Decatur Eagle, Volume 1, Number 4, Decatur, Adams County, 6 March 1857 — Page 1

11 M _ ■ A'-;-:'-; — ■ ■.'l.'"!’.'. 1 ’ •■■■■'■ •»■ ■■ ■ , tn r nr r a ti i r i a g s it 1 ri i, Li r.' i i i n I j ' uij i'j •

VOL. L

TUI'. DECATUR EAGLE. Published every Friday morning. Ofice, on Main Stress, in the old School House, one 3<r r.-.rc North of J. & P Cribs’ Store. Terms of Subscription: For one year. $ I At), in advance; .$1 75, « itbui sis months; 0!), after the year has expired. £T No paper will be discontinued until al! ’ arc paid, J-.Ceui al the option vt the Publisher. Terms of Advertising: One Square, three insertions, $ 1 00 Each subsequent insertion, BP-No advertisement will be considered less than one square; ever one square will be counted and charged ns two; over two, as three, etc. JOB PRINTING. We are prepared to do all kinds of JOB WORK, in a neat and workmanlike manner, on | the most reasonable terms. Our material for the C"i. -letion of Job-work, beintr new and of I the latest - tyles, wo arc- confident that satisfac-1 tion can be given. Law of Newspapers. 1. Subscribers who do not give express notice , to the contrar v, are considered as wishing to . continue their subscriptions. 2. If subscribers order the discontinuance of , their papers, the publisher may continue to send ' them until all arrearages are paid. 3. If subscribers neglect or refuse to take thenpapers from the office they are held responsible till they have settled the bill and ordered the paper discontinued. . 4. If subscribers remove to other places with out informing the publisher, and the paper is i Btill sent to the former direction, they are held responsible. , , , , • ©-The Court have decided that refusing to take a paper from the office, or removed and leaving it uncalled forispaiMi facie evidence of intentional fraud. OUR FATHER. BY MISS PRISCILLA J. OWEN. »‘Our Father!” inthecalm profound, I Beneath the summer’s cloudless sky, When all is fair and bright around ’ . How sweet to feel that Thou art nigh; More balmy seems the gentle air, More sweet the flow’rets fragrant bloom, . The name of lure seeti-s w l.tsper’d there, Thy goodness breathes in that perfume. ’ ’'Ou: Father,” when the storm 13 high, , ' When wild winds sport upon the sea, * When darkness wraps the frowning sky, We turn tor peace and rest to Thoc; The waves are gathered in Thy hand, Thy voice can hush the storm to sleep, The winds can move at thy command, And Thou art with us or. the deep. •’Our Father,” in the busy throng, With restless heart and hurrying feet, Where pleasure tunes her syren song. And crowds in eager converse meet; When wearied vi'.h the bustling strife, ' And fevered with its noise and glare, Thi hollow s ,unding sea of life. We find that Thou art even there. "Our Father ”ou the desert lone. Where solei ... silence reigns around, Where solitude has reared her throne. And brooks i.o human glance orsouad; Yet there Thy viewless presence fills ■ The Glue depths of the slumbering air; A nameless awe the bosom thrills, A sense tin.; thou alone art there. "Our Father,’.’ as our footsteps roam These varied paths so far and wide, 0 keep us mindful of our home, And faithful to our gentle guide; A lonely place this world would be • Unnoticed by Thy watchful eye; A desert waste —a restless sea. Spread out beneath a sunless sky. "Our Father.” in the hour of death, When suffi ring pales the wasted check, When fl ittering pulse and ebbing breath j.. Os speedy dissolution speak,— Then Thou art nigh, forever nigh, | Thy hand supports the feeble head; The lustre of Thy gracious eye ; Sheds glory o’er the dying bed. •’Our Father,” as the last sad tears. Are dried forever by Thy hand, How burstsjupon the ravish’d ears ■ >L.Tiie music of another land: Its sweetness wakes the closing eyes, It lifts the struggling soul away; And calm and blest the sufferer dies, As dawning melteth intoday. E= ~ ■ A very diffident young gentleman, in one of his experiences waiting on a maiden home in the eveniug, desired her not to mention it, as it might cause remarks. ’Don’t be afraid,’ said she, ’of my telling, I feel as much ashamed of it as you do.’ He must have felt quite as bad as the old Revolutionary soldier says he did once—‘Of all the solemn hours I eversaw that one when I went home from Widow Bean’s when her daughter Sally told me I needn’t come again, was the solemnest. ‘Why Tom, bow are you, my good fellow? Where have you been fora week back?’ ‘Why, I’m better; I have been to Dr. Sticken’s for a strengthening plaster; but how did you know I bad a weal-1 iuekf (

WINNIE, THE COQUETTE. A Memory of Yellowstream Institute. BY MARY VAUGHAN. Winnie Marchland was a coquette by nature. I don’t believe she thought anything about it, or that she acted from any aiv.Av -..v mere impulse. butthat impulse led I.er into a thousand acts that afforded her immense ‘sport.,’ while they were ‘death’ to her victims—not literally, of course, but distructive to their newborn hopes. She had lovers by the score; and how she would talk and smile, and how graciously would she receive their homage, until she Lad lifted them to the very pinicle of blissful hopes; and then how cooly she would send them down into the valley of humiliation, without so much as a pitying glance! Winnie was my room-mate at school—yes, lam telling you of a school-girl.— Don’t imagine that there are no coquettes except among the haughty beauties who have ‘come out,’ and have forgotten the restraint of the school-room. On the contrary, such a school as had the honor of being the Alma Mater of Winnie and myself, was just the best hotbed to promote the morbid growth of incipient coquetry. The Yellowstream Institute was a school forboth sexes. So far, so good. Boys and girls should be educated together,, but then it should be under the direction of trustees and teachers who have added to their knowledge of books some slight knowledge of an article with which their position will cause them to deal pretty extensively —I mean human nature. The trustees and faculty of Yellowstream Institute apparently were oblivious of the existence of the said, human nature, or, most assuredly, of its workings. They ordained that two hundred young ladies, and about the same number of young gentleman, should assemble from all parts of the Union, and meet daily in chapel, in recitationroom and lectuie-hall, and yet hold no intercourse. The rules were 1 strict: there should be no acquaintances formed between the young gentlemen and young ladies respectively; they should never meet except in public, and under the eyes of the teachers; their school-room should be in opposite ends of the large building; their entrance to chapel, lecture and recitation-rooms by opposite doors; their boarding-house as far apart as the limits of the grounds occupied by the institution would allow. They forgot that the attraction which draws the sexes into social contact, is a natural one —that efforts at its distruction are unavailing, while, like all the impulses of nature, it may be rightly guided to the attainment of noble purposes. They forgot, too, that other universal propensity of human nature to rebel against restraint to be always seized by an almost unconquerable desire to do whatever thing is forbidden. Having forgotten these things, or not having provided for them—the purposes of the institution being only to teach from books —it followed that there were a great many lessons learned, not set down in the course of studies at Y: Howstream Institute. For instance, deception, white-lying, trickery, neglect of lessens and of rules, and last, but not least, such coquetry as pretty Winnie Marchland’s. She was an apt scholar, and had attained great proficiency, though she had nothing but school-boys to practice upon,—a proficiency that with all her natural propensities could never have been attained under circumstances of less restraint and mystery that it was thought proper to establish among the young pupils of Yellowstream Institute. Winnie usually laid a small pile of notes upon our table every evening, which Lad reached her in some clandestine and mysterious manner during the day. And after due discussion of these choice morceaux, they were either conden.ed to the flames or twisted into curl papers. And there was scarcely an evening that some of the more favored, or more bold of her youthful lovers did not creep stealthily through the long halls of the boardinghouse and seek admittance at our door. There were surreptitious backgammon and tivoli boarders hidden in our bureau, io be produced on these occasions, and once even a pack of cards was introduced; and when, in study hours, we by chance laughed too loud, and the tread of the teachers was heard in the entry, there was great fuss in hiding everything that should not be seen, and half smothering the boys’ in the narrow closet whete outdresses hung. Little did our think, when they paid ov.r quarterly bills of the manner in which so much of our time had been spent, under the very eyes of the ever decorous faculty of Yellow stream Institute? But to come back to Winnie. She flirted, and smiled, and wrote notes, and made sad havoc with the hearts of many a youthful nnd susceptible victim. But

“Our Country’s Good shall ever be our A-m—Willing to Praise and not afraid to Blame.”

DECATUR, ADAMS COUNTY, INDIANA, MAR, 6,1857,

at last her turn came. The black cy< and raven curls, and handsome feature — almost as smooth and rosey as her own, of Malcolm Graham, touched the outworks of a heart that had withstood so many fascinations. And by the time he bad ’ i seated himself opposite to her in chapel ■ for six successive mornings, had conii i • --d io ascertain all her studies and geUjy « 1 the same classes, had written tier <»Ssut one dozen notes sentimential, enthusiastic and dispairing, and had stealthily caused i to be offered at her shrine a basket of ap- ■ pies, and a large paper each of bon-bons > and ginger-snaps, she yielded,—the siege ' was raised, and the eneipy took triumphant possession. Winnie owned herself in love. But she was willful and capricious. She led I the poor boy a weary life—smiling on ' him, and speaking in those lender, loving tones, till his great black eyes—so soft j ’ and languid in repose—gleamed and spar-1 kied with delight; and then, perhaps, at ; I the very next visit, she would receive him . ' i with an icy indifference that baffled all i ‘ his efforts; and lie would go away pale - -and sad, and write notes so doleful and I despairing, that we could have cried over ' ■ them, only that their very exaggeration ' was ridiculous. All this time Winnie really loved him. 1 Her constancy stood the test of two vaca-j I I lions at last, the charms of all his rivals, I 1 ; and the banterings of her school-mates-.— I ■ It bade fair to be eternal, after the sash- ‘ 1 ion of school-day attachments. But Winnie would flirt; and Malcom, -! like all persons of quiet, melancholy temIperament, was wont to nourish a smoldi ering jealousy, that sometimes burst forth i in unexpected moments, in a furious blaze } of reproaches and criminations. i It may well bo imagined that I Winnie’s ■ ; roommate and confidant, did not enjoy a '; sinecure at such times. Both parties > i confided their grieveances to my often ‘ I unwilling ear, and it required a sterner f; self-control and judgment than a school--1 girl usually possesses, to be always an ! impartial umpire, and to enact successful}’ 9 the diffi.mlt part of pt-acemßk-rr.' ’ One Jtiy I returned from school, and 1 j Winnie seated in her low rocking-chair, ' j with her head buried in the pillow of her >’ I bed, and sobbing as if her heart would 1 break. 1 was alarmed, for Winnie was “ not wont to indulge in tears, and I flew ■ to her side. I ‘Winnie—dear, darling Winnie ’—what - is the matter?’ 1 asked, kneeling beside ■ her, and trying to raise her face toward mine. 1 Winnie grasped my hand, but no an--1 swercame, only wilder and more uncon--1 trollable sobs. 5 ‘Winnie, dear, tell me what it is. Have ■ you had news from home? or has Proses- ■ sor B. been lecturing you? or have you; ’ gone down in your class? or has your j ! mother forbidden you to purchase the i ’ ' blue silk? or —’ ■ What further I might have added to this strange jumble, in my exciiment, I !• do not know, had not Winnie suddenly ’ raised her head, and turned her reddened 1 tear-swollen face toward me, while she' ! uttered solemnly: I ‘No, Kate—nothing is the matter, but ■ that I am the most miserable, wretched t girl in the world! —and it is all my own ■ fault!’ And again she buried her face in ■ the p : ’’ow, nnd sobbed harder than before. : ‘What is it, dear? Do tel! me, and | i perhaps I can help you. What have you done to be so wretched?’ No answer. A thought flashed across my mind--for I bad met Malcolm Graham, with ; . expression half-fierce, half-mClancl oly* ■ on his handsome face, as I came from school, and I was ire Winnie’s trouble j I was somehow connected with him. ‘Was it Malcolm Graham who— ’ but ’! I could get no farther. Winnie’s sobs became almost frantic, and her agitation began seriously to alarm me. At length, by dint of caresses and gen- ‘ tie words, I soothed the dear child, and : the grew calm enough to tell me the story i of her first real tronble, and, much as I blamed, I could not but pity her as she I lay in my arms so pale and worn with her f 1 strong agitation. It was only what I had ‘ predicted a thousand times, and pity her as 1 would, 1 couldn’t help telling her so.: Winnie had been flirting with WalterChapman. nnd, when she saw that it, made her lover jealous and angry, she ' only flirted the more, wore conspicuously ■ a brooch that Walter had given her, and I was cool and haughty to Malcolm when- | ever they met. And at last Malcolm had written her a long letter in which, after reproaching her for her inconstancy, he ' I declared ’.hat he gave her up without a sl pang to Walter Chapman, whom he | termed a’ perfidious and dispicable villain. I He furthermore declared that he should II never speak to her again nor voluntarily enter her presence, but should withdraw from the school, as soon as he could gain his father’s consent, immediately after i which he should do something very dan- i gerous or disgraceful, ami he hoped whenever she was in the society of his gval,

, his own ‘pale features might haunt her - imagination, and a phantom hand dash . the cup of joy from her lips.’ However, s he hoped she might be happy, though he • in .-mated many doubls whether she could I be, and closed by bidding her an eternal ] farewell. I 1 thought the storm would soon pass, r bi»<„ as I also considered that a little t I punishment was deserved, I said nothing ; io re-assure Winnie, though I piofessed I to pity her. Before morning, however, the fury of her grief was spent, and she : j grew calm and slept. She went to her • place in chapel that morning as saucy and radiant in appearance as ever before. I Evidently she believed the recreant would ; soon be at her feet again. [ { B tit day after day passed and the lovers i did not meet. In chapal Malcolm took a ; seat so far behind her that she could 'never see him, and he avoided her classes ■ and crossed the street if he saw her com- , ing, while we had almost forgotten the I sound of his light, stealthy tap upon our i door. Winnie grew pale and silent every day. ■ At first she flirted desperately with Wai- 1 j ter Chapman, in sight of Malcolm and I the school, and came home to cry all | night. But there was soon no charm in : doing whatxmly made her more miserable i while Malcolm stood aloof and vouchsafed ino notice. That could not last, and soon Winnie wore a veil in the street, and i never took her eyes off the principal in I chapel, except to glance furtively in the direction of Malcolm’s new place. She became wonderfully studious too, and encouraged no visits under that pretence, i though she usually lay upon the bed and : cried softly all the evening. She did this more after she had heard that Malcolm ; spent almost every eveing with Miss. . 1 Curtiss, who boarded with her aunt, in ; ■ the village, and therefore did not come i [ under ‘institute’ rules. ■! I had exhausted all my powers of advice and persuasion with both parlies and i was aboutyealding in despair, for neither I would make concessions, though both . b illing to demand them, wheuJVinnie and I woe invited to a little fete at the country home of one of our fellow-pu- • ? pils. ; ; We were to go early on Saturday rnorning and return on Monday, and by dint ■>f considerable diplomacy I contrived that I Malcolm should be invited without my in- ■ terventien becoming apparent. If he : i would but go, I thought to myself, I was I willing to leave everthing else to the chances of our two day’s visit. I may have ■ had some selfish motives in laying this i plot, for Winnie had been too much of a ' Niobe of late for a pleasant companion, ' - but I really did wish to see them both I i happy again. ( We were a merry party as we rede ai long the smooth road toward Mr, Green- ' i villa’s or dispersed over the garden and | farm as soon as we reached there, Al) - but the two over whom I watched with j so much interest. They avoided each j I other as much as possible, Malcolm devot- ' ing himself to Miss Curtis, and Winnie | I either rattling away to the rest with as-, I sumed-gaicty, or falling into fits of silent! ‘ thought. All day it was the same, and I had i ! reached a point of despair about them.— ■ But tow rds evening, when the shadows' grew long, we all went off to the meadows, which was at least a half-mile from the house, to gather wild strawberries for | our-supper. Malcolm kept close to Miss Curtis, and Winnie breaking:,way from a ' group of gay girls, of whom she had seem-1 ed the gayest, wandered away alone tin I til she was lost to view in a deep hollow. j I went up to Malcolm and pointed cut her fluttering white dress, just as it dis- 1 i appeared below the bill with a look that' I told him to follow, but the obstinate fel-1 I low shook his head, though I could see j I that he was dying to go, and turning a- ] wav, began to flirt with that hoydenssh Miss, Curtis. Heft them and set myself jat work to fill my basket, in such an indignant mood that I fear I pulled quite as many leaves and blades of grass, as j strawberries. 1 I was so absorbed I did nr>t notice the ' black clouds .. hich came rolling up in the ‘ West, borrowing a lurid tinge from the! • rays of the setting sun, nor heed the dis- , taut roll of thunder, until a louder report I 'that seemed to traverse the whole circle iof the horizon, and then burst above my , i head, aroused me to consciousness. i The girls were hastty gathering up I their scattered shawls and scarfs and preI paring for flight while a few large drops : of rain came slowly pattering down. The storm had risen so suddenly that no one had heeded it until it was upon Us. i Malcolm and Miss Curtis, were near, me ■ and I joined them. But as we hurried J toward the house, I saw that Winnie was ‘ not in the flying group before us, and she was nowhere to be seen. It was no time for foolish scruples. I I knew that Winnie bad that nervousterror lof thunder-storms peculiar to tempera- 1 meats like hen* nnd I pictured her to my-

■ self, paralyzed with fright, when she found herself alone on the hiil->ide exposed to ! the fury of the blinding lightning, the 'roar of the thunder and the dashing rain. ‘Malcolm;’ said I. ‘you must g.> for Winnie-. I saw her last stealing 'll into yonder hollow, and she is always territiI ed at thunder.’ Malcolm ct ideally wanted ‘o go, but Mi. s Curtis clung to iiis arm, and he hesitated. I saw a prospect of reconciliation, for Winnie would be too grateful to hold out if once he came to her rescue. So I seized Miss Curtiss’s arm, and answered. ‘Oh, Malcolm, we shall do very well, for we can soon reach the house, but you go for Winnie. He darted off, in the direction of the hollow, without another word while 1 hurried the unwilling Miss Curtis to the shelter of Mr. Greenville’s big porch. By this time the rain was falling in sheets, and the flash and roar of the storm were fearful indeed, 1 remained upon.! the porch to watch for Malcolm an.l A\ in- j nie, forgeting in my. anxiety the terrible' beauty of the storm. The summer showers passed almost as i suddenly as it had risen and the sinking ! sun just showed bis red face, laid for one instant close to the horizon before they ' came’. But I did not watch in vain, f>r I saw them, at length, coming slowly along the ' wet garden path, in no romantic plight, truly in their dripping and muddy garments. But Winnie was clinging to Malcolm’s arm, her cheek paling and flushing in a manner that told me all I wished to know. To the rest her gentle and subdued manner seemed but I read in it the same story that was told by Malcolm's happy but triumphant glance. AH was made right at last; and 1 blest the thun-i dei-shower, and was glad that they found shelter from the storm in the old loghouse at the foot of the hill, where their hearts could speak once more to each ■ ■ ier, rather than with :Le noisy gioup I in I he farm-house. The long quiet country Sabbath m rni ing broke upon us with sunshine and the matin hymns of birds. At nine o,clock the large family barouche was at the door to take us all to church but Winnie was i not well she said and Malcoln was missing. So we drove off without them. The two wandered away over field and woodland that day, very happy, quietly | and gently happy. Perhaps Jam wrong but 1 think the homage of those two. young,happy hearts was worship as accep-' table as many a prayer that rose that day | from gilded churches. To be humble I and grateful is a great way toward good. , ' ' There were no more clouds and misun ; derstandings after that day; and when six 1 months after Winnie and I left school, ‘ and Malcolm, too returned to his South- j c-rn home, it was understood that they i were to be married seme day, and that 1 j was to be bridesmaid. 1 wish I conld tell you that these intentions had been carried out. But Mai-1 colm married a. few years ago a plain, quiet girl as different from Winnie as night ‘ from day; while Winnie became the wife ! of one of the grave professors of Yellowstream Institute, but not liil lotigafier, she had fulfilled for me the office which j I had planned to fill at her wedding ,in thoso school-girl visions. Well, so goes the world! Loving hearts ; grow cold, and change comes with cold I lingers and unbraids the bright strands ; of the affection and we drop away from | each other—from those we have loved and drift out into n<* w currcn's or walk in new paths. But the currents act, and the ■ winding paths lead alike towards the shores of the dark unknown sea, that beats upon the strand of Time. When w<have passed it, we sh’all know that all was right. Wonders will Never C ask —A I young lady named Mary Davis, who is eighteen years of age, and belongs in this I city, has been arrested in Ballston, charg-f ed with the seduction ot a precocious son of Mr. Henry Clark, of Albany, aged 16 years. The youtig lady induced the boy to elope with her, and they passed as brother and sister, she treated him with the most loving kindness, and footed all the bills at the hotel where they’ were stop-1 ping. The poor young gentleman is quite disconsolate at the arrest of his I sweetheart; tears his hair, and swears that he will drown himself in the cistern if she is punished.—Poor little Lothario.—(-Vetc York Times. Game Law.—This bill passed the Senate i yesies'Liy by a vote of S7 io 19 and only requires the signature of the Governor, to become a law of the State. Sportsmen ; generally have felt a deep interest in the success of this measure, and its passage will be regarded by them with great satis faction.— Mianapolit Senitnel.

NO. 4.

1 Ladii sDon’i Reau This. —A Disban- * ded Tolintnir,’ stopping a few days at ‘Sent Nicholas Hete!,’ writes to tl.u ediior c f the Sunday Times concerning the present fashions of tiie ‘wimmen,’ as follows: ‘When L foot it tiiroo Brodway, or ■ take a buss up or down that interesting bullward , 1 alius thank Providence that, win-n I write to you, from California, for ’.e' '. ?t, you dident fulfil the order. Ide : uner marry a dry goods winder, a ijewelra store, and a ’cooperin establishment, than one of them mixtures of figured satan. ditnind rings, and walebone, you call a fashionable bell, Somewhar.s in circumference of silk, velvet and cetery f that riggles along Broadway, thars alius a woman, 1 spose; but how much of the i holler is filled in with meat, and how ‘ much is gammon, the nicer spectatur ken never no. A poor feller marry a site, and find, when it comes to the pint, that he has nutber in his arrnes but a regular unatomy, Es men is gay deseevers, wot’s to be said of a female that dresses for a hundred and forty weight, but hasent reely as much fat on her as would grease jagriddle—all the apperient plumpness consisting of cotton and walebone. Imo I told that hoopsis beginning to be made i with jints so that at the tl eaturs and concerts, a fashionable lady can shut up hes . skirts like a parasd, and give the crowd a 'chance. This will be a partikier blessing ■ to the male race speshly in stages. Es all the world was aciially a stage, as has been fablushly asserted, it wouldent mor’n accommodate all the fashionable wimminin j thare present habiliments; the ruffer sect would hev to take a deck pa . age on the i tiff of the vehickcl. Burking, says the New York Express, was a crime once in practice in Scotland. It was a method of highway robbery in- ‘ vented by a man named Burk, fiom whom it took its name, and who was hanged for his practice of it. It was prosecuted by I the operator suddenly clapping a piaster lof black pitch upon the mouth and nose of his victim, this producing suffocation. Meanwhile, the Burker made oil with the valuables of the robbed. An attempt «» made to reviv this crime in New York, city, as an improvement on ilie garote;lint the first offence of the kind has meta signa! defeat. John Francis and John Armstrong, about six o’clock, Tuesday evening, tried to Burk Mr. Selim Marks, I but the plas'er missed his mouth and fas- ; tened on his check. The alarm he gave brought the police, and thei bbers were taken. They were positively identified, and it is to be hoped will meet their de'serts. are to be no more copper ‘cents. The great fiat Las gone forth.— fn a few ye ns the nation will have, ‘nary . ed.’ The cent was proposed in 1762, by Robert Morris the grest Financier of the I Revolution, aud was named by Thomas i Jefferson two years after. It bore then ' the Lead of Washington on one >ide, and a ' chain of thirteen links on the other. The French Revolution soon after created a I rage for French ideas in America, which j put on the cent instead of the of W ishingj ton, the head of the Goddess of Liberty. ' But French Liberty was short lived, and so was her portrait on our cent. The present staid classic dame with a filet ! round her hair, came into fashion about thirty or forty years ago, and her finaly ; chiseled Gechen features have been but slightly altered by the lapse of time.’ ; Gen. Knox’s Marriage—. Somebody • writing to the progressive Age, m the life of Genera! Knox, relates the following: The General’s niar’-iage was something of a romantic affair, and is said to have , happened somewhat in this wise: As Miss Lucy Fluker was walking out ■ one day, she saw yotrr.g Knox.(who was a book bindcrin Bostonat the time,) and as she fancied his personal appearance, she was ‘smitte i’ iVilh him. She could ' not suppress her feelings, and so gave j vent to them by writing him a note as j soon as she reached her home, requesting him to call and see her. Throwing (aside her feminine reserve, she at once ’ proposed that he should marry her. The ' proffer w as at once accepted, and the poor book-binder became the husband of the rich heiress. Physical Chances in Man.—About tha age of thirty-six the lean man usually be- | comes falter, aud the fat man leaner.— | Again, between the years of forty -three and fiity his appetite fails, his complexion fades and his longue is apt to be furred upon the least exertion of body or mind. At this period his muscle become flabby his joint weak, his spirits droop, and his i sleep :< imperfect and unrefreshing. After suffering under these complaints a year, or perhans two years, he starts afresh with renewed vigor, and goes on to sixty-one or sixty-two, when a similar change takes place, but with aggravated symptoms. When these grand periods have been successfully passed the gravity I of incumbent years is more strongly marked. nnd he begins to beast of his aga.