.61jt gantitg [For the Am. Presbyterian.] AT THE RIVER. Here then, at the River, we meet at last, And the meeting is gladness and pain; Fortis only this hour, here on the shore, The next we are parted again. But the sad, sad years are over, thank God, And the parting cannot be long; It is this, that hushes my beating heart, As the waves roll up so strong. It is just the very old story, Paul, Of Israel, after the sea,— These sorrowful years of our wandering, That have chastened you and me. Our promised land was almost in sight, The journey was smooth and brief, Yet we turned the way of thewilderness, Though both hearts broke with their grief. And now, we are linking that hour with this, And all that has gone between Is like a long, long loop that is made In the winding of a stream. What wah, and what might be, were once so close, That a step had joined them then; But vmeach!stotod out, across the strait, Till the wilderness began. Ah, well, the time is long ago, And the dear Ltird careS for all; Though bearing the scales to weigh His worlds,. He follows the sparrow's fall. And so, though iVe walked:in,the wilderness, An angel walked with us there; Our raiment upon us waxed not old, And a gift ever answered a prayer. Ever into His sovereign, loving will, Converged our crookedest lines, And the pillar of cloud, and the pillar of fire, Were equally guiding signs. And though we journeyed so widely apart, With either, by day or by night, The Covenant Angel dwelt in them both, .`*- And both led up to thedight., And this sad, sweet hour, here on the shore, Is our Lord's last, precioustift; But our'hands unclasp, and the angel waits, And tito.cu4ent is strong und swift. AndkOo-Iskiss you good night, dear Paul, Here t‘,!, the River, good night. The hours grow brief—we 'shall meet again, In the morning's abiding light. LITTLE FANNIE'S WATCH. Fannie's mother died when Fannie was a wee little baby. While she lay dying Fan nie's mother prayed God to give her little daughter a watch to always wear in her bo som, which should tick so loudly whenever she thought of doing anything wrong, that Fannie would stop right still and not obey the wicked thoughts. God answered Fannie's mother's prayer, as she believed He would when she smiled so contentedly and was taken , up to heaven. This little watch ticked and,ticked away very quietly in Fannie's bosom, and she skipped and ran around as happy and merry as any little girl ono sees tripping about. So Fannie grew up into quite a big little girl six years old. Jimmy Johnson lived next house to Fan nie. Ile was a large stout boy ten years old. Jimmy bad a litt'e pony that hie Uncle Will sent him from Canada; a little, short, thick, stubby pony that shook its head and trotted off before Jimmy and his little bug gy as grand as yon please. One morning Jimmy told Fannie to ask 116 r father if she might go ta ride with him in his buggy that afternoon; just after din ner, so when her father came home at noon Faanie ran up to him and said': " Papa, may Igo to rid awith Ji m my John • son and the pony this afternoon ?" Mr. Grey placed his hand affectionately upon his little girl's head, and looking down into her eager face, said "Wouldn't it do just as well, Fannie, and a little better, to go with me to-morrow morning and take a longer ride after Dixie?" (Dixie was Fannie's father's horse's name.} Fannie's face fell, and her lip quivered 'as she replied : "O papal I'd rather go this afternoon in the little buggy with. Jimmy and the pony." Mr. Grey felt sorry to deny his little daughter anyl nnocent pleasure, and he knew just how much sho wanted to go with Jim my; he would want to 'himself; he thought, if he were a child; but the pony was frisky, and ho knew Jimmy was a careless driver, and ho felt afraid 'to trust his little girl off alone with him. So he told Fannie all about it, and promised to take her himself the next morning out into the country to visit her Aunt Mattie Where she might stay all day. - This satisfied Fannie, so she ate her dinner contentedly, and kissed her fa ther a cheerful good-bye when he went back down town. But half an hour after, when Jimmy drove Fly up to the door and called to Fannie to get her hat quick and come on, she wanted more than ever to go with him, and as :she stood a minute in the door-way and looked at Jimmy and the buggy and the pony, she forgot everything else, and turned and ran into the halt for her hat, saying, " I'll go, any way." But just then she heard-aloud ticking, and felt a thump, thump, thumping in her , bosom ,and somethihg seemed to call in her ear, " D,on't go, don't go. No, no, no, no !" And„the, ticking grew so loud that she felt frightened, and was just putting back her hat on the rack when Jimmy called out: ” Come, hurry up, Fannie So tiihe snatched her 'hat and ran out and climbed into - the buggy as quickly as ever she cohld, thinking thus to get away from the lowi)ineoiiifortable , ticking. But the first step Fly took joggled up the watch in her bosom, and it ticked all the faster and loud er,, ;so..as almost; to stop - ,Findlels breath. ".0 dear!" she began to think; "I wish .-I . hadn't come !" But Jimmy commenced talk . lrit right away, and .clucked and whoa'd to THE AMERICAN PRESBYTERIAN, THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 23, 1869. Fly, and touched him up with the whip, and boasted about his driving, and looked so proud and happy and confident, that Fannie didn't listen any longer to the ticking in her bosom, but leaned back in the buggy and looked out at the houses and trees they were passing. Now if Farinie's father had thought best to give her permission to go, she might have enjoyed the ride, for it did look pleasant to see the little establishment move along so nicely ; but sire wasn't quite happy, for the watch would tick, though she tried not to hear it. Yet she didn't ask Jimmy to turn around and take her home, as she might have done even then. But when Jimmy turned his pony towards the city, and told Fannie he would drive up to her father's store and let him see how nicely they weraietting oh (be supposing, of course, that Mr. Grey had given Fannie permission to go), she became frightened, and was just about begging him to stop the pony and let her get out and run home, when 'a big white-covered meat-cart rambled . quickly past and .eame- so suddenly upon Fly thut he - jumped to one side and upelit the buggy, throwing Fannie andJiammy.out. on the hard stones, and then dashed, down the street and away but of sight. JimmyTtimped quickly up, not at all hurt, and ran after Fly'; but poor little Fannie, whosithead had st,Kuek s large stotie,liy quite insensiblo.4 the axins,,of a, gentleman, who seeing,berfag, ran,out into the street and picked,her pp almost as soon as she struck the ground. . . There she lay in hji arms, her face•as white almost , as a piece .of white paper, her Bair -full of dust, and a stream of blood trickling from, a cat on. her .tsmple. A crowd collected about them, and among the others Fannie's father stepped up, but when he saw his own little girl lying in the, gentleman's arms dead, as he supposed, he staggered and almost fell himself. In an other moment he took her &gni. the kind gentleman and bore her home in his own arms.: The doctor came and bound up the out•tM Fannie's head, and tried to comfort 111 i. Grey, bat looked sad; he said le'heptil she would get well, but he didn't know. They darkened the room, and moved about quietly, and spoke in whispers ; and Fannie% father sat "by her- side, two, whole days and nights before she opened her eyes and spoke to him. Then they wouldn't let herlalk, kept lier in bed in the dark a week longer, and when she was lifted up and placed in a cushioned chair by the open win do*, the light hurt her head so that she bu ried her eyes in her father's vest and sobbed aloud. K. H. J 'Tomas then that she first remembered how she was hurt, and how she hid dißobeyed her kind father, and it seemed as if her heart would break: Her father drew her close to him and talk ed soothingly to her, and she promised nev er to disobey him again, and he kissed her cheek and said he believed his little girl nev vr would, only she must ask Jesus to help her keep her promise. Then Fennie.sobbed herself to sleep in her father's arms. After many weeks she recovered: 'her strength, but before she left her rootri_ahe and her father often knelt l. down and asked God to give her a new heart, so that she would never wish to be disobedient again, and to make the watch in her ,bosom , tick bander and louder whenever she waslempted to do wrong, and to make her ears quick to catch the ticking, and, hei heart ready to obey its warning. Fannie now loves Jesus and thanks Him every day for the watch - that she wears in her bosom, which so often keeps her from, sinning against Him and her father. • - My dear little girl and boy readers, do you know that ydu each carry one of these HUI& watches in your bosom? Your watch is your conscience,—have you never heard it tick, and, jump, and act frightened, when you did wrong or wanted to sin? Dear little girls and boys I always listen-to your little ticking, warning watches; prayJeetfit to keep them bright and clear, so that . when He looks from heaven down into your hearts He can smile lovingly upon you. Dotty had accused a schoolmate of steal ing a lost pencil, but ':her mother chanced to find it and placed it by night at Dotty's side. . Dotty was greatly surprised in the morn ing to see the pencil lying on her pillow. " But perhaps it is not yours,' , said her mother. 'c It may belong to Tate. Penny, or some other little girl." " 0, mamma Parlin I here's a place where I scratched with a pin. What made you think I didn't know my own pencil ?" • "Why, you said _bins had taken that." " But she .didn't, mamma," said Dotty, casting down her eyes. "Excuse mo, dear, but you said you 'just knew' she did." " I meant—l—just thought." " Ah, indeed I You Only thought?" " Yes'm." "And just because you thought, although yOu couldn't know, you called _Lina an ' aw ful, wicked,horrid girl.' " " I truly s'posed she wasf . mamma," said Dotty, with her finger in her mouth. "Your '.truly s'poses' are very cruel things, Dotty. What is going to be done with that - little fiery tongue of yours ?" Dotty touched the tip of it, and felt very much as if she would like to pull it out by tLe roots. " I don't know mamma." - • - " Of course you will ask Lina's pardon for accusing her falsely ?" Yes'm." "And after this I hope my,littile girl will' beWare of hasty jadgmetitp." " Yes'im" • • • . . Dotty was V.44y eager - to atone for her fault. The moment,she saw Lina, she held up the pencil, exclaiming; lc Yon Aiidigttakel A CHILD'S APOLOGY. it, Lina Rosenburg ; now I know you didn't, for here it is—came out of my dress—and I'm sorry I said so." " There, there, I knew you'd find it," said Lina, highly delighted. "I shall be certain sure next time, be fore I tell a person they did steal," added Dotty, penitently. " Will you forgive me ?" " Oh ! yes, I forgive you," replied Lina, with a toss of her pretty head; "only you'd better not say. BO again. What'd you think if I should 'euse you of stealing ?" Oh you wouldn't," said Dotty, quickly. " You'd know better than to suppose Id steal." " Why, Dotty Dimple ! that's the same as to say I would.' , coth ! no i Lina, I don't think that. I wouldn't be so .wicked ! But I don't like to have you k , t iiext to my pocket, though: Won't you please to change •places Dotty pimple at School. HELPING MOTHER. " How. I loveip? help mother !" said little Sophie ' Foster,s r , with a sigh of satisfac tion she rose' frOm rocking the cradle. Biby was fast 'asleep; the gray cat lay 1 / .. winking_ a d blinking .before the fire; the sunshine p nrs4. in bright and golden, and 'Played wit thaleaVes'ef the ivy that' had' been trains over the window. Sopliie took a story-boo , and sat dawn to'read: ! -: • 'Presently mother came in. - She was a sweet-lookii3g lady with soft" brown eyes and merry smile ; and she came right up to `SOP he and kissed her before •she knew it. "So baby ia, asleep. Youl l ave een, a great comfort to Imepdear. My headache is all gone: and' OW - You Indy put on your fed . 'Tiding-hood and boots and water-pied eloak, and go out to play." Sophie's face --' was very bright as she skipped over the sidewalk'that'afternoon. She had denied herself a visit to a little cousin that she might help mother;, and she had ber reward:"' An approving conscience is' a better thing to Have than great posses sions. , ", -• .7.: • • - - - • Do you love to Yelp your mother, little reader? She has done a great deal, for you. She has lain awake bights, and worked and planned for days, all for you. Try if you cannot by ' - week. Child at Only let a' woman be sure she is precious to her hu4band—not useful, 'not valuable, not convenient, simply, but lovely and if:be loved; let ler be the recipient of his hearty attentions; et her feel that her cares and love are n iced, and appreciated, and re: turned ; let her opinion be askek her ap proval sough , and her judgment resßecteclin matters of w ich she is cognizant; in short, let her only be loved, honored, and cher ished in tb fulfillment of .her marriage vow, and she will be to her husband, her Children, and society, a well spring of happi ness. She will hear pain, and toil; and anx ietY,for her 'husband's love to her is a tower and a fortress. Shielded and sheltered there in advert* will'have lost its sting,. She m'ay, suffer, but sympathy will dull the, edge, of soirb*: , A hcits'e with love in it—and by love I mean love expressed by words and looks and leeds, fqr I have not the spark of faithln love tbat never crops out—is .to a house withput - love as a person to .a machine; one is life, ! the' other is mechanism—the un loved womilin.may have bread just as light, a house just as tidy as the other, but the latter has it spring, of beauty about her, a joyousness,la penetrating kindness to which the forrnerii& an entire stranger. The;deep happiness of her heart shines out of her face. She Iglearns WI over. It is airy and graceful, aod warm, and welcoming with her preseidce; she ' is full of devices and plots, and illye l et''titirprises for her husband and family: She has never done 'with the poetry and!romance of life. She herself is a lyric poetn, setting herself to all pure and graceful melodies. .Efumble household ways and duties have for her a golden signifi cance- The prize makes her calling high; and the end lianCtiftes the means. ,"-love is heaven, and heaven is love." BUDGET OF ANEODOT-ES. —When Archbishop Seeker *as ,ink! on hi dying bad, his friend; Mr. Talbot; came to see him. He felt.;lE- was their;last meeting together, so he said " You will pray with Me, Tallmt, Itefore you go away ?" Mr. Talbot rose, and went to lo,ok for a prayer-book. " That is not what I Fant now," said the dying prelate; ." kneel down by meow& pray for me in tho way I know yoo. are, used to do," So the good man knelt by his friend's bedside, and poured out his soul for him'be fore his heavenly Father in such words as his heart dictated. The - Holy Spirit blessed them to the comfort of the , dying man. There was a life and 'spirit in them that he could not find in , dead forms, however ex cellent. When we. coins :to that solemn hour; we shall want something more than a 'formal religien. It may have satisfied us very well before, but it will give us no light for the dark valley. "God, be merciful to mega sinner," will have more meaning to us than a volume of the most "beauilful prayers," pronounced with the most faultless - elocu tion. —Dr. Stonehonse is said to have- become one of the most elegant preachers of the kingdom, and for the grace of propriety perhaps !hi' Nias.mainly indebted to Gar riek, whosepfamous. criticism will bear re peati-ag. - Peipgiancer s engaged to read prayers and preach at a church in London, he prevailed .upon `Gatriek to go With 'him. After the agrvice, the itetcr..Aiaked the preacher what particular business he had to do when that duty was over. - - " None," said the other. " I thought you had," said Garrick, "on seeing you enter the reading-desk in such a hurry. Nothing can be more indecent than to see a clergyman set about sacred busi ness as if he were a tradesman, and go into church as if he wanted to get oat of it as soon as possible." He next asked the doc tor what books he had before him. " Only the Bible and Prayer-book." " ONLY the Bible and Prayer-book,!" re plied the actor ; " why, you tossed them backwards and forwards, and turned the leaves as carelessly, as if they were those of a day-book and ledger." The doctor acknowledged the force of the criticism by thenceforth avoiding the_ faults it was desianed to correct. -L-alook was a Bohemian of the first water; —or perhaps it would be "truer to say,- brandy and water. His wit was exhaust less, and - he bould write admirable things in a moment on the most inauspicious sub- jests. He inherited much of his celebrated father's musical genius, and sang sweetly, accompanying himself on the- piano. He worked hard for an boar, and 'reparill him self with a fortnight "of illUesS.- On 'one such occasion, when leiwae !n dining- a es:. . , senger came to him from the " John 'Bull, ll ' which le edited, butl for `which"he:'had. 'written nothing for some weeks, and told' , him`he must write something 'on the death of -the King and Queen of the Sandwich' Islands, whereon he sent back,— " Waiter I—Two 'Sandwiches cried Death; And their wild Majesties held their breath." It was - too plain to all who ea* Hook that Ice had - used time. Jovial nights' and idleness had banished self-respect; and, when, he died it was to point once morethe terrible moral of that misuse of . mind and body of 4111,ch sosthAny' of tke'dhildren of genius have been' --1 n vain friends warned, entreated; things went' from bad" to' worse, until the few mourners pxperil, enced a certain sorrowful 'relief as thpy bore 'hini at last to rest in an' obscure corner Of Fulham Cemetery. Mr. Hall gave a sad' list, *lick I will not repeat here, of the noble and great minds which he had known waged by the ptiSsion for drink, and uttered a very impiessive admonition to thove around him Against the besetting tempta: tion of thinkers and - schglars.—M. D. Cox- WAY, in llarper's Magazine for Septeritlier. WHOM THE 1110ORNPELT7 REy. WILLIAM • MARSH, D.D.I • • • —Amon.. the crowd in the centre aisle there stood a Man so noted for his ungodliness and profane language as to be known in Basingstoke by the name of -" Sstearing Tom." He was a leader in sin, and profanity; and for seventeen years he had never entered a church. It was only curiosity, which brought him now. The text was taken from the prophecy of Ezekiel. "I will put a new spiritivithin you." Towards the close of the sermon the preacher quoted the Words, "If ye theny I?einguivil, know how to give good gifts unto your children; how much more Shall your heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to them that ask Him ?" (Luke xi 13)— remarking that, contrary - to the concluaion which mighehave'been eipected,'"the'offer was-not to children;.buksimply to-those who asked.- There was nothing therefore between the worst of men and' this most blessed gift from heaven but to ask for it. He then added, "If the most wicked mate in this church would go home, and pray - dial God, for Christ's sake, would give him His Holy Spirit to change his heart, God would hear-and answer that man's prayer." These words went straight to the heart of "Swearing Tom." " I am the Worst man here," he said to himself; "I will go home and pray." As he went, he had to pas ,hj. the faMiliar pub lic house, but, unmoved by the calls of his com panions, he refused to turn in. 'On reaching his home, •he threw himself upen his knees, and tried to pray in the words which he had heard from the pulpit. The prayer was answered. From that time he became a changed man, and" his name of " Swearing Tom" was soon altered for that of " Praying Tom," by which he was known till the day of his death. He placed his leisure time at the disposal of his clergyman for visits,to the sick and afflicted, and was made a great blessing, for upwards of half-a-century, in his native town. It was not until Mr. Marsh preached%gain in" - that church, after a lapse of thirty years,,:that .It'e bemire aware ,of the blessed result 4114,;,first SuddaY's sermon; *hen Tom himself*.aiket leave to - speak to him in the ves try,- and told him the"story of his conversion -During his ministry at St. Lawrence, Mr. Marsh -atthe week-day services, preachd a "coarse of sermon on the--Commandments. It happened once that, owing to heavy rain, his -congregation consisted only of the, boys, of the National School. The subject of that morning,. "Thoir shalt do, no murder," the preacher felt to lie,the most unsuited ,to, his audience, but as it came in the natural order, be proceeded with it. One passage in the sermon had reference to the crime of suicide; and contained the following sentence :—" If any, man, in the.full, possession of his senses, take away his own life, 13is.last act is an act of sin." Nany years passed away, and Mr. Marsh was:walking in one of the, streets of Weymouth, when he was stopped : by a respecta ble-looking man, who „looked earnestly in his face for a moment, and ; then said,." Thank you, and bless you sir, for saving my. life." "I think there must 'be somemistake,",.he replied, "for I do not remember having-ever seen you before." "'But I haVe seen,you,".said the stranger, " and never.eas forget you. I was onq : pf.the boys in, the National,School at 4,eacbeg, and - heard you preach on the - Sixth ,Cosamandrnent„ A single sentence of the, sermon was all;that remained in my mind. I commenced . 'business in this towil, bnt after some years of pro.s ‘ perity I was brought, , owing to unfortunate circumstances, to the brink of rum. In my despair I resolved to drown my self, but as I stood' on the breakwater abOut to throw myself into ,the.. sea, -the' words which I, .had heard fifteen years before, 'lf any man in the fall possession of his senses take away own life, his last act is nu act Of sin,' flashed upon my memory, and with alllmy heartj 'By_ the - hell) of . Godp my last Act shall.not be an. act. of sin P I returned to my home and found col t _ fort in the Bible and in prayer, and that ev tt . ing I heard a sermon preached in one of t h e churches, which led me to seek and find peace with God. The next day's post brought the a letter from an uncle, enclosing a cheque for 114 present relief, and from that time my circui t . stances gradually amended until they becai ne prosperous, as they have continued to this tim e . This has been a great mercy—but the salvation of my soul, when I was on the brink of destroy. ing it forever, is infinitely greater, and I owe it uner God, to you." —Some time before this, Mr. Marsh's interest had been greatly deepened in the Jewish cause, by an incident which he used to tell with g reat animation. He was staying in London for a few days, when his friend, Mr. Simeon sent for him:" "1 .iin'adiertised," said Mr. Simeon, " to preach at Stroud for the Jews' Society and now I- am too ill to leave ,my bed. Would yo u go for me F" , - " Gladly, if I knew more of the subject But although I have subscribed to that Society from the first, and like its object, I know too little about it to undertake to - preach for it the day after-to-mm-ow." ;" Have you a grain of humility ? If you have, 'you will preach my sermon !" Mr. Marsh laughed, and said, "If that be the c:fiteriOn,:rihihk. I have." On his arrival' at St . roud late on Saturday evening, the portinanteturin which the maim .script of Mr.,Simeon'a sermon had been packed, was discoveped to be missing. Driven by this accident to cive: his own thoughts from the pul pit, he spent several' hours that night in prayer filly - keratin.. the' prophecies concerning the Jews, and ended by writing a running commen tary on Romans xL Just: before the mini& began on the follow ing moctiing,l, waiter frOM the hotel came to the Veitry'doorto say' that the portmanteau had arrived. "Shall I fetch the sermon?" asked a lay secretary of the Society, who was aware of the dilemma. . "No !" said Mr. Marsh, "Mr. Simeon is not to preach to-dap; and' I am to not to preach ; St. Paul is to preach !" The Society,was the richer for that sermon; and incalculably the richer for the intense inter est awakened in my father's mind by those hours of deep study Cf the Word of God touching the chosen nation, the present' duties of Christians towards the - 14, gibrions hopes for their future. From that' ItMar he devoted himself with the tranquil 'and enduring enthusiasm of his_nature to the cause of that -Soorety, and to the temporal and spiritual welfare of the Jews. A BLIND - HAWS FIRESIDE. Talk to me, 0 ye eloquent flames, Gossips and comrades fine! Nobody knows me, poor and blind, ~That shin your merry shine. Nobody knows me bnt my dog; A friend I've never, seen. But that comes to my call, and loves me For the sympathies between. 'Tis pleastOt to hear in the cold, dark night, Mounting higher and higher, The crackling, chattering, sputtering, spattering, Flames in the wintry fire. Half asleep, in the corner, • I hear you prattle and snap, And talk to me and Tiny, That dozes in my lap. . You laugh'with the nlerriest laughter, You dance; you jest, you sing, And suggest in the wintry midnt;ht The joys of the coming spring. Not even the lark on the fringe of the cloud, Nor the thrush, on the, hawthorn bough, Singeth a song mole pleasant to hear - .Than the song you're singing now. Your voices are of gladness; Ever they seem to say, • After the evening—morning I After the night—the day I After thiamortal blindness, A heavenly vision clear, The soul can see when the eyes are dark: Awakel let the light appear! • —.411 the Year Found TEMPERANCE ITEMS. —Dr. Lyman Beecher once said : Should a for eign army land upon our shores to levy such a tax as-intemperance levies, no mortal could resist the tide of swelling indignation that would over whelm it." —About thirty years ago, a few citizens of New Braintree, in Massachusetts, met together and resolved that the best interests of the town required a. tavern in which spirituous liquors should not be sold, as the fact was patent to all that too many of the young men in the place would congregate at the "village inn," and were forming habits of social ,drinking. After talking over the-importance of the matter, and satisfying themselves that the enterprise they proposed wouldl not prove a paying one, they subscribed some ST,OOO, built a Utel, furnished it, and en gaged a landlord ,to run it free of rent. Soon after this reform, the-people of the town came to tlie, conclusion that it was unprofitable business to farm out-the poor of the town, as had long been the practiee r to the lowest bidder; and at a town meeting they voted to buy a poorhouse farm, and put the poorat-work : This was carried into ef fect. Twenty five years have passed away, and, going twthat, quiet, thrifty town not long ago, the stage•driver said to us on passing the" poorouse , farm," "There is , a funny place." "Why so? we asked. "Because, it is the poorhouse farm, and not a pauper on it. And I suppose the rea son is, some thirty.years ago a temperance tavern Was started here no liquors have been sold, and there is no drinking, nor drunkenness, and not a pauper in theitownY —Temperance workers, says the Independent, will be sorryto learn that it is proposed to intro -duce the 'cultivation of the poppy plant in..Louis tana this spring,,and the manufacture of opium. It is, stimagellthat an acre of poppies will make fifty pounds of opium, worth from fifteen to iw9rity, dollars a pound, at a cost of less than four dollars for thO manufacture, and one man can cultiiate three- acres. It is a more refined stimulant than any otherknown P and tenfbld more ,deadily and terrible in its effects.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers