298 Jarailg iitflf. “LAYS OF THE KiBK AND COVENANT.” The child of James Melville, horn July 9, 1686, died about January, 1688. “ This page, if thou bo a father that reads it, thou wilt pardon me; if nooht, suspend thy censure till thou be a father, as said the grave Lacedco monian Agesilaus.”— Autobiography of James Melville. One time my soul was pierced as with a sword — Contending still with men untaught and wild— When He who to the prophet lent his gourd, Gave me the solace of a pleasant child I A summer gift —my precious flower was giv en— A very summer fragrance was its life; Its clear eyes soothed me as the blue of heaven, When home I turned, a weary man of strife. With unformed laughter, musically sweet, How soon the wakeuing babe would meet my kiss; With outstretched arms its care-worn father greet. Oh I in the desert, what a spring was this. A few short months it blossom’d near my heart, A few short months, else toilsome all, and sad; But that home-solace nerved me for my post, And of the babe I was exceeding glad. Alas 1 my pretty bud, scarce formed, was dying, (The prophet’s gourd, it withered in a night,) And He who gave me all—my heart’s pulse trying— Took gently home the child of my delight! Not rudely culled,-not suddenly it perished; But gradual faded from our love away.; As If still, secret dews, its life that cherished, Were drop by drop withheld, and day by day I My blessed Master saved me from repining, So tenderly He sued me for His own: So beautiful He made my babe’s declining, Its dying blessed me as its birth had done. And daily to our hoard, at noon and even, Our fading flower I bade hia mother bring, That we might commune of our rest in heaven, Gazing the while on death, without its sting. And of the ransom for that baby paid, So very sweet at times our converse seemed, That the sure truth of grief a gladness made— Our little lamb by God’s own Lamb re deemed. There were two milk-white doves my wife had nourished, And I too loved erewbile at times to stand, Marking how each the other fondly cherished, And fed them from my baby’s dimpled hand. So tame they grew, that to his cradle flying, Full oft they cooed him to his noontide real And to the murmurs of his sleep replying, Crept gently in, and nestled m his breast. ’Twas a fair sight, the snow-pale infant sleep ing. So fondlygnardianed by those Creatures mild; Watch o’er his closed eyes their bright, eyes keeping; Wondrous the love betwixt the birds and child! Still, as he sickened,seemed the doves divining, Forsook their food, and loathed their pretty play ; And on the day he died, with aad note pining, One gentle bird would not be frayed away. His mother found it when she rose, Bad-hearted, At early dawn, with sense of nearing ill ; And when, at last, the little spirit parted, The dove died too, as if of its heart chill. The other flow to meet my aad home-riding, As with a human sorrow in its coo; To my dead child and its dead mate then gui ding, Most pitifully plained; and parted too. ‘ ’Twas. my first horsel* and propine f to heaven; And as I lay my darling ’neath the sod, Precious His comforts ; once an infant given, And offered with two turtle doves to God. Transcribed in London, July 29,1894. *Pre»enf. •}Earnest, pledge. (From “Our Own Fireside.”) HEART CHEER POE HOME SORROW. FAITH. I know Thee, who Thou art, Thou Holy One; Oh, leave me, not—Thou shall not leave me I Will grasp Thy sacred mantle with the hand Of faith, and wrestle with Thee till I die. My soul is, dark, And without Thee, ' My God I my Light! .1 cannot see. Deep in my inmost heart corruption lies ; In me no good exists—all, all is sin ; I cling to Thee. My being’s stony gates Do Thou unbar, G Lord, and enter in. My soul is dark, And without Thee, My God !■ my Light! I cannot see. Death has no power, the wormy grave no gloom To him whose soul holds Thee within its shrine. Time leads me onward with remorseless haste, But Thou-hast conquered Time, and thou art mine. My soul is light, O Christ, for Thou, My God and Lord, Art with me now. —J. J. Hatch. DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THIS LIFE AND THE »NEXT. “ In this life we grow up to our full stature; and then we decrease till we de cease, we decline and die. In the : other, we come at first to ‘perfect stature,’ and so continue for ever. We here are subject to sorrows and sins; the first grievous to us as we are men, the other as we are good men; 10, we shall one day be freed, be perfect. It is a sweet meditation that fell from a reverend divine, that many vegetable and brute creatures do exceed men in length, of days; and in happiness in their kind, as mot* wanting the thing they desire. The oak, the raven, the stork, the stag, fill up many years; in regard of whom man dies in the minorj'ty of childhood. This ■ made the philosophers call nature a step dame to man, to the rest a true mother. ;For she gives him least time; that could make.best use of his time, and least pleasure that could best apprehend'it, and comfort in it. But here divin ity teacheth and revealeth a large recom pense ffttjn pur God. Other creatures live, long, ; aftd,s(en f ' perish. ,to man dies- soon here, that .hereafter-lie. may live for ever. The shortness is re compensed with eternity. Dost thou blame nature, 0 philosopher, for cutting thee so short that thou canst not get knowledge ? Open thine eyes—perfect knowledge is not to be had here, though thy days were double to Methuselah’s. Above it is. Bless God, then, rather for thy life’s shortness, for the sooner thou diest, the sooner thou shalt come to thy desired knowledge. The best , here is short of the least there. Let no man blame God for making him too soon happy. Say rather with the Psalmist, ‘My soul is athirst for’ God; 0 when shall I come to appear in the glorious presence of the Lord ?’ Who would not forsake a prison for a palace, a taberna cle: for a city, a sea of dangers for a firm land of bliss, the life of men for the life of angels?”— Thomas Adams. THY WAY, HOT MINE. Thy way, not mine, O Lord, However dark it be 1 Lead me by Thine own hand, Choose out the path for me. Smooth let it be or rough, It will be still the best; 'Winding or straight, it leads Bight onward to Thy rest. I dare not choose my lot; I would not, if I might; Choose Thou for me, my God, So shall 1 walk aright. The kingdom that I seek Is Thine; so let the way That leads to it be Thine, Else I must surely stray. Take Thou my cup, and it With joy or sorrow fill, As best to Thee may seem; Choose Thou my good and ill: Choose Thou for me my friends, My sickness or my health ; Choose Thou my cares for me— My poverty or wealth. Not mine, not mine the choice, In things or great or small; Be Thou my guide, my strength, My all.—Dk.Bakon. “OUR CHILD IN HEAVEN.” “ There will be spheres of action in the life that is to come—vast orbits with in which some will range, and lesser or bits in which others shall move. We cannot but believe that‘our children-will be children evermore—that amid the great family of the redeemed, many children will be found. To us the thought is full of pleasure. Other of our children are growing up to he men and women.; the very years, as they pass, seem to rob us of their childhood, but years can never rob us of the child hood 1 of a child in heaven. In memory and in prospect the departed one remains our ‘ child.’ And so, as old age comes creeping upon us apace, and those who were our children have now gone forth as men and women into the world, and we are left alone; we can sit by our fire side, and dream with unclosed eyes; and think how that when bur little one left earth it was a ‘ child’—then mayhap we shall be able to draw ■ nigh the spirit land ; our timid hearts will shrink the less when we see therein a ‘ child’—our child. And if bright , days'Have passed, we shall believe in bright days yet to come. Oh, think not for a moment that there is any pause in the being of thy child; that the music of its life is gone! Let no tear of sorrow start because thou seest other children at their sport: they gleam upon the waves of troubled waters, thine glitters as on a lake of glass.”— Rev. P. B. Power. THE SAVIOUR’S SYMPATHY. “ Thou knowest, not alone as God, all-know ing— . - As man, our mortal weakness Thou hast proved; On earth, with purest'sympathies o’erflowing. Oh, Saviour,! Thou, host wept, and Thou hast loved! And love and sorrow still to Thee may come, And find a hiding place, a rest, a home.”— Anoh. ' ' THE REALITY OF OUR LIVES. “If earthly trouble is upon us, fly to Him who sends it. Let us beware of all those who would cheer *us without Him; Do they profess to put away from us our heavy thoughts ?; Let us beware, lest instead of this they rob us of the very reality of our lives.”— S.Wilberforoe. ' HOW DO MINISTERS LIVE IN THESE DAYS? “ How do ministers live in these days?” said Mr. Brown, the merchant, to Mr; Smith, the /preacher, after weighing out for him a few pounds of sugar, at twenty five cents per pound, and measuring off a few yards of calico, at thirty cents per yard. Mr. Smith hesitated. Mr. Brown was not a professor of religion, and he did not wish to say anything which could in the least discredit the'church. “ They tell me,” Mr. Brown contin ued, “ that your salary has not been raised, and I always supposed it was small enough; and now when, four hun dred dollars is scarcely worth as much as two hundred was three years ago, I can’t imagine how you make it do.” Just at this moment the door opened, and deacon Jones entered the. store. The merchant intent on the subject, went on. ' “ Good morning, Mr. Jones. I have just asked Mr. Smith how ministers live in these days of high prices ?” “That is a question which I have been asking myself lately,” replied the deacon; “ and I would be glad to hear our minister answer it.” ■ Mr. Smith, thus appealed to, said: “ There are some ministers whose sala ries have been raised to correspond with other things. We will not speak of them. But you ask how those live who have only, the same amount of money *Syhich three years ago-they thought no more than a comfortablesupport. I will divide them into three classes. The first are men who have some property, and they fall back on that, and are PHIL ADELPHIA, THUS SDAY, SEPTEMBER 22, 1864. spending it pretty rapidly. Others are getting in debt, and this I fear is -the case with too many. The third class cannot do as the first, and will not do as the second, and nothing remains for them, if they will live within their means, but the sternest self-denial. My salary is, as you know, four hundred dollars per an num, and a house to live in. I must* keep a horse and carriage, and wear them out pretty rapidly, too, and Jhe money invested in them, and the cost of keep ing, is at least, with present prices, one hundred a year. Then there is the wear and tear of carriages and harnesses, and the losses by accident to horse-flesh, which ought to be reckoned fifty more. It costs me six dollars a cord for wood, or ten dollars a ton for coal; and I must keep at least two fires. A place to study is indispensable to my usefulness, and whatever else is given up, I must have the fire in the study when it is needed. It will cost forty dollars for fuel, and then you see that nearly two hundred of the four is used up; and you ask how I, and my wife and two children live on the other two hundred. I will tell you. We live on bread and water. Tea, coffee, sugar, and butter, have been, one after the other, given up,, except when we have company. The old clothes are mended and worn, but my wife.says that cannot be done much longer. Books and periodicals are given up; and the hand which once dispensed charity to the poor is empty. That is the way that I and many others are living. If this was our just proportion of the public bur den we would not coinplain, but it does seem hard to be deprived of those com forts and luxuries to which we had be come accustomed, while everybody around us enjoys them, and lays up money be sides.” • ■ “ Why have you not spoken of this before ?” said the deacon. “ It is not pleasant to complain,” was the reply. “ Besides, the whole com munity know what my salary is, and many of them must know that I receive less favors than formerly.' - ; Three years ago, when butter was twelve cents a pound, we had as much given us as we needed, hut since it has been thirty or over, we have not had a pint of milk or an ounce of butter, except we have paid the market price. .It is too valuable now to give away, and the same is true of other things.”, “ This is too. bad,” said the deacon. “ Too bad,” jsaid Mr. Brown, “ and I will tell you deacon, what you ought to do. You are most of you farmers and you ought to pay your subscription in butter, cheese, pork, or whatever he wants, at the old prices, or else give him twice the amount of money. lam will ing to begin on this plan. My subscrip tion is ten dollars, and he -may take it in goods out of the store at whatever they were worth two years ago ? or I will pay him twenty.” V “ I can’t say that there is any in justice in that,” was the answer, “and I will try to get the people to come up to it. You pay all other laborers about: twice the old prices, and I don’t know why a minister should live on bread and water more than other folks.”—Morn ing Star. Very pretty was little Lucy Devon, with her fair* rosy face and brown curls, and dark bright eyes; how merrily they shone, and how her pearly teeth gleamed, when she laughed her wild, gladsome laugh; it did one good to see her then; and hear her ." gay, ringing voice. : She was full of life and fun, and when al went smoothly and well; none could be happier or sweeter than shebut when crossed and disappointed, she never re strained her evil temper, but frowned and scolded; and jerked in such a way, that no one would think her the happy Lu<jy of an hour ago. Her parents loved .their daughter,' and were' grieved to see. her display so inuch’ impatience ahd'wibked passionl, often telling her that it would some day, unless overcome, lead her into serious trouble. At one time,, she very much desired to accompany her-mother in a ride to the country, but when told- kindly . yet de cidedly that she could not do so, she was very angry, and fumed and fretted, un til her mother rose and took her hands to lead her from the room; but Lucy was loth to go, and twisted this way and that, fairly stamping, in . wilM.,,passio,n.. A beautiful, curiously wrought mug stood on the table, with which she had been toying, and as she flung herself heedlessly around her arm struck against this, knocking it off on the floor, and breaking it to atoms. The little girl was shocked when' she heard the crash, and quickly grief at the loss of her treasure took the place of anger; she stood for a moment in speechless surprise, then hurst into tears. The toy had been a birthday . gift from a beloved uncle, far off at sea; which, with other mementoes, he had brought from over the ocean. It was not of very great value, but Lucy had always prized it for her favorite friend’s sake, and now she thought her punish ment greater than she could bear. “ Oh, mamma,! am so. sorry,” she sobbed, as she stooped to gather up the fragments; “my little cup is all broken.” “ Whose fault is it, Lucy ?” asked her mother, gently. Lucy did not answer immediately, but at last looking up to the sad face she said, “ Mine : Oh, ma, when shall I learn to be good?” Mrs. Devon drew the little penitent head into her lap, and long and lovingly and seriously did she talk with her child of the sin, and often dreadful conseqUen- LUOY’S FAULT. ces of a wicked passion, and told her to ask forgiveness of her Heavenly Father, and grace for the future. Lucy did this, and for a time she earnestly strove to be more patient and gentle. Months passed before any other scene of the kind occurred, and she began to think this, her great fault, was almost cured. She had not been much tried.' One day, Mrs. Devon went out to call on some friends, leaving little Freddie in Lucy’s care. Lucy sat in the cosy sitting-room, reading a story book, in which she was much interested. Freddie, wearied with his plays, stood at the window, looking out in the street. He watched the people passing, the ladies wrapped up in shawls and cloaks and furs, and the men with comforters and great coats, fastened tightly to keep out the cold, for it ■vyas in December. He watched too the sleighs gliding by, jingling their merry bells, and wished he could be in one. Presently he came to his sister’s side. “Let me look at the pictures, Lucy. “ There are none in this book,” said “Tellme a story, then, please do,” he said beseechingly, hut Lucy was all engrossed in her book, and did not heed him. Freddie was not to be put off, but be sought her, over and over again. “Tell me story,” clambering up into her lap, and pushing away her book to attract her attention. Lucy was vexed and forgot herself. “ What a plague,” she exclaimed, im patiently, giving him a rough push, “you have spoiled all” But she did not finish her sentence; she saw her brother falling, and sprang to catch him, but too late. The angry push Lucy gave had been too hard, and forward he went, right against the grate of burning coals. Before the frightened girl could jerk him back, both hands were badly burnt, and his little white head, and left cheek scorched and black ened- ... Freddie screamed in anguish, and Lucy ran into the street, shrieking in terror—“ My little brother is dead! Oh, I’ve killed him!” Before assistance came the poor boy had fainted. He was tenderly lifted to a bed, and mother and physician sum moned. All that was possible was done to alleviate his .pain, and heal burns and bruises ; but his sufferings were great, and it was long ere he fully recovered from the effects oi the sad accident. Years have passed, and a few scars only remain to remind Freddie of his near appoach to a dreadful death ; but Lucy has never forgotten it. : It was the'means of teaching her the sin and danger of anger, and well did she learn the lesson, and from the passionate girl became truly mild and gentle.-— Little Pilgrim. THE DANGEEOUS PET. An English gentleman had a tame young lion, which seemed to : have be come a lamb in gentleness, and was a favorite pet in moments of leisure. ; One day, falling asleep, his: hand hung over the side of his couch.. The lion came to his side, and commenced licking the hand. Soon the file-like surface of the animal’s tongue wore off the cuticle, and brought blood to the surfabe. The sleeper 'was disturbed,, and moved his hand, when a savage growl startled him from his dreaming half-consciousness, to realize the;terrible fact that the pet was a.lion after all. With great sion, with the other hand lie carefully drew from the pillow a revolver, and shot his pet through the head. It was ; no trivial sacrifice to his feelings, but a moment’s delay might have cost him his life. : A striking illustration of the folly and madness of men in their moral experience, A vice, which they call harmless, in the face of conscience, reason, and history, is caressed until it gains the mastery. The pet sin at length eats its way So deeply into the soul that its wages' of pain begin to be felt. The victim starts up, resolved to escape; but how seldom. has he the will-power left—the moral courage to slay : the ; disguised destroyer of his immortality! He pauses, again falls asleep, and awakes in. hell, the home of the sin and the sinner when the work is finished. RESPECT THE BURDEN, Napoleon, at St. Helena, was once walking with a lady, when a man came up with a load on his back. The lady kept her side of the path, and was ready to assert her precedence of sex; but Napoleon gently waved her on one side, saying, “ Respect the burden, madam.” You constantly see men and women behave to each other in a way which shows that they do not “respect the burden,” whatever the burden is. Sometimes the burden is an actual visible load, sometimes it is cold and* raggedness, sometimes it is hunger, sometimes it is grief or illness. If I get into a little conflict (suppose I jostle or am jostled) with a half-clad, hungry looldng fellow in the street on a winter morning, I am surely bound to be lenient in my constructions. I. expect him to be harsh, rude, loud, unforgiving; and his burden (of privation) entitles him to my indulgence. Again a man with a bad headache is almost an irresponsible agent so far as common amenities go; lam a brute if I quarrel with him.for a wry word, or an ungracious act. And how far, pray, are wo to push the kind chivalry which “ respects the burden ?” As far as the love of God will go • with us. A great distance—it is a long way to the foot of the rainbow.— Q-ood Words. A MONKEY BTOEY. We can stand a pretty stiff run upon our credulity, when wondrous accounts of the sagacity of animals are told us, for we hare seen more than we could have believed but for the visual Bhort cut to a quod erat demonstrandum. But the following is a little too much even for our easy belief, even though backed by the respectable authority of Cassell’s “Popular Natural History.” The small-pox having spread fearfully amongst the monkeys of South America, Dr. Pinckard, Secretary to the blooms burg Street Vaccination Society, was struck by the idea of arresting its fur ther progress. Vaccination was of course to be the means of staying the plague, and his scheme for its introduc tion was singularly ingenious. He bound two or three boys hand and foot, and then vaccinated them in the presence of an,,qld monkey, who was observed to be closely attentive to his proceedings. He then left him alone with a young mon key, with some of the UMtter on the table, and beside it a lancet, guarded that it might not cut too deep, by a projecting piece of steel. The doctor witnessed the result from a neighboring room ; the old monkey threw the young one down, bound him without delay, and vaccinated him with all the skill of a professor.” While in this vein we add from an English paper—with the same reserva tion in regard to faith— A HORSE STORY. A gentleman some years ago speaking of the habits of animals, gave the follow ing curious account: ; “ There is,” said he, “ a very fine horse in the possession of Sir Henry Meux & Co., the eminent brewers, which is used as a dray horse but is so tractable that he is left, sometimes, without any re straint to walk about the yard, and re turn to the stable according to his fancy. In the yard there are also a few pigs of peculiar breed, fed on grain and corn, and to these pigs he has evidently an insuperable objection, which is illustrated by the following fact. There is a deep trough in the yard, holding water for the horses, where this horse goes along with his mouth full of corn, which he saves from his supply. When he reaches the trough he lets the corn fall near it, on the ground, and when the young swine approach to it (for the old ones keep aloof) ho suddenly seizes one of them by the tail, pops him into the trough, and then capers about the yard, seemingly delighted with the frolic. The noise of the pig soon brings the men to his assistance, who know from experience what is the matter, while the horse indulges in all sorts of antics, by way of showing his glee, and then re turns quietly to his stable.” THE BIBD OP BATTLE. The Hew Albany (Indiana) Ledger tells this story: “We printed a few days ago from an Atlanta paper; an account of a mocking-bird, which, at the battle of Resaea, perched itself ,on the top of a tree, and during the fight imitated the whistling of the bullets and other noises incident, to a battle. Another and a more touching incident of a similar character was yesterday related to us by Capt. George Babbitt, of Gen. Gres ham’s staff, and of which he was himself a witness. During the fierce cannon ading at Nickajack a small bird came and perched upon the shoulder of an artilleryman—the. man designated, we believe, as ‘No I,’ whose duty it is to ram down the charge after the ammuni tion is put in the gun. The piece was a Napoleon, which makes a very loud report. The bird, as we have stated, perched itself upon this man’s 1 shoulder and could not be driven from its posi- • tion by the violent motion of the gun ner. When the piece was discharged, the poor little thing would run its beak and head up r under the man’s hair at the back of the neck, and when the re port died away would resume its place upon his shoulder. Capt. Babbitt took the bird in his hand, but when here leased his grasp it immediately resumed its place on the shoulder of the smoke begrimmed gunner. The scene was witnessed by a large number of officers and men. It may be a subject of curi ous inquiry, what led this bird thus to place itself. Possibly frightened by the violent commotion "caused by the battle, and not knowing how to escape or where to go, some instinct led it to throw itself upon this gunner as a pro tector. But whatever the cause, the incident was a most beautiful and pleas ing one to all who witnessed it.” I FEEL IT PULL- In the deepening twilight of a sum mer evening, a pastor called at the resi dence of one of his parishioners, and found seated in the doorway, a little boy with both hands extended upward, holding a line. “ What are you doing here, my little friend ?” inquired the minister. “/Flying my kite, sir,” was the prompt reply. “Flying your kite!” exclaimed the pastor; “lean see no kite; you can see none.” “I know it, sir,” responded the lad: “ I cannot see it, but I know it is there, for I feel it pull." 1 If l our affections are:.set bn things above, we shall have a sense of it which cannot be mistaken. CHILDREN, OBEY YOUR PARENTS. The jail was a large, gloomy-looking stone building. The windows were made strongly great iron bars fastened across them. But the inside was most gloomy. It was divided into very small rooms,only five feet wide and eight long. Each room had a cross-barred iron door, with strong bolts and locks; and when the jailer opened; or shut the door the hinges grat ed frightfully on the ear. In one of the rooms of the jail was a young man, about twenty-eight years old. He had been found guilty of making and passing bad money; and. the judge said he must go to prison, and stay there as long as he lived. B,ut he was so sick that he could not be removed to the prison. Poor fellow! Once he could play in the green fields, down by the cool spring, or under shady trees by his father’s house; or when he was tired, he could go home and lay his head upon his mother’s knee, and rest himself; or if he was sick, she would sit by his bed and kindly nurse him. But now, ho w different; shut up in a dark, gloomy jail, with no one to Care for him, and all around cursing or swearing, and horrid noises! Oh, he felt very wretched. Said he, “ I shall never be able to go to the prison, lam so sick. Oh, if I was only ready to die, it would not matter so much!” “And are you not ready to .die?” “Oh no,” said he, “ I am afraid to “ But why are you afraid to die ?” “ Because I am such a sinner. ” “ There is hope, and mercy, and salva tion to sinners, for the greatest of sinners, through Jesus Christ.” “ I have no hope. You may talk to me about Christ and salvation; but there is none for me, and that mates me afraid to die.” I talked to him some time about his father; and when I spoke of his mother,| then his lips trembled, and a single tearf stole down his burning cheek. “ Was your mother a Christian ?” “ Oh, yes, sir; a good w omaj i she was. Many and many a time she has warned me of this.” “ Then you have had good religious instruction, kind Christian parents, who, no doubt, often prayed for you, and taught you to pray?” “ Oh, yes, sir.” “ Then why are you here?” Said the dying man, “ I can answer you in one word: I did not obey my parents !” THE YIOE PBESIDEHT. “ There is now at Port Me Cleary, in our harbor, a soldier who performs all the duties of a private in the ranks and as guard, and is not even clothed with the power of a fourth Corporal, who, in the event of the death of Pre sident Lincoln, would at once become the Commander-in-chief of the Army and Navy of the United States. And yet, with this consciousness, he is wil ling to place himself in the position of ,a common soldier, share with!, them in their messes, bear about his own tin dipper, and reside in their barracks. This is the position of the Hon. Hanni bal Hamlin, Vice President of the United States, and private of Company A, of the State Guard of Bangor. Such we hold one of the beauties of republicanism; but it requires such sound men as Hamlin to display the most beautiful features of the simplicity of our institutions. —Portland Paper." SOMEWHAT MIXED. Speaking of Mrs. E. Cady Stanton’s recent announcement of her political preferences, the Springfield -Republican says: • “We admire Mrs. Stanton’s spunk. She is a gentleman of genius; she is a lady of parts; she has honorably achieved wide influence among the gentler sex of both genders. It is highly proper that she should not only sign - a .Presidential call, but go into the Convention as a delegate, and take others of her female brethren with him. Perhaps we are get ting the pronouns a little mixed; what we mean to say is that this is a free country, and is going to be freer, and that every man and woman of either sex has a perfect right to speak her mind and follow the lead of his own progress ive ideas, and'we hope she will do it.” MOTHERS. A devoted mother who was eminently successful in rearing and guiding a family of sons and daughters, once re marked : “I cannot understand how mothers can feel happy in being away from their children so much as they sometimes are. They are losing so much time ; they lose so much of the early lives of their children ; they are losing so much precious influence. It seems to me very important that moth ers should be constantly with their chil dren, especially their boys. They ac quire a hold upon their affections then whicl; could never be gained afterward; an d if it is once gained that influence can never be lost.” A Workman, writing to the editor of the British Workman, says : “ Since I gave up smoking, I have put into a box the amount that I formerly spent every week in tobacco. At the end of the year, on opening the box, I have count ed out a sum of money sufficient to pro®! vide myself with periodicals .and news-1 papers for the year, which sum I call ' ‘solidsmoke.’ ”
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers