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eLttt
ABSENT FRIENDS.
Our absent friends—our absent friends—
We sigh for them in vain ;
While Hope is always promising
.That we shall meet again.
We talk of them in twilight hours,
And by the fire-side gleams,
And often in the hush of night
We visit them in dreams.
We read their letters o'er and o'er,
A lonely hour to cheer,
And think how happy we would he
If they were only here--
We linger o'er their miniatures
As o'er some priceless gem,
And speak their names as '•house-hold words,"
But look in vain for them.
What though our absent friends from_far
By telegraph can hail!
Can smile on us in miniatures.
Or talk with us by mail :
We long to take them by the hand,
Old friendships to renew,
With kindly welcome and a warm
And heartfelt "how d'ye do."
Our absent friends—our absent friends—
As fancy oft portrays,
They come around us with the smiles
And " light of other days."
Familiar - voices from the past
Around us lingering seem,
And yet we know 'tis nothing but
A bright and pleasant dreaiu.
Are we remembered far away
In other house-hold bands ?
Does some lone wanderer think of us
'Mid distant scenes and lands?
We'll ne'er forget our absent friends,
Though scattered far and wide,
But keep for them a warm true heart,
Whatever may betide.
THE 111.0THIEREESS.
God bless the motherless! oh, guide
Their feet in wisdom's way ;
While o'er life's stormy sea they glide,
Be thou their shield and stay ;
When sorrow's keenest edge they feel,
Thy hand alone the wound can heal.
God bless the friendless ones! oh, smile
Upon their darksome hours;
When love's soft tones no more beguile,
:None strew their path with flowers;
And, in misfortune's cheerless day,
Be thou their refuge and their stay.
God bless the motherless whet' waves
Of sorrow o'er them roll;
When wild and fierce the tempest raves,
Thera enlist the storm control ;
And edam the brow whose mental strife
Embitters all the joys of lifc.
God bless the sorrowful, when grief
Hath dimmed the eye's soft light;
When nought of earth affords relief,
And disappointment's blight
dlath changed the hue of all things fair,
0! shield them with a Father's care.
- G ittect stotli.
TRUE BENEVOLENCE ;
Or, It is Better to Give than to ReceiVe
" And you strip yourself of comfort, for the
sake of adding to this rich merchant's gains?"
The widow replied with flushed cheek, "It
may seem a slight thing to you, but the
thought that I am slowly and surely wiping
every stain from my husband's honor, is my .
greatest earthly comfort. Mr. Miner is his
last creditor, and God willing, eVery cent
shall be paid."
Her coarser relative responded with :an
emphatic "fiddlestick," and angrily left her'
presence.
" Atlast I have it," said a silvery voice,-
arid a 'sweet face, glad and brilliant, bright
ened up the gloom.
" Only see, mother! ten dollars,. all my
own ; ten more make twenty ; so we shall
have a nice little sum for Mr. Miner."
Tears trembled on the widow's lashes, and
("littered_ on her pale cheek. "Isitto be the
pried' of thy life my precious one ?", she
thought._ " Is the canker worm at the heart
of my beautiful flower ! Muse I give thee up
to' weary toil a sacrifice upon the altar of
duty! Can it be that God requires it?"
Eva knelt at her mother's feet, where she
had - alien with all the abandon of a child,
her gaze fastened to the shining gold.
Lifting her glance, she met that of her mo
ther; full of anxiety, touched with sorrow.—
A sudden smile broke over her delicate fea
tures.' .
:L:?.I - was only thinking of the endless things
this money would buy—don't look so grave,
mamma '
• such a beauty of a warm shawl for
you, and a neat, crimson color for that untidy
old arm chair ; a bit—ever so little of carpet,
to put down by the bed; that your feet need
not feel this cold floor ; and a pretty cap, be
sides coal, and tea, and *sugar, and such nice
comfortable things. But never mind"—and
she sprang to her feet, brushed back her
brown curls, and drew on her.neat little bon
net—never mind, may be I'll write a book
off one of these days, that'll make you and I
rich. And dear mother,
you shall ride in
your.own carriage, and may be those that
scorn us now only because we are poor, may
be. hankful for our notice. A truce to ro
mance, she gravely'continued ,• stern reality
tells me to go directly up to Madison street,
find Mr. Miner, give him. this twenty dollars,
take a receipt, and then come home and read
and sing to my mother.
Hurriedly Eva passed from her house along
the narrow streets. As she went onward,
street after street diverged into pleasant
width and palace-lined splendor. The houses
of greatness and wealth glitters in their mar
ble beauty under the golden sunlight. Up
broad steps, through portals carved and shi
ning, passed the timed steps of Eva Sterne.
At first the pompous servant smiled a con
temptuous denial ; but after a moment, per-
CM
WILLIAM LEWIS,
VOL. XII.
haps softened by her childish simplicity
.and
winning blue eyes, deemed it best not to
deny her urgency, and she entered the palace
of a rich man's home.
Shortly her feet sank in the luxurious hall
carpet ; statuary in bronze and marble lined
all the way to the staircase. The splendor
of the room into which she was ushered,
seemed to her inexperienced. sight too beau
tiful for actual use, and. he who came in, with
his kindly glance and handsome face, the
noblest perfection of manhood she had ever
seen.
" Well, young lady," he said, blandly smi
ling, " to whom am I indebted for this pleas
ure ?"
"My father, sir, died in your debt," said
Eva, blushingly, speaking very softly. "By
the stsictest economy and very hard work,
we, my mother and I, have been able to pay
all his creditors but yourself. If you will be
kind enough to receive the balance of your
account in small sums—l am sorry they must
be,all small,,sir,—we can in the course of a
very feW years liquidate the debt, and then,
—we shall have fulfilled my father's wish,
that every stain might be wiped from his
honor." She paused a moment, and said
again falteringly, "My father was very un
fortunate, sir, and broken in health for many
years, but, sir, he was honorable, he would
have paid the last cent if it had left him a
beggar."
Mr. Miner sat awhile thoughtfully, his
dark eyes fastened upon the gentle face be
fore him. After a moment of silence, he
raised his head, threw back the mass of curl
ing hair that shadowed his handsome brow,
and u.id:
" I remember your father well, I regretted
his death. He was a fine fellow ; a, fine fel
low," he added Musingly.; but, my dear
young lady, have you the means, do you not
embarrass yourself by making these pay
ments ?"
Eva blushed again, and looking up, inge
niously replied, "I am obliged to work, sir,
but no labor would - be too arduous that might
save the memory of such a father from
aee dis
crr "
z, • •
This she spoke, with deep emotion. The
rich luau turned with a choking in his throat,
and tears glistened on his lashes. Eva tim
idly held out the two gold pieces ; he took
them; and bidding her stay a moment, has
tily left, the room.
Almost instantly returning, he handed her
a sealed note, saying, " There is the receipt,
young lady, and allow me to add, , • that the
mother of such a child must be a happy wo
man. The whole debt, I find,. is nine hun
dred and seventy-five dollars. • You will see
by my note what arrangements, I have made,
and 1 hope they will be satisfactory." -
Eva left him with a lighter .heart, and a
burning , cheek at his praise.. .. Ills manner
was gentle, so •fatherly that she felt he would
not impose haTd conditions, and it would be
a pleasure to-pay one so kind and forbearing.
At last. she got home, .and breathlessly sit
ting at her mother's feet, she-opened her let
ter. Wonder of wonders—a -bank ,note en
closed ; she held it without speaking or look-,
ing at its value. .
"Read it," she said; after a• moment's be
wilderment, placing the letter in her mother's
hand--" here are fifty dollars; what can it
mean ?"
_ " This," said the sick - woman, bursting
into tears, ‘`is,a receipt in fulkreleasing you
from the payment of your father's debt.—
Kind, generous man—Heaven will bless hind
—God will shower mercies upon him. From
a grateful heart I call upon the father, to re
ward him for this act of kindness. Oh !
what shall we say, what shall wudo to thank
him?"
"IslOthe Eva,
_smiling through her
tears, if .he was an angel of good
ness..,,Ph; they do -wrong, who, say .that all
ic=hp.are,Wealthy, have hard Imparts. .Mother,
can it he possible w - a are so rich-?; I wish he,
knewrhOw very happy he madeus,,how much
we love and reverence him whenever wethink
or speak of him, or even hear him spoken
of!"
.
‘‘ lle, has .13ourrd two bearts'to him_ forever,"
murmured; her mother. • •
" 717 . 4;, dear Mr. Miner ! little he thOught
ho* many comforts we wanted. Now we
need not stint the fire ; we may buy coal, and
have one cheerful blaze, please God. And
the 'tea, the strip of carpet, the sugar, the
little. luxuries for you, dear mother; and the
time,, and' a very few books for myself.
,I de
clare, I'm so thankful, I feel as if I ought to
go right back and tell him we shall love him
so long as we live."
That evening ,the grate, heaped. with Le
high coal, gave the little room an air of ruddy
comfort. 'Eve sat near, her curls bound soft,
Iy back from her pure forehead. Her mo
tiler's. face, lighted. with the loss of cankering
care, shone with a placid smile, and her ev
ery thought'was a prayer calling down bles
sings upon the good rich man.
In another room, fax different from the
widow's .home, but also bright with the blaze
of a genial fire, whose red light made richer
the polish of costly furniture• sat the noble
merchant.
" Pa, what makes you look so happy ?"
asked Lina, a beautiful girl, passing her
smooth hand over his brow.
"Don't I. always look happy, my little Li
na ?"
• "'Yes, but you keep shutting your eyes
and smiling=-so ;" and her bright face reftec- .
ted his own. "I think you've had something'
very nice to-day; what was it ?"
• " Doesmy little daughter really want to
know what has made her father so happy?—
Here is my Bible ; let her turn to the Acts of
the Apostles, 20th chapter ; 35th verse, and
read it careful Ty."
The beautiful child turned, reverently the
pages of the holy book, and as she read, she
looked up in her father's eyes—
And to remember the words-of the Lord
Jesus, how he .said—" It is more blessed to
w i ve than to receive."
4. " Ah 1 I know," she said, laying her rosy
cheek upon his hand, "you have been giving
something to some poor be g gar, as you did
last week, and_ he thanked you, and said,
I=ll
II
'
. .
,
"God bless you," and that's what makes you
ry-"
ixa
ina read a confirmation. in her father's
smile—but he said nothing, only kept repeat
ing to himself the words of the Lord Jesus
Christ, "It is more blessed to give than to re
ceive."—Olive Branch.
"I can hardly spare it, Jane ; but as you
have so set your heart upon it, why I sup
pose I must."
The young wife looked with rapture upon
the shining gold pieces.
"A hundred dollars," said she to herself,
"how rich it makes me feel. It seems a
great deal to pay for a carpet, but 'gold is
worth gold,' as the old saying is, and one
good purchase is worth a dozen poor.ones.
I'll buy one of the very finest and most beau
tiful Brussels."
Afternoon came ; the rosy babe was laid
asleep in his little cradle, and the maid re
ceived a score of charges to linger by its side
every moment till the darling woke up. Jane,
flushed with eager anticipation, looked her
prettiest; and throwing her mantilla over her
handsome shoulders, she was just hurrying
away, when a loud ring at the door brought
out a very pettish "Oh dear !" at the unex
pected intrusion.
"0, Jane—dear Jane !" and a pale young
creature sat panting on the'sofa. "We are
in such trouble—such a dreadful trouble I
Can you help us ? Do you think we could
borrow a hundred dollars from your husband ?
—Couldn't you get it for us? You know
you said I might always rely upon you when
trial came ; and poor Charles expects every
moment to be arrested ; and he is so ill !"
"Dear, dear!" said Jane, her good heart
suddenly contracting ; " Edward told me,
only this morning, not to ask him for any
money for three months ;" and she gathered
her purse up tightly in her handkerchief.
"-I'm sure, if—l—only—could oblige you, I
would ; but I expect Edward is really pushed.
Can't you get it elsewhere ? Have you
tried ?"
" Yes," answered her friend, despondingly,
`l've tried everywhere. People know that
Charles is ill and cannot repay immediately.
Mr. J knows our circumstances, yet he
insists upon that money. 0, it is so hard !
it is so hard I"
Her pitiful voice, and the big tears run
ning like rain down her pallid cheeks, almost
unnerved Jane's selfishness. But that car
pet—that beautiful.carpet she had promised
herself so long, and so often been disappoint
ed of its possession, that she could not give
it up. She knew her husband's heart—and
that he would urge her to self-denial. No !
she would not see she did, it was all
over with the carpet.
"Well," "said her poor friend, in a despond
ing, voice, rising to go, "I'm sorry you can't
help me ; I know you would if you could,
and it is something to know that—but, I go
back with a heavy heart. Good morning,
dear Jane ; I hope you will never know what
it is to want and suffer."
How handsome the new carpet looked as
the sun streamed in-on its wreathed flowers,
its colors of fawn,.' and blue, 'and crimson,
its soft velvety'richness—and how proud felt
Jane at the lavish praises, of her neighbors.
It was a bargain, too ; she had saved thirty
dollars.in its purchase, and bought a pair of
elegant vases for the window recess.
"I declare," said her husband, "this looks
like comfort ; but it spoils .all my pleasure to
think of poor Charley Somers. The pobr
fellow is deadl"
Jane gave a real sharp ,scream, and the
flush faded from her face. .
"Yes ! that rascally J—! For the pal
try sum: of one hundred dollars, he arrested
Charles,
,who ruptured a blood-vessel, and
lived scarcely an hour afterwards. You
know - he has been weak and ill this long
while."
"And •Mary?" issued from Jane's blood
less. lips. • • • .
"She ; has a dead child ;. dud they tell me
hor life .is despaired of. Why, on earth
didn't, they send to me? I could easily have
spared the money for that purpose. If it
had stripped me of the last dollar they should
have had it. - Poor fellow—poor Mary!".
"And I might have saved it—all !" shriek
ed Jane, sinking upon her knees on the rich
carpet. "Oh, Edward, will God ever forgive
me for my heartlessness? Mary did call
here, and with tears begged me to aid her—
and I—l had the whole sum in my very
hand—and. coldly turned her away. 0, my
God, forgive me! forgive me !"
In the very agony of .grief, poor -Jane
would receive no comfort. In vain her hus
band strove to soothe her ; she would not
hear a word in extenuation of her selfish con
duct. •
"I shall never forget poor Mary's tears; I
shall never forget her sad voice ; they will
haunt me to my dying day ! 0, take it
away—that hateful carpet •! I have pur
chased it with the.death of my dearest friend
How . could Ibe so cruel? I. shall never be
happy again, never—never !"
Years have.passed since then, and Mary
with her husband lie together under the
green sod of the church-yard. Jane has
grey hairig - mixed with . the light brown of
her tressess ; butshe lives in a home of splen
dor, and none know her but to bless her.
There is a Mary, a gentle Mary in her house
hold, dea"to her as her own sweet children
—=she 'is 'the orphan child of those who have
rested' side by side for ten long years.
Edward is , rich ; butprosperity has not
hardened his heart. His hand never tires of
giving out bounty to the poor ; and Jane is
the guardian angel of the needy. The "new
carpet,"
. long since old, is sacredly preserved
as a memento of sorrowful but penitent
hours ; and many a weary heart owes to its
silent influence the prosperity that has turn
ed want's wilderness into an Eden of plenty.
'No man ruins his health without bring
ing the consequences upon himself. Like
Sampson, - he destroys the temple, and buries
himself in the ruins.
HUNTINGDON, PA., NOVEMBER 12, 1856.
THE NEW CARPET.
..--P.E BSEVERE.-
Advice to Married Persons.
From a recent English journal we select
the following suggestions, which are entirely
too good to be lost. Much good may be ac
complished by following them :
In the marriage relation one thing is indis
pensable to happiness, namely: the utmost
frankness, even to the most trifling occurren
ces. There should be no concealments.—
Where secrecy and reserve are, there can be
no confidence, and consequently no true affec
tion. What misery has been produced by a
departure from this rule of social conduct!—
It is impossible to estimate it correctly. The
tempter of human souls has no surer way of
divorcing affection than this. To young hus
bands and wives, especially, we say, beware
of all concealments:
From apparently the most trifling causes
springs distrust. The withholding of one
simpl fact, through stubbornness or false
pride, has oftentimes, and perhaps justly, led
to a never-ending jealousy. All circumstan
ces should be at once explained, and all facts
communicated, and this through a sense of
honor as well as duty.
When a young lady enters into the marri
ed state she should drop all correspondence
except that which meets her husband's ap
probation. Every letter she writes and eve
ry one she receives should be open, and that
freely and cordially, to her husband's inspec
tion. No really good woman or faithful wife
will ever dream of a departure from this rule,
except in a case of necessity or urgent con
venience ; and even in the excepted cases, she
will not write a word that she would not wish
her husband to see. If a letter or a note, no
matter by whom sent, is received during her
husband's absence, she should carefully pre
serve it and hand it to him upon his return.
We take it for granted, that no wife, who
has proper self-respect, virtuous principles or
honorable sentiments, will ever, upon any oc
casion whatever, engage in a clandestine cor
respondence. No matter how innocent the
object may be, or what fancied or real good
is proposed to be effected thereby, the unani
mous opinion of the Christian world is against
any attempt of this nature. The wife who
does this, is debased' forever. Besides, she
is sure, in the end, to be discovered, and she
justly forfeits even the pity of her husband.
If she has real troubles or sorrows, occasion
ed by her husband, she should hide them
from the world as far as she can do so. She
should remember that life at best is full of
trials and temptations, and that to attain the
glory of a better world ,we must all suffer in
this. 'She should reflect that-. a -wife never
appears in a holier attikde than w.hilst screen
ing her husband frollE *he censure of the
world, she endeavors to correct his faults and
reform his heart. It is narrated of the wife
of an American gentleman, who afterwards
attained high distinction, that one dsy, in an
unfrequented street she found him lying on
the sidewalk, in a drunken sleep, with his
face upturned to the rays of a scorching sun.
She endeavored with her utmost strength to
remove him from his posture—but failing,
tearfully covered his face with her handker
chief. Awakening, he discovered the hand
kerchief, and examined the name upon it.—
That one act, followed by subsequent gentle
ness and entreaty upon her part, caused his
total reformation. Noble-hearted woman I
best type of a true wife ! Her name is wor
thy of immortality.
To speak or write disparingly of husband
or wife, is not only criminal, but contempti
ble. People of good sense always despise
the man . or woman who is guilty of it. Mar
ried persons should keep all their difficulties,
if they have any, to themselves. In fact, if
they desire to secure harmony and peace, all
the occurrences of the domestic sanctuary
should be kept secret, unless in regard - to in
different, subjects. Even in relation to father
and mother, brother and sister, this rule
should extend. The conduct and conversa
tions of husband or wife should not be com
municated by the one or the otlier, to rela
tives or friend's, for fault-finding or censori
ous purposes. It is never safe or prudent to
do so. Scandal _flies on the winds. How
can a husband trust in a wife, or a wife in a
husband, if everything said or done is tattled
to relatives, or so-called confidential friends?
Such conduct willjar, if not break the chords
of love.
With regard to proper companions and ac
quaintances, the wife should always be gov
erned by the husband. What so disrespect
ful, nay insulting, as to see a wife upon friend
ly terms with her husband's enemy. What
so wounding to his feelings as to hear her
lauding one who has injured or wronged him?
His prejudices, even, ought to be respected
by her. Although she may think that he has
an unjust resentment or antipathy towards
one of her friends, yet she is bound to drop
the friendship, and, if required, the acquain
tance of such a person. A sense of delicacy
will prompt a faithful and devoted wife to
this course -of conduct. If she does not do
so promptly and cheerfully, her heart is not
in the right place, and she is not to be trust
ed. To pretend to do. so, and yet not do it,
is very bad indeed. But to meet privately,
and seek conversation with persons not in fa
vor with her husband, although it may be
with innocent intentions—is insulting to the
husband she professes to love, and is sufficient
of itself, to brand her, in the eyes of all vir
tuous and honorable persons, with indelible
disgrace. In an experience of five and for
ty years, we have known at least three in
stances of the latter kind. We watched care
fully the train of events, and the fatal error
led to ruin and infamy. Lot young wives
beware how they infringe upon this advice.
If they do, moral destruction will inevitably
follow, unless God's grace shall rescue them
in time.
To husbands and wives both, we say in all
earnestness, let the veil of love and charity
hide from all the world the faults and frail
ties of each other. Be loving, kind and for
giving. To err is human, but to forgive is
heavenly. Let your marriage vows b ever
present in your memories, and so shape your
earthly destinies, that, whilst you leave to
your children the precious legacy of unsulli
ed reputations, you may earn the crown of
everlasting love and enjoyment.
<~ ,~0
Much has been written and more said up
on the duties, cares and responsibilities of the
wife:—it is a theme in the mouth of almost
every one. People generally assume as the
basis of their remarks and conclusions, that
the wife, (prior to entering upon the multi
farious duties and trials of wedded life,) ful
ly understands, and is prepared to meet all
the responsibilities that may fall to her lot,
with a. joyous heart. Many of life's joys and
sorrows lbllow from the soul's culture in its
infant budding, from the training which
thought and affection receive, and the direc
tion given them, whether it be through the
luminous regions of moral purity and love,
or into the dark depths of moral pollution
and misguided passion.
But more depends upon the choice she has
made of a life companion ; of the congenial
ity of mind, and the depth, purity and fer
vency of the love which she bestows upon
him, than upon all the rules and regulations
ever laid down for her guidance.
There are a few, comparatively, in the Ba
bel of life, who, from personal experience,
know of the joys, delights, and the fountain
of happiness that is hers, who has wisely,
discreetly, choAen the twin soul of her exis
tence: to be, perchance, her all of earth ;
who is nearer than a brother ; whose love and
protection warm into active, blooming life,
the radiant spring of her affections.
If she resolves to go hand in hand and
heart with her chosen of life, through what
ever may betide him, and steadily adheres to
that resolve: if she will as freely forgive him
for the first, and every offense, as she will
wish to be forgiven by him : if she will view
all her duties and cares, her labors of mind
and body, through the bright halo of purity
and devotion which love has thrown around
her, then her way is clear,—her pathway is
made fragrant with the perfume of the per
ennial flowers of peace and. joy ; and she is
lighted on by love to a bower of perfect mor
tal felicity, that cannot be found, howevr
sought, out of the mystic gates of
matrimony.
Then there will be a confidence, useful and
clear as the bowing tide of life, as wide as
the expanding energies of her soul, and as
high as the loftiest flights of thought. Lov
ingly may she then confide her most secret
thoughts and emotions to her , husband, with
out fear of their flowing swiftly through him
to the deceitful and gossiping world around
them.
Her being is all instinct with love ; pure,
holy love.. _Fearless of revulsion, she lavish
es all her wealth of affection upon him, and
there finds a full reciprocation. And as he
folds her to his heart and softly utters those
thrilling words, "My dear 1 dear wife," the
smiling angel of peace and love hovers over
them and bestows a blessing. Such a wife
feels in the innermost recesses of her soul a
holy, quiet joy, and a depth of devotion that
words are inadequate to express, and a little
prayer, "0 God, keep me from idolatry,"
trembles on her lips.
What she once deemed cares, tasks, and
disagreeable requirements, now become sour
ces of pleasure, if by her personal attention
to them she can add one joy, one thrill of de
light to the happiness of her loved and devo
ted husband.
She will joyfully lay upon the marriage al
tar all those girlish, restless, anxious desires
for display and admiration : and will dedicate
her life—her best energies—to the fulfilling,
of the marriage vow made before high Heav
en, "to love, honor and obey," till death shall
rend the tie.
The obnoxious little word "obey," is quite
forgotten in the, ardor of her affections ;,for
love is the fulfilling of the law,, and where
love really exists, to yield to the loved one's
wishes, and even to anticipate them, is an un
told pleasure.
Marriage may bring more,cares to the wife;
but if her choice is one that wisdom sanc
tions, it.opens the way to infinitely more joys,
to which time is no barrier and eternity sets
no bounds.
A calm, peaceful and holy joy is hers who
yields without reservation, her heart's truest
affections to one who is worthy of the sacred
trust. Awl there is a position, int/ceworld
to be envied, it is that of the truly happy wife.
It will be recollected that one of Sir Wal
ter Scott's sayings was, that "whatever might
be said about luck. it is skill that leads to
fortune !" There can be no doubt of this as
a general principle. Few self-indulgent and
apathetic men do well in any line of life.—
The skillful, the active, and steadily perseve
ring, usually carry off prizes which turn up
in the wheel of fortune. At the same time,
something is due to circumstances, as well as
to the power which controls human destiny.
Practically, however, the thing to he borne
in mind is—that the young are bound to ex
ercise all proper means to secure improve
ment in their condition. That with a fair
store of ambition, prudence and meritorious
skill, it may be possible to attain a station of
eminence—that is, "fortune," though, per
haps, not without corresponding responsibil
ities and cares—we present the following
compendious list of distinguished men who
rose from humble and obscure circumstances.
lEsop, Publius Syrus, Tyrus, Terence and
Epictetus—all distinguished men in ancient
times—were serfs at their outset in life.
Protagoras, a Greek philosopher, was at
first a common porter.
Bleanthes, another philosopher, was a pu
gilist, and also supported himself,. at first, by
drawing water - and carrying burdens.
The Professor Heyne, of Gottingen, one of
the greatest classical scholars of his own, or
any other age, was the son of a poor weaver,
and for many years had to struggle with the
most depressing poverty. The efforts of this
excellent man of genius appear to have been
greater, and more protracted, than those of
any other on. record ; but he was finally re
warded with the highest honors.
Bandoccin, one of the learned men of the
sixteenth century, was the son of a shoema
ker, and worked for many years at the same
business.
Gelli, a celebrated Italian writ.r, began
Editor and Proprietor.
The Wife.
Skill Leads to Fortune.
life us a tatloa, and, although he rose to emi
nence in literature, never forgot his original
profession, which he took pleasure in men
tioning in his lectures.
The elder Opie, whose talent for painting
was well appreciated, was originally a work
ing carpenter in Cornwall, and was discover
ed by Dr. Wolcott, otherwise Peter Pindar,
working as a sawyer at the bottom of. a saw
pit. -
Abbot, Archbishop of Canterbury, who
flourished in the sixteenth, century, and dis
tinguished himself by opposing the schemes
of Charlei 1., was the son of a cloth worker
at Guilford. •
Akenside, the author of " Pleasures of
Imagination," was the son of a butcher in
Newcastle—upon—Tyne.
D. Alembert, the French mathematician,
was left at the steps of a church by his-pa
rents, and brought up by a poor woman, as
a foundling, yet arrived at great celebrity,
and never forgot or abandoned his nurse. ,
Ammenius Sacophorus, founder of the Mys
tic Philosophy at Alexandria, was born in
poverty, and originally earned his subsistence
by carrying sacks, of wheat—whence the lat
ter part of his name.
NO. 2L
Amyot, a French author of some celebrity
for his version of Plutarch, lived in the six
teenth century, and was at first so poor as to
be unable to afford oil or candles to assist his
studies, which he had to carry on by Pre
light ; and all the sustenance his parents could.
afford him was a loaf of bread weekly.
ACTION OF SUGAR ON TILE TEETH.—The
Charleston (S. C.) Medical Journal states that
M. Larez, in the course of his investigations
on the teeth, arrived at the following conclu
sion :
" Ist. Refined sugar, from either cane or
beets, is injurious to healthy teeth, either by
immediate contact with these organs or by
the gas developed, owing to its stoppage in
the stomach.
" 2d. If a tooth is macerated in a satura
ted solution of sugar it is so much altered in
the chemical composition that it becomes ge
latinous, and its enamel opique, spongy and
easily broken.
" gd. This modification is due, not to free
acid but to a tendency of sugar to combine
with the calcareous basis of the tooth."
The foregoing conclusions are correct, and
candies and condiments should be avoided.—
They should be kept from children especial
ly, It is well known that maple sugar ren
ders the teeth tender and sensitive.
PLAIN JOHNNY CAKE.—Sift a quart Of In
dian meal into a pan, make a hole in the
middle and pour into it a pint of warm water,
adding a tea-spoonful of salt; with a spoon
mix the meal and. water gradually into a soft
dough, stir it very hard for a quarter of an
hour or more, 01 it becomes light and spongy,
then spread the dough smooth, evenly on a
stout flat board, a piece of the head of a flour
barrel will serve for this purpose, place the
board nearly, but not quite upright, and set
a smoothing iron or a stone against the back
to support it; bake it well, when done cut it
into squares, and send it hot to the table,
split and butter; some prefer syrup of molas
ses with it.
A BAKED APPLE PUDDING.--Pare and
quarter four large apples, boil them tender,
with tlierind of a lemon, in so little water
that nothing may rezhain - wrren - acne - out me
juice, add the crumb of a small roll, 4 ounces
of butter, melted, the yolks of five and whites
of three eggs, the juice of half a lemon, and
sugar to taste ; beat all together, and lay it
in a dish, then beat the two remaining whites
to a froth and throw it round the edge of tho
dish, grate a little brown sugar over when
baked.
SALT FOR llocs.—llogs, during the process
of fattening, should be supplied with salt as
often as Cirwe a week. It is no less advanta
geous to them than to the ox, the cow, or the
sheep, and when liberally given, is a preven
tative of many diseases to which, from their
continual confinement, and the effects of
hearty food, they are inevitably exposed.
Charcoal is also highly salutary iu its influ
ence upon the health of swine.
TEA. - CAKE.—An excellent tea cake is made
of one quart of milk, two eggs, four table
spoonfuls of wheat flour, one teaspoonful of
salt, one teaspoonful of saleratus, and Indian
meal enough to make a thick batter. ]3ake
half an hour on a buttered tin. Serve hot
for tea with butter and sugar.
EXCELLENT CORN BREAD.—Take three
quarts of milk, if a little sour all the better,
seven eggs, two ounces of butter, one tea
spoonful of saleratus, and mix with corn
meal to the consistency of a thick batter,
and bake with a brisk heat.
Coax Baran.—Rub a piece of butter the
size of an egg into a pint of corn meal, make
it a batter with two eggs, and some new
milk and a spoonful of yeast, set it by the
- tire an hour to rise, butter little pans as
above and. bake in an oven, with a quick.
heat.
The North Carolina Standard thus speaks
of the glorious result of the October election
in Pennsylvania: •
"Pennsylvania has done her duty. The
unholy' schemes of the fusionists and confu
sionists have been scattered to the winds.—
The blackness of disunion darkness which
threatened to envelop her has been rolled
away, and her sister states now behold her
radiant with the light of truth, of loyalty to
the constitution, and a flame of fire to blast
and consume the enemies of the Union and
the best hopes of man. The opposition
staked everything . on Pennsylvania, and lost.
They—the fusionists there, and their traitor
ous allies here—hoped and prayed—if such
people can pray—that the result would break
down democracy even before the final strug
gle of November ; but they have been broken
on the wheel of public indignation, and left
to fester in their treasons, here and there, un
til the second voice of the north, soon to be
uttered, shall consign them to lastine , ° infamy
and oblivion. Thank God for it ! Let all
honest and true men be glad, for the right
has been sustained, and a strong assurance
has been given that the republic will yet en
dure.
" Assailed by traitors from without and.
within, gallantly, fearlessly, nobly have the
democracy of Pennsylvania labored and tri ,
- I mplied, Their victory, achieved at the right
time, and on right principles, has thrilled
and lifted up millions of democratic hearts in
all the states. It will tell with overwhelm
ing effect on the 4th of next month. It seals
the defeat of Fremont, and it renders morally
certain the election of James Buchanan.--•
That secured, with a democratic Congress on
the day of his inauguration, all will 14 well,"
Istfui gunits.
The Result in Pennsylvania