ii is cin il. iis

; iNTED Ts < i t Dove I yet I ‘ ‘ \ ; rhes y 1 4 e¢ ’ ¥ ' , - " = r} I nity Mint ‘| e Il 1? x ive ted 1 i « est a ly ys ) c t ot ¥ « u!} rt] y} I zh yo V v be | Look not s ill If it bean hones sk Do wit! est v \ g OF farm Vi i ever ¥ i 1y O¢« F vi future efforts, boys { es al ns destiny -_—om * ee , . — PAY AS YOU Go.

} » enecial } sete ¢ nr aelin . \¢ Vi 1G Speeinis DeMehy Of OUP Ceinguent subscribers.

A word of good counsel.

We ne'er should forget, Is that which forewarns us To kee p out of debt. For half of Life's burdens, That man overthrows, Who starts out determined

pa sO pay as he goes.

“Tis folly to listen

To those who assert ryry e « ; ty ‘ te That a system of credit

Does good and not hurt.

For many have squandered

Pheir incofhes away, And hearts have been wrecked by A promise to pay.

A man may be honest,

As merchant or friend, In order to have,

Must be willing Is it love, or affection, Or faith they bestow ?

: ieir full value,

y - " « And pay as you go.

LO Sp ! i

He loses the sweetness of life That life can impart,

Who locks up a treasure Of wealth in his heart;

To reap a rich harvest Of pain and regret.

When, too late How great was

. ve aiscoveres

his debt.

No loss like the losing That comes of delay In binding the wounds That are bleeding to-day! For where is the comfort Of tears that are shed On the face of the dying.

The grave of the dead? A word of good counsel We ne‘er should ‘orget; And to keep out of danger Is to keep out of debt! If peace and contentment, And joy you would know, Don't live upon credit,

But pay as you go!

LITERATURE. SURE SEEKER.

A j 4 e stated $s fur * pia A Uap! Fu S wioUsry neat, ga vider 1 indig > which had neo s self-respect. Good taste and a =. s ver { humble abode a sort of g Everything was in its piace; the tiled floor had heen care- fu ished, the faded drapery was unsoil- ed | window was furnished with shert curtains of arse muslin, the

s darns 1 form a kind of t j So pots of common flowers ornam 1 the it of the hal! open win- dow, and perfumed ful od The s rosy slight |

i lling ‘ ‘

i ing, tinging the ek of the young girl, and the white hair

j

he latter was reclinin which the wilh covered with patchwork. Anold did duty as a sto ed feet ; a tittle earthen pipe and tobacco-pouch ed with colored beads.

The old soldier had one of those bronzed and wrinkled faces, whose happiness is tem- pered by an expression of frankness. A gray mustache cheerful smile

hand of affecti furnished wool, and hau ffere lle |, and supported his maim- and his single arm was stand on which

cushions stuffed with coars

were placed his

veiled the

1g in a wicker chair, | ment.

i

‘mbroider- |

‘Come, don’tthink Iam scolding you,” he |

said abruptly, but kindly. ‘Is it not quile

natural that you should feel interested about |

Charles, who is your cousin, and who, one day, I hope-

The young girl started.

‘Well, we won't say any more about that,’ nterrupted the invalid. ‘I always forget that with vou girls we must seem to be}

rar , gnorant of

Let's return to that

what we know

'

more about it, I tell you, and

d-for-nothing fellow for whom friendshin—that is the right word, is it not} —and who feels the same for you.’ Susan shook her head. ‘That is to say, he did so once,’ said she; |

‘but for some time—if you knew how cold how tired he seems of—’

‘Itis so,’ replied Vincent pensively, ‘when

a person has enjoyed exciting amusements,

the simple pleasures of home appear dull;

itis like a glass of homesmade wine after

he is

can easily believe that, my child ; have passed over the same

| liquor. I | most of us ground.’ ‘But they have been cured of their fancies,’ observed Susan, ‘and Charles may be cured of his. Perhaps if you were to speak to him, uncle?’ | The old man shook his head increduouss ly.

‘ These infirmities are not to be cured by words,’ he replied, ‘but by deeds; neither a reasonable man nor a good soldier is pro- duced by accident; but experience, the proof ofexertion, and the baptism of the cannon, | are necessary. Your cousin, do you see, | wants inclination, because he does not feel a motive for exerting himself; we must point out an object which will restore his But this is rather an important business. I will think about it.’

- Now, this time he is really coming,’ | the young girl, who had recognized the hasty

| courage.

cried

| steps of her cousin on the stairs. Then, silence in the ranks,’ said the in-

valid; we must not seem to be thinking of | him; go on with your reading.’

Susan obeyed, but her trembling voice | would easily have betrayed her emotion to an attentive observer. Whilst her eyes followed the printed lines, and her voice pronounced the words mechanically, her ear and her thoughts were wholly devoted to her cousin, who had just opened the door, and placed his hat on the table in the mids

| -dle of the attic. | In order to avoid interrupting the reading, the young man did not speak either to his uncle or cousin, and approaching the win-

| dow he leant upon it, with his arms crossed. Susan continued to read, but without un- derstanding what she said. She was come to that mosaic work of detached and often news, arranged under the Charles, who at first

| contradictory head of ‘ varieties.’ appeared absent, at last paid attention to her reading in spite of himself. girl after accounts of different thefts, fires | and accidents, at last came to the following | paragraph—

‘A poor hawker of Bescancon, named Lefevre, being determined at all risks to make a fortune, conceived the idea

eae Pierre

ofas the land of gold and diamonds. He sold the little he had, reached Bordeaux, and cook's mate in an American Eighteen years elapsed without any At last his parents received a letter announcing his approach- ing return; and informing them that the after inexpressible labors, and unheard-of changes of fortune, was ar- rived in France with one eye and ono hand,

embarked as vessel.

news of Pierre Lefevre.

former hawker,

he attic with their grate- | but owner of a fortune valued at two million

of francs. Charles, who had listened to the

could not repress

story with grrowing attention, an exclamation.

* Two millions!’ he

exclaimed in astonish- ‘That would purchase him a glass eye and an iron hand,’ observed the old soldier ironically ‘ There’s happiness,’ replied the ariisan,

‘eaning On| who had not listened to the refleetion of his

uncle.

‘And which he did not procure on credit,’ added the invalid.

‘Eighteen years of inmexpressible labors

and fatigue,’ repeated Susan, resting on the

|

expressions of the journal. ‘What do they signify when there is a

> . remble r 7 lit ' ie g pi +9? ': ’ * which trembled on his lips, while his steady | fortune at the end? replied Charles, with

gaze was fixed unconsci young girl.

Susan was apparently about twenty years of age. features, which w

yusly

re lighted up and varied and rapid changes in pression. Her gentle c

ed those transparent

by sudden untenance resembl- walters which enable the eye to penetrate to the very bed over which they tlow.

She had a newspaper in her hand, from which she was reading to the invalid; all at once she ceased, and listened altentively.

‘ What is the matter?’ inquired the old man

‘Nothing,’ replied the young girl, whose countenance expressed disappointment,

‘You thought you heard joined the old man.

Charles?’ re-

upon the! yivacity. ‘There is no difficulty either in

| travelling by a bad road or in supporting

their exs|

} |

‘It is true,’ said the young girl, slightly |

coloring ; ‘his work is over, and it is his time for coming home." ‘When he does come cent sadly. Susan opened her lips with the of justifying her cousin, but judgment protested against her

added Vins

home,’ intention

intention, for she stopper ment, and then fell into a revorie

The invalid passed the fIngers of his only hand through his moustache,which he twist~

probably her |

i

1 with apparent embarrass- |

ed impatiently, as he always did when he} | respect the privileges of the stomach in spite

was displeased. ‘Our conscript is undisciplined,’ said he

at length; ‘he returns home with neglected

dress: he leaves his work to frejuent guin- |

gueites and feles beyond the town ; this must | 2 f | “usan, who felt that she wanted to be alone,

end badly both for him and for us.’

‘Don't say so, uncle, it will iJJsluck,’ replied the young girl, with feeling. ‘ | hope the cloud will soon passaway. My cousin has had strange ideas in his head for some time. He has no longer courage to work———’

‘And why not?’

‘ Because, he says, there is nothing to ex- pect from it. jay by nothing for a future time, and thatit is best teenjoy the present without foresight

or hope.’

‘Oh, that is his system, is it,’ rejoined the |

‘Well, he had

old man, frowning. honor of inventing it. ° We regiment who excused marching under pretext that the route was too long, and who remained behind in quar- ters whilst their companions entered Madrid, Berlin, and Vienna. Your* cousin, do you see, does not seem to know that by dint of putting one foot continually before the other, the shortest legs may reach Rome at last.’

‘Oh, if you could make him believe that,’ said Susan, anxiously. ‘I have tried to convert him by telling him how much a geod booksbinder like him could save, but when {name the sum, he shrugs his shoulders, and says that women know nothing about figures.’

‘And then you despair, my peor girl,’ con- tinued Vincent, affectionately; I see that your eyes are often red——'

*Unele, I assure you :

‘And you forget to water your carnations, and have left off singing.’

* Uncle——'

Susan appeared confused, bent her eyes on the ground, and rolled up the eorner of the newspaper. The invalid placed his hand upon her head tenderly.

He thinks the workman can |

has not the| men in our | themselves from |

' bring him |

| |

| | i i j i |

bad weather, to arrive at a favorable termin-

She was ¢ ru tte citi ae <i ‘ . ‘ . She was a brunette, with pleasing | ation, but in advancing without reaching a

5 detinite end.’

And so,' rejoined the young girl, looking timidly at her cousin, ‘and so you really envy the lot of the hawker; you would give the best years of yeur life, one of your eyes,

| one of your hands——'

‘For two millions of money?’ interrupted Charlies. ‘Yes, certainly. You have only to find me a purchaser at this price, Susan, and I will promise you a good sum for jins money.’

The young girl turned away her head with- out further reply; her heart was full, and a tear stood in her eye. Vincent also was silent, Dut he again twisted his mustache angrily.

A long silence ensued ; the three actors in this scene pursued their own train of thought.

The sound of the clock striking eight, re- called Susan from her reflections. She rose and began to prepare the ovening meal.

The supper was a sad and brief one. Charles, who had passed the last part of the day al the guinguelle with his friends, wouid eat nothing, and Susan had lost her appetite. Vincent alone did honor to the repast; for his military habits had accustomed him to

of mental emotions; but he was soon satis- fied, andthen he returned to his cushioned chair near the window’

When she had put everything in order,

took a light, embraced the invalid, and res tired to her own little chamber. Vincent and tae young artisan found themselves fele- a-lele.

The latter was also going to say goods night to his uncle, when the old soldier made a sign to him to shut the door and draw near.

‘[ want to speak to you,’ he said, seri- ously.

Charles, who expected reproaches, stood néar the old man, who pointed to a seat.

* Have you well considered what you were saying just now?’ he said, looking stead- fastly at his nephew. ‘Are you really capa— ble of making a great effort to acquire a for- tune?’

‘I? Do you doubt it, uncle?’ Charles, surprised at the question,

* Well, then, you will consent to be pati- ent, to work without intermission, to change your habits?‘

‘If l can get anything by doing so. why do you ask me?’

‘I am going to tell you,’ said the invalid, opening the drawer of a commode, in which were some old newspapers lent to him by one of the lodgers. He searched for some time among the papers, t@pk out one, opened it, and showed Charles an article marked by his nail.

The young artisan read in a low voice—

‘Steps have been taken by the Spanish Government relative to the stores buried on the banks of the Douro, after the battle of Salamanca. It appears that during this famous retreat a company belonging to the first division, and who were entrusted with the custody of several chests, were separated from the main body, and so surrounded by

replied

But

say no |

you feel a |

The young |

going to India, which he had heard spoken | a

was no longer possible. The commanding | oflicer, seeing that there was no chance of | making a passage through the onemy’s ranks, | took advantage of the night to cause some soldiers in whom he had most confidence to bury the chests ; then satisfied that no one could find them, he commanded his little band tu disperse, in order that each might safe passage Some, in

endeavor to secure his own through the lines of the enemy. fact, succeeded in regaining the main army ; but theoflicer and the men who knew where the chests were buried all perished during l the fight. Now, it is said, that these chests contained the treasure of the enemy, thal fs to say. about three millions of francs.’

Charles stopped, and looked at the old man witb sparkling eyes. ae Did you belong to that company?” said | he. | «1 did,’ replied he.

‘ You knew of the existence of the stores?’

‘T was one of those whom the captain en- trusted with the job, and the only one who escaped the enemy's balls.’

‘Then you could give information to en- able one to find it?’

« Yes, especially since the captain made us take the bearings of two hills end arock. I should know the place again as wellas] know the bed in this room.’

Charles started to his feet.

‘ Well, then, your fortune is made,’ cried he eagerly. ‘ Why don’t yon spesk about it? The French Governmeet would accept

\ j

your proposals.’

‘ Perhaps they would,’ replied Vincent: ‘but it would be useless.’

“Why ft’

‘Spain has refused to give the necessary permission. Look here,’

He held out to the young man another newspaper, which, in fact, announced that with regard to the stores buried by the French in 1812, on tbe borders of the Douro, the demand of the latter for permission to search had been refused by the Government of Madrid.

‘But what need is there of permission?’ cried Charles. ‘ Where is the necessity of attempting officially a search which might be made silently and without observation? Once upon the spot, and the land purchased, who is to prevent its being searched ? Who would suspect the discovery ?’

‘ Could we not tell the secret to some one richer than ourselves, and obtain their as- sistance?’

‘But how shall we induce them to be- lieve us, or prevent them abusing our cons fidence in case they believe what we say? and if by accident we are prevented from succeeding. Suppose it should happen, as in the fable you were reading the other day to your cousin, that at the time of partition the other party would take the lion’s share! We should then have to undergo the uncer- tainty of a law suit, in addition to the fati- | gue of the journey and the hazard of success! What use is it, then, said I to myself. Is the short time which I have yet to live werth so much anxiety; I have a retiring pension of 200 frances, thanks to Susan, that is enough,

|

| with the pension attached to my cross and

ribbon, for my daily ration and tobacco, I care no more for the rest than I should fora troop of Cossacks.’

‘And so you will let the opportunity es- cape?’ exclaimed Charles with feverish animation. ‘ You will refuse riches?’

‘ As regards myself, certainly,’ replied the old man; ‘ but as to you, it is otherwise. 1 observed just now that you were ambitious, that you would give anything to be classed among the millionaires. Well, collect to-~ gether the sum necessary for the journey and I will go with you.’

‘Will you really, uncle ?’

‘Do you earn two thousand francs, on this condition I will give you the treasure, Will that do?’

‘Will thatdo, uncle?’ exclaimed Charles with animstion. Then, recollecting himself, he seemed alarmed.

‘But how shall we get so much money together? I shall never be able to do so.”

‘Work steadily, and bring me regularly your wages every week, and I promise you shall do so.’

‘ Think, uncle, how smali are the savings ofan artisan.’

‘ That is my business,’

«How many years shall we be collecting

|

the money?’

-You offered eighteen just now, and an eye anda hand to borct.’

‘Ah! if I was sure to succeed.’

‘In acquiring a treasure, I swear it shall be so, by the ashes of the Little Corporal.’

This was the oath, par excellence, of the soldier. Charles considered the project as quite serious. Vincent encouraged him anew by repeating that he heid his fortune in his own hands, and the young man went to bed resolved to make every exertion.

But the secret confided to him by his uncle had awakened hopes too magnificent for him to think of sleeping. He passed the night in a kind of fever, calculating the means of gaining most rapidly the sum he required, settling the way in which he should employ his future fortune, and recalling one after another, as if they were realities, all the visions he had raisedin hismind. When Susan came down stairs the next day, he was already gone to his work,

Vincent, who observed the young girl’s astonishment, shook his head and smiled, but said nothing; he had enjoined secrecy to Charles, and intended to observe it himself. He wished to see, in the meantime, whether the young man would persist in his good rosolutions.

The first few months were the most irks some. The young bookbinder had acquired habits which he found a difficulty in break- ing through; regular work was insupport- able to him. It was necessary that he should renounce the fickleness and caprice which had hitherto governed his actions, that he should overcome fatigue and disgust, and resist the solicitations of his old coms panions in dissipation! The task was at first diffleult. Many times did his courage evapors ate—many times was heon the point of re- lapsing into his old follies; butthe important object he had in view, animated him to per- severe, As he placed his weekly salary, which continually increased in the hands of the veteran, he experienced renewed hope, which gave hin fresh courage ; it was a small step towards the goal, but it wasa step tos wards it.

In the meanwhile the effort became less every day. Man resembles a ship whose sails are its passions. Give them to the winds of the world, and he will be carried away by the currents, and dashed upon the rocks ; but let the sails be regulated by good sense, and the navigation will become less dangerous; and when at last the anchor is castin the chosen place, there is nothing more to fear.

It happened thus to the young artizan. In proportion as his life became more regular, his tastes took a new direction, Steady la- bor during the day gave him the sweetest sleep at night; the absence of his noisy coms rades infused a new charm into the society of his unele and cousin. The latter had re~ sumed her friendly familiarity. Occupied only with Vincent and Charles, she turned every occasion of meeting into a fele, for which her affection furnished the funds. Every day there was some fresh surprise,some delightful attention, which strengthened af- fection by the ties of feeling and joy. Charles was astonished to find in his cousin qualities and grace which he had never before remarks ed. She became every day more necessary to him, Without being aware of it his exertions

a large number of the enemy, that resistance

changed their objects ; the hope of the trea-

or oe

sure promised by Vincent was no longer his

sole motive to exertion; in every action of his life he thought of Susan—he wished to de- serve her approbation, to become dear to her. The human soul is a kind of a moral dauger- reotype; surround it with pictures of order, and devotion and of courage—illumine it by the sun of affection, every image will trace itself there, and be imprinted indeliably, The life which Charles led,gradually extinguished his ambitious views. He saw before him happiness more simple and more immediate ; his paradise was no longer a fairy dream of the thousund and one nights, but a small space peopled by attachments which he could surround with bis two arms.

This change, however took place unknown to himself. The young arlizan gave way to his feelings without stopping to consider every wave that advanced or impeded his progress. This transformation, visible to those who lived with him, was not suspected by himself; he did not know that he wsa changed, but only that he was more happy— more tranquil, The only nevelty that he perceived in his sentiments wes his love for Susan; henceforth she was mixed up with all his projects : he could not cantemplate life without her.

This element of happiness, jmtroduced into the future, had modified all the rest. The hope of amassing millions, instead of being the principal object, was now anly one of the means of happiness ; he considered it as an important addition, butmerely as an acces- sory to his hopes, He determined, then, to ascertain whether his love wag returned.

He was walking one day up and down the little attic, while Vincent and ks cousin were talking near the stove. They were speaking of the first master of Charles, who, after thirty years spent in honest labour, had just sold his bookbindiny business, that he might retire into the country with his old wife.

‘There’s a couple who knew how to make their paradise on earth,’ said the old soldier ; ‘always of one mind, always in good humour, always at work.’

‘Yes,’ replied Susan, feelingly ; ‘the rich man may eavy their lot.’

Charles, who was just in front of the young g rl now stopped abruptly.

‘And so you would like your husband to love you, Susan ?’ he said looking at her earnestly.

‘Certainly, if I can,’ replied the young gir! smiling, and slightly colouring.

‘You can,’ replied Charlies eagerly ; ‘and if you will, you have only to say the word.’

‘What word, cousin ?’ stammered Susan, contusedly,

‘ That you will consent to become my wife,’ replied the young workman.

And as he observed the surprise and emos tion of his cousin, he added with respectful tenderness—

‘Don’t agitate yourself, Susan; I have long wished to ask you this question; but I waited for a reason whichis known to my uncle. You see however that [have let out the secret unawares. Now he frank with me; do not conceal your feelings; ouruncie is not listening, and he will correct us if we say Whatis not right.’

The young man had approached his cousin, and was holding one of her hands in his — his voice trembled, and his eyes were moist, Susan her heart beating wilh joy, stood with her eyes cast to the ground, amd the old sols dier looked on with a smile, partly tender, partly arch, on his countenance,

Al last he touched the young girl,and push- ing her gently towards Charles—

‘Come, speak then, puss,’ said he gaily.

‘ Susan, say one word—only one word, | entreat,’ cried the young man who still held the hand of his cousin, ‘ will you take me for your husband ?’

* Fes.*

‘Well done,’ cried Vincent, slapping his knee; ‘it was hard work to get that word out ofher. Give me your hands,my children,and kissme. Tosnightl leave you to your own conversation; to-morrow we will speak of business. .

On the morrow, in fact he tock his nephew aside, announced to himthatthe sum neces- sary for their voyage was complete, and that he might set out for Spain as soon as he pleas~ ed.

Thisnews which ought to have flled Chars les with delight, had a contrary effect. He mustthen leave Susan at the moment they began to interchange mutual confidence, to encounter the chances ofa long, difficult, and uncertain journey, when it would have been so pleasant to remain at home. The young man almost cursed the millions that he was once ready to go sofar toseek. Now that the interest of his life was cnanged, his desire to acquire riches had singularlyvanished. What use then, wassomuch gold to purchase hap- piness, when he had already found it?

However he made no objection to his uncle, and told him he was ready to start.

The old soldier took upon himself the pre- parations ; he went out forthis purpose many successive days, accompanied by Susan. At last he announced to Charles that they had nothing todo butto take their places. The young girlwasabsent. He asked his nephew to go with him to the offlce ; and as his recent fatigues had rendered his wounds painful, he engaged a hackney coach.

Vincent had taken care to provide himself, in one of his excursions, with the newspapers which contained the account ofthe burial of the stores near Duro. When he found him- seifalone with Charles, he put them into his hands, requesting him to see whether they contained any information which might be useful to them.

The young man first read the details with which he was already acquainted, then the refusal of the Spanish Government, and lastly anaccount of some unsuccessful researches undertaken by the merchants of Barcelona. He thought the documents were exhausted, when his eye fell upon a letter bearing the signature of Peter Dufour.

‘Peter Dufour!’ repeated Vincent, ‘ that was a pioneer of the company.’

‘He calls himself so in fact, answered Charles.

‘God bless me! I thought the good man was in the other world. Let us see what he says, for he was in the captain’s cons fidence.’

Instead of replying Charles uttered an exclamation. He had looked through the letter and his countenance changed.

‘ Well, what’s the matter,’ inquired Vin- cent tranquilly.

‘What's the inatter?’ rejoined the young man. ‘If what Defour says is true the journey will be useless.’

‘Why?’

‘Because the chests were not filled with money but with gunpowder !’

Vincent looked at his nephew and burst out laughing.

‘Ah! it was gunpowder,’ hecried, ‘Then that was the reason why, before burying

them, they took some catridges out of them.’

You know it then, interrupted ?’ inters rupted Charles.

‘Yes ; because I saw it.’ replied the old man, good-naturedly.

‘But, then—you have deceived me,’ cri« ed artizan; ‘you could not have believed in the existence of buried millions, and your promise was but a jest.’

‘It was a truth,’ replied the soldier. seri- ously. ‘1 promised you a treasure—you shall have it; but you shall not be obliged to go to Spain for it.’

‘What do you mean ?’

‘You shall soon know.’

The earriage had now stopped before a Shop ; the two travellers alighted and ens tered, Charlas recognized the workshop of his old master ; but it was restored, re-paint-

j

a a ee A cc ae

ed, and re-furnished with all the necessary implements. Charles was going to ask for an explanation, when his eyes fell upon the name of the proprietor engraved in gold lete ters over the counter—-the name was his own, At that moment the door of the little parlour behind the sbop opened ; ha saw a log burn- ing brightly on the hearth, @ repast spread over the table, and Susan, who, with a sinile, made him a sign to enter.

Vincent turned towards him, soizing bis hand—

‘There,’ cried he, ‘is the treasure I pro- mised you: a good trade, which will give you the means of living comfortably, and a good wife, who will make you happy. Every- thing that you see here has been earned by yourself, and belongs to you. Never mind if I have deceived you ; you would not accept the happiness offered to you. Ihave served you as children are served by nurses, who rub the edge of the cup which they reject with honey. Now that you know what hap- piness is, and that you have tasted it, I hope you will no longer refuse it.

A Lavy Ocrwitting Taree Rosezrs.— Some years ago I used to remark a well of very singular construction at the foot of the tower of the Hotel Cassmajar. ‘Isn't there some strange story about that?’ ‘There is,’ was the reply: and he proceeded :--‘ At the close of the last cenluary the house of M’arrin which is now inhabited by a cabinet-maker, wasjthe residence of M. Plateroso, who was the treasurer of the province. He was very wealthy, and had married a wife of great beauty. They entertained magnificently ; invitations to their balls and dinners were eagerly sought by all who had any preten- sion to such distinction ; but in no house was gambling carried to a greater pitch, or more money lest in an afternoon. One night, her husband being from home, Madame de Plan- teroso was suddenly aroused from her sleep by hearing steps in her room, and was hor- rified to see three men standing at her bed- side, masked and armed. One of them said in a disguised voice.

‘Give us the key of the treasure-room.’

‘ Lhaven’t got it,’ she replied with much self-possession.

‘We will try, and if we do not find it we will put you tothe torture,’ |

Upon this, in fear and trembling, she pro- duced the key, which was concealed under the pillow, and gave it to her interrogator, after a short absence he returned saying that he was unable to open the lock, and as she, no doubt, understood the secret of the spring, she should accompany them. There was no avail in refusal, and she promised to unlock the door, provided that they would allow her to dress herself. But they mocked her in- convenient modesty, and dragging her from her bed, hurried her along, shivering with co!d and shame. She opened the door, heaps of gold glittered on the shelves ; and as it fascinated by the blaze of so much ¢eoin, the robbers rushed into the room. Madame Planteroso had recovered her presence of mind, and seeing her advantage instantly closed the door, and called out to the intru~ ders that they would have ample time to count their gains. . Finding themselves trap- ped, as it were, in their own snare, they cried

| out lustily, and instead of the brutal manner

in which they had first treated her, uttered most piteous supplications for deliverance. ‘ Mercy,mercy, madame,’ they cried in chorus we have been Jed to make this rash ettempt that we might repair the heavy losses at play which we have suffered in this house.’ You know us well. [am the Chevalier deae——— here is the Baron——, and the Count de——. If you eannot have mercy on ourselves, take pity on our families. Save our honor which we value more than life. It is true we have been without pity fur you; that will make your generosity more the brighter if you lib- erate us.’ Fora moment she felt touched by the position of persons whom she had re- ceived as friends and guests, and was disposs ed tosave them from dishonor. But casting her eye on her almost uucovered figure, and remembering the coarseness with which they had outraged her modesty, she withdrew and left them to pass the night in such comfort as they might derive from the rouleaux of coveted gold by which they were surround- ed. They were hanged in front of the door of the tower which had been the the scene of theircrime. In order that no one in future should set foot upon the spot that had been thus polluted, a deep well of peculiar cons struction was excavated before the tower.’— Centulle, a tale of Pau.

A lawyer, upon a circuit in Ireland, who was pleading the cause of an infant plaintiff, took the child up in his arms and presented it to the jury, suffused with tears. This had a great effect, until the opposite council asks ed the child what made him cry. ‘ He pinch- ed me !’ answered the little innocent. The whole court was convulsed with laughter.

A Lesson in Adjectives.—‘ Well, my son, you have got into grammar, have you?’ said a proud sire to his thickest chip the otber nigbt. ‘Let me hear you compare some adjectives.’

Chip—All right dad. Little, less, least ; big. bigger, beast; mow, more, most—

Proud Sire—Hold on, sir, that’s not right; you—

Chip—Toe, tore, toast; snow, snore, snout; go, gore, gout; row, roar, rout,

Proud Sire—Stop, I say; those adj—

Chip—Drink, drank, drunk; chink, chank, chunk—

Proud Sire— You What in thunder—

Chip—Good, better, best: wood, wetter, wettest; bad, wusser, worsi; bile, biler, biler-bust; sew, sewer, sup; pew, poor, pup —puch ! oh, gemini, dad! oso O-W!

The outraged parent had broken into the recitation with a bootsjack’

infernal little fool !—

The druggists have just received a supply of Dr. Wheeler's celebrated Chemical food and nutritive tonic, the i, ge Elixir of Phosphates and Calisaya. he preparation has been in use in private practice for fifteen years, and is conlidently recommended to the public as the most elegant and reliable tonic in use for building up constitutions that have fora long time been suffering from ehronic wasting diseases,depending upon poor blood. It perfects nutrition by aiding the digesting and assimilation of food, and thereby builds ing up and vitalizing all the organs and tissues of the body. In diseases peculiar to women, and in delicate children, it supplies a want lung felt by the physician, of a safe and agreeable remedy that may be taken for a protracted pericd without any pessibility of injury, or of becoming repugnant to the pa- tient.. Soldat $1.00.

Dec. 14.—2i

> —- +

Promiscuous.—Mrs. Alice Robinson, of Will- iamston, in the county of Annapolis, and Province of Nova Scotia, deposeth and saith thatin the year 1840, she was fearfully and distressingly afflicted witha combination of of complaints, which altogether rendered her almost entirely helpless, during which time she was treated by one of the ablest phy- sicians residing in the County, and part of the time by two physicians for about a year, and still was not sensible ofany material benetit orrelief. And after a time she was recom- mended to a medicine at that time prepared by Mrs Gates, of Wilmot, which in an in-- credibly short time acted like a charm upon her whole system, and she was entirely cured of all her various difficulties and complainst, and remained, as she considered, a sound and healthy woman for about twenty-five years.

Mrs. Robinson further states, that in the autumn of 1869, she was taken ill, and was under the doctor’s hands all winter, and in thespring ensuing she was taken with a most obstinant and distressiug cough, which the doctor was unable to cure. She was also afflicted with piles and othertroublesome com- plaints. atlength she resolved to apply to Dr. Caleb Gates for assistance and help, and soon found them all yielding to the power and influence of his justly celebrated medicines, and says she is now completely cured of all thos» various difficulties, through the kind- ness of Dr. Gates, and the efficacy of his most excellent medicine.

Mrs. A.ice Rosinson. Sworn to at Williamston, this 9th day of February, A. D. 1872, before me,

Jas. Wurntock, J; P,

A HERO.

Four months ago, Dr. Warren, late Curate of St. Paul’s Church, Halifax, realized the fact that a painful and insiduous disease, which must sooner or later prove fatal, had fastened its deathly fangs upon him—that it might be alleviated but not cured. To spare the feelings of his family, he kept the dire alternative to himself even while feel- ing with each returning light the rapid in- roads of the destroyer, which was sapping his life. Though at this time. no doubt, suffering excruciating agony, no complaint escaped his lips. His daily routine of duties were carefully performed, and a re» quest to aid in any additional labor that cir- cumstances demanded was always received with a emile of ready acquiescence. A fort- night before his death his medieal adviser endeavored to induce him to seek a short rest, but Dr. Warren peremptorily refused. On the last Sabbath he wae alive on earth, though then exhibiting symptoms of weak- ness, heofflciated at the morning services, addressed the Sunday School teache,s in the afternoon, and officiated at the read- ing-desk and in the pulpit in the evening. The Rev. Mr. Hill, Rector of St. Paul’s commenting on his noble conduct. said :— ‘The bravery of Nelson, the hero of Traf- algar, and of Wolfe, the horo of Quebec, must always evoke admiration, but here was heroism which must touch a chord in the human soul beyond even that drawn forth by the actor in the sternest contest in the arena of war.