Half an hour afterwards he thought of the paper he had received from the messenger. He took it from his pocket, and read as follows:

"Your prayer is granted. It was not your picture that triumphed over our heart, but we were moved by your gratitude. INNOCENT."

"You will leave us no more," said the count, after he had seen the pope's note.

Luigi cast his eyes upon Irene.

"O, I can be grateful, Luigi," cried de Castro, noticing the look of his young preserver. "I know where your heart is. Here, this is yours-take it with my blessing. But she must not leave her father."

The count placed Irene's hand within that of Luigi as he spoke, and then he sat down and gazed upon the happiness he had made.

The beautiful girl wound her arms about the neck of her noble lover, and she was not long in making him promise that he would leave them no more.

Luigi and Irene were married in Rome, but John de Castro deemed it not prudent to remain there long. Innocent X. had many excellent qualities, but his foibles were numerous, and the count had no desire to remain too near the vacillating pontiff. De Castro went to Aquila, and having sold his estates he passed on to Venice, where he found a home. Luigi and Irene went with him, and in their sweet companionship, he found a bright and holy light to illumine the path of his declining

years.

"The "Martyrdom of Saint Peter of Alexandria," is still in the Vatican at Rome, but the rest of Marino's paintings are in Venice, where he found the home of his honorable and happy manhood, and where he made himself beloved by all who knew him.

THE REASON FOR REFUSAL.

Mr. Pops paid his two hundred and sixty-seventh visit to Miss Clarissa Cooler, a damsel of about two hundred and fifty avoirdupois, one evening in July. He found her in a rocker, alone in the parlor; stole his arms around her alabaster neck, and sipped in the nectar of her cherry lips-a proceeding there was not the least harm in, considering that they had come to an agreement, and were generally reported to be on the high road to matrimony. The lady took it all quietly, even indifferently, to judge from the lassitude of her attitude in the rocker, her lazy use of her fan, and her exclamation of something between a heigh-ho and a ya-hum. Commonplaces were disposed of. a silence broken only by Mr. Pops slapping at the mosquitoes, and Miss Clarissa fanning herself unceasingly.

Then followed

At length Pops proposed a promenade and an ice cream. Clarissa declined both, adding:

"I wish to stay at home, for I have something particular to tell you."

"Indeed!" said Pops; "what is it, dear?" "You expect our wedding to take place in three weeks, don't you?"

"To be sure I do."

"Well, I am sorry to disappoint you, but I must do it. I cannot marry-"

"Good heavens, Clarissa!

ing?"

66

What are you say.

"Don't interrupt me; I mean I can't marry you just yet awhile-not for some months to come." Why, Clarissa, what's the meaning of all this? You gave me your solemn promise, and said nothing stood in the way. 1 am all ready, and worried with waiting; why do you put it off, dear?"

"That you will have to excuse my telling you. I have a good reason for it, and my mind is made up. Will that satisfy you?"

Pops mused awhile. Clarissa kept her fan going. Finally Pops spoke.

"No, Clarissa, it won't satisfy me. You postpone our wedding, and refuse to tell me why. If you have a reason for it you ought to let me know it, and may be it would satisfy me; but I won't be satisfied without a reason."

Maybe I am, and may be I aint," said Pops, rising with his temper; "but this I'll say, Miss Clarissa-if you don't tell me why you postpone the wedding a few months, you may postpone it forever, so far as I am concerned. Tell me, Clarissa, or else I swear that when I leave this house to-night, I will never set foot in it again."

"Well, then, you had better go."

"Very well. Good night, Miss Cooler."

Pops reached the door. Clarissa followed him, and seeing that he was in carnest, cried to him to stay. Pops came back-Clarissa put her head upon his shoulder and cried. Pops spoke first.

"Well, dear, what's the matter?"

"Oh, I don't wan't to tell-I can't tell you why I want our wedding put off."

"You must tell me," said Pops, "or I'll leave you this instant, and never return."

"Well, dear, if I must, I must.”

And Clarissa laid her head upon Pops' shoulder, and faintly whispered in his ear

"The weather is too hot!"

PANIC AT SEA.

A green lad from Alabama, who was a passenger on board one of the steamboats navigating the Gulf of Mexico, suddenly bolted into the cabin one morning, before the passengers had fairly rubbed their eyes open, exclaiming, "We are lost!"-"Lost!" replied his nearest neighbor. "Lost" exclaimed another. "Lost" screamed out the whole crowd. "Yes, lost!" said the lad, astonished at the alarm he had created. "I know we are lost, 'cause the captain's on the top o' the house, and another man's upon the mast, a-lookin' to see whar we are."

THE DROWNED CAT. Children, do you not sometimes worry and pester the poor cat? Have you not thrown stones and snow-balls at her, and even cruelly set a dog upon her? If you have, and still practice this species of cruelty, I cannot but expect that this disposition will increase with your years, so that in time your heart will be effectually barred against those feelings of sympathy and pity, which dwell so largely in the breast of every good and benevolent man. But I would urge you to leave off this wicked practice, and treat all dumb creatures as you yourselves would wish to be treated, had you none to watch over you in love, and to whom you could tell your feelings of distress.

When I was a boy, I made a bargain with a friend for two pretty little rabbits, which I carried home and put in a small house which I had made. Every day I would let them run about the yard, and it would please me to see them hop about and pick the fresh clover. One morning I went for my rabbits, but they were not to be seen. I was astonished, and conjectured that some one had come in the night and stolen them. But who should be guilty of the thing, did not know. I inquired about among my companions, but they had not been seen. A few days after, as I was looking under the barn, I discovered the skins of my poor lit. tle rabbits; then the thought came to me that some cat had entered their house and dragged them away, and killed them and eaten them. But whose cat it was, I did not know, but little suspected it was my black and white one. I was much grieved for the loss of my rabbits, and felt bad enough to kill any cat, which I suspected of such a thing. However, in a short time I thought less of this circumstance, and had converted their house into a place to keep pigeons in. I had upwards of twenty, which I was careful every day to feed. But one morning, on going to the pigeon house, I was greatly astonished to find all my pigeons but two, stretched lifeless upon the floor, and my own cat sitting in the centre. I was sorely grieved; I could not help crying to see so many poor pigeons dead, and the only two that were alive almost gone.

The cat had climbed up by the side of the house in the night and killed them all, but could not get out again till I opened the door. And then I had no doubt who it was that killed my rabbits. Feeling as I did, I declared that the cat should live but a short time. I caught her, put a string round her neck, with a large stone tied to the end of it, and put her in a bag. 1 then carried her down to the river, and threw her in. I never saw her more.

When I returned I dug a large hole in the garden, and buried my pigeons, amounting to about two dozen. I do not know that I ever felt sorry for drowning that cat; for she had been so cruel to my rabbits and pigeons. But if I had set a large dog upon her to tear her to pieces, or had thrown stones at her, or beaten her with sticks, I should have regretted it. Now, children, do learn never to hurt a poor animal. If you knew how much you injured them by casting stones at them, I am persuaded you would never be guilty of it again. He ve feelings of sympathy for creatures that cannet tell of their sufferings, be kind to all, and you will never regret that you possessed such a disposition to your dying day.

Franz, the young musician, sat sobbing by the roadside. He had not earned one penny all the long, long day; and now, to crown his misfortunes, one of the strings of his violin had snapped, leaving him hopeless of success in his calling for a long time to come.

"Oh! what shall I do?" he cried. "The peasants will not stay their dancing because the fiddler cannot play; the little children must have music to beguile them; some other person they will find to take my place, and I shall die of want. Woe is

me!"

While the words of complaint were yet on his lips, he was accosted by a withered old crone, who was bent nearly double with age, and was, besides, a hunchback. She was a most loathsome looking creature; and Franz would have turned away in disgust, but her plaintive voice and pleading words moved his kind heart to pity.

"You are wretched," she said; "but how much more miserable am I! Ah, kind master, open your purse, for I am starving.".

"Would that I could!" cried the lad. "I have neither purse nor money to put in it." "Is it so indeed?" the hag answered, despair. "Mayhap you've a crust about ye that would lay hunger."

ingly.

"Alas, none!"

Then the beggar fell to groaning and wailing at such a rate that Franz could bear it no lorger. "Here" he cried, seizing his beloved violin. "It is my best and my all that I offer. Take it-I cannot endure to see you suffer."

It was growing dark; but, as the crone reached forth her hand, a glow as of sunrise came between her and Franz and in the strange light it seemed to the lad her form straightened and became beau tiful, her wrinkled face grew lovely.

"Well done, my good child!" she said; and her voice was like music. "Your unselfish charity shall not go unrewarded."

Franz remembered nothing more; and, when he awoke the next morning, in the same place on the roadside, was certain he had been dreaming. He rose to look for his violin-rubbed his eyes-looked again; not it, but a new and beautiful Cremona lay there, and beside it a purse of gold, with "Kind

Heart" embroidered in its silken meshes.

Franz took the money to his mother, showed her his new violin, and told of his adventure. She raised eyes and hands in grateful wonder.

"Twas some good fairy, no less, in disguise," she said. "Pray Heaven you may be worthy of her gifts."

Whether this was true or not the lad never knew; but certain it is, with the music of his new violin he made his way to "fame and fortune," and never, even in his proudest moments of success, failed to deserve the name of "Kind-Heart."

A BAD HABIT.

"Oh mother! I am tired to death," said Jane Mills, as she threw herself into a chair on her return from school.

“Tired to death!" repeated her mother, slowly. "Yes, mother, I am-almost, I mean," she added. "No, my daughter, not even almost," said Mrs. Mills.

"Well, at any rate," continued Jane, "I would not walk from here to school again to-day, for anything in the world."

"Oh yes you would, my dear," said her mother, gently.

"No, mother, I am sure I would not, I am certain I nothing would tempt me."

But I am nearly certain you could be induced to go without any urging," answered her mother. "Well, mother, try me, and see if anything could make me willing to go."

"Suppose," said Mrs. Mills, "I should offer to take you with me to the new Panorama this afternoon? I expect to visit it."

"Do you, mother," said Jane, with great animation. "May I go? You promised to take me when you went."

"I intended to have done so," replied her mother, "but the place where it is exhibited is a very long way beyond your school."

"But I am quite rested now, dear mother," said Jane. "I would not fail of going for all the world. Why do you smile, mother?"

"To think what an inconsistent little daughter I have."

"What do you mean by inconsistent, mother?" "Why, when a little girl says one minute, that she would not walk a particular distance "for anything in the world,' and in the next minute says, 'she would not fail' of walking still further for anything in the world,' and in the next minute says 'she would not fail' of walking still further for all the world,' she not only talks inconsistently and extravagantly, but loolishly. It is a very bad habit to use such expressions. Yesterday, when you came home from school, you said you were almost frightened out of your life, and when I inquired as to the cause of your alarm, you replied that you had met as many as a thousand cross dogs on your way home from school.

I don't believe you ever
Knew any one so silly

As the girl I'm going to tell about,
A little girl named Dilly.
Dilly-dally-Dilly!

Oh! she is very slow:
She drags her feet
Along the street

And dilly-dallies so!

She's always late for breakfast,
Without a bit of reason;

For Bridget rings and rings the bell,
And wakes her up in season.
Dilly-dally-Dilly!

How can you be so slow?
Why don't you try

To be more spry,

And not dilly-dally so?

The above rascals are travelling from town to town, swindling the unsophisticated. They represent themselves as agents for various publications, amongst them ours. They hold out all kinds of inducements to take in those simple, ignorant people, who know no better than to part with their money to any smooth-faced scoundrel that comes

along. Our advice is, never to part with your money to strangers; for, in nine cases out of ten, you will find yourselves swindled. The surest way is to send direct to the publishers of such publications as you wish to subscribe for; or, if your friends are making up clubs, that also would be all right.

FAMILY ECONOMY.

There is nothing which goes so far towards placing young people beyond the reach of poverty, as economy in the management of their domestic affairs. It is as much impossible to get a ship across the Atlantic with half a dozen butts started, or as many bolt holes in her hull, as to conduct the concerns of a family without economy. It matters not whether a man furnish little or much for his family, if there is a continual leakage in the kitchen or in the parlor, it runs away, he knows not how; and that demon, waste, cries more, like the horseleech's daughter, until he that provides has no more to give. It is the husband's duty to bring into the house, and it is the duty of the wife to see that nothing goes wrongfully out of it-not the least article, however unimportant in itself, for it establishes a precedent; nor under any pretence, for it opens the door for ruin to stalk in, and he seldom leaves an opportunity unimproved. A man gets a wife to look after his affairs; to assist him in his journey through life; to educate and prepare his children for a proper station in life, and not to dissipate his property. The husband's interests should be the wife's care, and her greatest ambition carry her no further than his welfare and happiness, together with that of her children. This should be her sole aim and the theatre of her exploits in the bosom of her family, where she may do as much towards making a fortune as he can possibly do in the counting-room or workshop. It is not the money carned that makes a man wealthy; it is that

which is saved from his earnings. A good and prudent husband makes a deposit of the fruits of his labor with his best friend; and if that friend be not true to him, what has he to hope? If he dare not place confidence in the companion of his bosom, where is he to place it? A wife acts not for herself only, but she is the agent of many she loves, and she is bound to act for their good, and not for her own gratification. Her husband's good is the end at which she should aim, his approbation is her reward. Self-gratification in dress, or indulgence in appetite, or more company than his purse can entertain, are equally pernicious. The first adds van. ity to extravagance; the second fastens a doctor's bill to a butcher's long account; and the latter brings intemperance-the worst of all evils-in its train.

ADVICE TO YOUNG LADIES.

Clandestine courtships are not only dishonorable and uncertain as to their results, but a base fraud upon the confidence of parents. They are in all aspects discreditable, because, however pure or sincere, the concealment implies a doubt of the integ rity of one of the parties. Either the man is ashamed of the woman, or the woman is ashamed of the man, or somebody interested, is ashamed of one or the other of them, or they design to deceive a confiding parent or guardian; but look at it in any way or light, the proceeding is disreputable. The young woman compromises her reputation-for "people will talk," scandal will originate, and society, detesting secrecy in affairs of the heart, is prone to be censorious; and the man, if not restrained by some purity of principles, is ever ready to regard the woman with suspicion, at least. They think, with Brabantio, that if a girl deceives her parents, she will deceive others. So girls, have a care that in attempting to deceive others, you are not yourselves deceived.

LOVE OF HOME.

The heart has memories that never die. The rough rubs of the world cannot obliterate them. They are memories of home-early home. There is a magic in the very sound. There is the old tree under which the light-hearted boy swung many a day; yonder the river in which he learned to swim; there is the house in which he knew a parent's protection; nay, there is the room in which he romped with brother and sister, long since, alas! laid in the cemetery in which he must soon be gathered, overshadowed by yon old church, whither, with a joyous troop like himself, he has often followed his parents to worship. Why, even the very schoolhouse, associated in youthful days with thoughts of tasks, now comes to bring pleasant remembrances of many occasions that call forth some generous exhibitions of the noble traits of human nature. There is where he learned to feel some of his first emotions. There are certain feelings of humanity, and those, too, among the best that can find an appropriate place for their exercise only by one's own fireside and its immediate surroundings.

REMEDY FOR FITS.-If you are subject to those distressing attacks, buy your clothes at a slop-shop, and you will never have a fit afterwards.

Loafer-Hello, old gander! why didn't the Lord give thee a short neck like mine, eh? QuakerPerchance thine was made for stretching.

We notice an advertisement of " milliner's feathers for sale." The milliners from whom these feathers were plucked must have been little ducks.

A Quaker who wanted to shoot a man apologized to him and his principles at the same time, by say. ing: "Thee stands in the way of my gun, and it must go off."

A gentleman of the name of Pepper had been thrown several times from a spirited horse, and was relating the circumstance to a friend, at the same time observing he had never given his horse

a name.

vious inkling. The young gentleman was directed to desire the lady to come to her father, and, doubtless, her obedience was prompt. The professor had before him in review some work, on the fly-leaf of which was duly inscribed, "With the author's com. pliments." He tore this out, pinned it to his daugh. ter's dress, solemnly led her to the young lover, and went back to his work.

A few days ago, a very handsome lady entered a dry-goods house and inquired for a “beau." The polite clerk threw himself back, and remarked that he was at her service. "Yes; but I want a buff, not a green one," was the reply. The young man went on measuring goods immediately.

A slab above a grave in Arkansas bears the fol. lowing legend, evidently the tribute of a devoted but discriminating husband:

"She washed the children,

Fed the fowls,
And made her home
Resound with howls."

SANDS OF GOLD.

w

Mr. Quibble reading, "it has been decided in the court of the Queen's Bench in Dublin, that a clergyman of the Church of England can legally marry himself," observed that might be very well as a measure of economy, but that even in the hardest times he should prefer to marry a woman.

"I'm going to ride at the country," said a Frenchman, whose English was not very perfect to a friend in town. "You should say in the country," remarked the friend. Ah, yes, very good,” responded the Frenchman; "and when I come back I will knock in your door."

Married, at Peck's Land, Fairfield County, Conn., by Rev. John Peck, Mr. Jared Peck and Miss Julia Peck, daughter of William Peck, Esq.

Kind Heaven, permit no cares to vex,
Nor troubles more than usual;
And bless the nuptial couch with Pecks
Enough to make a bushel.

A wag entered a store in London years ago, which had for its sign, "The Two Baboons," and addressing himself to the proprietor, said: "I wish to see your partner!"

"I have no partner, sir."

"I beg your pardon, sir, and hope you will excuse the mistake."

A slanderer is one who gives up part of his own character to injure that of another.

If thou wouldst bear thy neighbor's fault's, cast thine eyes upon thine own.

Those who are in the habit of making themselves all "honey," are apt to be troubled with flies.

Wouldst thou with thyself be acquainted, then see what others are doing. But wouldst thou understand others, look into thine own heart.

The best means to learn our faults is to tell others of theirs; they will be too proud to be alone in their defects, and will seek them in us, and reveal them

to us.

The pleasantest part of a man's life is that which passes in courtship, provided his passion be sincere, and the party beloved kind with discretion. Love, desire, hope, all the pleasing emotions of the soul rise in the pursuit.

How sweet a thing is love of home. It is not acquired-it is a feeling that has its origin elsewhere. It is born with us, brought from another world to carry us on with joy in this. It attaches to the humblest heart that ever throbbed.

The willow which bends to the tempest often escapes better than the oak which resists it; and so, in great calamities, it sometimes happens that light and frivolous spirits recover their elasticity and presence of mind sooner than those of a loftier char

Your sign.

"The Two Baboons."

Providence so orders things that dishonesty thwarts the most cunningly devised schemes for making money. Were it not so, thieves would become rich, in the true sense of the word. Their gains are uncertain, and their lives are thriftless as