that you have met several times. It seemed hard to lay an interdict upon these meetings; yet, if I did my duty as a Friend, I should break off all communication between you. We have a rule, read and answered at our meetings of business, which inquires whether those who are members of our society, keep company, on account of marriage, with those who are not Friends; and also whether parents connive at their children's keeping company with such. Now have not I been guilty of conniving at this thing?"

"Not exactly, sir," said the youth; "for it has not been courtship on her side, at least. I have in vain endeavoured to reconcile her religion with my wishes."

"Then hast thou come to ask the aid of her father in crushing her principles," inquired the other with an arch smile; "or didst thou labour under the impression that he was not a Friend?"

The youth was at his wit's end, when, fortunately, to relieve his embarrassment, a meekeyed lady, dressed with great plainness, slowly moved into the room. 66 My wife, Abagail Jackson-this, my dear, is Frederick Windham, of the army."

The gentle house-wife advanced to meet the youth and gave him her hand, although he detected a lurking smile in the corners of her mouth, as if she too had been acquainted with the object of his visit. She took a chair nearly opposite to Frederick; and as he looked upon her mild and amiable features, he could not avoid wishing that his errand lay with her, instead of her more tenacious husband.

"I perceive, sir, that my name is known to you," said the youth, as soon as Mrs. Jackson was seated.

"Oh, yes; I was acquainted with thy father, a man of great probity, and one with whom I loved to associate, on account of his many excellent qualities."

If you knew him," said Frederick with strong emotion," it is one of the best recommendations that I can bring."

A short pause ensued, when the lady, with great ease in her manner, said, "Was it not he who was with thee at the time thou found the young Indian chief asleep?"

"It was," replied her husband.

66 'Do, for heaven's sake, relate the circumstances," said Frederick. "I like to hear of everything which relates to my father."

"I am sorry to say," began the Friend, "that thy father was a man of blood as well as thyself. We lived at the time at a place called 'The Seven Stones,' about one hundred miles to the north and west of this spot. We were Occasionally troubled and harassed by the In

dians.

Especially one young Chief, called Toby, used to levy black mail upon our property. Thy father always headed those bands that went out to contend with the Indians; and he had acquired no little fame by his prowess and intrepidity. One day thy father and I were engaged in hunting. We had wandered far from the settlement, and had just begun to turn our thoughts toward home, when I espied a man asleep on a rock. I pointed out the object to thy father, and his eyes beamed with pleasure, as he exclaimed, 'It is Toby; we will kill him as he sleeps.' 'Not so,' said I ; 'have not this man's blood on thy hands.' He only smiled at my notions, and was proceeding forward with his gun deeply charged, when I beat up his piece, and its contents were discharged in the air. Toby sprang on his feet, and seemed surprised to find that he had not been wounded. He looked at me as I struggled with thy father, to prevent his bloody intentions; and although his tomahawk glittered for a moment in the air, as he fixed his deep-set eyes upon thy father, yet he soon recovered his self-pospession, and waving his hand at me as a token of perpetual friendship and protection, darted away, and was soon lost to view in the surrounding woods. But, strange to tell, no sheep or heifer of mine was molested after that day: the whoop of the savages was not heard in my groves; and my corn was never trodden down by their footsteps."

66

"A very interesting event," said Frederick; yet, according to the rules of Border war, the Chief should have been captured and made an example of."

"Yes, I believe he should," returned Mr. Jackson; "but it appeared to me that it would be well to dispense with the rules of Border war on that occasion, and grant the man both his life and liberty."

"Yet, sir, is it not probable that the act of sparing that Chief's life resulted in the loss of life and property to many white folks?"

6

"That may be the case; but thou wilt please recollect that those white folks who may have suffered by this Indian, are or were as willing to shed Indian blood as the Indian was to shed the blood of the white man. It remains to be true that those who take up the sword will perish by the sword!' For my part I spared the life of the Indian. That was one life saved. If an act, good in itself, result in a melancholy manner, we cannot be answerable for that. Again, we should never do evil that good may come out of it."

“Were all of us inclined to spare the lives of the Indians," said the lady of the mansion, we should have little to complain of with re

ments, and then declared that he did not recognize him. "Not know Toby? Not know Toby?" said he hastily.

The other then acknowledged that he did discover the resemblance to the young chief of that name whom he had known in other days. Toby then shook Mr. Jackson by the hand, and saying something in explanation to the other savages, they all retreated from the premises, and were soon buried in a neighbouring forest.

To Frederick and to the members of the family, there was no mystery in this proceeding; but the visitors looked to Mr. Jackson for an explanation of this unusual levity on the part of the Indians. He briefly related to them the account of the young chief, whose life he had spared. After a short silence one of the ministers said impressively, "Surely, Charity is stronger than the Sword."

This scene made a deep impression upon Frederick, and the words of the Friend, were often present to his mind, that "Charity is stronger that the Sword." He seemed to have been introduced into a new order of things. He watched with much interest the conduct of the Friends. He saw much to admire in their general conduct and in their intercourse with the world. His admiration of military affairs lost ground daily. The law of charity and forgiveness grew more and more beautiful in his eyes, until he could no longer resist the doctrine of Friends.

Great was the surprise of Frederick's acquaintances when he renounced the use of the sword, and publicly made profession of the principles of Friends; and great was the joy of Catharine when she stood up side by side in Friends' meeeting with the man she had secretly but fervently loved, and said, "In the presence of the Lord and this assembly, I take Frederick Windham to be my husband, promising to be unto him a faithful and affectionate wife until separated by death."

FUNERALS AMONG THE RUSSIANS.

The dead are very rarely alluded to in Russia; it is held as a sort of impropriety or breach of etiquette to advert to them. Such expressions as "my late husband," or " peace to his ashes," are seldom heard among the people of the far north. This does not prevent the Russians, however, from surrounding the last rites of mortality with every possible circumstance of pomp and luxury, and a host of imposing religious ceremonies, which show they feel the loss of friends as keenly as other nations, though indisposed to name the departed in

common converse.

Immediately after a decease, the Russians dress the body of the dead, place it in an open coffin, and expose it in a room suitably arranged for the purpose. They there kindle a great number of wax tapers, which are kept burning night and day; and while the relatives take their station in turns by the side of the body, the whole of the friends and acquaintances of the deceased come in succession to pay a final visit to the lifeless remains. People of the most obscure condition, not less than those of the highest rank, receive these last visits, which it is held a special duty to pay. There died lately at St. Petersburg a very old man, whose term of life dated from the first half of the past century. He had filled, during his career, many high offices of state. An immense crowd of old men presented themselves at the side of his remains, announcing themselves as friends, though for years the deceased had never seen them, or even pronounced their names. Thither came retired generals, who, in the reign of Elizabeth, had been fellow-cadets with the defunct at the military schools; others were seen there, who professed to have received great favours at his hands, in the time of Catharine; and others also appeared, who had shared his exile in the reign of Paul. All, in short, come forward on such occasions, who have the slightest claim to do so. The Emperor himself, and the heir apparent of the throne, are in the habit of visiting the state-beds of distinguished personages. In such circumstances, the poor do not fail to take their share in the ceremonial. They come to pour forth lamentations at the door of their benefactor, and abundant alms are distributed among them on the occasion. Even strangers sometimes appear to offer up a prayer by the side of the deceased, an image of a saint, suspended from the gate, indicating to all passers-by where and when a death has taken place.

The coffins in which children are laid, are made of a beautiful rose-colour. Young women, or girls, are placed in coffins of sky-blue tint; and women of advanced years are commonly placed in those of a violet colour.Black coffins are sometimes, but rarely, used for men ; the common hue in such cases, is brown. The poor content themselves with painting their coffins; the rich cover them with coloured stuffs, appropriate to the rank and age of the deceased. In other respects, black is the hue of mourning in Russia. The funeral-car, the torch-bearers, and the priests, are all clothed in black. The pine is the northern cypress, the tree consecrated to mourning.The poor strew branches of it on the coffin; at funerals of the rich, the whole route, betwoo

the house of the deceased and the cemetery, is strewn with pine branches. Hence the streets of St. Petersburg through which funeral processions so often pass, are always covered more or less with melancholy tokens of this description.

The body lies ordinarily exposed for two or three days. Then the death benediction is pronounced, and the dead receive their passport to another world. This phrase is to be understood as literally correct. The priests draw up a long paper, containing the baptismal name and the dates of the birth and death of the deceased, with an attestation that he or she had undergone all the rites and ceremonies, first and last, of the Græco-Russian Church, or any other to which the party may have belonged. This paper is laid on the body of the deceased at the church or place of interment, whither the coffin is conveyed in a still open state, that, by the way, all who have known the defunct, may take a final look at the cold remains. The lid is carried in front of the coffin. The fune

ral procession is always accompanied by torchbearers, attired in black mantles and large flapped hats, and a number of friends are usually in attendance. Great pomp is displayed at the burials of the wealthy and titled. In front of the body is carried, separately, an image or representation, as splendid as possible, of each of the orders attained by the deceased; and, as the Russians of rank, have usually many orders this part of the procession forms in itself, an imposing train. All persons who cross the path of a funeral procession uncover their heads and repeat a prayer for the dead; and such is their respect for the departed, that they will not replace their hats till the convoy is out of sight. These last honours are paid to every one, no matter of what religious persuasion.

When the body arrives at the church, besides the placing of the passport on the chest, other ceremonies of a strange order are performed for the mission of the spirit on the last great journey. While the coffin is open and the body exposed to the by-standers, the priests take each a taper in hand, with a piece of gauze around it. They then surround the brow of the deceased with a fillet, ornamented with images of saints, and having religious sentences inscribed on it. They place in one of the hands a crucifix, and set down by the side of the coffin a platter with food. This dish of the dead is termed koutia, and consists of a kind of pudding, made of rice, honey, and raisins, with a cross of raisins decorating the exterior. The rich make this dish with sugar ornaments, and the clergy like to see it well made, as, after the ceremony, it falls to their share. The priests

now chant the mass, and, at its close, the relatives of the deceased take a final parting ere the coffin be covered up. Each lifts and kisses the hand of the corpse, and it is common for the poor to utter pathetic exclamations at the same moment. Women may be present at funerals, and it is not unusual to hear a poor bereaved wife crying aloud, in a voice broken by sobs, "Alas! why hast thou abandoned me, dear husband? Was I not ever faithful and loving! Wilt thou come no more to caress thy poor little Feodore? Alas! alas" In midst of such lamentations, the lid is screwed down, and the train slowly move from the church, where these rites have taken place, toward the cemetery.

When the coffin is lowered into the grave, every one present, in turn, throws in a portion of earth. At the funerals of people of high rank, when the metropolitan, or head of the church, officiates in person, small shovels of silver are the instruments used in this ceremony. At the tombs of the poor, rude Greek crosses are erected; the rich raise monuments, in a great variety of forms, as in Britain and elsewhere. It is not customary for the common people to wear mourning in Russia.That practice is only prevalent among the higher orders. The Russians of rank are most particular in respect to mourning coaches and equipages. Lacqueys, coachmen, and postillions, are clothed in dresses of black, edged with sable furs. The coach, seat, and horses, are all covered with black; not the space of a pin's head is left uncovered. In these carriages, the grandees pay visits, and travel, for some months after a family loss.

On the monuments of people of rank, the most remarkable feature is the lengthened enumeration of all the honours and titles of the deceased. If an individual had received an order, care is especially taken to point out whether it was of the first class or second; and so on. It would almost appear as if the Russians imagined that these things would be of as much consequence in the life to come as in the present life. With the exception of the cemetery of the convent of Alexandre Newskij, and one or two others, devoted particularly to such monuments as those referred to, most of the Russian cemeteries resemble a desert. A succession of low mounds, headed by small crosses, stretches out before the eye, without a single tree or flower appearing to relieve the sameness of the view. In this respect, the Russians show a want of taste. Otherwise, they evince no deficiency of veneration for departed friends. Though refraining habitually from allusions to them in common conversa

tion, the survivors, at least of the upper ranks, celebrate the birth-day of their lost relatives, going in troops to church, and repeating prayers for their souls, besides holding festival at home. The koutia ceremony is usually repeated on such occasions at church. Each member of the party eats a portion of the dish, and the rest is left to the priests.

A STORY OF TEA-POTS.

When Corfu was ceded to Britain at the general division of spoils in 1815, the troops that were first sent out to garrison the island found a melancholy destitution of all those little comforts and conveniences of life that John Bull and his wife knows so little how to dispense with. Miserable quarters, every article of furniture scarce and bad, the most common utensils for cookery unattainable, and such wretched shops, that you left hope at the door when you stept over the threshold. In short, the shifts to which they were put were often so ludicrous, that the laugh they got at their own expense was the only consolation they had in their misery. But, of all the wants that afflicted their souls, none fell so heavily on their spirits as the want of tea-pots. Fancy any family in Great Britain without a tea-pot! Probably such an anomaly does not exist; but here there were three or four regiments-several hundreds of wretched Christians-without a tea-pot amongst them. But we are wrong when we say without a tea-pot-there was one tea-pot, a silver one, a piece of family plate that the owner had brought out with her to be used on grand occasions. But what a life it led!-and what a life its mistress led! It was certainly a grand thing to be the possessor of the only tea-pot in the island-the position was imposing; but the glory, like many other glories, was onerous in the extreme; and many a day poor Mrs. R. was induced to wish that she had hid her light under a bushel, rather than have exposed herself to be eternally pestered for the loan of the tea-pot. Besides, it could not satisfy all wants; when Mrs. A. had it, Mrs. B. was obliged to go without it; and when Mrs. C. sent for it, she was often told that Mrs. D.'s maid had just carried it away. Then, of course, it only circulated amongst the officers' families; the unfortunate soldiers' wives had not even the consolation of hoping to have a turn out of it; they had all heard of it-they knew that the thing existed, but that was all-they never so much as got a glimpse of it.

Such was the condition of the community, when, one fine morning, a small trading vessel was seen to sail into the harbour. It was a country vessel, as appeared by the rigging; and

as they seldom brought any thing that was useful to the unfortunate exiles, there was not much to be hoped from it. However, as the smallest trifle would have been acceptable, as the beggars say, Colonel G. desired one of his sergeants to go down to the quay and inquire what they had on board. Picture to yourself, reader, what must have been the feelings of Sergeant L. on being informed by the captain that they were freighted with tea-pots! "What have you got?" said he. "Tea-pots!" said the captain. "You'll have plenty of custom, then, my fine fellow," said the sergeant, and away he flew to spread the news. "It's the most providentialist thing,” he observed, "that ever happened," and indeed so thought every body. The blessed intelligence ran like wildfire. In ten minutes every woman in the garrison, high and low, and every bachelor that wanted to make a comfortable cup of tea for himself, might be seen rushing across the esplanade towards the quay pell-mell, all hurried and anxious, pushing and driving, each afraid of being last, lest the supply, being limited, should be exhausted before all wants were satisfied. “Which is the ship?” cried a chorus of eager voices to Sergeant L., who, flushed with conscious importance, headed the procession. "This is her," said he, as he stept on to the deck of the little trader, accompanied by as many of his followers as could find footing, whilst the less fortunate candidates gathered to the side as close as they could, all with one voice vociferating "Tea-pots! teapots-show us the tea-pots!" "Tea-pots!" echoed the captain, nodding his head affirmatively. "Where are the tea-pots? we all want tea-pots!” cried the English. "Tea-pots!" said the captain, with a smile and a bow-and the crew repeated after him "tea-pots!"

But by this time the extraordinary commotion had drawn to the shore, amongst other spectators of the scene, a certain Italian cook, who, happening to have a smattering both of English and Romaic, stept forward to offer his services as interpreter. "He says he's freighted with tea-pots," said Sergeant L.; do make him produce them."." What have you brought?" said the cook to the captain. "Tea-pots!" replied the captain. "Ah!" said the cook, turning to the anxious expectants," he say he bring tipotas-dat mean, in his language, noting.”

PIANO-FORTES.-If a piano be placed in a part of the room which is between a window and door, or between two doors or windows, and across which a draught of air must pass, it will be affected with every variation of temperature, and become quickly and frequently out of tune.