gamit fink.
" GOING ALONE."
With in the sunny air tossing,
light in the merry blue eyes,
With laughter so clearly outringing,
A. Icogh of delight and surprise:
All trio:l,lly assistance disdaining,
Anil frosting no strength but its own—
The 1 ..,=+, fears and trials forgotten,
Th. liaby is " going alone."
Wha'. wofal mishaps have preceded
This clay of rejoicing and pride!
How often the help that he needed
Has carelessly gone from his side :
He has. fallen while reaching for sunbeams,
Which, just as ho grasped them, have flown,
And the tears of vexation have followed ;
But now ho is " going alone."
And all Ihrough his life he will study
This lesson again and again ;
He will carelessly lean upon shadows,
He will fall, and weep over the pain.
The hard whoso fond clasp was the surest,
Will coldly withdraw frpm his own,
The ,:^.niest eyes will he clouded,
And he will be walking alone.
He will learn - what a stern world we live in,
And be nay grow cold like the rest,
Just keep a warm sunny 17 31corne
For those who seem truest and best :
Yet, chastened and taught by past sorrow,
And stronger and manlier grown,
Not trusting his all in their keeping,
He learns to walk bravely alone.
And yet not alone, for our Father
Tho Tattering footsteps will guide
Through all the dark mazes of earth-life,
And over the river's" deep tide.
Oh, here is a 'Helper unfailing,
A strength we can perfectly trust,
Wher. all human aid unavailing,
"The dust shall return unto dust.''
A WORD ABOUT BIRTHDAYS.
TO E. A
MY DEAR FRIEND :----This day is the
anniversary of my birth, and I know not
to what duty I can devote one of its hours
more pleasantly than to that of answer
ing your very interesting letter. Mark
you, I do not f.; ay how old I am to day,
nor how young. You know it is said of
a certain class of persons Who do not
marry that they never get beyond twenty
five. Of •course this is not true, as the
family record will show, if let alone ;
but have you never met with persons who
appeared to have no particular age?
i
You would Say, of them, they are"
thirty or forty. You think them abo' --
thirty-five, but would not be in the leas
surprised to learn that they are fifty.
To-day they look ten years younger thin
they did yesterday, and to-morrow they
may look twenty years older. Their
age seems to vary with their moot of
mind like the weight of the Irishman,
'who affirmed that i t was usually one hun
dred and twenty-five, but that when very
much excited he weighed, about a ton.
Everybody kno*'': hat:Aptne people
are older at thirto , : - .':Atlilis are at
sixty
Wordsworth; the poet, was pro
nounced by a half dozen strangers who
were travelling with him in a stage coach,
to be over three score, when in fact he
had not yet reached his thirty-ninth year.
Have you not met with those who were
young at three score and ten—young
in vigor of health, in elasticity of step,
in freshness of thought and feeling, and
in almost every thing which properly
distinguishes youth from old age?
And on the other hand, have you not
seen some, who were born old, that is if
one may judge correctly from their baby
.looks and smiles, and from all their
movements in childhood and youth ?
Carlyle, I think it is, who says that we
all have to ago through an eternity of
makings to be born." If so, then of
course we are all old at birth, and there
is but little difference in the age of any
of i.. But how does he know this ?
He certainly cannot be conscious of it.
But if true, then upon the supposition
that it is a very desirable thing to be
born, what room there must have been
for the exercise of patience before we
mad: our appearance in our present
form ! One would think that this grace
ought to have had "its perfect work."
But is not the little patience manifested
at the beginning of the present life,
and indeed all the way through it,
rather against his theory ?
Jeremy Taylor thinks it may be as
painful to be born as to die. And so it
may, and yet not be very painful either,
for some people die quite easily. But
those of us possessed of the most reten
tive memory have doubtless forgotton
how much we suffered in the former
process, while none of us -can yet tell how
much we shall be called upon to endure
in the latter.
De Quincy upon this ,subject says :
"Death we can face, butknowing as some
of us do what is human life, which of us
is it, that without shuddering could (if
consciously we were summoned) face the
hour of birth ?"
Do you remember what Lord Byron
wrote of himself on the day he completed
his thirty-sixth year ?
" My days are in the yellow leaf ;
The flowers and fruits of love are gone ;
The worm, the canker, and the grief,
Are mine alone."
And Lord Chesterfield when, sixty-six
years of age said, "I now read Solomon
with a sort of sympathetic feeling. I have
been as wicked and vain, though not as
wise as he, but I am now at last wise
enough to attest the truth of his reflec
tion, that all is vanity and vexation of
spirit."
These arc indeed sad experiences, but
we are not to forget that they belong to
men, whose minds and hearts had never
been imbued with the spirit of Christian
ity, but who had inverted the true order
of things, by making this world every
thing and the world to come 'nothing.
What a tendency, with the return of
each successive birthday to make good
resolution's, but alas! what a stronger
tendency is soon felt within to break
those resolutions, and to come back to
the same old beaten track of negligence
and sinfulness in which we have been ac
customed to walk. These birthdays are .
the ones in which we think and talk so
much about " beg;nning life anew,"
" starting out afresh," " turning over a.
new leaf," &c. But how much better
would it be for us to be careful that each
successive day be marked by the birth of
the soul into a higher spiritual life. And
that this may be so let us not forget to
pray with one of old, "So teach us to
number our days that we may apply our
hearts unto wisdom."
I like this idea of numbering our days,
that is of so, improving them, one by onc,
as they come and go, that when all are
gone, as soon they will be, and we are
summoned before the judgment bar to
give an account of this life as a whole,
we may do it with the consciousness. that
we have labored to make the most of it.
But enough, except this—
"We live in deeds, not years ;'in thoughts,
not breaths;
In feelings, not in figures on it dial.
We should count time by heart-throbs. He
most lives
Who thinks most—feels the noblest—acts the
best."
Ever your own true friend,
• - KARNAIM.
1:1=:::
LETTERS.
fOns a Lady visiting Philadelphia, du
ring the Winter of 1863, to her young
friend in the Country.
NO. VII.
DEAR EDITH am again grateful
for your prompt answer to that tedious
letter I sent. But as it was in compli
ance with your request, that I gave such
a full description of the party of the
season, I would not allow you to say
that you felt at all weary of the subject.
I did, however, and compensated myself
by giving a moralizing tone to the last
page. I have had another conversation
with Mr. B. on the subject already com
menced in a previous letter ; and as you
feel an interest in the discussion, I will
give some details. Just let me say first,
that I beg you will spare me those deli
cate hints, as to the fascinating society
of one person. Of course, one does not
care to cultivate the society of common
place, egotistical men; but to enjoy the
society of those who are intelligent and
agreeable, merely shows that one has
capacity to appreciate such gifts. Had
Mr. B. possessed less mental cultivation
I could not have found the same enjoy
ment in his society. Remember, there
are so many (shall I say gentlemen?)
who always make an effort to lessen
their mental powers, when they' talk to
women. They assume a considerate
tone, and try to adapt their remarks to
our feeble intellects ; very much as we
talk to children. There are some few
women in the world that are wonderfully
exempt from the usual feminine love of
admiration, and conquest ; they think
of other things, in spite of all the disbe
lieving sneers to the contrary. AmOng
the pleasant incidents of my visit to this
city, I shall remember gratefully the
friendly conduct of Mr. 8., and the in
struction derived from
_his conversation;
and that will be all.
A few evenings since, I spent two or
three hours with Mrs. S., a friend of
Aunt Helen's. There were not more
than eight or ten persons present. Af
ter tea Uncle James came in and brought
Mr. B. During the evening we had an
animated discussion on the subject pre
viously begun, in which Aunt Helen took
some part. Aunt thinks that due allow
ance must be made for the prevalent
mode of education in large cities. In
saying this, she was far from commend
ing it; as she deplores greatly the ten
dency to display and personal adornment ;
not incipient, when school days have
terminated. I agree with aunt, in think
ing that we ought to exercise charity
while estimating the character and con
duct of young lathes, who have always
been residents of a large city. There
are so many diverse influences bearing
Upon them, and the example of those to
whom they look for guidance is not
always such as to give a wise or thought
ful tendency to their daily course. Mr.
B. remarked here, that he felt the truth
and force of what Aunt Helen had. said.
He thought that social influences were
powerful in moulding the characters of
the young ladies of the present day,
and that many of them, if placed in dif
ferent circumstances, would evince quali
ties of mind and heart that would sur—
prise us. While Mi. B. was speaking,
I was debating as to the propriety of .
making some remarks and ..asking. some
questions intimately connected with the
PIIL_A.,D - EITHIA, THURSDAY, JUNE 16, 1864.
subject under consideration. Finally I
remarked that I was philosophical in my
way of estimating people and things,
especially in subjects like the present,
and then asked him very gravely, what
was his opinion as regarded the mental
cultivation of the young men of the
present day ; those moving in the social
circle most familiar to him. The ex
pression of Mr. B's. truthful countenance
made me almost regret that Thad asked
the question. He appeared embarrassed
for a minute,and then said: " Miss Evans,
you have a right to make this inquiry,
after the remarks that have been made.
I will answer it, however trying it may
be for me to act the part of censor. My
circle of friends is limited, some} I do
know, that would do honor to aiivsposi
tion they might be called to fiat but
candor obliges me to confess that these
are few." Uncle came up just then, say
ing that it was time to make: our: Adieu,
and invited Mr. B. to spend the evening
soon.with Aunt Helen, when we could
resume the subject.
Affectionately, ITELV
JEMMY DITNOAN'S FIRST LIE;
"Uncle James ! please tell us a.tory
this evening. Vacation will sokis be
over, and we go home to-morrolrou
know."
"0 yes ! Alt us a story, andlo it
be a true one, ncle James; one that
we can remembar and think ;bout when
we get back to school." •
" Let me see," replied the
,p.ersOn ad
dressed. "You wish for a story,„a true
one, and one that can be remembered.
I happen to know a true stOry-nbVut
little boy and a
,Feot lie that 1e., - told.
Will that suit you ?"
" 0, -yes ! tell us about the= little ; boy
Uncle James," cried the one.
" Yes ! Uncle James, tell us. all about
the great lie that ho, told," cried the
other... Both boys were Wide:awake : hi.
the-story. . .
.
So after the party, which only hum
bered four persons, had subsided into a
listening attitude, Mr. • Rogerson, the
uncle of the two boys, began his story
much after this fashion.
" Brightly - .shone the sun, ancl
every bush and tree rose a Sweeta?ird
song, as a little boy with. a shining,
happy face, skipped along a , country
road, one JoVely summer =ruing.
Everything around him wore such , a
joyous aspect, `that the little boy was` as
gay as a lark. He whistled,he' shouted,
now stopping to .pluck a flower by ..the
roadside, now chasing a butterfly, now
gazing at the soft ; fleecy clouds that
floated slowly, like white-robed angOls,
through the heavens.
" There never was, never. could b a
happier lad than Jemmy Duncan' or
that was the little boy's name;)
bright, golden morning. He was going
on an errand for his mother,
to 'Squire
Parsons, who liked in the handsomest
house in the village about a mile from
Jemmy's home. After a very pleasant
rambling walk, he arrived at 'Squire
Parsons' place, which was called Quer
cus Grove."
" What a funny name," exclaimed
one of the boys.
"I never heard of such a queer
name," exclaimed the other.
Mr. Rogerson smiled, making no re
ply to their exclamations, and continued
his narrative thus :,
" The house was a large, old-fashion
ed stone house, delightfully situated
among trees and shrubbery, and fitted
with ancient furniture, pictures, and cu
rious things, which had belonged 'to a
former proprietor, a foreigner. When
he died, 'Squire Parsons, who was call
ed a rich man, purchased the estate and
moved his family here from a neighbor
ing city."
"Why that's something like the
story of your house, Uncle James,"
one boy remarked.
" Yes! and the old-fashioned furni
ture too !" remarked the other.
. Mr. Rogerson smiled again, nodded
his head, and went on as before.
"We must. not leave little Jemmy
Duncan too long at the door. A serv
ing-man ushered him into the library.
It was some minutes before the 'Squire
came hi ; and when he entered the
room, he was no leSs surprised than an
gry, to see a fine bust of Shakspeare,
which had ornamented his table, on the
floor, andbrokenin pieces. The 'Squire
had a very good heart, but he was hasty
in temper ; besideS this was a favorite
ornament with him, and no wonder he
was provoked. Without immediately
seeing who it was, for the room was ra
ther dark, he demanded in a loud and
excited tone, How dared you touch
that, you young rascal ?' Just as he
seized and was about to shake the lad,
he saw who it was, and said, 'Why
Jemmy Duncan! is it you ?'
"Now this same Jemmy Duncan was
generally liked in the vintage. The
'Squire, as well as everybody else,
looked upon him as an honest, truth
ful boy. In a softer, and kindlier tone,
the 'Squire now asked, ' How did it
happen, my man ?'
" don't know sir,' replied Jemmy.
' When your man let me in, the cat ran
dut_of the room, and that was lying there
all broken.'
" And that's the last thing she will
ever destroy in this house,' cried the
'Squire, now growing _quite red in the
face. told Lina she might have the
kitten, if - she could keep her out of my
library. I'd rather every cat in Plea
isantville were killed, than that my
Shakspeare should be destroyed.'
"Jemmy Duncan did his errand, but
BY AITCHPEE
his voice trembled, for the 'Squire's an
gry manner and loud words had terribly
frightened him.
" Good bye, my little man,' said the
'Squire, as Jemmy turned to go. Tell
your mother, when she gets tired of you,
she may send you to me. You would
make, a nice playfellow for my little
Lina.'
Jemmy ran down the steps, glad to
get once more in the open air. But
everything in nature appeared to be
changed. The beautiful white clouds
that had sailed along so calmly In the
heavens, now frowned upon him like
stern and angry faces. In place of the
golden sunlight, dark shadows fell across
his path, as he hurried homewards.
Instead of music, the birds, great and
small, were flying about and twittering,
as if each one were telling his neighbor,
Little Jemmy Duncan told a lie—a lie
lie,'—and a huge black crow fol
lowed Jemmy all the way, flapping his
wings, and screaming caw—caw—caw
—crows . don't lie, caw,—for shame,
Jemmy Duncan! caw—caw—caw.'
" Jemmy got home at last, delivered
the .}Squire's message, and seizing his
books and slhte, hurried off to school.
But new trials awaited him there. He
could not remember his lessons, his head
Was confused, and he thought the master
and all the scholars looked at him, as if
they knew he had told a lie.
"Before the school closed, the master
called Jemmy to his table, put his hand
on his head, and said kindly, You don't
look well, Jemnay. You had better go.
home to your mother. Your cheeh are
too red for study.'
" Jemmy's mother was a widow, and he
was her only child. She had brought
him up in. a .conscientious manner, and
in particular had warned him against the
sin of' lying. His mother was also an
invalid, and Was lying on her bed when
Jemmy returned from school. He went
immediately to her chamber, shut the
door' as he entered, and - kneeling by, her
bed-side, confessed his sin. We may not
hear what passed there. When Jemmy
came out, his eyes were red and swollen,
but on his pale ,face there was a high,
resolve as diatinctly marked, as if it had
been engraVen in gold letters. In a
little while, JeMmy Duncan was again
on the road to 'Squire Parsons'. Just
before he reached the horse, he met
little ana l who looked: as if she had
cried all her tears .out, and who held a
a beautiful tortoise-shell kitten in her
apron.
"`Where are you going, and what's
the matter ?' :asked Jemmy, who suspect
ed the truth before the little girl' cried
Out, in a sorrowful tone, 'Oh, my beau
tiful Catalina has been in papa's library,
and thrown clown his bust of Shakspeare,
and I have got to carry her off again to
Nurse Wilkins. Oh dear, 0 dear, what
Ido withentrny beautiful Cataline ?'
and the little girl sobbed aloud.
" Come with me, Lina,' said Jemmy.
I have something to tell your' father;
and I know when he has heard it, he will
let you keep your kitten.'
" So both ran on together, until they
entered the 'Squire's presence, who look
ed in amazement to See Lina and the kit
ten, and especially Jemmy back again so
soon
Jemmy did not wait to be spoken to,
but went straight to the 'Squire and
made his confession.
" Lina's kitten was not in the library
at all, this morning, sir. I broke the
bust myself. I did not know it was so
heavy, and I took it up by one hand to
look at it, when it slipped from me and
broke to pieces on the floor. lam very
sorry to have told you such a wicked lie.
I don't think-I shall over tell another.
Can you forgive me sir, and let Lina
keep her kitten?'
" Why did you come back and tell me
all this ; I should never have found you
out ?' asked the 'Squire.
" 'Oh, sir, I was so unhappy, I could
'not keep such a dreadful lie to myself.
I told my mother all about it first, and
then I couldn't help coming to tell you,
sir.
" Take your kitten .to the kitchen,'
said her father to Lina. Tell Bridget
to give her some Milk.'
"Tears were in 'Squire Parson's eyes
a little later in the day, as he bade Jemmy
good bye. ' Tell your mother when she
is tired.of you she may send you to me.'
The kind-hearted 'Squire said this in
just the same pleasant tone, as he did
when Jemmy Duncan left him earlier in
the morning.
" Years passed away. Jemmy never
told another lie. lie promised his
mother never to do so again, and he
kept his promiSe. When she grew
sicker, the good 'Squire was her best
earthly friend. When she died he took
Jemmy to his own home, educated him,
and when he became a man, gave him his
daughter Lina for his wife. 'Squire Par
sons
. has been dead for many, years, but
your Aunt Evelina keeps the broken
bust of Shakspeare, which her father
.cemented together as a token of the
past."
"Aunt Evelina l" exclaimed one boy,
starting up in great surprise. " Why,
yes ! why didn't I think of that ?
knew all the time her name was Evelina
Parsons." •
" And you were little Jemmy Dun
can !" cried the other, as he ran and
put his arms around his neck. " Your
name is James Duncan Rogerson. Why
didn't we think ? And this is the old
stone house, and the old-fashioned furni
ture."
"And this is the broken, bust of
Shakspeare," their Aunt Evelina pleas
antly remarked, as she took dOwn from
a shelf an old, yellowed bust. " Men-
ever I look on this I remember the happy
feeling that crept into my heart, when I
learned that I could keep my pretty Cat
alina."
" When I look at it," remarked their
uncle, "I remember the good resolution
I formed at my mother's bed-side never
to tell another lie, and which God has
enabled me to keep."
" How about the Kercus Grove?"
asked the first boy.
"Yes ! how about Pleasantville? de
manded the second.
" I said QUerCUS Grove," replied their
uncle, while a curious smile stole over
his countenance.
"Quercus ?—Quercus ?—why, that is
the Latin for oak," said the first ; " 0,
I see, now, you meant Oak Grove."
" Yes ! indeed !" chimed in the second,
"and by Pleasantville you mean Fair
town. I see it all now."
On-their way home from FairtoWn,
the next day, the, two boys who had
passed their vacation. at. Oak Grove, the
residence of their Uncle Rogerson, found
much. to talk about, as they recalled the
story of little Jemniy Duncan's Great
Lie.—Student and Schoolmate.
TO WASH COLORED, PLAID. BLACK,
AND 4 RAW SILKS AND RIBBONS.
For a single dress, pare four or five
good sized potatoes, slice them thin and
lay them in a quart of cold water for a
few hours ; then, if the silk is much soiled,
sponge both sides -freely, rubbing
the spoiled places with most care.
Sponge one piece at a time, and iron it
dry on the side that, is to be the inside,
moving the iron up and down, or . straight
across—never .diagonally. Have the
irons quite hot, yet not so as to scorch,
or change the color. If they are too cool,
they will draw up or crimp the silk in
very minute gathers, and it will be im
possible to make such places smooth
again. The effect of the starch from
the potatoes is to cleanse the silk, and
also give it a little stiffness, and even
plaid siks of the most delicate colors are
made to look new in this way. If silk is
not much soiled, sponge itonly on what
is to be the outside, and iron it on the
other. A good black silk may be made
to look " amaist as weel's the new,"
again and again by this proceSs, and
those who have never tried it, would be
surprised at its its renovating effect.
Good ribbons, black, white, or colored,
are made, fresh and handsome in the
same way. - To iron them, set the iron
across one end, on the wrong side, and
While you Press it hard, draw the whole
length of the ribbon under it with the
other hand. Raw silks should be wash
ed in potato water, as directed for
calicoes that are liable to fade ; and after
being rinsed once and hung without wring
ing upon the . line, long enough for the
water to drip off, they should be rolled
fat fifteen minutes in a sheet, and then
ironed dry on the wrong side.
1=II=:1:21=
THOUGHTS FOR YOUNG MEN.
Costly apparatus and splendid cabi
nets have no magical power to make
scholars. In all circumstances, as - a,
Man is, under God,. the
the
of his
own fortune, so he is the former of his
own mind. The Creator has so consti
tuted the human intellect that it can
grow only by its own action, and by its
own action it most certainly and neces
sarily grows. Every man must, there
fore, in an important sense, educate
himself. His books and teachers are
but helps; the work is his. A man is
not educated until he has the .ability to
summon, in case of emergency, all his
mental power in vigorous exercise to ef
fect his proposed object. It . is not _the
man who has seen the most, or has. read
the most, who can do this ; such a one
is in danger of being borne down, like a
beast of burden, by an overloaded mass
of other men's thought. Nor is it the
man that can boast merely of native
vigor and capacity. The greatest of all
the warriors that went to the siege of
Troy had not the pre-eminence because
nature had given him strength and he
carried the largest bow, but because
self-discipline had taught him to bend it.
A PATRIOTIC WOMAN.
The Albany Evening Journal tells the
following :—J‘ At Plattsburg, the other
day, a man of no very great loyal pre
tensions called on a widow and informed
her that her only son was drafted, and
then hastened to tell her that he could
secure his exemption if she would certify
that she was a widow, and that she was
dependent on him for - support. The
patriotic lady made the following reply :
"I can certify to no such thing. lam
not dependent on my son for support,
and I never expect to be. Besides, I
think he ought to go, if he is able to per
form military duty, and every other
able-bodied man, till this wicked rebellion
is put down. Nothing but the necessity
of wearing these skirts has kept me from
going."
THE THOUGHTLESS MOTHER,
" Mother," said a _delicate little girl,
"I have broken your china vase."
" Well, you are a careless, troublesome
little thing, alw4ys in some mischief ; go
up stairs and stay in the closet till I
send for you."
And this was a Christian mother's
answer to the tearful little culprit who
had struggled with and conquered the
temptation to tell a falsehood to screen
the fault.
With a disappointed, disheartened,
and saddened look, the child obeyed, and
at that moment was crushed in her little
heart the sweet flower of truth, perhaps
never again in after years to be revived
to-life.
Aitutrtistmtnts.
PHILADELPHIA COLLEGIATE INSTITUTE,
FOR YOUNG LADIES,
1530 ARCH STREET, PHILADELPHIA.
D EV. CHARLES A SMITH, D. D., E. CLARENCE
It SMITH, A. M., Principals.
Ninth year. Three Departments: Primary, Academic
and Collegiate. Full college course in classics , mathe
matics, higher English, and natural science, for those
who graduate. Modern languages, music, painting and
elocution, by the best masters. For circulars, apply at
the Institute. or address Box 2011, P. 0., Philadelphia,
Pa. ap2.l.
MEST 0311 . 131f1NE ACLIMBIT,
MILITARY INSTITUTE,
AT WEST _CHESTER, PENNSYLVANIA
WILLIAM F. WYERS, A. M., Principal.
THE SCHOOL WILL REMAIN IN SINSION UNTIL
the 15th of Jun , . nrxl. Yoraber of instructors 10;
and thh number of bLUdentS lot. Many applications for
admission had to be refused last fall for want of suitable
accommodations. This difficulty has been removed.
MILITARY DEPARTMENT
Major G. Eckendorff, Instructor. Captain J. F
DeMaziere, Superintendent. For circulars, toxins,
apply to
_ _ .
WILLIAM F. W] Ells, A. Principal;
West Chester, Ps.
PHILADELPHIA INSTITUTE
PHYSICAL CULTURE, •
DY. THE PRACTICE OF DR. DIO LEWIS'S NEW
I/ Gymnastics and the nculcation of the Laws or
Health, established by Mr. and Mrs. GILLINGHAM,
October 15th, 1863.
Central Branch, Horticultural Hall, Southwest corner
Broad and 'Walnut streets. Classes of, Ladies and
Gentlemen meet on Wednesday, February 3d.
Classes of &fasters, Misses and Young Ladies meet
on - Mondays and Thursdays at 4 o'clock. A new class
organizes Monday, February Ist.
Northern Branch, Northwest corner Tenth and
Spring streets. Classes of Ladies and Gentlemen meet
on Tuesday and Friday evenis id 8 o'clock, P. M. A
new class organizes Tuesday, February sd.
Classes of Masters, Misses and Young Ladies meet
on Wednesdays and Saturdays at 4 o'clock, P. M. A
new class organizes on Wednesday, February 3d.
The Fee for a course of twenty lessons, two or four
times per week, is $7. Two in the same family, $l2.
For the remainder of the.season, twenty weeks, twice a
week, $l2. Four times per week, $2O.
In the system of New Gymnastics no fixed apparatus
is employed, all the exercises being performed to the
inspiring strains of music"with light wooden dumbells,
hand rings, wands, bean bagb, Ac. They will be found
admirably calculated to develops And maintain the
highest possible condition of physical health, and N.
fiecure a grace, flexibility, precision and endurnaCe bf
body, far more desirable than enortnOtis 'muscular
strength.
For further information,
C. GILLINGHAM,
jan2B N 0.1224 Buttonwood street.
SELECT CLASSICAL AND ENGLISH SCHOOL
NO. 1230 LOCUS r STREET, PHILADA.,
B. KENDALL, A. M., Principal,
THE SCHOOL YEAR IS DIVIDED INTO TWO
sessions of five months each, commencing September
and February.
Pupils are carefully prepared for any class in college
or for mercantile life:
Th6roUghneAs in the rudiments is insisted upon as
indispensable to the successful prosecuhon of classical
and higher English studies.
Special attention is also given to the Modern Lan
guages.
A fine play-ground on the premises gives unusual
value and attraotiveuess to the location of the schooL
All other desirable information will be furnished to
those interested on application to the Principal.
BEMODI NBA TOWN'S LAM.
PISS ELIZA. W. SMITH,
40. Aff/.. t y / pUCE STREET.
Aar- For Terms see efi aims.
YOUNG LADIES' INSTITUTE,
WILMINGTON, DEL
NUMBER. LIMITED TO THIRTY
;key.: and conveniently arranged. Spacious grounds for
exercise. Charges moderate
Next session will commence the first 24.0NDAT in
For information, address
Rev. THOMAS M. CANN, A. M.,
Principal and Proprietor
Catalogues can be had at the Music Stores of J. E
Gould and Lee & Walker, Chestnut street; or at the
office of the " Amezican Presbyterian." jal-ly
WENDEROTH & TAYLOR,
912, 914 and 916 Chestnut Street,
PHILADELPHIA.
PHOTO-MINIATURES ON PORCELAIN,
Ivorytypes, Photographs, Cartes de Visite,
and every style of
PORTRAITS IN .4IL AND WATER COLORS,
Executed in the highest style.
At r- VIEWS OF COUNTRY SEATS made, 10 by 13
inches.
P. A. WrAIMOTIT. [942-Iyl W. C. TAILOR
GROVER & BAKER'S
MUM OM MIMES,
WERE 6TVAR.DED THE HIGHEST PREHIIIHS
OVER ALL, COMPETITORS,
AT THE FOLLOWING STATE FAIRS OF 18
For the best Family Sewing Machines,
the best Manufacturing Bfachines,
and the best Machine Work,
New' York, Vermont, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana, Illi
nois, Michigan, lowa, Kentucky and Oregon, beside a
score of County and Institute Fairs.
The work executed by the GROVER & BAKER MA
CHINES has received the Fixer. Parana': at every State
Fair in the United States where it has been exhibited.
The Grover & Baker Sewing Machine Confpany manu
facture, in addition to their celebrated GROVER it
BAKER STITCH MACHINES, the most perfect
SHUTTLE OR "LOCK STITCH"
Machines in the market, and afford purchasers the
opportunity of selecting, after trial and examination of
both, the one best suited to their wants. Other com
panies mannfaAture but one kind of machine each, and
cannot over this opportunity of selection to their cam
touters.
ler Pamphlets containing samples of Sewing, Embroi
dery, ac., sent free to any address.
Office, 130 Chestnut st.,
PHILADELPHIA.
fe29eow
P. & E. H. WUIAMRON,
Scriveners and Conveyancers )
S. W. corner ABOBikail3ll MTH streets
BUILDING 3