaper Page Text
VOL. 1.?NO 8. AMD KO HUMAN POWSB SHALL DRIVE US FROM OUR FOSITION." Jackson. WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 31st, 1831. WHOLE NO. 8. TEKMS. . Cooper'# Clarksburg RtUU>r, 1* publl*he<J at fcUrkJbui* Vn.. cvory Wednesdaymorn ng at ?a.OO par aanum I" advance, or al the expiration bf six uosrum from the time o/*ubscribiug j after the termination of ilz month* ?8,SO will invari ably be charged. No subscription received for le?* than fix month*. No paper will be discontin lied, except at the option of the jproprietor, until *11 arrearage* are paid up; and those who do not brdor their paper to bo discontinued at the end of their term of subscription, will be considered a* Usslring to have it continued. ADVurruuntirr* will bo Inserted at ? 1,00 per kqnare of twelve line* for the first three inser tion*, and twouty-five cent* for ouch subsequent Insertion. A liberal diacount on the above rains made to those who advorllse by the year. No ;advertisement counted less thau one square? Tho number of Insertions must be specified or the advertisement will be continued uud charged tor accordingly. Announcement of candidate* for office *2,00. Marriage* and Death* inserted gratis. Ail communication*, to insure attention, must be accompanied by tho author's name and post paid. From the Dubuquo (Iowa) Herald. A FRONTIER SKETCH?THE IN DIAN RUNNER. During the lummer of 18-?, soon after the difficulties with the Winnebago Indi ans had been amicably adjusted by a visit of tho chiefs to Washington, accom panied by Gov. Cass, a Sioux Indian, while hunting near the mouth of Root river, shot and scalped a Winnebago, wbioh he iattompted to justify by saying that the Winnebago bad -wrapped around his person the blanket of an Indian, who a short timo previous had murdered his brother. The Winnebagoes became in dignant at the act, and about two thou sand of them assembled at Fort Craw ford, and demanded the procurement and surrender of tho murderer. Tho officers of the fort, apprehensive that new dif tioulties might arise with this factious tribe if their demands were unattended to, concluded to make an effort to obtain the murderer. Accordingly an officer was despatched to demand him of the Sioux .nation, who immediately gave liim up, and he was brought down the river and . confined at Fort Crawford. Boon after his arrival at the fort, the Winnebagoes assembled again, and insisted upon an unconditional surrender of the prisoner to themi which Col. Taylor refused to make, but despatched Lieutenant R. and Dr. Kluiste, the surgeon of the garrison to have a talk upon the subject. At the conference, the Winnebagoes talked in a threatening and overbearing manner, and insisted that nothing would satisfy them but the taking of the life of the Sioux in their own way, and by themselves. At length Lieut. R. proposed that the Indi an should have a chance for his life in the following manner: Two weeks from that time he was to be led out upon the prairie, and in a lino with him, ten paces off was to be placed upon his right and left each, twelve of the most . expert runners of the Winnebago nation, each armed with a tomahawk and scalp ing knife. This arranged, at tho tap of tho drum the Sioux should be free to start for tho home of his tribe, and tho Winnebagoes free to pursue, capture and scalp him if they could. To this propo niituu tL. winnt>bH0oes accceded at onco, and scorned much pleased with the an . tieipation of great sport, as well as an ea sy conqnest of the prisoner, whose con finement in the garrison, during tho two weeks, they believed, would prostrate whatever running qualities he possessed. Their best runners wero immediately brought in and trained every day in full sight from the fort. Liqut. R., who was something of a sportsman, and who had warmly enlisted in the cause of the Si oux, determined to have his Indian in tho best possible trim. Accordingly, Dr. Eluise took him in charge, prescribing his diet, regulating his hours of repose, and directing the rubbing of bis body with flesh brushes twice a day immediate ly before ho went upon the parade ground to perform his morning and evening trainings. In fact, so carfully was he trained and fitted for the race of life or death, that he was timed upon the parade ground, the fourth day before the race, and performed the astonishing feat of for ty-one miles in the two hours, apparently ^without fatigue. Tho d*y at length arrived. Thou sands of Indians, French, Americans, and others, had assembled to witness the scene. In hot it was regarded as a gala day by all, except the avenger of his brother Sue. Lieut. R., on the part of the prisoner, snd the celebrated war chiefs, War-kon-shutes-kee and Pinetop, on the part of the Winnebagoes, superin tended the arrangement of the parties up on tho ground. The point agreed upon for starting was upon tho prairiei? little to the north of Prairie du Chien, and a few rods from the residence then occupied by Judge Lockwood, while the race track lay along the Sine Mile Prairie stretch ing to the north, and skirting the shore of "the Mississippi. Tho Sioux appeared up on the ground, accompanied by a guard ?t soldiers, who were followed by his twenty.tour antagonists, marching in In dian hie, naked, with the exception of the j v- ??hlw. Their ribs were paint j their breasts were adorn ed with a number of hieroglyphiOal paint ings. Across the facc alternate stripe* of White and blaok were painted in parallel linos extending from the chin to the fore head. The hair was plaited into numerous throngs fringed with bells, and tasseled with a red or white feather, while their mocasina were corded tightly around the ollow of the foot, as well as around the tho r- T'/i* ''aew? of ihc deer. In whilo8tho "ft "?h ca"'edhis tomaha*^. ?contained tVm ? ,asP sheath that nor was about*"1I)'ng-knife. The priso a little less than V' muscular, well pronJtt 'j 1^lt' ?' * sented a wan and haggard appearance, ?a he stood upon the ground, owing part* ly to the rigul discipline Vlic had under* gone in training, and partly to his having painted hia face black, with the figure of a horse shoe in white upon his forehead, whioh denoted that he waa condemned to die, with the privilege of making an ef fort to aave his life by fleetness; around his neck he wore a narrow belt of wam pum,. to whioh waa appended the scalp that he had taken from the Winnebago. Soon after they had formed in a line, Lieut R.t having noticed at the aame time that the countenance of tha Indian pre aented a downcaat and melancholy ap pearance, requeated Dr. Eluiae to come forward, who, afier examining hia pulae, reported that he was muoh exoited, and hia nervea were in a tremulous condition. Lieut. R. immediately took him by the arm and led him out aome diatance in front of the line, where he asked him, through his interpreter if he was afraid to run; to which he replied that he was not afraid to run with any Winnebago on foot, but he was afraid that he could not outrun all the horse? that were mounted by armed Indians. The Lieutenant savr at once the cause of his alarm, and in formed him that they should not interfere. He intended to ride the fleetest horse up on the ground, and koep near him, and as he was well armed, would see that no horseman approached with hostile inten tion. At this announcement the coun tenance of the Indian brightened \ip with a smile ; his whole person seemed lifted from the ground, as ho returned to his position in the line, with a stalwart stride. The chiefs and Lieut. R. soon after this, mounted their horses and took a position directly in the rear of tbo prisoner.? Spectators were removed from the front, when Lieut. R. gave the signal; the blow had scarcely reached the drum, when the prisoner darted from his antagonists, with a bound which placed him beyond the reach of the whirling tomahawk. When the race was under way many of his an tagonists ran with great fleotness for a mile, when the distance between them and the Sioux began to widen rapidly, showing the superior bottom of the lat ter, acquired by the discipline of the white man. At the end of two miles the last of the Winnebagoes withdrew from the chase ; there was not an Indian horse up on the ground that could keep up with him after he had gone the first half mile, and at the end of the fourth mile Lieut R., finding that his steed was much fa tigued, and the prairie free from enemies, reined up. The Indian did not look be hind, or speak as far as he was followed or could be seen, but kept his eye steadi ly fixed upon the flags that had been placed at distances of half a mile apart, in order that he might run upon a straight line. It was soon after reported by the Win nebagoes that he had been shot by one of their boys that had been secreted by order of War-kon-shutes-kee, beneath the bank of the river near tlio upper end of the pralrlc. Tills, lionoycr ptuTed uui tu be true. The boy had shot a Winneba go through mistake, who, liko himself, had been treachqrously secreted for the purpose of intercepting the Sioux, who, a a few years ago was present at a treaty made by Governor Doty with the Sioux nation. He had then but recently acquired the rank of chief. He requested Gov. Do ty to inform him where Lieut. R. and Dr. Eluiso were at that time, and was told that both had died in. Florida. He immedi ately withdrew from the convention, painted his face black, and departed to the woods; nor could no be prevailed upon to como into the convention until he had gone through the usual ceremony of fasting and mourning for the dead. Social Intercouksk.?-We should make it a principle to extend the hand of fellow ship to every man who discharges faith fully hi* duties, and maintains good or der ; who manifests a deep interest in the welfare of general society, whose deport ment is upright and whose mind is intel ligent, without stopping to ascertain whether he swings a hammer or draws a thread. There is nothing so distant from all natural claims as the roluctant, the backward symwathy, the forced smile, the checked conversation, the hesitating compliance the well off are too apt to ma nifest to those a little downrwith whom in comparison of intellect and principles of virtue, they frequently sink into insignifi cance.?Daniel Wtbster. Fikst Gun.?A boy cot his grandfath er's gun and loaded it, Dut was afraid to fire ; he however liked the fun of loading, and so put in another charge, but still was afraid to fire. He kept on charging, but without firing, until he had got six char ges in the olcl piece. His grandmother, j learning his temriety smartly reproved him, and grasping the old continental, discharged it. The recoil was tremen dous ; the old lady on her back promptly struggled to regain her feet, but the boy cried out? " Lay still there are five more charges to go on yet 1" t&r' I say, boy, stop that ox.' ' I havn't got no stopper, sir.' ?Well, head him then.' 'He's already headed, sir.' ? Confound your impertinence?turn him.' ' He's right side out already, sir.' ' Speak to him, you rascal, you.' ' Good morning, Mr. Qj.' Office hunters are Wo heard of a candidate to. ?ng since, who proposed to l*sue - *1 ?iage licenses gratis; hjs opponent said i "would-do likewise, ana throw In ft A New Irish Melody.?Were there not a "Mary" attached to this lovely lit tle ballad, in a late "Dublin Nation," we would bare thought that Moore himself had snatched from the walls of Tara the long neglected harp, and breathed once more the spirit of his genius over its strings. It is a genuine echo, at least, from their old pulsations.?[Eds. Exp. 'Were I But His Own Wife. Were I bat his own wife, to guard and to guide him, ?Tli little of sorrow should fall on my dear; I'd chant my low love-veraea, stealing beside him, So Clint and so tender hla heart would but hear; I'd pull the wild blossoms from valley and high land, And there at hia feet I would lay them all down; I'd sing him the songs of our poor stricken Island, Till his heart was on fire with a love like my own. Thero'a a rose by his dwelling?I'd tend the lone treasure, That he might have flowers when the Summer would come ; There's a harp in his hall?I would wake its sweet measure, For he must hsve music to brighten his home, Were I but his own wife, to guide and to guard him, ?Tis little of sorrow should fall on my dear; For every kind glance my whole life would award him? In sickness I'd soothe and in sadness I'd checr. My heart is a fount welling upward forever? When I think of my true love, by night or by day, That lioart keeps its faith like a fast-flowing river Which gushes forever and sings on its way. I have thoughts full of pcace for his soul to re pose in, Wero I but his own wlfo to win and to woo? Oh 1 sweet if the night of misfortune were closing, To rise like the morning star, darling, on you. For the Register. Ci.abksbvro, Vs. ACROSTIC. I Ijive for Thee. In vain tho moon and twinkling stars Light up the glorious heavens abovo? In vuin wo trace those burning cars? Vain?all is vain! if woman's love Enliven not our lonely hours. Fair scenes mny rise before the sight, Of fields, and groves, and shady bowers, Remove your smiles, and all is right. Then turn and smile?O, smile on mo ! Hear, lady?hoar my earnest prayer? Each aspiration points to thee ; Each hope is fondly centered there. EPUXUI'S. Miss A??*?**?. THE COUNINS. One of the best stories we have lately read, is entitled " The Cousins?a Country Tale." It is from the chaste pen of Miss Mitford, an English authoress of conside rable reputation. The whole is too long for one paper, and it ia a story which it will spoil to divide. The first half of the story, like the bigger portion of the first volume of some of Scott's novels, is merely introductory to what follows. So we will sum up the preparatory part in a few words, ana then give the denouement in Miss Mitford's own beautiful language. Lawyer Molcsworth was a rich landlord in Cranley, the native town of Miss Mit ford. lie had two daughters, to whom his pleasant house owed its chief attrac tion. Agnes was a pretty woman. Jes sie was a pretty girl. The fond father in tended that Jessie should marry a poor relation, one Charles Woodford. Charles had been brought up by his uncle's kind ness, and had recently returned into the family from a great office in London.? Charles was to be the immediate part ner, and eventual successor to the nour ishing business of his benefactor, whose regard seemed fully justified by the ex cellent conduct and remarkable talents of the orphan nephew. Agnes, who secret ly entertained an affection for Charles, was destined by her father for a young baronet, who hlid lately been much at the house. But in affairs of love, ts in all others, says Miss Mitford, man is born to disap pointments. " L'homme propose, et Dieu dispose," is never truer than in the great matter of matrimony. So found poor Mr. Molesworth, who, Jessie having arrived at the age of eighteen, - and Charles at that of two and twenty, offered his pretty daughter and the lucrative partnership to his penniless relation, and was petrified with astonishment and indignation to find the connection very respectfully and firm ly declined. The young man was very much distressed and agitated; be had the highest respect for Miss Jessie, but could not marry her, he loved another ! And then he poured forth 9. confidence as un expected as it was undesired by his in censed patron, who left him in undimin ished wrath and increased perplexity. Thii interview had taken place immedi ately after breakfast, and when the con ference was ended, the provoked father sought his daughters, who, happily un conscious of all that had occurred, were amusing themselves in their splendid ob servatory-i-a scene always as becoming as it is agreeable to youth and beauty.? Jessie was flitting about like a butterfly among the fragrant orange trees and bright j geraniums. Agnes was standing under a superb fuschida that hung over a large marble basin?her form and attitude, her white dress, and the classical arrange ment of her dark hair, giving her the ap pearance of some nymph or naiad, a rare relic of Grecian art. Jessie was prating gaily, as she wandered about, of a con cert she had attended the evening before at the country. "I hate concerts," said the pretty little flirt; " to sit bolt upright on anardbench for four hours, between the same four people, without the possibility of moving or speaking to any body, or any body's ^fitting to us! Oh ! how tiresome it is !" "I 3!W Sir Edmund trying to slide the crowd to reach you," said SHP; 5$ ??? p"-?" I would, perhaps, have mitigated the fevil; but the barricade was too complete; he iwas forced to retreat without accomplish I ing his object.'' " Yes, I assure you he thought it very tiresome; he told me so when we were coming out. And then the music!" pur sued Jessie, "the noise that they called music t Sir Edmund says he likes no music except my guitar, or a flute on the water; and I like none except your play ing on the organ, and singing Handel on a Sunday evening, or Charles Wood ford's reading Milton, and bite of Ham let." " Do you call that music ?" asked Ag nes, laughing. "And yet," continued she, " it is most truly so, with his rieh, Pasta-like voice, and his fine sense of sound; and to you who do not love music for its sake, it is doubtless a pleasure much resembling in kind that of the most brilliant melodies on the noblest of instru ments. I myself have such a gratifica tion in hearing that voice recite the ver ses of Homer or Sophocles in the original Oreek?Charles Woodford's reading is music." " It is a music neither of you are likely to hear again," interrupted Mr. Moles worth, advancing suddenly towards th^T ?" for he has been ungrateful and iWve discharged him." Agnes stood as if petrified. "Un grateful ! oh, father!" " You can't have discharged him, to be sure, papa," said Jessie, always good natured. "Poor Charles! what can he have done?" " Refused your hand, my child," said the angry parent; " refused to be my part ner and son-in-law, and fallen in love with another lady. What have you to say to him now ?" "Why, really, father," replied Jessie, " I am much more obliged to him for re fusing my hand than to you for offering it. I like Charles well for a cousin, but I should not like such a husband at all.? So if this refusal be the worst that has happened, there's no great harm done;" ?and off the gipsey ran, declaring she must put on her habit, for she had prom ised to ride with Sir Edmund and his sis ter and expected them every minute. The father and favorite daughter re mained in the observatory. " The heart is untouched, however," said Mr. Molesworth, looking after her with a smile. " Untouched by Charles Woodford, un doubtedly," replied Agnes; "but has he really refused my sister ?" "Undoubtedly." " And does he love another?" "He says he does, and I believe him." " Is he loved again ?" "That he did not say." " Did he tell the name of the lady ?" " Yes." - Do you know her?" " Yes." " Is she worthy of him?" " Most worthy." " Has he any hope of gaining her af fections ? Oh. hn must 1 he must! what woman could refuse him?" "He is determined not to try. The lady whom he loves is above him in eve ry way, and as much as ho has counter acted my wishes, it is an honorable part of Charles Woodford's conduct, that he intends to leave his aflecions unsuspected by their object. Here ensued a short pause in the dia logue, during which Agnes appear ed trying to occupy herself with col lecting the blossoms of a cape jessamine, and watering a favorite geranium; but it would not do ; the subject was at heart, and she could not force her mind to indif ferent occupations. She returned to her father, who had been anxiously watching her countenance, and resumed the con versation. " Father, perhaps it is hardly maiden ly to avow as much, but although you never have in set words told me your in tentions, I have yet seen and know I can not tell how all that your kind partiality towards me haa designed for your chil dren. You have mistaken me, father, doubly mistaken me, in thinking me fit to fill a splendid place in society ; next, in imagining that I desired such splendour. You meant to give Jessey and the lucra tive partnership to Charles Woodford, and designed me and your large posses sions to your wealthy and titled neigh bor. And with little change of persons these arrangements may still for the most part hold good. Sir Edmund may still be your son-in-law and heir, for he loves Jessey and Jessey loves him.? Charles Woodford may still be your part ner and adopted son, for nothing has changed that need diminish your affec tions or his merit. Marry him to the woman he loves. She must be ambitious indeed, if she be not content with such a destiny. And let me live on with you, dear father, single and unwedded, with no thought but to contribute toyour com fort, and to cheer and brighten your de j clining years. Do not let your too great fondness for me stand in the way of their happiness ! Make me not so odious to | them and myself, dear father. I<et me live always with you and for you, always your own Agnea!" And blushing at the earnestness with which she had spoken, she bent her head over the marble basin, whose waters reflected her fair image, as if she had really been the Grecian atatute to which, while he listened, her fond fath er's fancy had compared her. " Let me live single with you, and marry Charles to whom he lovea." " Have you heard the name of the la dy in question ? Have you formed any guess whom ahe may be f" " Not the slightest. I imagined from what you said, that she was a stranger to me. Have 1 ever seen her T" " You may see her?at least you may see her reflection in the water at this very moment; for he has had the infinite pre sumption, the admirable good taste to fall in love with his cousin Agnes f" "And now mine own sweetest, do you ?till wish to live single with me V " Oh, father, father!" " Or do you desire that I should marry Charles to the woman of his heart ?" " Father, dear father !,i " Choose, my Agnes ! It shall be as you command. Speak freely. Do not cling aronnd me, but speak." " Oh, my dear father! Cannot we all live together ? I cannot leave you. But poor Charles?surely, father, we may all live together 1" And so it was settled. And a very few months proved that love had contrived better for Mr. Molesworth than he had done for himself. Jessey, with her pret tiness, and her title and her fopperies, was the very thing to be vain of?the very thing to visit for a day. But Agnes and the cousin, who, with his noble character and splendid talents, so well deserved her, made the pride and happiness of his home. rFrom the Flower B??ket. "THE GOLD COIN;" The Little Street Be?ar.--A Story of "Happr New Year." by OXOBO* OAK* wo Hill. The following ?tory is a jewel. ^ e ask for it a careful perusal from all our young friends. What can cand.es, cakes, or any other enticement of the confec tionary, do towards giving a calm, happy temperament of mind, when compared with that produced by affording reh^f to a family blasted with poverty, ^oung friends read the story, act out its sugges tions, and Ood will bless you.?Ed. It was the morning of a new year that had just set in, bright, golden, and beau tiful. The snow glittering like jewelled raiment in the cloudless sun. The cl?1" mine of the silvery sounds of the bells struck joyfully upon the listener in every street. The air was cold, though not piercing; bracing, though not biting? fust cold enough, in truth, to infuse lite and elasticity into every one that moved. There was a little girl, a child of pov erty, on that beautiful new year s morn ing, walking the streets with the gay crowds that swept past her. Her litt e feet had grown so numb, encased only thin shoes badly worn, that she could but with difficulty move one before the other. HA cheeks shook at every step she took, and her lips looked truly purnle. Alas, poor Elsie Gray ! She was a beggar . F Just like the old year, was the new year to her. Just like the last year s wants, and the last year's sufferings, were the wants and sufferings of this! The change of the year brought no change in her condition with it. She was poor, her mother was a widow and an invalid, and the child was a poor beggar 1 In the old and cheerles^rflpm gleamed no bright fires of annivsg greens, no wreaths, few old witheredjgnC stained walTir'~""The? merry voices within tin 1 Widow Gray, "A* you, Mrs. Gray." ? nave shut her and her .<abofc? out from happiness that was all th# WoHd s on that festive day of the year. It Hhd provided to all appearances, no joys, no corfgratu lations, no laughter, no gifU, no flowers for them. Wly? Were they outcasts? Had they outraged their claims on the wide world's charities? Had they vol untarily shut themselves out from the sun-light of the living creatures around them ? No! a shame take the world that it must be so answered for them. Mrs. Gray was poor ! Little Elsie stopped at times and brea thed her hot breath upon her blue and benumbed fingers, and stamping her tiny feet in their thin casements with all the force left in them ; and then the big tears stood in her large blue eyes for a moment, and rolled slowly down her purple ?hecks as they would freeze to them. She had left her mother in bed, sick, exhausted, and famishing! What wonder that she cried, even though her tears only dropped on the icy pavement. As well fall there as elsewhere ; the many human hearts that passed her were full as icy and har deShe would have turned back to go home, but she thought again of her poor mother, and went on. though where to go ?he knew not. She was to become a street beggar! Where would street beg gars go '. What ttreets are laid out and named and numbered for them ? Surely, if not home, then where should they go . It was this thought that brought those crystal tears?that started those deep and impressible sobs that choked her infant utterance. , . A young boy?a bright looking little fellow?chanced to meet her as she walk ed und wept and sobbed. He caught the glitter of those tears in the sunshine, and the sight smote his angel heart. He knew not what want and suffering were. He had never known them himself?never once heard of them?knew not even what a real beggar was. He stopped suddenly before Elsie, and asked her the cause of those tears. She could make him no re ply, her heart was too full. ? Has any body hurt you?' asked the feeling little fellow. She shook her head negatireW. < Have you lost your way be persis ^ ^ No.' answered the ehild quite audi-| W^What is the matter, then ?' he asked. ?Mother is poor and sick, aud i am cold and hungry. We hare nothing to eat? Our room is quite cold and ^^indeed^ U no wood for ns. Ob, tou do not know *^^^1 vSvre^ad the manly boy/ !'Where do youlijjr^ ^ ^ 'Yes; let me go with you,' stud he, 'show me the way!' Through street, lane, and alley she C'ded him. They reached the door of ; hovel. The cold breaths of wind whistled in at the cracks and crevices and keyhole before them, as if inviting them in. They entered. A sick woman fee bly raised her head from the pillow, ?--d gave her a sweet smile. ' Elsie, have you come ?' she faintly said. ?Yes, mother,' answered the child; 'and I have brought this boy with me.? I do not know Who he is, but he said he wanted to eome and see where we lived. Did I do wrong to bring him, mother ?' ?No, my chud,' said the mother, ? if he knows how to pity you .from his little heart, but he cannot pity me yet?he is not old enough yet.' The bright-faced, sunny-ntiftbd t?<jy gazed in astonishment upon the mother and child. The scene was new to him. He wondered if that was what they called poverty. His eyes looked sadly upon the wasting mother, but they glittered with wonder when turned towards Elsie.? Suddenly they filled with tears. The want, the woe, the barrenness, the deso lation, were all too much for him. He shuddered at the cold, uncovered floor.? He gazed mournfully in the emptjr fire place. His eyes wandered wonderingly over the naked walls, looking so uninvi tingly and cheerless. Putting his hand in his pocket, he grasped the coin, that his mother had that very morning given him, and drew it forth. * You may have that!' said he, holding it out to the child. ' Oh, you are too good I You are too generous, I fear 1' broke in the mother, as if she ought not to take it from him. ' Mother will give me another if I want,' said he; 'it will do you a'great deal of good, and I know I don't need it. Take it, take, it 1 you shall take it 1' and he was instantly gone. It was a gold coin of the value of five dollars! Mother and child both wept together. Then they talked of the good boy whose heart had opened for them on this year's day. Then they let their fancies run and grow wild as they chose. They looked at the glistening piece. There was bread, clothing, and >fuel in its depth. Thoy continued to gaze upon it. Now they saw within its rim pictures of joy and delight; visions of long rooms all wreathed and decorated with flowers and evergreens ; visions of smiling faces and happy chil- j dren,?of merry sleigh rides and the glis tening of bright runners over the smooth worn snow. They listened; they heard tho mingled sounds of merry voices, and the chiming music bells, the accents of in nocent tongues, and the laugh of gladsome hearts. Ah ! what a philosopher's stone was that coin. How it turned things first into gold, then into happiness 1 How it ?;rouped around them kind and cheerful riends, and filled their ears with kind voi ces ! How it garlanded all the hours of that day with evergreens and full blown roses ! How it spread them a laden table, and crowded it with merry guests,' and those guests, too, all satisfied and happy! 0, what bright rays shone from that tri fling coin of gold. Could it have been as bright in the child's or the man's dark pocket ? No; else it had before then bur ned its very way through, and lent its radiance to others. Could it have shono with such vision in the rich man's hands ? No, else his avarice would have vanished at once, and his heart have overflowed with generosity. No, no, it was only to such as the widow and her child that it wore such a shine, and emitted such brilliant rays, and revealed such sweet and welcome visions. Only for such as tfiey. That night returned the angel boy to the bleak room, then filled with happi ness and lighted with joy ; but he was not alone ; his own mother was with him. Blessed boy. He passed the whole ofj New Year's day in making others happy. And how much happier was he himself. How his little heart warmed and glowed to see the child uncover the basket he had brought with him, and take out, one by one, the gifts that were stowed there.? How oveqoyed was he to see bis mother offer the sick woman work and a new home, and to see the sick woman sudden ly grow very strong, and almost well un der the influence of their kind offers. He wondered if their happiness could possibly be as deep as his own, if their New Years was as bright to them as it was to him. He knew not how any one could be hap pier than he was at that moment. Years have rolled away into the silent past. That little girl?Elsie Gray?is a lady. Not a lady only in name, but one in every deed, in heart, in conduct. She dwells in a sweet suburban cottage and her husband is devoted only to her. The husband is no other than the generoua boy who on the New Year's festival ac costed her so tenderly in the street And went home with her. Iler poor mother sleeps quietly in the church yard; vet she lived to know that God had provided for her child. She died resigned and happy. | Are there coins, either of gold or sil ver, that must be looked away from sight on this day of the new year ? Are there containing within their depths such aweet visions, such happy sights, they must lie under lock and key all this day, lest hap piness and comfort may become too uni versal. Napoleoa's Views of Ckrist. We recently noticed an account giron by one of the pastors in this city in a pub lie discourse of a conversation which pas sed between the Emperor Napoleon after his banishment to St. Helena, and Count de MonthJom. The conversation was published not long since in a foreign journal. It is so well authenticated and so interesting in itself, that we heae present that portion of it which relates to Christ, to our reader* "I know men," said Napoleon, " and I tell you that Jesus is not a man ! The re ligion of Christ is a mystery -which subsists by its force, and proceeds from a mind which is not a human mind. Wo find in it marked individuality; which originated a train of words and actions unknown be fore. Jesus borrowed nothing from our knowledge. He exhibited in himself a perfect example of his prospects. Jesus is not a philosopher, for his proofs are miracles, and from the firat his di?ciples adored him. la fact, learning and philos' ophy are of no use for salvation, and Je? sus came into the world to reveal the mysteries of heaven, and the laws of Spirit. " Alexander, Civser, Oharlemange and myself founded Empires; but on what foundation did we rest the ereation of our ijetiiils? Upon force. Jesus Christ alone totaled his empire upon love; and at this hour millions of men would die for him. "It wtfe not a day or a battle that achiev* ed the triumphs of the Christian religion in the world. No, it wm a long war, a contest for three centuries, begun by the apostles, then continued by the flood of Christian generations. In' this war, all the kings and potentates of the earth were on one side, and on tho other I see do army, but a mysterious force, some men scattered here and then in all parte of the world, and who have no other rallying point than a common faith in the mystery of the cross. "I die before my time, and my body Drill be given back to the earth, to become food for the worms. Such is tbe fate of him who has been called the great Napoleon* What an abyss between my deep misterv and the eternal kingdom of Christ, which is proclaimed, loved and adored, and which is extending over the whole earth, Call you this dying ? Is it not living rath er ? Tho aeath of Christ is the death of God." .Napoleon stopped at the last words, but Gen. Bertrand making no reply, the Em peror added?" If you do not perceive that Jesus Christ is God, then I did wrong to appoint you General.?-..V. r. j:>vn (fdut ? CHANGES IN ANIMALlr The tcndenoy of organised life to put on new characteristics when subjected to new influences, is most happily set forth in tho following extract from the last number of the Methodist Quarterly Re view. The law here alludod to has au important bearing upon the Unity of the Human Ilaco. If tho varieties among men can be accounted for by a law of change now in action, the arguments against tfoe commonly received and Boriptural doe trine on this subject, are deprived of near ly all their force. " The Spaniards, when they discovered this countrv, found none of the domestic animals existing here which wore used in Europe. They were accordingly intro duced, and, escaping and Btraving from their owners, they havo ruu wild in pur forests for several centuries. The result has been tho obliteration of the charac teristics of the domestic animals, and a ro-appcarance of some of the typsJ marks of the wild state, and a generation of new and striking characteristics in accommo dation to these new circumstances, "The wild hog of our forests bears a striking likencns to the wild boar of the old world. The hog of the high moun tains of Paramos bears a striking reseOP blance to the wild boar of France. "In stead of being covered with bristles, how ever, as is the domestic breed from which he sprang, he is covered jrith a thick fur, often crisp, and sometimes an undercut of wool. Instead of being white or spot' ted, they are uniformly block, except in some warmer regions, where the/ art re d, like the young pecaii The a&fctotnicar structure has changed, adapting itself to the new habits of the animal, in an elon gation of the snout, a vaulting of the fore head, a lengthening of the hind leg*, and, in the case of those left on the island of Cubugua. a monstrous elongation of tho toes to half a span. "The ox has undergone the same dfcarr s. In some of the provinces' of flouth merica, a variety has been produced called 'pelones,' having a very rarer and fine fur. In other provinces a variety is Eoduced with an entirety ??ke<f skin, like e dog of Mexico, or of Guinea# In Co lumbia, owing to the immsnsjf site of farms, and other causes, the practice of milking was laid aside, and tl|e result hss been that the secretion of milk in the c</w? is, like the same fnnction in other animal* of this class, only an occasional phenome non, and confined strictly to the period of suckling the ealf. As soon as the calf is removed, the milk ceases to flow, as in the case of other animals. "These same changes have taken j in other animals. The wild do Pampas never barks as the do mal docs, but howls like the wild cat has lost the n plisbmenis of her civilised i gives none of those delectabl* caterwauling that ? -?*? hideous, and call d teners, curses, if not >onset on the whole feline race. of the higher plains of So comes covered with a long, and is of a uniform cbestnut sheep of the Central Cordilleras, if not shorn, produce a thick, matted, woolly fleece, which gradually breaks off into tufts, and leaves underneath a SS caudal v? " The same varittes H ?