MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER 
MONUMENT TO A. J. DOWNING, 
sound of a torrent carne up from below, the shout¬ 
ing of men, the barking of dogs, ami we fanciel 
the voices of children mixed with the sounds of 
village life. We passed on and presently the 
clouds parted, letting in a gleam of sunshine. It 
was a good omen. In a little while the air became 
clear, and the clouds rolled high in the heavens, 
disclosing au unfenced country, of valley and 
mountain, covered with heather and coarse grass, 
on which were feeding immense flocks of sheep, 
attended by shepherds. 
The Lone Cottage. 
Westopped for dinner at a stone cottage, stand¬ 
ing in a lonely valley. There were no trees round 
about, or cultivated Helds. Down the mountain 
sides ran flashing torrents, leaping from rock to 
rock, and filling all the valley with their noisy bab¬ 
bling. As we approached the cottage three shep¬ 
herd dogs came bounding out, and announced our 
coming by tbeir unanimous barking. The cottage 
and out-buildings stood close together, and were 
entirely of stone. Some of the walls were three 
feet thick. The people were simple and eyed us 
with considerable curiosity. They could notspeak 
English with the exception of one girl, and she 
was barely able to comprehend onr questions con¬ 
cerning the eatables. They set before us half of a 
huge cheese, and an enormous loaf of bread with 
milk and butter. We ate onr meal in the Bame 
room the family commonly occupied. The fire¬ 
place, in the middle of which burned a peat Bre, 
urns at least ten feet wide. The floor was stone, 
and round the sides of the room stood shelves and 
various articles of fui nitnre, and I noticed an oaken 
cupboard with the date 1709, marked on it with 
brass Uftils. From the ceiling and walls hung in¬ 
numerable articles of household use, and the two 
halves of a hog made into bacon. We sat down by 
the Are, and E-fell quite asleep on a bench. 
Bala. 
The day began in storm, but ended with one of 
the most gorgeous sunsets I ever witoessed. A 
faint white vapor floated in the atmosphere, which 
grew red and purple in the horizontal rays. In the 
west hung a few rough black clouds, belted us with 
chains of fixed lightning. Before ns was the lake 
of Bala, with the village at its foot, and a fertile, 
highly cultivated valley, prolu.sely adorned with 
shade trees aud hedges, lay in the Jap of the 
mountains. At the head of the lake, Cader Idris 
thrust up his blue head among a group of giants. 
We entered the village, aud as it was Saturday 
evening, made our preparations to remain till 
Monday. We saw many women in the peculiar 
Welsh costume, and the men commonly wore tight 
leggins. A towu crier rang his bell in the middle 
of the street, and addressed the people in Welsh. 
Bala is oue of the prettiest villages, valleys, and 
lakes in Wales, yet I believe many tourists pass by 
it without notice, a gentleman at Maentwrog rep¬ 
resented it as a very dull place, and it is commonly 
slightly mentioned in guide books. But taken 
with its silvery lake, from which flows the river 
Dee, the long mountain slopes, dotted with cot¬ 
tages and trees that reach upward from its shores, 
the valley at the foot, where it seems as if the 
beauty and luxuriance which are wanting on the 
mountains that look down upon it is concentrated, 
and the village with its low stotie cottages, and in 
the larger buildings the frequent overhanging up¬ 
per stories, inveBt it with a high degree of interest 
which, perhaps, was the more charming to us from 
its being entirely unexpected. I went to the 
parish church, which stands about a mile from the 
village on the bank of the lake, and heard a ser¬ 
mon pronounced in Welsh. The church was in¬ 
teresting to me. It is built of rough stone, and 
has a slate roof. A bell hangs in the open air, 
over one end. The floor is stone, and upon each 
side of the aisle, through the middle, are the 
quaint oaken pews. It i3 over-shadowed with fir 
trees, and the green yard, is thickly strewn with 
the “ mossy marbles.” 
Upon the Western Front is this inscription: 
I dim!) tin? hill from etui to end, 
Of nil the landscape underneath 
I find no pi are th»t does not breathe 
Some gracious memory of my friend. 
' Tis held that sorrow makes ns wise. 
Yet how much wisdom sleeps with thee. 
Which not alone had guided me, 
But served the seasons That may rise. 
And doubtless unto time is given, 
A life that bears immortal fruit, 
In sudi ^reat offices as snit 
The full grown energies of Heaven, 
And love will last as pure and whole 
As when he loved me hero in time, 
Aud at the spiritual prime 
Re-awakeu with the dawning soul. 
On the Base of the Pedestal i3 the following: 
THIS MEMORIAL 
Was erectei! under a resolution passed at Philadelphia, 
in Sept., by the 
AMERICAN POMOLOQICAL SOCIETY, 
of which Mr. Downing w>m one of the 
original founders. 
Marshall P. Wither, President. 
The whole monument with its granite plinth is 
nine feet four inches in height, and cost $1,600. 
When the sad tidings of the death of Andrew 
Jackson Downino were announced, many hearts 
were stricken, and many countenances saddened. 
Every lover of rural life and rural taste felt that a 
friend, a brother, and a leader had fallen. The 
homes of htmdreds, from the foundation stone to 
the gable point, spoke of the departed—even the 
trees and flowers of the garden, told a tale of sad¬ 
ness. The furniture in our parlors, the books in 
onr libraries, spoke too plainly to our wounded 
hearts of the loved and lost. Scarcely a city or 
village in our country but presented some monu¬ 
ment of his skill and taste, something to remind 
the people how great and irreparable was their 
loss—cottages whose simple, yet elegant. adorning3 
taught how truly taste may,Ire independent of 
wealth; windows templing the eye from loveliness 
within, to the glorious prospect without; stately 
trees that seemed to guard like sentinels the sacred 
precincts of home, aud village churches whose 
walls and spires spoke of religion to the heart. 
It was at once proposed, in all parts of the coun¬ 
try, by Horticultural and other Societies, that some 
Baitable monument should be erected, to the 
memory of Mr. Downing, and in 1852, the Ameri¬ 
can Pomologiral Society, appointed a committee 
to superintend this work. The design adopted by 
this committee was furnished by Calvert Vaux, 
of Newburgh, X. Y., the late partner of Mr. Down¬ 
ing, and the work executed by Robert Bauxite, 
au eminent sculptor, of New York. The monu¬ 
ment was erected in the grooruls of the Smithson¬ 
ian Institute, at Washington, and it is worthy of 
remark, that Mr. Downing was engaged in laying 
out aud beautifying these grounds at the time of 
his death. The Committee made their final re¬ 
port at the Pomological meeting in September last. 
The funds were supplied by friends of Mr. Down¬ 
ing in Philadelphia, Newburgh, Boston, Washing¬ 
ton, Louisville, Buffalo aud Rochester. 
[Entered according to Act ot Congress, in the year IS.07, by 
1). 1) T Moose, in the Clerk's Office of the District 
Court lor the Northern District of New York.J 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
HYMN OF THE DEPENDENT. 
BY W. E. KNOWLES. 
0, learn, my brother, from the past. 
And not distrust a Providence,— 
That grace that guides us to the last, 
Above the things of time and Bense. 
Our times and lives are in His hand. 
Oar all in subject to His will; 
And this dependence is the band 
That binds as closer to Him still. 
We Bpread our empty hands to Him, 
And gather in the gilts of bread ; 
And as we eat nur eyes are dim 
With tears of joy that, we are fed. 
And thus are all our wants supplied, 
With what the raveu blessings bring ; 
While some small brook is never dried 
That Bows from the perennial spring. 
0 God I our stay in life and death I 
Increase our confidence in Thee ; 
And though the way is dark, our faith 
Is stronger that we cannot Bee. 
And thus assured, we kneel in prayer, 
To offer np our heartfelt praise. 
That Thine especial love aud care 
Have blessed and guided all our ways. 
BY GLEZEN F. WILCOX. 
The father of Gustavos Vasa and mauy of his 
friends and kinsman had fallen iu a massacre. His 
mother, aud several of the most illustrious ladies, 
were carried prisoned s to Copenhagen, and treated 
with every indignity. On hia own head a high 
price was set, and he was safe nowhere. He tied 
into Delecarlia, a wild region of mines and moun¬ 
tains, inhabited by the most daring and indepen¬ 
dent race of Sweden. He Loped to rouse them to 
the rescue of their country: hut that great bloody 
deed, and Christian's spies everywhere, had thor¬ 
oughly unmanned even these hardy men. On his 
journey, his servant made off with his clothes and 
effects, and Gustavus pursued him till his horse fell 
under him—but, in vain. Once more disguised as 
a peasant, he went, cm through sterile mountains, 
unpeopled heaths and forests, till he reached Fah- 
lun, with its blazing fires, rolling smoke and sooty 
coppcrworks. Here he labored for some time in 
the mines; but his uneasy mind drove him on 
again. He engaged as a thresher at a farm; but 
there the fineness of his linen and his manners did 
not escape a sharp-eyed maid. The master, in¬ 
formed of this, soon recognized Gustavus as a fel¬ 
low-student at Upsulu, and, tilled with terror, en¬ 
treated him to plunge deeper into the mountains, 
and leave him and bis family in safety. He next 
betook himself to the castle of a nobleman, who 
received birn most affectionately, making himself 
most sure of the offered reward. lie mounted and 
rode off to the next military station, and was soon 
back again with twenty troopers. But the bird was 
flown, through a hint from the more noble wife, 
who furnished him with a horse and sledge for his 
escape. He sought refuge at the door of a monas¬ 
tery founded by bis ancestors, but the monks shut 
the door in his face. His next asylum was with 
a worthy clergyman; but here the Philistines were 
upon him again, for the Danish $pldiery were hunt¬ 
ing everywhere. Ho was again rescued by the 
presence of mind of the lady, who, on the entrance 
ol the troopers into the house, where Gustavus was 
sitting with the other farm men, she gave him a 
cuff' on the ear, and sent him off on pretence of 
some neglected errand. His host then concealed 
him under a load of straw, and drove him to¬ 
wards a place of security; but the soldiers met 
them on the way, examined the load of straw, ran 
their swords through it in various directions, and 
at oue pass pierced the leg of Gustavus. He bore 
the wound without stirring, and was saved; but the 
blood soou running through the cart and leaving a 
track on the snow, Ids ingenious host cut a wound 
iu his horse’s foot, and when the bloody track was 
remarked, showed that as the cause. Through 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker 
IMMORTALITY. 
The valley is a favorite with literary men, and the 
scene of Southey's Madoc, is principally laid in 
the parish, 
The village is one of the oldest in Wales, and its 
church is said to be the most elevated in Snow¬ 
donia. The arched bridge across the Calwyn is 
very ancient, aud the grec-n ivy. mantling the rough 
stones, adds to its pictureaqueness. The buildings 
are mostly low stone cottages with slate roofs, and 
extremely thick walls. It is a very characteristic 
Welsh village. Prince Llewellyn lived in it, and 
over the little bookstore there is a sigu informing 
us that the building is hia supposed residence. It 
stands near the river, and though somewhat larger 
than the other cottages, was a very humble resi¬ 
dence for a prince. Here Llkwellyn slew his 
faithful hound. This affecting story is celebrated 
in prose and verse, but to every reader it may not 
be familiar. 
Prince Llewellyn possessed a noble hound 
named Gelert, which had been presented to him 
by bis father-in-law, the King of England. One 
day he went iuto the neighboring forest to hunt, 
leaving the hound to take enro of his cottage, and 
protect his infant son. When he returned he found 
the furniture of the room iu disorder, the cradle 
over-turned, his child out of sight, and the dog 
covered with blood. The thought instantly flashed 
into his mind that the hound had killed his child, 
and without stopping to reflect, iu his madness he 
plunged his sword into the breast ol Gelert who 
stood by looking calmly into his face, as if expect¬ 
ing praises and caresses instead of a blow. Ho 
then raised the cradle, aud to his astonishment and 
delight, found his son .ilivo and uninjured, lying 
on the body of a powerful wolf, which when it 
had entered the cottage for the purpose of devour¬ 
ing his child, the bound had attacked and slain.— 
But his joy was mingled with sorrow. The noble 
Gelert lay dying on the floor, and concious that 
his faithfuloess was now known, he crawled to his 
master, and gazing into his face with looks of 
Joy and forgiveness, expired at his feet Prince 
Llewellyn buried him. He could do no more, 
and out iu a grassy meadow, under a clump of 
bushes, that is surrounded by a railing, stand three 
rough grey stones which mark his tomb. The 
name of the village is derived from the circum¬ 
stance and signifies, Gelert's grave, 
Welsh Scenery. 
In the afternoon the rain slackened a little, com¬ 
ing down only at intervals, so we decided to try 
the road again, and go to the next village, which 
was ten miles distant. We crossed the ivy-grown 
bridge, stopping a moment to look into the clear 
waters, went by Gelert’s grave in the meadow, and 
entered the pass of Pont Aborglaslyn. The pass 
is merely wide enough for tho river Glaslyn, and 
After 
Aside from the light, that shines from the page 
of Revelation, how impenetrable the darkness that 
rests upon the subject of Man’s Immortality, The 
question of a future existence, has been one of 
surpassing interest, with all reflecting minds, from 
the very beginning of the human race. With mil¬ 
lions, this interest has been all-absorbing. So in¬ 
timate is the perceived connection, between .the 
deeds of the present life and their necessary re¬ 
sults—which do not and cannot adequately follow 
in this world,—so evidently does conscious capa¬ 
bility point to a sphere of unrestricted exercise, 
so meaningless, aud without purpose, otherwise, is 
much of the necessity, and contingency that re¬ 
strains and governs our poor humanity, in this 
mortal state, that the human mind has generally 
received it as highly probable, that man shall live 
again. But, in a matter where so much is involv¬ 
ed, mere probability is not enough. A preponder¬ 
ance of evidence, that, a life awaits us beyond the 
grave, does not suffice to calm the deep anxiety, to 
quiet the earnest, restless seeking for some sure 
foothold, where our confidence may rest. The as¬ 
surance that our hearts require, is something more 
than the likelihood ot that, great truth, which is all 
that the sages of antiquity could arrive jtt We 
want to know the fact. We seek assurance posi¬ 
tive, evidence irrefragible, the certainty that 
brings satisfaction. 
In vain do we search for these, in aught that is 
Iu vain do we question the 
in use or around us. 
myriad forms of Nature, and listen to her thousand 
utterances. Her analogies are incompetent to sat¬ 
isfy. I gaze into the star-lit sky, but my vision 
c annot penetrate to the far-off blest abode. I call 
in the deep stillness, I ask the voices of the Night, 
with feartul, throbbing heart, I cry out to know, if 
beyond the dark blankness of the tomb, man, in¬ 
deed. shall live again? Bat no sound tAllaou my 
straining ear— no spirit-voice, with gentle whis¬ 
per, communicates the glad intelligence, — no 
shadowy form of the loved and lost, appears to 
sooth my anxious heart, but. there comes itistead, 
the crashing consciousness that never, never shall 
this Mystery of the Great Unknown, open in any 
of the avenues of mortal search, never shall the 
bar be lifted from the closed gate, through which 
we so earnestly desire to look, until we are called 
to pass its gloomy portal. 
Tims, and with such result, has ever been the 
seeking of the human mind, unaided by the page 
of Inspiration. From such deep gloom, and fear¬ 
ful uncertainty, how joyfully do we turn to the 
assurances, aboundingin God's Word. How cheer¬ 
ful is the light that dawns upon the Christian's fu¬ 
ture; yea, how resplendently through the gateway 
oi the Tomb, there streams for him the sunbeams 
of Immortal Hope. H. Whittlesey. 
Flint, Mich., 1S57. 
H.fEBALD, ^ ■- * 
We give a facsimile of this monument, (for 
which we are indebted to the publishers of the 
Horticulturist.) The principal design of the monu¬ 
ment consists in a large vase resting on a pedestal, 
the whole executed of the finest Italian marble.— 
The pattern of th vase is taken from the antique 
of the chastest school. The vase is four feet in 
height, and measures three leet diameter oil its up¬ 
per rim. The body is ornamented with rich ara¬ 
besque; acanthus leaves surround the lower part. 
The handles rest on heads of satyrs, (the tutelar 
gods ot’ groves aud woods.) The pedestal,resting 
on a carved base, and beiug surmounted with a 
carved cornice, bus on each side deep panels, re¬ 
lieved by carved mouldings! Each ot the panels 
contains an inscription, that upon the Northern 
Front reads as follows: 
THIS VA9B 
Was Erected by his Friends 
tx MKitour or 
ANDREW JACKSON DOWNING, 
\V!io died July 2S. K'a’. agvd 37 years. 
He was born, and lived, 
Aud died upon tho Hudson River. 
His life was devoted to the improvement of the national taste 
in rural art. 
an office for which his icetiius and tho natural beauty amidst 
which he lived had fully endowed him. 
His success was as great as his geuins, and for the death of few 
public men, 
was public grief ever more sincere. 
When these grounds were proposed, he was at once 
called to design them ; 
but before they were completed he perished in the wreek of the 
steamer Henry Clay- 
His mind was siuguhul.v Just, penetrating, and original. 
His maimers were calm, reserved, and courteous. 
His personal memory 
belongs to tho frirnds who loved him ; 
his fame to the country which honors and laments Mm 
Inscription upon the Southern Front: 
The taste of an individual, 
as well as that of a nation, will be in direct proportion to the 
prvfbbiid s. irsfhllity 
with which he perceives the beautiful In uatural scenery. 
Open wld*, therefore, 
tho doots of your libraries and picture galleries, 
' all ye true republicans' 
Build halls where knowledge shall be flrecly diffused among men, 
and not shut up within the narrow walls of 
narrower institutions. 
Plant spacious parks in your cities, 
and unclose their gates ns wide as the gates of morning to tho 
whole people. 
[Douwnp’j Rural Essays. 
Upon the Eastern Front i* inscribed: 
" ' W«p no more,' 
For I.ycidus your sorrow is not dead, 
Sunk though tu) bo beneath the wat'ry floor. 
So links tho day-star In the ocean bed, 
And yet, anon, repairs ids drooping head, 
Ami tricks his beams, aud with new spangled ore 
Hamas tu the forehead of the morning sky; 
So Lyeidus sunk low, but mounted high 
Through the dear might of Him that walked the waves.” 
In entering Palestine, Mr. Stanley, in common 
with all other travelers, was struck with the small¬ 
ness of a territory which fills so large a space in 
the history of mankind. Its breadth rarely ex¬ 
ceeds fifty miles, while its extreme length, from 
“ Dan to ReersUeba,’ , is but one hundred and eighty. 
From almost every height in Palestine the entire 
breadth of the teriitorymay be taken iu at a view, 
from the hills of Moab to the sea; and the travel¬ 
er, even in despite of previous preparation, is 
startled to And that in one long day he has passed 
from tho capital of Jadea to that of Samaria, or 
that, in eight hours, he has seen “ three such spots 
as Hebron, Bethlehem, and Jerusalem.” It brings 
a strange fueling, too, especially after leaving tho 
Uncertain topography of the desert, to arrive sud¬ 
denly in the midst of places whose still existing 
uantes havo been familiar to ns from infancy, as 
tho scenes of ovents whieb we have never thought 
of without awe:—“to hear the names of Carmel, 
Ifaon, Ziph, shouted out by the Bedouin guides, or 
by the plowman in the fields, who know uo more 
of David's wanderings than those of Ulyses.”— 
This is the charm of travel in a classic land. But 
nowhere is it felt v. ith half the security which is 
enjoyed among the unquestioned localities of the 
lands of tho Bible.— Selected. 
Yearly Food of One Man.— From the army 
and navy diet scales of France and England, which 
of course are based upon the recognized necessi¬ 
ties of large numbers of mea in active life, it is 
inferred that about two and one-fourth pounds av- 
ordupols of dry food, per day, are required for 
each individual; of this about three-fourths are 
vegetable, and the rest animal. At the close of an 
entire year, the amount is upwards of 800 pounds. 
Enumerating tinder the title of water all the 
various drinks—coffee, tea, alcohol, wine, Ac.—its 
estimated quantity is about 1,500 pounds per an¬ 
num. That for the air received by breathing may 
be taken at 800 pounds. With these figures be¬ 
fore us, says the Medical Warid, we are able to see 
how the case stands. The food, water, aud air, 
which a man receives, amount, in the aggregate to 
more than 3,000 pounds a year; that is, to about 
a ton and a half, or more than twenty times hi3 
weight. This euormous quantity may well attract 
our attention to the expenditure of material re¬ 
quired for supporting life. A living being is the 
result and representation of change on a pro¬ 
digious scale. 
the road is cut in the side of the precipice, 
passing through it we crossed the river by a stone 
bridge from which there is a romantic view. Ou 
one hand the wild rocky pass, resounding with the 
rushing, foaming river, ami on the other a widen¬ 
ing and verdant vale, where the mossy rocks along 
the banks ot the stream are darkly shaded by trees 
of fir and oak. The road turned away from the 
vale aud river, and led us across the hills, through 
wild scenery that realized my ideas of Wales. It 
wouud around bogs, and under beetling precipices. 
Huge rockB loomed out of the mist, all around, 
green with moss, and the low, gnarled oak trees, 
darkened many a glen, where the Druids would 
have performed their bloody and mysterious rites. 
The noise of mountain torrents sounded in our 
cars, roaring far down in densely wooded ra¬ 
vines. There were but few cottages on the route, 
so that onr walk was sufficiently lonely. Added to 
this, the stormy sky, the fog mantling tho moun¬ 
tain peaks, driving down the mountain sides, and 
brushing the tree tops, heightened the wild and 
desolate character of the scenery, and wrought in 
me a powerful excitement. It was dark when wo 
descended a hill, the almost perpendicular sides of 
which were covered with the densest foliage, and 
stopped at a hotel lu the village of Maentwrog. 
In the morning it was again raining heavily.— 
The clouds hung very low, Beeming to be around 
us, and to dissolve in rain. Before uoon, however, 
wo wore on the road again, although the thick fog 
rendered the path barely distinguishable. Appa¬ 
rently the country was extremely wild, but tne 
thought tantalized us that we could bring away no 
impression of it in our minds. We could hear the 
rushing of the streams, swollen by the rains, and 
occasionally get ft glimpse into some glen yawn¬ 
ing far below. Tlio low clouds drove along tho 
landscape making everything look largo and mys¬ 
terious. There were no fences along the roadside i 
but now and then we came to a gate, connecting 
two stone walls. In oue place the road was cut iu 
the face of an overhanging precipice, aud a silvery 
bank of fog filled the valley, making it impossible 
for us to distinguish its depth or extent. We 
leaned over the stoue wall that protected the road, 
and peered iu vain into the floating vapor. The 
Consiber the dignity of this to be admitted into 
so near converse with the highest majesty. Were 
there nothing to follow, no answer at all, prayer 
pays itself iu the excellence of its nature, and the 
sweetness that the soul finds in it. Poor fallen 
man, to be admitted into heaven while he is on 
earth, and there to come and speak his mind freely 
to the Lord of heaven and earth as his friend, as 
bis father!—to empty all his complaints into his 
bosom, to refresh his soul in his God, wearied with 
the follies and miseries ot the world. Where there 
is anything of Ilia love, this is a privilege of th9 
highest sweetness, for they that love, find much 
delight to discourse together, and count all hours 
short, and think the day runs too fast, that is so 
spent And they that are much iu this exercise, 
the Lord does impart his secrets much to them.— 
Archbishop Leighton. 
Buying Husbands.—A modern traveler tells us 
that the Jewesses in Thessalonica (European Tur¬ 
key) reverse our accepted laws of Hymen, by pur¬ 
chasing their husbands. The modus operands is 
thus described:—"Brokers are employed to nego¬ 
tiate marriages. The father of a marriageable girl 
goes to a broker and inquires wbat bridegrooms 
there are iu the market. He chooses one, higher 
or lower in the social scale, according to tho dower 
he can allbrd his daughter, the price he cau pay, 
and makes an oiler of so much dower. The bride¬ 
groom, through the broker, demands more; they 
chaffer and bargain for weeks, perhaps, and a bar¬ 
gain is struck. The parties never see each other 
till married. The dower is the wife's only security 
against divorce. The husband can divorce her 
when he chooses, hut he uinst payback the dower, 
that she may be able to buy another husband.— 
Mrs. D. was tolling a Jewish girl that, we do not 
require any dowry in America. * How- then,’ said 
she, in utter astonishment, ‘do you do when he 
wants to divorce you?'” 
Humboldt’s Chameleon. —Among the objects 
in Humboldt’s study was a liviug chameleon, in a 
box with a glass lid. The animal, which was about 
six inches long, was lazily dozing on a bod of sand, 
with a big blue-fly (tho unconscious provision for 
his dinner) perched upon hia hack. “-He has just 
been sent to me from Smyrna,” said Humboldt; 
“he is very listless and unconcerned in his man¬ 
ner.” Just then the chameleon opened one of his 
long, tubular eyes, and looked up at us. “A pe¬ 
culiarity of this animal,” he continued, “is its 
power of looking in different directions at the 
same time. He can turn one eye toward heaven, 
while the other inspects the earth. There are 
many clergymen who have the same power.”— 
Bayard Taylor. 
The Christian Religion.— The will of the ‘late 
Hon. John M. Clayton, of Delaware, has been pub¬ 
lished. The first clause of it is as follows:—' 4 First 
_I leave to my friends and relatives, as well as to 
all others who may tliiak my opiaion of any value, 
this testimonial, that the religion taught in the 
New Testament is the best that has been offered 
for our adoption, both for this world and for.that 
which is to come, and that Jesus Christ was the 
true Messiah, and will remain forever the.Rcdeem- 
er and Saviour of fallen man. Let my humble 
testimony stand in favor of the Christian religion 
—I am deeply, thoroughly convinced of it3Yruth.” 
The Sainted Dead.— Those are 'our treasures, 
changeless and shining treasures. Let'us look 
hopefully. Not lost, but gone before. Lost only 
like stars of the morning, that have.faded into the 
li"-ht of a brighter heaven. Lost to earth, but not 
to us. 
Life consists not in mere existence, but in the 
well-spending of our time. 
It was a pertinent and forcible saying of the 
Emperor Napoleon, that a “handsome woman 
pleases the eye, but a good woman pleases the 
heart The one is a jewel, the other a treasure.’’ 
Patriotism contemplates the good of our coun 
try; but philanthrophy the good of all mankind. 
To the wicked, the virtues of other men are al¬ 
ways objects of terror. 
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