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flamingo minnow. 3... JAMES Richmond Hill. June. 1857. g.l-wy. JOHN GRIEVE, LERK THIRD DIVISION COURT. Office. Richmond Hill, June. 1857. JOSEPH KELLER, g.1-wy. AILIFF second and Third DIVISION Court. Office. Richmond Hill. June. t851. g.l-wy. G. A. BARNARD, MPORTER of British and American Dry Goods, Groceries, Wines, Liquors, Oils, Paints. 61c. 6w. Richmond Hill. June. 1857. g.l-wy. P. CROSBY, RY GOODS. GROCERIES. Wines. Liquors, Hardware. dzc. g. I-wy. l, ,Richmen Hill. June, 1857. I" a f 3 AUCTl THOMAS SEDMAN, Carriage, Waggon & Sleigh M A K E R , Opposite the White Swan Inn. Whmond Hill. June 10. 1857. 2-i'Wy' JAMES McCLURE./ NNKEEPER. Licensed Auctioneer for‘tbe Counties of York, Ontario and Slmcoe. Corner of Yonge and Bradford streets. Holland Landing. . g25-tf November, 26,1857. JOHN, HARRINGTON, JR. W0 Miles North of Richmond Hill, dealer in Dry Goods, Groceries, Wines, Liquors, Hardware, Glass, Earthenware, 511:? II? Also, Licensed ~Auctioneer. September. 23. 1857. glG-l y “CALEB LUDFORD, Saddle and Harness Maker, I THORNHILL. Thoruhill. Nov. 16, 1857. A. GALLANOUGH, EALER in Groceries, Wines and Liquors, Thronhill, C. W. Choice brands of Teas. Sugar: and Cofl‘ess on hand. genuine as Imported. An assortment of Bread, Biscuit and Cakes, constantly on hand. The Subscriber has also opened a Grocery Provision Store on RICHMOND HILL. ~Iiich will be conducted by Mr. C. SHEPHERD. from the firm of the late 'l‘horne &. Parsons. Thorn'nill, Sept. 25. 1857. gI7-1V WELLINGTON HOTEL, g24-tf EAR tlfe Railroad Station. Aurora. Carent Hostlen always in attendance. C. CArE, Proprietor. January 14. 185B. t32 MAN SlON HOUSE, HARON. Attentive .Hootlers always in attendance. J. RA VANAGII. Proprietor. i‘......,. 14, I858. 13-2 MESSRS. J. 8L W. BOYD, Barristers, &c., NO. 7, WELLINGTON BUILDINGS, KING sax, TORONTO, June 20.1357. CLYDE HOTEL, ' KING" STREET EAST, TORONTO. 00D Stabling and Attentive Hustlers ‘6“ JottN MILLS, Proprietor g. I -wy. g.3-wy. June. 1857. Bottled Ale Depot, 65. YORK STREET. TORONTO, C. IV. M. MORRISON. Agent, 'I‘oronto, June lth, 1857. gl-wy. ROBERT J. GRIFFITH, LA G, Banner and Ornamental Painter, Elizabeth Street. Toronto,~â€"Over W. Grill fith’s Grocery Store. II? Coats of Arms. and every description of Herald Painting. executed with despatchmnd at reasonable charges. June. 1857. ' _. ,’ g.1wy. J. VERNEY, Boot and Shoe Maker. A. LA W’S. Yonge street. Rich- mend, Hill. Ladies’ and Gentlemeus' Boots aitd Shoes. made ailer the latest styles. fugue s. 1357. 80] CHAS. POLLOCK, 80] ‘MP0 RT ER oth-it ish, French German and American, Fancy and Staple Dry Goods. No. 80. City Buildings. King Street East, opposite St. James’ Cathedral, Toronto, C. W Nov. 5. 1857. g22-t JOHN COULTER, Tailor and Clotltier, . , . ) Yougo St, Richmond Hill. lune. 1857. g.l-wy. GEORGE DODD, Veterinary Surgeon. Lot 26. 4th COIL, Vnughan. "HORSE & FARRIER” INN. g15 gB-Gm. HENRY SA NDERSON, Veterinary Surgeon , Cornet- of Y“ 1C June. 1357. a “D HILL Elm â€"\_”- I J. .N, PHYSICIAN & SURGEON Corner of Yonge and Cent“ 3 , Thornhill. August 14, 1857 . treats. IlO-tf ROACH’S HOTEL, CORNER of Front and George s‘reets, one block east of the Market, Toronto. 1 OH N ROACH , Proprietor. March 5. 1858. ROBERT SIVER, I39 \ Boot and Shoe. Maker, 'DJOINING the Wesleyan Methodist Chapel. Yonge Street. Richmond Hill. Afihoice selection of Geullemens’. Ladies' Ind, Childrens' Boots and Shoes constantly on halti- and made to order on the Shortest No- ti .- lfi’ All kinds Shoemakers Findings for sale. Richmond Hi". Jim 12m. 1857, g.lw.y. LANGSTAFF, Vol. II. No. 3. DR. J. W. GRIFFITH, MARKHAM VILLAGE, c.w. June 2, 1858. 52-13' ESPLANADE HOTEL. BY G. TURNER, PALACE ST. (OPPOSITE THE OLD 0A5 WORKS) TORONTO. Meals 20 cents each. and good accommoda- tion for Farmers and others. Toronto. June 11, 1858. 53-ly JAMES HALL, AS always on hand a large assortment of BOOTS and SHOES. which will be sold at prices to meet the times. Richmond Hill. June 17, 1858. 54-1y VI'. HODGE 8L Co. ’HOLESALE and Retail Copper. 'I'in and tron Plate Works/e. and Furnishing Ironmongors. Parties gin ng this house a call will find their orders punctually attended to. and the lowest prices charged. Richmond Hill. June 17, 185B. EDMUND GRAINGE R, U T C II E R . THORNHILL. Fresh and Pickled Meats. Poultry, &c., always on hand. Families supplied on the shortest notice. Thornhill, March 19, 1858. 54-1y 141 WILLIAM HARRISON, Saddle and Harness Maker, Next door to G. A, Bernard’s, Richmond Hill. June, 1857. g.I-wy. l, W.C.ADAMS ‘ "‘ DOCTOR 01" Dental 8 U R G E R Y, 66, King Street East. Toronto. Particular attention given to the regulation of Children's Teeth. Consultations Free. and all I’Vorlr “larrnntod. Toronto, June, 1567. I-wy. E. | 'r. MICBETH, Jun, CARRIAGE, SIGN, â€"ANDâ€" H Ornamental Painter. ll Richmond Hill, Fob. 17. 1858. t37-ly kw BLACK HORSE HOTEL [PottMt-IRLY new air war. mum] ()RNER of Palace and George streets, east ,I of the Market Square, Toronto. Board $1 per day. Good Stabliug and attentive Hostlers always in attendance. An omnibus to and front the Railroad Station. THOMAS PALMER. > Proprietor. Toronto. Feb 26. 1858: t38-ly DAVID ATKINSON, AGENT ron Darling & Aitcliison’s COMBINED llllllllllllli lllll llllll’lllli Ill/IC'HIZVES, Richmond Hill, Julio, 1857. g.lw_\’. _____._____â€"., WARD & lIIeCtIUSLAND, I House, Sign and Ornamental PAINTERS, [ Graines, Gilders, Glaziers, I and Paper Hangers. THORNHILL. .1911 kinds of Jilich Paints Oils, Glass, and Putty. GOOD WORKMEN SENT TO ANY PART OF THE COUNTRY. July 23, 1857. Tg-Iy. l _l , LUKES’ HOTEL, LAND___LANDING. HE Subscriber begs to inform the In- habitants of the above-named Village and surrounding Country. and the Public gon- emnv. that he has leased the above Hotel, formerly kept by THOMAS MAY. which he has fitted up and furnished for the accommodation of his Customersmnd he trusts by constant attention vacwws lVITH 0R WITHOUT OFFENOE TO FRIENDS OR FOES, AND WAW~-\ ,M- fieltrtinnr. ANNIE LAURIE. Maxwelton brass are bonnie. Where early fa's the dew, And 'twas there that Annie Laurie Gi'ed me her promise trueâ€"â€" Gi'ed me her promise true. Which ne’er forgot Will be; And for bonnie Annie Laurie l'd lay me doon and ties. Her brow is like the snow-driftâ€" Het neck is like the swau'sâ€" Her face it is the fairest That o'er the sun shone onâ€" That o‘er the sun shone on, And dark blue is her e’e, And for bonnie Annie Laurie I’d lay me dean and ties. Like dew on the gowan lying, Is the fa' 0’ her fairy feet. And like winds in summer sighing Her voice is low and sweetâ€" Her voice is low and sweet, And she is n’ the world to me. And for bonnie Annie Laurie I’d lay me dean and doe. BAMBLES OF A NATURALIST. WILLIAM AND THOMAS. Smollet, the talented historian, the writer of so many works of fiction, and of the exquisitely beau- tiful poem, “The Tears of Scot- land,” after having for many years prosecuted the sedentary and la- borious occupation of an author by profession, at length fell into a state of ill health that baflled all the appliances of medical skill. Though little more than forty years of age, and possessed ori- ginally of a most robust constitu- tion, he became a victim to debt- lity and depression of spirits, so as to be totally unable to pursue his wonled occupation. “ His life,” says one of his biographers,” “which ought to have been ren- dered comfortable by the large sums be procured for his works, was embittered by “ the stings and arrows” which his own satiri- cal disposition had caused; he was perpetually suffcring, either from that cause, or from political difl'ercnces. To add to his other miseries. he had the misfortune, at this time, to lose his daughter and only child, Elizabeth, :1 girl of fifteen, whose amiable disposition and elegant accomplishments had become the solace of his life. and promised to be, in future, a still more precious blessing. Under this accumulation of distt'csscs, he was prevailed upon, by his wife, to to their wants to secure a liberal patronage. Liquors of the best brands at the Bar, and every attention paid to Guests. TIIOS. LUKES. Proprietor. II (I L nd‘u . Ho an a l g gl4-3in Sept. 10. 1857 SWAN HOTEL, IIORNIIILL. The Subscriber in tendering his thanks for past favors, Would beg tn call Public attention to his NEW EsItal-Iishment. 'I‘hornhill. and known as the Swan HoTEL, which he has lately entered into 3 m c""“tlnence of the accomodation in his old It esmhllshmefll being entirelv too limited for the - comfort of his numerous gnlzsts. com F‘SIWAN Horn. in a few days will be mung,” y “’“Ylled. and respectable vtsrtors tended [y 0“ haV'“g “hair cells immediately at- . °~ e has also very extensive accomo- l 3 “Id Carriages, ‘ or will always be found well stored with the choicest Liquors : while the subscriber is time to the com- .been flayed alive, and worse used himselftntends to devote h honour him with a fort of all those wh JOHN SIIIELS, call. Proprietor. t33 Thornbill, January 20. 1858. seek consolation in travel; and, accordingly, in June 1765, he went abroad, and continued in France about two years.” In the course of his travels. Smollet seems to have laboured under a constant fit of ill-humour â€"the result of morbid feelings. and a distcmpcred bodily system.»- This is amply visible in the work which he published on his return, in which he contemptuously com- pares the celebrated Pantheon, at Rome, toa huge uncovered cock- pit; while the Venus de Mcdicls, “the statute that enchants the world," appeared to him awkward. ungraceful, and altogether out of character. Such criticism on works of art that had excited universal admi- ration. and from one of acknow~ ledgcd taste and learning. natu~ rally attracted general observa~ tion and criticism, and at length drew on him the following sarcastic description by Sterne, in his Senti‘ mental Journey :â€" ‘The learned Smelfungus tra- velled from Boulogne to Paris,â€" from Paris to Romeâ€"and so on; but he set out with the spleen and the jaundice, and every object he passed by was discoloured and distorted. He wrote an account of them, but it was nothing but an account of his own miserable feel- ings. Imet Smelfungus in the grand Portico of the Pantheon; he was just coming out of it; ‘it is nothing but a huge cockpit’,‘ said he. ‘I wish you had said nothing worse of the Venus de Me- dicis,’ I replied; for, in passing through Florence. I had heard he had fallen foul upon the goddess, and used her even more strangely, without the least provocation in nature. I popped upnn Smelfun- gus again, at Turin, in his return home, and a sad and sorrowful tale of adventure he had to tell, wherein he spoke of moving ac- cidents bv flood and field, and of the cannibals which each other eatâ€"the Anthropophagi. He had Bartholomew, at every stage he came to. ‘I’ll tell It,’ said Smelfungus. ‘to the world.’ ‘You had better tell it,’ said I, ‘to your physician.‘ than St. .~/ v», ~A»_acâ€". «J- » , RICHDIOND HILL, FRIDAY, JUNE ‘25, I858. We have quoted this lively il- lustration of the old proverb, "I‘he jaundiced cyc secs every thing yellow,’ in order to show how much depends on our way of viewing the objects that surround us, as to whether they shall prove to us the source of knowledge and gratification. or only means of dis- appointment and disgust. So is it with all that comes before us iu life. In some respects we may, indeed, be likened to the Chameâ€" leon, which is fabled to take its hue from whatever object it is near; but in others, we are rather the colouring medium that tingcs with its peculiar dyc every thing that it comes in contact with.â€" Thc warm-hearted and benevolent man finds all nature smiling around him ; or iflic chance to meet with misery or suffering, the sympathy he extends to it re-acls with Pleas- ing influence on his own mind, and proves a sufficient reward. But the mornsc and surly, or super- cilious mind, wanders iu the fair- cst scenes as in a desert, sees only to be dissatisfied, bears only to be displeased. Did we possessa lively under- standing of the wonders and beau- ties with which all nature is rife, we would never be without a subject for pleasing study. The contrast afforded by the experience of tw0 young friends, will supply us with an interesting example of thisâ€"Thomas, an ignorant and uninterested man, starts off on what is called a pleasure excursion into the country ; be rambles over bill and dale, through green lane and meadow, and, dull and wearied, at length reacltcsa wayâ€"side inn, where he determines. in his own mind, that the gratification which is there provided for his natural wants, is almost the only fruit that such a journey can produce. How different, meanwhile, has been the experience of William, another who has travelled Over this route! In the same rank of life, confined during a large portion of the year to an altogether dry and absorbing occupation, and precluded, cxuept at such rare and distant intervals, from looking an the face ofuature- he has still found some means to gratify his thirst for knowledge.â€" He has diligently read such books as he could proourc, and has endea- voured, when opportunity offered. to apply the information he obtniu- ed, to a practical understanding of what lies in sight on every hand; and although he sees much, very much Wlll('ll he cannot explain or comprehend, yet he has obtained a key for its elucidation, and beltolds with intelligent curiosity and dc- light, that which his companion passed by without notice, or gazed at with listless indifference. William has no observations to record on the steepness of the ltllls he ascended, for he was watching the masses of rock that protruded at different elevations. and endea- vouring to trace in their character and stratifications, some of the geoâ€" logical pheuomeua of which he had been reading. The flowers strew- ed at his feet, and on every side, expanded there as if planted for his exclusive gratification; be admired the beauty and variety of their form and hue. and their wonderful adaptation to the various localities where they severally find root and nourisluuent. The rough and boggy lint through which his path lay for miles, was covered with the luxuriant heath, with its richly coloured little flowers clustered on the rough twisted stem. He pausâ€" ed from time to time, attracted by the deep hum of the wild bee as it passed him, and hovered fora lit- tle over some richer tuft of the honeyed flowers, as if coyly dullyâ€" ing with the abundant stores. ere deciding from which to draw itsl supply. 0n the drier tops of turf that, stood out here and there among the moist lcvols of the heath, the blue~bell bung its graceful 'cup; while the rushes abundantly clus- tered on the marshy ground, re- called to him the almost forgotten scenes ofa childish holiday in the country, where he watched, in won- dering admiration, the ingenuity with which the rustics wow: the green witbcs into little baskets, caps, parasols, and other pretty toys. Yet, as he remembered, even this wild offspring of the waste; marsh has other uses than that of‘ rustic amusement. They are gath- ered, and carefully dried; and then being peeled 0f the green skin that covers them, the white pith within, dipped in melted tnllow, forms, iul many parts ofthe country, almost the only candle used in the cottage and the farmhouse; and, in the town, is well known as the useful companion ofthe night-watcher in the chamber of sickness. From the loose consistency of the pith of the rush in its dried state, it is almost YORK RIINGS’ GAZETTE. VMVahfvs .. xvx ,‘V .V entirely lesumed in the process of‘ combustion, so as to require no carol or attention, such as a fallow-candle demands; and as it burns with a very feeble light, it is admirably suited for a night-lamp to the nurse. But we most follow our intelli-I gent youngr traveller on his tour oft pleasurc,~one so Wcll deserving. the name, since every Wood or,‘ stone, every marshy hollow, and‘ lovely rising ground along h.s path, seemed to upcn up for him some, new source of gratification. He was no college-bred scholar ;â€"with‘ no other facilities than those al-i fordcd him by such a limited edu- cation as StlfIlCcd to qualify lin for a mercantile clci‘k, yet be found both time and menus forinstruction; -, and though shut up for the greater part of the your in the smoky lanes of :1 busy commercial town, with, only very rare opportunities of wandering in the pleasant green fields, and by the Spangled hodge- rows, he made the book of nature his study. and knew far more of its innumerable interesting features, than thousands of those who have spent a lifetime amid its charms. At the end of along day’s walk. \thliam arrived at the same homely, little rustic inn, where, unknown to him, his companion had put up two hours before. time obtained the refreshments he stood in need of, and was lying all his length on three chairs, arranged so as to form a sort of couch, and was listlesst dosing away the even- ing in a state between sleeping and waking. Ile lifted his head in a lazy and indifferent manner. on the entrance of a stranger into the room, and was surprised to hear himself greeted by his own name. A speedy recognition took pluce;l and after William had rested bim-, self, and obtained some food, of which he stood much in need, they fell into conversation. ‘ Well, Thomas, ‘ but I am completely knocked up with the beat and fa- tigue of the day. I almost wish I had stayed at home.’ ‘What l’j said William, ‘ and miss the’ green fields, and the blue sky, and all the beauties of the natural scenery.” ‘Well, I’m sure, for my part,’ answered his compaâ€" nion, ‘ I’ve seen fcw beauties to boast about; the road was as dull and tiresome as one could stumble on in a long summer’s day.â€" Itliougbt it, I confess, somewhat pretty and refreshing whenl first found myself between two green hedges; but one soon Wearies of" that, you know; and then for the rest of the way, I would rather have had the old paving in the Mews Lane, that runs between the counlitig-liouse and the fac- tory, with a good high brick-wall on either side to shelter one from, the sun.’ ‘But it was not all dusty roads and green hedges; though even they seem to me so. refreshing 21 sight, thatl think I should not tire of them for weeks, to come. Did you not strike off by the pathway into the meadong where the finger-post indicated the nearest way to Gruysthorp P’! ‘Wliy, yes,l got ovor that awk- ward style certainly, and theudown through the slushy marshes there ;l but what of that? One could not lie down to rest himself in such a dirty ditch !’ ‘ N0, ccrtainly,’ said William, laughing cheerfully, ‘but you surely did not come so far from home in search of a dry rest- ing-place ; and then too you would come to the pathway ovor the bill, that at least was dry enough; was it not?’ ‘Aye, dry. enough certainly, and steep enough‘ too! I lay down, I daresuy, every dozen yards are I reached the top of it, and wished myself well home again.’ ‘I wonder to hear you say so,’excluimed William. ‘I sat down more than once ere I got up the hill; but the fine prospect on every hand, tempted me to sit longer, I tltink,than the rest on the' grassy bank. IVas it not beautiful and refreshing to see the green meadows sweeping away so plea- santly behind one, and the fine clus- ters of old trees that seemed to shut in the vieW beyond? Come now, confess, Thomas, that for all the fa- tigue of this warm sunny day, you have scarce ever had a. pleasanter rumble in the green fields.’ ‘ Con- fess it! I’ll confess nothing of the sort! I tell you I was shockingly tired of the whole affair when I was little more than half-way ; and had I.1 not thought it more fatiguing to, return than to come on, I would have been home again before now. You talk of green fields and trees, as though one only saw them once 21-year; why, the town’s common, I am sure, is as green as any field we have seen, and the trees every bit as good for a shelter, either from sun or rain; and as to the WW...».,. 1M ~., - I SKETCH YOUR ll'ORLD E ,ineg Thomas had by this: I know not how you feel,’ said g pleasure of the thing, I would not i Msf/vxww» , V\. v- A ~ . give the dry skittlc-grouud at the King’s Head for all [be green fields I ever saw !’ The concluding remarks were ut- teted by Thomas in a very loud voice, and in an excited manner. as though he was arguing against some gross injustice that been Pl‘lltfllSUtl on him. VViIliam thought to him- self, ‘ W'cll, I wonder who it was brought you from home, then, to be so very miserable 7.’ he said nothing however, but taking out his handâ€" ltcrchicf from his but, he proceeded to unlouse it, and spread out on the table various things that he had gathered by the way. 'l'homns sat watching lllln for some time, at a distance, as he turned over, sccm- with the greatest interest, what appeared to him only so many weeds and useless stones; atlcuglb rising, he dre in his chair to the table, and flinging himself down upon it in a listless fashion. be or- claimed. with a yawn :â€"‘ Wcll. I'm sure! What have we here, indeed; a parcel of weeds and chucky- stones !’ ‘Just that,’ said \Villiam, in a very quiet manner, ' weeds and cltuclty-stones may be a very inter- esting subject of study. I assure you they have afforded me a very hiin source of gratification to-day. and beguilcd me so on the way. that, as you saw, the sun was long set in the west erc I reached the inn here to-uight.’ ‘ \Vell, I‘m sure I wish you would show me wherein their interest llcs,’ said Thomas. with a look that singularly mingled curiosity with contempl. William carefully picked out var- ious little blue flowers scattered among the rest, and arranging them neatly together, and smelling at them with a look of pleasure, he handed them over to his compan'on, saying, ‘ There now, Thomas, look at that ; I suppose you know what these are.’ ‘ Why, of course I do,’ said he, contemptuously, ‘ Weeds, l uess. and none of the prettiest neither; there‘s plenty of them on the town's cormnou, I dare say, if any one thought them worth the gathering !’ ‘ Tut man,’ said VVil- liam, still smiling cheerfully, ‘is that the way you speak of the fair- est flowcr in glen or copse,’ my own pretty favorite, the sweet-scenth Violet? I gathered them in coming through the wood at the top of the hill; I assure you] have not had such gratification for a long time. I have not Sent] a scented violet since I visited IIarley-on-the-Hill, three years ago.’ ‘But you don’t mean to say, that you consider that the prettiest flower you have seen.â€" thut insignificant little weed !‘ said Thomas. looking iueretlulously at him. ' Smell it,‘ said biscompanion, ‘ only smell its delightful fragrance, and I’ll tell you what Scott thinks, whatever you or I may do; did you never hear it before? “ The violet iu the greonwood bower. Where birchen-bonglls with hazels mingle, May boast herself the fairest flower, In glen. or eopse, or forest diligle.” And he is not the only poet has spoken of it in such flattering strains. But, indeed, it is a flower I have been longing to lay my hands on for a guild while ; for. do you know, since I last bud hold of one, I have read a curious account of the uses to which this little flow- er is put in manufactures, and it has given an additional interest to it. though I am sure its sweet scent is use enough to satisfy any one for purposes of its creation. Do you not think, ’I‘ltomas, that it is a greater proof, perhaps, ,of the be- nevolent care and the unlimited power of the Creator of all things, than almost anything else that we see in nature, His having scattered so profusely these beautiful flowers all over the face of nature, just to gratify our sight and smell, and show that He is pleased to beautify and adorn. as well as to construct the universe I’ ‘Bul,’ replied Thomas, ‘I thoung you said just now, these little ~weeds were of some uso to the mun- ufacturers !’ ‘ Well, and so they are. I read lately that at Stratford- on-Avon, the birth-place of Shakes- peare. whole fields of them are cul- tivatedâ€"shedding an npprupi‘uitc and delightful perfume around the scene ofthe poet’s nativity. From XACTL Y AS IT GOES.â€"Byron. ‘Wlioic PM). 5511.‘ - DEW, ' W“ '7‘ seems to be only :1 withered \vocd ; I am sure you can find unlluug ,IllCl'C to gt'utfy either sight or smell!’ ‘ Ali! my pour Cutivulvul- ,us; it has smut willictcd indeed. I lpluckctl it out of lllv.‘ budge-row us ‘I passed ; the \t‘tinlr: thicket \vus lcslooued ultb its beautiful (clusters; but it is a (:Lll'lUUS fut-t, tlmt \Vlltl flowers will not kcdp .1 single d ty, even with [be uttnnst cure. al'tzi -. mma®&§mm.._..;amm 1:31:11». ‘ No, Mrs. Mason ; but you may lt‘ll ynut‘ husband, that unless the rent is paid by tomorrow evening :uiexcculiou shall be put in the next morning; mind that, marm. fl llt‘tfl a going to be put off with prolnisus no longer, and so you may tell him.’ “0'1, sir,’ said poor Susan, ‘I am surc my husband will do all he can; but we have been so unfortunate in nut getting our bills paid. I am sure gentlcfolks little know the dis- truss trudospcople suffer, from, per,- liups. nothing but their thoughtlessâ€" ... ’ - “Cris. ‘ Abl that may be all very true, Mrs. Mason, but that arn’t coming tn the pint; I want my rent, and will have It, that is more; and sol ‘ wish you good morning.’ As soon as he quilted the shop, Susan burst into tears ; but drying them quickly, she said, ‘This will Hint do. ifI cry. Icaunot work; on other hour will finish this dress. and Lady II c promised the faith- fully that when I took it home she would pay me my bill. It has been owing uow tnore than a year and :1 buff. Let me see. with this dress it will be fiVc-and-twenty pounds; that is the sum, all but five pounds, that we owe our landlord, and sure- ly John will collect more than that sum from all the peOpIe he was to go to this morning; 501 will notbc (lthtl-llCllt‘lCd. Bless me, i I have they have been plucked, though you put them in water, and lend them with the greatest ussiJuily; while the cultivated flowers of the garden may be prosei'vwl fur it truck or more, with a mere (:lmngc ul‘wuler But in truth, I gathered that. pretty cluster in remembrance of on old friend new across the Atlantic, and whom it is probable I may never see again. It brought to my rc- mcmbratuzc a lung rumble With her in the sltndy lanes of Kent, in the neighborhood of Canterbury, when I fcstooucd licr bonnet \Vllll u clus- ter of wild convolvuluses; and tlfâ€" ter the whole party had forgot them, and we were visliug the magnificent Cathedral, the old ver- ger who showed us ovct‘ the var- ious chapels, was so struck with the beautiful flowers in the lady’s bun- uet, that he recalled them to our recollection by his admiring exclam- atious. So you see. 'l‘liouuts, one may live all his life-time surrounded by some of the loveliest objects in nature, without ever obscrvmg tbcm ; for I’ll warrant you, the old vcrgor of Canterbury Cathedral, who had spout wcll nigh tlircescot‘e and ten years among the sunny fields and green lanes of Kent, had never thought ofdiscovcriug in them augbt to admire, llll they attracted his eye in :1 London lady's bonnet. But they soon betrayed that they were nature’s own handy-work ; a London gum-flower would have bloomed through a wltulc season. perched on such a coveted UluVlllluu but the poor \Hltl (:mivolvulus tlroopcd and withered etc it was many boursyawziy from its compan- ions in the green budgeâ€"row. and died just llku some stulcu exile drag- ged away to be a slave, even though ll. be the slave of a fair lady !' ‘ Well done, William,’ exclaimed Thomas, laughing ‘you get quite poetical about your poor convolvul- us, and talk of its death as though you would really crv over it, as you might over the dculli of an old fricud.’ ‘And is it not an old friend? You see how it has sufficed to remind me of u very happy day lspcut years ago, with (Hit: 1 can hardly hope ever to see again ; and indeed it is not to be wondered at, if to a contemplative mind the fzid ing of the flowers should suggest gruvcr reflections; you know the Bible says, ‘All the glory ofumn is as the flower of the grass ;' and the poets seem almost involuntarily, in speaking ofllie fair and fragile, to usesuch terms as a lovely and a frail flower. If you have no objec- tions, 1 think I can repeat to you a poem written by a friend of mine under some such feelings, and whish is at least sure to be new to you.’ Thomas assented at once to the proposal ; be bad by this complete- ly thrown oll'liis listless :lllfl indol- ent manner, and be now declared he would be glad to hear what his companion proposed: he really could not have thought it pOSSlblc that a few weeds should have kept them talking pleasantly so long! William only smiled at the remark, and proceeded as follows :â€" To be Cumin um]. TH E UN FORTUNATE 'I‘IIADESMAN. One day about noon, I found my- self in a small street leading out of Oxford Street. Some boys were just returning from school. One of the little fellows espicd me upon a window, and iuuucllialcly out came his handkerchief. Asl was, fortu- uutely, rather beyond his reach. I placed myself Still higher. After many ineffectual attempts Willi the said handkercbmf, my young tur- mcntut‘ quilted me. I now made the best of my way intn llll) first upon door, \vliiult pI‘OV- these a blue liquid is made, \Vlll(‘ll, by the chemical changes effected on its colour, suffices Completely to de- tect an acid or al .all in certain chemical compounds, changing in- variably to different colours, my'urd- ing to presence of the one or thcl other; so you see that it is neither an ugly nor a useless little wch !' ‘ “'cll, I r‘onfcss,’ said Thomas, ‘ I did not think it possible that any thing of the sort could have furnishâ€"I ed so much talk ; and now that you point it out to me, it certaian has :11 pleasantcr scent than I had any eons ecption of; I am not sure that I: ever noticed the flower before. But what more have you got in your handkerchief there? That ed to be u shoemaker 5. Inc shop "| t ‘1 was Slllllll, but very neat. Inuit, ovus a glass door leading into a buck parlour; two children were play- tugr upon lllt) carpet; thclr mother, a nice-llmkmg young Womun 0f ‘ubuut llVC<lltrtl-l\\‘ctll_\', was busily engaged in ctubroidering a silk are... Presently, a red-faced, bard-featured mun, walked through the sltup Into the little parlour. and standing just before the young wo- man, Wllll both his hands resting upon his gold-faced stick, slernly demanded if her husband was at home. ‘ No, sir,’ suid the wife tim- i‘lly; ‘will you be pleased to take a chair 7' not laid the cloth! To be sure, We have nothing but bread, and a scrap of cheese, for dinner; but, thank God! it is paid for. I am glad I saved that drop of broth yesterday for mothers dinner; poor old dame. she little thinks how badly we are off! it would be cruel (bed-ridden as SllC is) to make her unhappy by tell- in}: her the truth; I will warm tho. broth, and take it up to her at once._’ Her husband had returned in her absence. She found him seated. his face buried in his hands upon the table; he did not even look.an upon his wife’s entering the room. >51):- approached him. and placing lwt‘ arm affectionately around his neck, gently asked him what was do matter. He looked up, and the wife saw large tears in his manly eyes. ‘My poor Susan, my dear Susan, what misery havel brought you to! and at such a time, when you are so little able to bear itll’ said IVIuson, rising from his seat and pacing the room with rapid strides. ‘ Talk not so, John ; do not think of me, I shall do very well, and she busted herself'about the room, Niel? her husband might not see her agi- tation. “ ‘Daddy.’ said the eldest clifld,7 clinging to his father’s knee, "a great cross man came here just now and made poor mother cry.- Won’t you flog him for that? I would if I was bigger.’ - The poor man was in despair;- lIe had then to tell her that he had not received a single payment-r among all that he had been to that morning. ‘I must go to prison, for [cannot meet the bill for tweut ' pounds due the day after to-mog row,‘ continued he; 'and we have] already parted with almost the whole of our furniture.‘ , Susan knew all this but too well ; , yet she tried to soothe him, and hopefully told him of Lady H e's promise. ‘Comc, love.‘ said she, ‘ and have a little dinuer,’ placing the only piece of meat upon his plate, (she had run out and procur-, ed a quarter of a pound of cold becf,) telling him they had already dined, but she did not add upon dry bread. ‘ The dress will be finished in less than an hour, andI know I shall return with the money before-~ dark. so cheer up.’ . . ‘My good, dear wife, I hardly think it safe for you to take so long a walk in your situation,’ said Maâ€" son, looking at her with his heart almost bursting. She only laugh- ed at him, adding, ‘tbat she felt quite safe for at least another week.’ At last the dress was completed, and Susan set off with it alone, as her husband was obliged to remain with the children and to look to the shop. But what was her disap- pointment Upon arriving in St“ Jame’s Square, to hear that Lady ['1 c was in Devonshire, and not expected to return to town for ten days or a fortnight! Poor Su- san wept the whole of the way home. Now she really did des- pair. Yet upon her return, fati- gued and broken-hearted, she tried to cheer her unfortunate husband. They retired to bed that night spiritless and supperless. I must own I felt so anxious to hear the result of all this, that I de- termined to remain all night where I was. About three o’clock, I was disturbed by hearing a great noise. It was all soon accounted for. Su- san was taken ill, and the husband had gone out for Mrs. Smith, who was to aid in the double capacity of nurse and doctor. About eight in the morning, Mason left the room of his suffering wife, and entered the little parlour. There was agloom and a settled determina- tion in his manner I did not like. After a while, he quilted the house, without breaking his fast. Soon after, I learned that his wife had giVen birth to a dead child. The day passed heavily away, and Mason returned not. Aneigh- bour had taken away the two poor children. About five o’clock, a. mob; was brought to Mrs. Mason; it was from her son, telling her that he was in prison; that, m desper- ation, he had entered a jeweller’s shop intlie morning, and had stolen awatch. The shopman saw him commit the theft, and had him im- mediately taken up. The watch was found upon him ; he was commited, sent to prison, tried, and sentenced to fourteen years’ transportation. The grand- mother uud the children were taken into the workhouse, and poor Su- san, whereis she ? In a mad-house 1 2.1g 1K. 5’“ '