102
Jfanttlg ffiwte.
illustrations or the shoetee
CATECHISM—XI. ■
THE GOODNESS 01* QOD.
The earth waves deep with yellowing grain ;
How fresh the cooling autumn breeze !
"We hear the joyous reaper train ;
The song Of birds* the hum of bees.
These sheaves of gold, how thick they lie,
Gifts of Jehovah’s bounteous sky,
"Who all these centuries hath striven
To make the earth again a heaven;
To lure from pathß that but destroy.
To fill each cottage-home with joy,
To open hearts ’gainst worship steeled
By blessings of the harvest-field.
Calmly the. sun looks from above,
Well, pleased to gaze upon a scene
So' of peace, and wealth, and love.
The farm-house peeps through leafy shade;
Mingles; the brook, from banks of green,
Its Bong with that of village maid;
Bright tnorning’s flash, soft evening’s fade,
. Like angel’s wing, like angel’s sigh.
The whitening flocks crowd oh the Kill;
The hearth-smoke curleth slow and still;
And, consecrate to thankful praise,
The ivied Spires their warnings Taise;
.Bidding us seek a home on high.
Another-scene ! The Crash of war!
'Yon, sulphurous lowering pall beneath ;
With deadly struggle, oath and scar,
Rages rebellion, hate, and death.
The peaceful slopes, unknown to fame,
Are,lit by villages in flame;
Tie cknnon-wagoh's, charged' with fire,
Crush 'down the harvest intp mire;
The war-hOyße, with fierce hoof has press’d
To; a red imass the warrior’s; breast;.
In thicker heapsarettrewnthe dead
Thah e’er' the harvest Sheaves were spread;
lie hind, sinit, on.iis peaceful floor,
Has stainedihis hearth-stone with his gore;
There lies, amid .the homestead’s wreck,
Dead babe on a'dead mother’s neck.
Ah, : such is mani.ahd'such is God:
Wiaviiberai love in him must be!
Our wants haste to-thee with their load,
And how our guilt hath.need of Thee.
Our otheif'proof can need,
Thai what’ Such’ startling contrasts yield ;•
The battle-field is man’s dark deed,
And'thiney blest. Tiord, the Harvest-field !
, ,j : . ,i Elaiustoteros.
JENNIE’3. DISAPPOINTMENT,
BY “M. B. M.”
[iConttnued:]
Early the -next- morning* a little figure
flitted out of Mi*. Martin’s House, and ran
■with, quick steps to Mrs. McPherson’s.
It was Jennie,-who had obtained per
mission to ; fereakfdst ’ with hpr Aunt
Matilda. She went round to the back
door and knocked,; when a blithe voice
cried “Come in.-”
There Was Mrs. McPherson, making,
heh coffee- ail'd spreading the table,
pausing pveryfiew moments to look at
her son, Who was Sitting before the fire,
car efully toastihg: some ,hrea‘d.
“You’ll see what a dinner I’ll cook
for you, mother, s.oine of these days,”
he said ■as ' Jennie came in. ; “I’ve
learned to do a good many useful things
in the army, as you’ll-find after awhile.”
“If.:ypu, l jieyer do Anything in your;
life hut just sit there and let me look
at you it* would be comfort enough,” an
swered the’mother. 1 ' il Why here’s little
Jennie, to be sure. Robert:, you’d never
believe what this., dear child has done for
the soldiets. She’s spent every moment
of her spare- tinie, day in and day out,
for the last.,six; mpnths, working for
them ; apd die’s written letters, and—”
“Oh, please hush, Aunt Matilda!”
Baid Jennies “-Robert will think we
want to let him know what we have been
doing, and perhaps he’ll laugh at us.”
“Laugh at you, lady-hird ? No indeed,
Jennie, you don’t know how much good
yoh . have dime 'right here in Fairfield;
how much your own two little hands
hate done; .and you hpver will know,
altogether,.-but, PRtellyoiba part of it,
over our breakfast.'” -. ;i
Imagine the, delight with which the
Btbry of ,the: was hcgid by the
loving listener#. r.'Jennie was repaid a
of trial,
realize^ln that moment how truly
llesied''^'^gi^nr^: 1 h9 re .-than to
receive. • *
Miss Pomeroy’s school was closed for
its-annual summer vacation. Many of
th&'pttpiis Had gone to 'visit friends in
othbh' places, , and’ the ■ teachers were
seeking- health by the sea-side. Jennie
and her ‘friend Mattie were enjoying
themseives !at;.h|)ihe'; and very happy
they were together. They usually met
every day, if only .for a |pw - moments, 1
but when this pleasure was denied, little
notes flew hack and forth, through their
Mothers; I Wonder if any friendship of
mature years rivals in its power of pro
ducing, happiness,, the brief, passionate:
friendships‘of the school-girl and student, j
The'' 'ardent • 'uncaleulating affection -cif
children for - eadh (Other, is beautiful
aiiiile
peoples?.
Jennie staid a long time talking with
Robert and her aunt. She listened,
spell-bound, as he told of incidents of
battles, and sieges, and of scenes around
the camp-fires, and on the marches in
the South. By and by the clock
struck ten, and she jumped up hastily,
saying,
“I must go. Mother will think I’m
lost. Besides, I must see Mattie and
tell her all about it.”
“Who’s Mattie, and what are you
going to tell "her ?” inquired Robert.
“She is my dearest friend!”' replied
Jennie, gravely, “and she is the best and
sweetest girl in the whole World.”
“You must introduce me to her,” said
Robert. “Did she belong to your
school society,Jennie?” :
“Oh! yes, and she helped’me on that
wrapper, and came with me the morn
ing that I asked Auntie to give me some-,
thing to make it of. You didn’t think,
Auntie dear, that it was going straight;
to yonr son, did you?”
“No indeed! But it is only another
proof of Our Father’s goodness, dear
child. We do our little work,.or give
our mite, like the widow who had only
two mites to put unto the treasury, and
God,, in his providence, blesses the labor
or the gift a hundred fpld. Remember
my darling, that it is always God who
giyes the increase, although he tells his
children to plant and water.”
• Jennie tripped lightly along to Mattie’s,
but was disappointed at finding that she
had gone to the city. She felt surprised
that Mattie had not told her of-her in
tention the day before, but her annoy
ance soon wore off, and she went home
to tell her mother of Her Visit, and write
a long account to her friend, of all that
Robert Tiad told her. Although quite
sure of seeing Mattie, the very next day,
she could not wait till then, but resolved
to . send her note up, so that Mattie'
should see it as soon as : she returned.
Little Alfred was waiting at the house
door for Sister; next to ’his mother, the
dear child loved his elder .sister, who
was always- doing something to please
him. I-,'
“Uncle Tarlie here, Uncle Tarlie
here,” cried Alfred, as Jennie : stooped
to kiss him.
. Jennie, hastened into the parlor and
found her mother and uncle engaged in
discussing, a plan for an afternoon jaunt
to a place called “The Valley,” a beau
tiful spot about five miles distant, a fa
vorite, resort- of pic-nic and excursion
parties.
’ “I cannot go,” said her mother, fi
nally, “hut if you like I’ll put up a nice
luncheon, and let Horace and Jennie go
with you to spend the day.”
i Jennie clapped her hands gleefully.
Uncle Charley smiled and said,
' “Well;!little girl, get your ‘things’
on at Once. No flounces and furbelows
now —nothing 1 but a cieah, strong calico
dress,, that you won’t be’ afraid of tear
ing Or soiling, and your school hat.
People who go into the. woods for plea
sure, should always go in a dress that
they can fprget. Wear something that
you 'dont feel afraid to spoil, and you
can take real comfort, besides being able
to locdc away from yourself, at the beau
tiful things our Father has given us.”
■ “But, brother Charles,” said her mo
ther,: “you said this afternoon, when you
spoke to me.” ■
: “Oh! that was to suit your conveni
ence. The children and I can spend
the day there, I’m sure. I’ll -be here
with the wagon in a half hour from now.”
How much Jennie enjoyed that day!
■On the way, she occupied the back seat,
and her brother, who was in front, in
sisted on taking thereins.. Uncle Charlie
turned round and talked to her, keeping
a bright loofcout, however, oh the youth
ful driver.. He listened with pleasant
httehtion to .her account of cousin Ro-
experience, and asked,
“Jennie, do you remember the first
work you did for. the soldiers, this
winter?”
1 ■ ’ -• • ■ ’ v
“Oh! yes, Uncle Charlie. It was on
the day of Kittie’s party, when I could
not go. 'What a disappointment that'
was! I thought I could not be happy
that whole afternoon, but I was after
all, because you came.”
“You were happy before I came, my
dear, because you resolutely began to do
your duty. That is the way to conquer
trouble of -all kinds. Meet it with a
smiling face, take up your cross, and
carry it bravely, and you will find, aS an
old writer -beautifully says, ‘that your
Master always carries the heaviest end
for .you.’ I was glad then that y.ou had
mdt‘that little J trial,' for I foresaw that
you would be the better for its disci
pline, arid your .jhdther 'wasibayingj to!
•i .J r./i
PHILADELPHIA, THURSDAY, MARCH 31, 1864.
having a great deal of pleasure with you;
Her daughter is getting to be, not only
her child, but her friend and companion.”
A bright flush rose to Jennie’s cheek
at these words of encouragement, and
very light and happy -was her heart,
when they came to “The Valley,” with
its green mpsay grounds, all gemmed
with flowers, its winding paths lead
ing under the old trees, and its hundreds
of birds, singing in a continual choir, in
the dim, shadowy branches. Over all,
the sunlight shone, sifting its little beams
through crevices and peep-holes among
the green leaves, and falling with its
sweetest smiles on the face of the child
who had learned that our hearts are glad
dest when
“ Joy is duty and Love is law,”
THE END. ,
THE DISCONTENTED CHILDREN.
, “Do let us go, mother, I wish you
would, for it doesn’t rain, nor mist, nor
anything,” said Helen, leaning her fore-;
head against the window-pane, and feel-,
mg- very unhappy.
Her sister Cora, who was older, but;
so nearly the, same size that strangers:
thought, them twins, said:
“ Yes, mother, and you said we might
go if it didn’t rain.”
“I wish my little daughters could be
happy at home, playing with each
other,” their mother replied.
“ We can see each other any time,”
said Cora pettishly, and Helen said:
“It didn’t rain the last half holiday
when you thought it would, and I don’t
believe it will to-day,” and’she stood
drawing her hands down the pane of
glass.
Mrs. Leland loved her chqdren, and
she wished to see them happy. .She
thought perhaps it would not.rain, and
she disliked to deprive them of pleasure,
so she gave her consent for them to go
and visit their little playmate. The
tone of their voices changed directly,
;and while they were dressing they were
merry as little birds; They thought
’they loved their mother dearly, but if
Ithejy had would they have teased her SO -
AR the afternoon long the .children
played, and never thought that their
mother might be lonesome; and she,did
not tell them that .their teasing had
made her head ache. Besides, they, had
not beeh gone long when it began to
rain, and that increased her anxiety.
But Cora arid Helen were selfish; they
loved themselves better than they did
their mother, though they did not think
so. When returning home their feet
and clothes got very wet.
; “.Next ’time, when you think it’s
going to rain I’ll stay at ho r me,” Helen
said to her mother that evening, when
she have the good-night kiss, and Cora,
with down-cast eyes, said:
“ So will I;” for they felt that their
mother was grieved.
But that was not quite enough.
Their decision should have been to obey
at all times, and never tease at 1 all.
Another half-holiday came, though
not 1 the next succeeding one, and again
Cora and Helen wished to go abroad.
“Mother, ’" said Helen, “you prom
ised aunt Louise that you would take us
and go and see her, and you haven’t
been yet.”
“I haven’t felt as though I could go
;SO,far; you know it’s a long walk over
to aunt’s,” her mother replied..
“ That ’s what yon always say,” said
Cora. “Auntie said the walk would do
you good; and uncle Howe will take us
all home in their carryall. Do let us
godmother; p-l-e-a-s-e,” and Cora threw
her arms around her mother’s neck, and
kissed her again and again. '., '
Mrs. Leland’decided to make the
effort which she felt it would require, and
was getting ready to go when her hus
band entered.
“Anna,’’■he said, “you had no appe
tite at dinnerj and I have come home to
bring these cherries —the kind you are
sp fond of—-they are the nicest kind of
wild cherries, I’ll have some of them
preserved in bottles, they’ll be a tonic
for you. ’Twas afortunate circumstance
my meeting Farmer Smith’s boy, he’d
just,been picking them.” ’
j After the children and their mother
had feasted on the cherries, they set out
on the proposed walk to the home of
aunt Louise. ~
| Mrs.:Leland was much exhausted on
arriving' at her sister’s, and had to lie
down; but the children were accustomed
to see their mother tire with slight ex
ertion, and so they ran out to play with
their cousins till supper time.
“ Aunt Louise always* has such nice
suppers,” whispered Helen to Cora, when
they were .called to the table? their,
cousin Agnes overheard, and whispered
back: “We don’t have any nicer sup
pers than you do; and you always have
meat on the table. I like meat.”
Mrs. Howe felt concerned to find that
her sister had no appetite; and asked
her to drink some nice new milk, which
she did.
As soon as supper was. over Mrs.
Leland complained of feeling ill j and at
her request Mr. Howe made ready his
carryall and took her home; hut as Mrs.
Howe wished the children to remain till
morning, and they teased to stay and
sleep with their . cousin, their mother
consented.
When Mrs. Leland arrived home, she
fainted on leaving the carriage. Her
husband became' alarmed and sent for . a
physician. The-doctor felt of her pulse,,
shook liis head,' and: inquired tfhatjshe.
********: ;::f J
“ Cherries and milk ? fatal, I fear,”
he said.
In great distress she lay that night,
and then a stupor passed over her sys
tem, and when the morning streaked the
eastern sky they whispered, “she is
dead!”
But who shall break upon the little
daughters the sad intelligence that they
are motherless!
“Dear children,” said their aunt,
weeping bitterly.
“What, auntie?” said Cora, lifting
her head from her pillow.
“ Auntie, you crying ?” said Helen.
“ Your mother”—she could say no
more.
“ She’s sick,” said Cora, springing to
the floor and seizing her dress. “I’U
go and see her. I won’t wait for uncle
Howe.”.. ■"
Helen began to cry. >
“ Cora, dariing, come back,” for, half
dressed, she was going to run. down
stairs, and at her aunt’s call she went
and leaned beside her, sayiiig “I’m go-;
mg to see my mother. I cannot wait.”
“Darlings, you have no mother now,”
their aunt replied, passing her . arm
around the waist of Cora, and pressing
her affectionately tp her. side. “Dead !”
shrieked Cora, nearly falling. “ 0 say
she is not deadand Helen cried and
.moaned upon her pillow.
“0 say she is not dead, and I’U never
tease to go away from her again,” said
Cora.
But her aunt could not say. so. No
tears could bring to life again the mother
who had loved them so fondly. No sor
row could atone for the pain and anxiety
they had "given her.
After the funeral Helen was taken
home, hut Cora grew ill and remained
with her aimt, that she might bestow the
attention which Cora heeded.
Before she recovered entirely, her
father had decided to move away from
town. He did so, arranging with Mrs.
Howe to have the charge of Cora, but
Helen boarded with her father, among
strangers.
How these children longed to' see
each other, and very often did they
think that nothing could make them so
happy as to play; together once-, more.'
But that time never came. .
Although Cora’s health, returned in
;such a measure that she could ride out
pleasant weather with her uncle, yet she
jnever felt quite weU again ; and when
the -leaves fell from the trees, Cora
pined away, and slept the sleep that
knows no waking.
•' Little children, will you learn a lesson
4of obedience ? To be fretful and unkind
te your mother may wear her life away.
If now you are so happy as to enjoy a
mother’s love, thank your Heavenly
Father that you are not orphans, and
ask him to help you in your endeavors
to be obedient to your parents. — Qon
gregatimalisL-
WIRE-DEAWING.
A few centuries ago there were no
[such things as wire-drawers; but the
metal was beaten out into thin sheets
by the wire-smiths, then cut into strips,
and then with hammer and file and won
derful patience, these strips were rounded
into wire. So the gold wire was made
for embroidering the ephod of the high
priest, in the time of Moses. “They
did beat the gold into thin plates, and
cut it into wires, to work it into the blue
and in the scarlet, and in the purple,
with cunning work.”
i And in this way wire of all sorts was
made, nntihjjhe wire-smiths at Nurnberg
Became wir*drawers, five centuries ago.
[ The wire-drawer, has for his work first
a draw-plate, then what is called an iron
drum, moved by a steam engine, and
attached to the drum is a pair of strong
dippers. The draw-plate is a piece of
Hard steel, six inches long and an inch
and a half thick; sloped off at the ends
on one side like a cucumber, and on the
either side flat. Through and through
this plate are pierced several round
holes of different sizes, from large to
small; and each one is slightly conical
or tapering; that is, it is a -little larger
on one side of the plate than it is on
the other. French draw-plates are said
to be the best; and sometimes, when it
was difficult to get them because there
was war between England and France, : a
French draw-plate has been sold for its
■weight in silver.
! I said that the holes were of different
sizes, but not one is quite so large as the
coil pf steel rod which is to be made into
wire. Now the workman takes up one
end of this, and sharpening it to a point,
pushes it into the largest- hole in the
draw-plate; and the moment the point
comes through the other sidp, it is seized
by the nippers of the iron ’drum, The
steam 'engine is now hard at work, the
drum .spins; round and round, and as the
nippers keep fast hold of the end of the
steel rod, the rod itself is dragged
through the hole in the draw-plate, and
wound Up on the circumference of the
drum. And- as the hole was a little
smaller than the rod, of course , the rod
itself becomes smaller as .it is drawn;
through. It becomes longer too, and
harder than it was, and must be softened
before anything more can be done with
it. So the coil is put in an iron cylin
der, heated red-hot; and then allowed to
cool gently. This is called annealing.
Then the steel is drawn through the
next smallest hole in the plate; and so
on, till it has passed through ten or
twenty or thirty holes, growing smaller
and longer every time, until it is steel
wire of'just the,’ right, size. ' The an-:
nealing; is. repeated six or ."eight , times,
; during; this process, and, sometimes; the
‘coil ; is “laid- in ; a tub of’ beer-grounds
i « OJ •viiitets' ii t (f.: .•
or staroli-water, to give it a good color
and make it pass more easily through
the plate. The rate of speed at which
the steel rod may be drawn through the
plate, depends upon its size; at first the
process is slow, and the coarse wire is
not drawn through faster than twelve or
fifteen inches in a second. But as it
grows finer, so is the work done faster,
and wire that is but one fortieth of an
inch in diameter, will pass through the
draw-plate at the rate of forty-five inches
a second.
Bor common vfire, they use this which
is called the mill-drawn process ; where
many drums run together, worked by
the same steam-engine; but for fine needle
wire this is-not fine, nor exact enough,
and: the wire must be what is called
hand-drawn. But one drum is worked
at a time, and this by means of ’ a lever
handle, turned by the workmen himself;
so that if the surface of the wire breaks
or does not run quite smooth,: he can
perceive it at once, stop his drum, and
put things to rights. And as the an
nealing: coats-the wire with a sort of
scale, this is rubbed off by hand with oil
and emery; while ordinary wire is
merely put into diluted- sulphuric acid,
which takes off the scales indeed, but
also weakens the wire. Small sized
wire that is hand-drawn, is worth five
or six times as much as the mill-drawn.
Of course the wire does not bear all
the brunt of these'‘operations; the draw
plate itself suffers, and let it be made
ever so hard, and ever so carefully, in a
little while the steel rod has enlarged
every one of the holes, in revenge for
being made smaller itself. So then the
holes (at least the small end of each one'
must be hammered down and the hole
punched out anew. People have tried the
plan of having the holes set with diamonds
or other very hard jewels; but I sup
pose it was too costly for common. use,
though it produced most beautiful work.
One of/these, draw-plates was mounted
with a. ruby, and in the ruby the hole
I was drilled; then through this perfectly
hard, unyielding hole, there was drawn
a silver wire one hundred and seventy
miles long, and so perfectly, absolutely
even from end to end, that the most
delicate weighing and measuring could
•detect no difference between one piece
of it and another.
For very, very fine wire, fit for use
in telescopes and other particular ways,
a process has been tried which is so
singular that I must tell you about it.
Dr. Wollaston (of whom it has been said,
that “he had a great knack at doing
what nobody else could do") took a
small rod of silver, drilled a hole
in it from end to end, arid filled up
the hole with gold. This silver-gold
rod was then drawn until, it was one
four hundreth of an inch in diameter;
and then dissolving the silver in warm
nitric acid, there remained a little, little
gold wire, so fine, that it would take
four thousand such—laid side by side
—to cover one inch of your table.—Lit
tle American.
IMPORTANT
TO
ALL INVALIDS!
IROH IH THE BLOOD.
Ilia well known to the medical, profession thatIRON
is the VITAL PRINCIPLE or LIFE ELEMENT of the
blood. This is derived chiefly from the food we eat • but
if the food is not properly digested, or if, from any cause
whatever, the necessary quantity of iron is not taken into
the 1 circulation, or becomes reduced, the whole system
suffers. The had blood will irritate the heart, will clog
up the lungs, , will stupefy the brain, will obstruct the
liver, and will send its disease-producing elements to all
parts of the'sy stenl > and every one will suffer in whatever
organ may be predisposed to disease,
iThe great vakte,of ’
IRON AS A MEDICINE
is well known and acknowledged by all medical men
The difficulty has.been to obtain such a preparation of
it as will enter the circulation and assimilate at once with
the blood; This point, says Dr. Hays, Massachusetts
State Chemist, has been attained m the Peruvian Syrup
by :combmdtum iniQ Wt® btforc unknown.
THE FERUVIAS BYRUP
is a PROTECTED solution of the PROTOXIDE OF
IRON.
A NEW DISCOVERY IN MEDICINE,
that STRIKES AT THE ROOT OF DISEASE by
supplying the blood with its
VITAL PRINCIPLE OR LIFE ELEMENT—IRON
THE PERUVIAN SYRUP
Cures Dyspepsia, Liver Complaint, Dropsy, Fever and
Ague, Loss of Energy, Low Spirits.
THE PERUVIAN SYRUP
Infuses strength, vigor, knd new life into the system, and
builds up an u .
THE PERUVIAN SYRUP
Cures Chronic Diarrheas* Scrofula, Boils, Scurvy, Loss of
Constitutional vigor.
THE PERUVIAN SYRUP
Cures Nervous Affections.
THE PERUVIAN SYRUP
is a Snanno for all diseases originating in
A BAD 'STATS. OP THE BLOOD,
or accompanied- by Debility' or a Low Stats or tee
System.
Prom well-known Citizenß of New York.
The experiance which we have had of the PERUVIAN
SYRTJP,. and the evidence which has .been exhibited tons
of its great success in the core of many diseases, satisfies
usthatitis a,medicinal agent of remarkable power, and
the attentionofinvalids; ' • - . ,
JOHN E. WILLIAMS, Esq’,.
President.of the Metropolitan Bank.
Key; ABEL STEVENS, "
Late Editor Christian Advocate and Journal.
Rev. P. CHURCH,
Editor New York Chronicle.
Pamphlets containing certificates of cures and reeom*>
mendations from some of the .most eminent Physicians;
Clergymen, and others, will be sent FREE to any address.
Prepared as heretofore by N.L. CLARK & CO,
J. P. DISSMORE, Sole Agent,
No 491 Broadway, New York.
Tor Sale by all Druggists.
GOLD X>E3STS.
MANUFACTURED BY TBS
AMERICAN GOLD PEN COMPANY.
These Pens hare gained great popularity in a short
space of time, and are acknowledged, by the best wri
ters, to be superior to all others now in use. Also the
ARMY PEN,
Made expressly for the Soldiers, are the best and cheat*
est manufactured, and are for sale by most of the : Jew
elers throughout the country.
COMPANY'S SALESROOM,
South-lintcomer, Eighth and C,hestnut Street!.
;
,v •: =:.:W b i .^gcn's.
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CABINET ORGANS,
FAMILIES, CHURCHES AND SCHOOL ;
ADAPTED to
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Prices: 585, 5100, #110,5135, 5165,#260,and
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49“ They are elegant aa pieces of furniture, occupy
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The CABINET ORGANS, introduced about a
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by the musical profession and the public, have already
been very widely introduced, and the demand for them
is still rapidly ihcreasing, and must continue' toin crease
as their merits [become known. They are to private
houses, Sunday schools and smaller churches all that
the larger pipe-organs are to large churches. Ia
they are admirably adapted to the'per
formance of Secular as well as Sacred Music.'
The CABINET ORGAN is essentially different from
and a very great improvement .upon all instruments of
the Melodeon or Harmonium kind. Its superior excel
lence consists in mauy important characteristics, among
which are;
1. The more organ-like character ofits tone.
2. It has greatly more power and volume of tone in
pioportion to its cost.
3. By the employment of a very simple and beautiful
invention, its capacity for expression is made vastly
greater than has ever before been attained in such
instruments. This invention is especially valuable,
because scarcely any praotice is necessary to render it
available. Any ordinary performer can master it in nn
hour or two.
4. It admits of great rapidity of execution, adapting it
to the performance of a greater variety of lively secular
music.
5. No instrument is less liable to get out of order.
6. It will remain in tune ten timeß as long asa Piano
Forte.
49“ It may be reasonably said that if these instru
ments have the great and obvious superiority thus
claimed for them, they mast have received very warm
recommendations from professional musicians, v who
would naturally be most interested in the introduction
of such instruments, and who are the best judges of
their excellence. Such recommendations hove already
been given to them, to an extent unparalleled. Among
those who have proffered written testimony to their
admirable qualities and great desirability, and that they
Regard them as UNEQUALLED by any other instru
ments of their class, are such well-known musicians as
LOWELL MASON, THOMAS HASTINGS, WM. B.
BRADBURY, GEORGE F. ROOT, Ac.; the most distin
guished organists in the country, as CUTLER, of
Trinity Church, New York; MORGAN, of Grace Church;
ZUNDEL', ol Mr. Beecher’s Church; BRAUN, WELS,
WILCOX, TUCRERMAN, ZERRAUN,.etc.; such cele
brated pianists as GOTTSCRALK, WM. MASCp, MILLS,
SANDERSON, STRAKOSCH, etc. In brief, more
two hundred musicians, Including a large portion of the
most eminent 1 n the country, have testified to this
effect Each CABINET ORGAN is securely boxed, so
that it con be sent, safely to any part of the country.
Illustrated Catalogues, with full particulars,
puts to any address.
WAREROOMB, No. 7 Mercer street, New York, and
No. 274 Washington street, Boston.
Address
MASON BROTHERS, New York.
MASON & HAMLIN, Boston,
J. E. GOULD
mhl7-St Cor.-Seventh and Chestnut Philada.
GROVER & BAKER’S
BUND Mil lliis
WERE AWARDED THE HIGHEST PREMIUMS
OVER ALL COMPETITORS,
AT THE FOLLOWING STATE- FAIRS OF 1863
For the best Family Sewing Machines,
the best Manufacturing Machines,
and the best Machine Work,
New Yotk, Vermont, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana, Illi
nois, Michigan, lowa, Kentucky and Oregon, betide a
score of County and Institute Fairs.
The work executed by the GROVER A BAKER MA
CHINES has received the First Pbxmhjm at every State
Fair in the United States where it has been exhibited.
The Grover & Baker Sewing MachineCompanymanu
facture, in addition to their celebrated GROVER &
BAKER STITCH MACHINES, the most perfect
SHUTTLE OR “LOCK STITCH”
Machines in the market, and afford purchasers the
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cannot offer this opportunity of selection to their cus
tomers. 1
43“ Pamphlets containing samples of Sewing, Embroi
dery, Ac., sent free to any address. ' •
Office, 130 Chestnut st.,
PHILADELPHIA.
LIFE AND TIMES
JOHN
BY E. H. GILLETT.
Two Vols. Royal Bvo. Price, $6,00.
NOTICES OF THE FRBBS.
Mr. Gilletthas done a good work in devoting so much
talent and labor to one Interesting field of historical re
search, with the view of diffusing knowledge of one of.
the most remarkable men, and one of the most impor
tant movement?'ineCclesiasfcicalhistory. There'pave
been, to our view, few more valuable contributions to
our religions literature thanthesetwo volumeattaring
the present The author: of this work takes
rank with Sparks, ; Bancroft, Irving, Prescott, Hopkins
and others, who have done so much to exalt the reputa
tion ofour country in the world of letters by their his
torical^productions.—Princeton Review. /-■y i -.
. A richer contribution to Historical Theology has not
been made, either in this country or Europe, for many
years, than by these noble Tfceplopical Eclectic.
Fertile as the present age ha? been iri'historical works
of the highest merits,-few of them will rank above these
volumes in those qualities which give permanent inter
est and value to a nistopy. It is. a work which reflects
honor on American literature, and: adds another name
to the noble list of American historians.—dr?kr. P r *&-
and Theological Review.
THOMAS CARRICK & CO.,
1905 MARKET STREET, PHILADELPHIA ■
gUPERIOR CRAbKERS, PILOT AND SHIP BREAD,
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A. FEE’S, SCOTCH AND OTHER CAKES.
Ground Cracker in any quantity. Orders promptly
filled. delB-ly
GEORGE ASHMEAD,
DRUGGIST,
603 MARKET STREET, PHILADELPHIA.
JNEALER in: , Drugs, Chemicals Ex
tracts, Pure Spicea/shd Per famery; IV: ndow Glass,
tty. White Lead, Zinc, Oils and Turpentine, Alcohol,
etc.; Importer of French Anatomical. Preparations and
Skeletons, , ' mil
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