and there Mein Herr Flint met with the schoolmaster abroad, whose well-practiced ear misled him to mistake Flint for Flintea fowling piece. To show his translating abilities, "the master" turned Flint into Gun! Feuerstein, Flint and Gun, all in close relation!!"

This thing of translating surnames, is in every case a piece of folly; but still is less objectionable, it seems to us, than the corruption which is so extensively practiced, when folks attempt to preserve the pronunciation of one language, by adopting the orthography of another. If you have, for instance, inherited from your ancestors, the respectable name of Lauterbach-derived from the town beyond the Rhine, where a certain ancient German minstrel was so unfortunate as to "lose his stocking "-please do not change it into Louderbaugh or Louderback! If you have become so English, that you cannot suffer your respectable old name to remain intact, translate it at once into CLEARBROOK, and be done with it. It would then be sufficiently pretty, to satisfy the most fastidious, and it is probable that future generations would suffer it to remain unchanged.

CURIOUS NAMES.

Some years ago, a New England editor attempted to amuse his readers by publishing a list of curious names, which he had transcribed from the advertising columns of a Pennsylvania paper. We do not remember what names he selected, but among them, were probably some such respectable appellations as Riemenschneider, Reifschneider, Hinterleitner, Kunzenhauser, Lautenschlaeger, Pfaffenschlaeger and Shalckenbecher. The Pennsylvania editor retaliated, by extracting from the New England paper, a list of surnames which would be similarly amusing to Pennsylvanians. Among these were Peabody, Stringfellow, Oxenham, Goatshead, Ramsbotham, Ketchum, Cheatum and Ticklepenny. The Yankee editor had not imagined that such names could amuse any one, for the simple reason that he had been familiar with them from childhood.

A correspondent of one of our city papers informs us, that in the New York City Directory this year, there are 15 Frames but no pictures, 2 Pickups, 1 Pickles, 1 Ship, 3 Crews, 43 Hale, 3 Hearty, 5 Sick, 1 Tosick, 2 Well, 8 Weller, and 1 Twogood. Then there are 3 Noahs and 1 Ark, 3 Furs, 1 Feather, 26 Shepherds, 13 Flocks and 63 Lambs, 3 Pilgrims with 6 Staffs, 1 Car and 6 Drivers, 2 Mean and 2 Lovely, 5 Constables with 1 Clubb, 2 Jurys with 6 Foremen, 6 Pastors and 40 Churches. There may also be found 9 Canarys and 30 Singers, 1 Dollar and 2 Shillings, 1 Bowels, 15 Houses, 1 Roof and 3 Leaks, 2 Lawyers, 5 Learned

and 5 Nott, 80 Parsons, 2 Fast, 2 Slow, 1 Sly, 1 Fatt and 10 Loud, 2 Hens, 1 Chick and 1 Duck, 3 Clocks and 3 Hands, 18 Christians, 2 Sinners and a Devil, 1 Scow and 4 Sailors. The Smith family are very well represented, as that favorite name appears over 2,300 times, while that of Jones is printed over 600 times. The Mcs. occupy over 100 columns, and the O's 20 columns.

The study of surnames, is still, to a great extent, an untrodden field. Though many books have been written about them, they have not, as yet, found a lexicographer. Perhaps, if some great philologist, like Max Muller, were to lay hold of the subject, he might bring order out of the apparent chaos; and develope the laws which underlie their interminable variations. In the meantime, we can only hope to show, that the subject is not as dry and barren, as is generally supposed, and in this way to contribute to the amusement of our readers.

THE SIGNERS

The signers of the Declaration of Independence were all natives of the American soil, with the exception of eight. Sixteen of them were from the Eastern, or New England colonies, fourteen from the Middle, and eighteen from the Southern colonies. One was a native of Maine, nine were natives of Massachusetts, two of Rhode Island, four of Connecticut, three of New Jersey, five of Pennsylvania, two of Delaware, five of Maryland, nine of Virginia, and four of South Carolina. Two were born in England, three in Ireland, two in Scotland, and one was born in Wales.

Twenty-seven of the signers had been regularly graduated in colleges, or about one-half. Twenty others had received an academic education, and the remainder had each been taught at a plain school or at home. Of the fifty-six signers, twenty-five had studied the institutions of Great Britain, while sojourning in that country. All had something to lose if the struggle should result in a failure to them. Many of them were very wealthy, and, with very few exceptions, all of them were blessed with a competence.

Thirty-four of the signers were lawyers, thirteen were planters or farmers, nine were merchants, five were physicians, two were mechanics, one was a clergyman, one a mason, and one a surveyor. The youngest member of Congress when the Declaration was signed (Rutledge) was twenty-seven years of age; the oldest one (Dr. Franklin) was seventy. Forty-two of the fifty-six were between thirty

and fifty years of age; the average age of all was forty-three-years and ten months.

Not one of the signers ever fell from the high estate to which that great act had elevated him. It has been well said that "the annals of the world can present no political body the lives of whose members, minutely traced, exhibit so much of the zeal of the patriot dignified and chastened by the virtues of the man."-Benson J. Lossing, in Harper's Magazine for August.

HOW MUCH IS THE BIBLE WORTH?

How much is your Bible worth? Scientific men are trying to show us, through the newspapers, and through philosophic papers, that our race descended from the monkey. Get out of my way with your abominable Darwinian theories! Scientific men cannot understand the origin of this world. We open our Bibles, and feel like the Christian Arab, who said to the skeptic when asked by him why he believed there was a God: "How do I know that it was a man instead of a camel that went past my tent last night? Why I know him by his tracks." Then, looking over at the setting sun, the Arab said to the skeptic: "Look there! that is not the work of a man. That is the track of a God." We have all these things revealed in God's word.

Dear old book! My father loved it. It trembled in my mother's hand when she was nigh four-score years old. It has been under the pillow of three of my brothers when they died. It is very different from the book it once was to me. I used to take it as a splendid poem, and read it as I read John Milton. I took it up sometimes as a treatise on law, and read it as I did Blackstone. I took it up as a fine history, and read it as I did Josephus. Ah! now it is not the poem ; it is not the treatise on law; it is not the history. It is simply a family album that I open, and see right before me the face of God, my Father; of Christ my Saviour; of heaven, my eternal home.

"How precious is the book divine,

By inspiration given!

Bright as a lamp its doctrines shine,
To guide our souls to heaven.

This lamp through all the tedious night
Of life shall guide our way,

Till we behold the clearer light

Of an eternal day."

As I take up my family Bible to-night, bright with promises and redolent with boyhood memories, and mighty with principles that are to regenerate the world, I ask you, ye men who are descended from those who fought until they died in their tracks, for the defence of this book; ye sons of the covenanters, who were hounded among the Highlands of Scotland; ye sons of men who went on ladders of fire from English soil to heaven for this grand, glorious triumph, and God-given book, "How much owest thou to my Lord?"-Rev. T. De Witt Talmage.

NEARER HOME.

[By PHOEBE CARY. Written in New York, in 1852. Many variations of this poem have been published; but the author desires the following to be considered hereafter her authorized version.]

One sweetly solemn thought

Comes to me o'er and o'er;

I'm nearer home to-day

Than I ever have been before:

Nearer my Father's house,

Where the many mansions be;

Nearer the great white throne,

Nearer the crystal sea:

Nearer the bound of life,

Where we lay our burdens down;

Nearer leaving the cross,

Nearer gaining the crown.

But the waves of that silent sea
Roll dark before my sight,
That brightly on the other side
Break on a shore of light.

O, if my mortal feet

Have almost gained the brink,

If it be I'm nearer home
Even to-day than I think:

Father, perfect my trust,
Let my spirit feel in death
That her feet are firmly set
On the Rock of a living faith!

A CHICKEN'S STORY.

The first recollection I have of myself, I was shut up in a little dark prison-house. I didn't like it, and I pecked very hard at the walls, and somehow, I hardly know just how, I by and by found myself free. I soon discovered that I was a very queer little fellow, with two nice legs, and two really elegant little wings. I had a very sharp little bill too, and such cunning little feathers all over me. That was all I made out distinctly, though I nearly broke my neck and quite lost my balance trying to see what was on the top of my head. I didn't find out-never have seen it, in fact, but I know there's something there.

I had five little brothers and sisters, and such a nice, warm mother! I do wish you were acquainted with my mother; I am sure you would say you had never seen such a cosy little mother as she is. Two of my brothers were black, and one was white. I had a little yellow sister, and a speckled one, and I am sure I dont know what color I was; but my mother called me "Top-knot." How we used to run around in the nice dirt, and under the leaves and bushes! And didn't our mother scratch for us! How she would find the worms and bugs and little seeds for us! When she called, "Come quick, come quick," how we would all scamper! Jet was a greedy little fellow and got more than his share; but our mother was an industrious old hen, and none of us went hungry.

Every night she cuddled us under her dear, warm wings, and she wasn't at all afraid. But it was only a fence-corner where we slept, and one night a rat, or something dreadful, and I don't know what, came and most frightened us into spasms. He actually did carry off my little screaming brother Jet, though my poor mother lost every one of her tail-feathers in our defence. I just wish that old rat or something had all his tail-feathers pulled out! But Jet was a most awful greedy chicken! Mother said we must sleep in the hen-house after that. I am now a very fine chicken-can scratch for myself pretty well, and in many ways make myself useful to the family; but I shall never forget that dreadful night. -Rural New Yorker.

ALL our murmurings are as so many arrows shot at God himself, and they will return upon our own hearts; they reach not him but they will hit us; they hurt not him, but will wound us.