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All her life she regretted that her pride had saddened the last hours of a good man, and robbed herself of so rich an inheritance.

Misfortunes sad must e'er betide,
The foolish votaries of pride.


A certain miller and his son took an ass to town in order to sell it at market.

A man on horseback, meeting them, said : “You are foolish to let the ass walk empty along with neither of you riding on it.” The son immediately mounted the ass and rode. Soon after they met a teamster who called out :

“ You rude young fellow, are you not ashamed to ride whilst your father is walking ?” The son now quickly dismounted and the father rode.

A little farther on a farmer's wife who was carrying a basket of fruit on her head, said : “This is an unmerciful father, seating himself comfortably upon the ass whilst his poor son must wade after him through the mud." Now the son sat behind his father on the ass.

“ Alas! the poor brute,” exclaimed a shepherd, who was watching sheep by the way-side, “it must perish. You are true brute-butchers, that you are."

Now they both alighted from the ass; and the son, greatly mortified, said to his father : “ What shall we do with this ass, that we may please the people whom we must pass ? Shall we hang him across a pole between us, and carry him to market, or shall we drown him in yonder stream?"

But the father said: “Now I see clearly that it is not possible in any thing to please every person ; but that the best way is always to do what is right and then let the fault finders taunt and laugh as much as they



Toe week is past; its latest ray
Is vanished with the closing day;
And 'tis as far beyond our grasp,
Its now departed bours to clasp,
As to recall the moment bright
When first creation sprung to light.
The week is past ! if it has brought
Some beams of sweet and soothing thought,
If it has left some memory dear
Of heavenly raptures wasted here,
It has not winged its flight in vain,
Although it ne'er return again.-BOWRING.


BY C. E. A.

How solemn, how awfully solemn that word, and what a train of sad and lonely thoughts it awakens within the breast. Well might Job, guided only by the faint light of an imperfect dispensation, call him the "King of terrors, ” for surely his approach yes the very thoughts of death, strikes terror and fear into many a heart, for he comes, and none can stay his hand; he aims his dart, and his victim falls. Ah! death is a mighty conqueror; he sways the sceptre of universal dominion, smiting down the king from his throne, as well as the peasant by the way, and lays them side by side, in one common resting place. He is no respecter of persons. Behold him enter the rich man's palace, and lay his icy hand upon their darling child; prayers and tears are alike unheeded, the “grim monster” has marked bim for his victim, and be drops into the grave. Again he enters the poor man's hovel, and takes away the prop and support of a large family; tears and agony cannot bring back the life that is gone; he heeds not the anguish of the desolate ones as they crowd around the form of the departing; death has aiined his blow, the poor man dies. Youth and beauty are no shields against the shafts of death, for he boldly walks the land, scattering his arrows thick and fast on every side. The infant upon the mother's breast struggles in the last agonies of death, and with an apgel's countenance, it fades away and dies. And the proud beauty, clothed in the height of fashion and folly, is suddenly stricken down while engaged in the mazy dance ; her ball-room companions are terrorstricken and afraid ; they cry for help, if perchance her life may be restored; but no, death had pointed his arrow, and his aim was sure. Her soul has gone to the God who gave it, to bear the solemn test. Oh! who that has stood beside the corpse of a dear friend, whom in life they had loved, was not constrained to believe that in death there must be a loneliness beyond deseription ; behold that form, 'tis still the same on which we often gazed with deep affection. And as we stand and gaze on the marble-like corpse, what deep emotions pervade the soul. Death has been there; those once sparkling eyes he has closed in deep sleep; the lips are motionless and still; the sweet voice, that once delighted and cheered our hearts, is now hushed in death ; all is cold and silent, and who can describe the soul's deep emotions, as we follow that friend to the grave, the quiet resting place of the dead, and the place appointed for all the living. The tomb must be a dreary, desolate place. Who can calmly gaze into the open grare without a shudder, without a feeling of sadness and loneliness; and yet this is the place appointed “for all the living.” And is there no light to cheer that dark and dreary abode ? Must our friends lie buried there forever in darkness and in gloom? Ah! no. Hope points to the grave of the departed and speaks in words of tenderness and truth, “They shall rise again.” Only the body lies sleeping there; the spirit has winged its way to the "spirit world." Moreover, weep uo longer, listen to the blessed words contained within the Holy Book, “ I am the resurrection and the life. le that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall be live."

“ We'll meet again, then cease to weep,

Whatever may betide,
Not time, nor death can always keep

The loved ones from our side."


The Boston Journal says that the following epistle was taken by Napoleon from the public records of Rome, when he deprived that city of many valuable manuscripts. It was written at the time and on the spot where Jesus Christ commenced his ministry, by Publius Centullus, Governor of Judea, to the Senate of Rome-Cæsar, Emperor. It was the custom in those days for the Governor to write any event of importance which transpired while he held office

Conscript fathers :—There appeared in these our days a man named Jesus Christ, who is yet living among us, and of the Gentiles is accepted as a prophet of great truth; but his own disciples call him the Son of God. He hath raised the dead, cured all manner of diseases. He is a man of stature, tall and comely, with a very ruddy countenance, such as the beholder may love and fear. His hair is the color of the filbert wben fully ripe, plain to bis ears, whence downward it is most ornet in color, curling and waving about his shoulders ; in the middle of his head is a seam or partition of long hair, after the manner of the Nazarites. His forehead is plain and delicate, his face without spot or wrinkle, beautiful, with a comely red—his nose and mouth are exactly formedbeard the color of his hair, and thick, not of any great height, but forked. In reproving, he is terrible; in admonishing, courteous; in speaking, very modest and wise ; in proportion of body, well shaped. None have ever seen him laugh, but many have seen him weep. A man for bis surpassing beauty, excelling the children of men.


THERE is a history in all men's lives,
Figuring the nature of the times deceased ;
The which observed, a man may prophecy,
With a near aim, of the min chance of things
As yet not come to life, which in their seeds,
And weak beginnings, lie intreasured.



In the April number of the Guardian, we gave the reader a description of “the town of New York" in 1748, which we translated from the German, as found in the travels of Peter Kalm, Professor of Domestic Economy, in the Royal Academy of Aobo in Sweden. We now present from the same source a translation of his description of Philadelphia, where he landed in September of the same year, which we hope will possess a like interest to our readers. It is said of some of the "highest families" in the land, that if they should follow the thread of their descent back far enough, they would find it to end in a wax-end ! So, in like manner, our great and proud cities are found to have had an humble beginning. But in neither case is there anything to be ashamed of; for, as it is no dishonor to us that our great, great grandfather was a shoemaker, so it is no disgrace to a city, that it was once a village. We doubt whether those who reside “in the city” now, are a wbit better than those who lived “in the village” one hundred and eleven years


Before I sailed from London, Messrs. Abraham Spalding, Peter Collinson, Dr. Mitchell and others, gave me letters of introduction to their friends in Philadelphia. Hence I found no difficulty in getting along. Benjamin Franklin, to whom Pennsylvania is so largely indebted for its well-being, and the learned world for his many new discoveries in electricity, was the first one who introduced me here. He gave me very necessary directions, and showed me kindness in many ways.

Philadelphia, the principal town in Pennsylvania, a region which constitutes a part of the formerly so-called New Sweden, is one of the most prominent towns in North America, and, after Boston, the largest. It is situated at a middle point of the English colonies.

This town was first laid out in 1683, or as some say 1682, by the well-known Quaker, William Penn, who received this whole region as a present from King Charles II. of England, after Sweden had relinquished its claims to it. According to Penn's plan, the town was to lie in a point between the rivers Dalaware and Schuylkill, and be two miles long and one mile broad. Thus the east side would have lain on the Delaware and the west side on the Schuylkill. There were actually already houses built on both rivers. For there were staked off eight principal streets, each two miles long, and six cross streets one mile long, which were pretty wide and run in straight lines. The place was at that time for the most part a wilderness, thickly overgrown with wood, and belonged to three Swedes, who were brothers, and who had already made improvements on it. As it was an advantageous location, they were at first very reluctant to leave it. At length, howerer, Penn succeeded in persuading them thereto, by giving them several English miles away from the place, twice as much land. Still afterwards the bounds of their allotment were considerably narrowed down, as well by Penn bimself, as also by his heirs, under the plea that they had appropriated more to themselves than belonged to them.

There were, however, at first not inhabitants enough to build so large a plot. Hence the first scheme, so far as it included the bank of the Schuylkill, was suffered to rest till circumstances should change, and the buildings were erected along the Delaware. This river flows along the eastern side of the town, is of great advantage to its trade, and furnishes a very pleasant prospect in the way of scenery. The houses which were at first built along the Schuylkill have also been transferred to the Delaware shore. The town is thus situated in a very pleasant spot, extending according to the direction of the stream, mostly north and south. It is something more than an English mile in length, and at some places a balf mile in breadth, if not more. The ground is level, without special elevations, composed of sand with a small mixture of clay. Experience bas also proved that the air here is very healthy.

The streets are beautifully regular, spacious, and most of them about fifty English feet wide. Arch street is sixty-six feet, and Market street, or the principal street, on which markets are held, nearly one hundred feet wide. The streets which run north and south, or lengthwise through the town, are seven in number, without counting a small one called Water street, which lies along the river south of the Market. The cross streets at present are eight in number, and run nearly east and west, for they vary a little from the line of the compass. All the streets except the two nearest the river, cross each other at right angles. Some are paved with stone, others are not. This appears also to be less Decessary on account of the sandy nature of the soil, which causes the wet soon to disappear. There is here also the excellent arrangement as is customary in England, namely, that on either side of the street along the houses there is a pavement eight feet wide, and in some cases even wider still, laid with flat stones, on the outside of which posts are ranged along from sixteen to twenty-four feet apart. Over this pavement those pass who walk; and those who ride or drive are required to confine themselves to the middle of the street. The posts protect those who walk, against danger, from any carelessness in those who ride or drive, and from being splashed and soiled by the impurities of the middle of the street. Troughs are fixed under the eaves of the roofs, and the water is carefully led away by spouts. In this way, those who pass along when it rains, or when the snow is melting, are saved the unpleasantness of being evermore dripped upon from the roofs of the houses.

The houses present a good appearance, and are often several stories high, built either of brick or of quarried stone. Still the largest number are of brick, which are moulded outside of the town and burnt exceedingly well. The houses are covered with shingles made of a tree which the Swedes call juniper, but by the English it is called the white cedar. Formerly there was much of it growing in marshy places; but now the old trees of this kind are mostly used up, and yet, up to this time, not the least thing has been done to raise new ones.

This wood is very light, and lasts longer than any other wood in the country, for which reason it is excellent for roofing, since it does not burden the wall, and lasts a whole lifetime. There are however some, who look farther ahead

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