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cieltttl'-,Thattx)2•.
THE SONG OP LABOR.
idling drones of this teeming earth,
Make way for the sons of toil,
Who redeem the promise implied by birth,
And live not by theft or apoil ;
raith clings to their manly and honest grasp,
And'briglitens their eager glance,
And lordlings quake, like the trembling asp,
As the sons of toil advance.
With aslalwart arm and trenchant blade
The forests aro cleared away,
And labor laughs, as with hoe and spade
It delves in the virgin clap;
Whate'er it touches it turns to gold—
. Fair fruitful fields appear
Where deserts moaned in days of old,
And knew not the harvest's closer.
There's a magic charm in the toiler's hand—
And all but creative might—
Which a thought can clothe and a dream expand,
Till they burst on the gazer's sight,
In temples fair, and in fabrics strange—
The triumphs of plastic art;
'Which can give to Science its widest range,
And to Commerce its golden mart.
The stately ship, which in pride careers
O'er the wilds of the pathless sea,
And the mykie needle by which she steers,
Brave toiler were made by thee;
The freight the bears is thy gathered store,
From the mountain and field and mine—
From the forest shade, from the pearl strewn shore
And the cavcrned depths of•brino.
Thou - st built the palace and sacred lane,
And fashioned the kingly crown: •
The cities which smile upon hill and plain,
And forts to defend or frown.
The broad canal and the iron rail,
And the lightning's nerve like wire,
Which can thrill with thoughts or in sadness wail,
Like the struggle of Apollo's lyre.
The household' gods in the lowly home,
Are sacred made by thee ;
They arc dear as the perfumed amler-foam,
To the gods of the sounding sea.
The things of u,e, and of courtly show,
. Spring alike from thy cultured skill ;
Then assert thy rights, and let rulers know
The might of the toiler's will.
no! idling drones of this teeming earth,
Make way for the son's of toil,
Who redeem the pledge implied by birth,
And live not by theft and spoil;
PAith clings to their manly - and honest grasp,
And brightens their eagle-glance,
And lordlings quake like the trembling asp,
When the sons of toil advance.
,7, .ei.e.ct toril.
From Porter's SIX it of the Times
HOW WE FELL OUT ;
—OR.--
TIM WAY I LOST MY WIPE.
BF J. S. MYTH, ESQ
It is useless to tell you that last summer
was an excessively hot one ; and you can im
agine with what joy I hailed the, proposition
of Charley Bouncer, in the early part of July,
when that 'jolly old sun' was spreading him
self to make the most uncomfortable, to spend
a few weeks in the very quiet and antedilu
vian village of Red Bank. The temptations
of this place were fresh fish, soft shell crabs,
fine peaches, and other fruit; but most of all,
the bright aughing eyes and rich auburn
curls of Clara Harrington,. with whom we
had both fallen desperately in love, during
our sojourn there the preceding summer.—
Clara was the daughter of our landlady, a
talkative old lady, who used to enliven our
long twilight -with tender reminiscences of
poor Mr. of his trials and sufferings, and
Airs. Micawber like, 'she never deserted him.'
All these we listened to for the sake of her
daughter, the most bewitching, :tantalizing,
heart-crushing little being in existence. Now,
Charley and I were most excellent friends,
although in love with the same person; so
contrary to the old established custom of pis
tols and coffee, we agreed to a fair trial of our
powers of fascination, during our sojourn in
the country, and at the end of that time, the
victim should stand a--champagne supper, no
unfair advantage was to be taken, and the
agreement being written and duly signed, we
packed our carpet-bags, fishing tackle, bath
ing dresses, &c., and bid farewell for a time,
to the dust and heat of New York.
On arriving at Red Bank, we took an.ob
, nervation; that is, took a drink, just to see
What me might expect in the shape of pota
bles, and found a loss; the twelve months had
made no improvement on their Jersey light
ning; so we sent back an order to Jules, Ra
bin & Co., for something better adapted to
our constitutions, leaving the fiery beverage
of the country to better pickled throats than
ours. Finding the inhabitants of Willow
Cottage well, and delighted to see us, (Miss
Clara in n most impartial manner,) I took a
stroll over to Joe Taylor's to purchase a turn
out; for. you know that Jersey is a great place
for fast horses, and as Charley had brought
down lila brown horse, it would not do for
me to be out of fashion. Charley said I bet
ter buy where I was acquainted, for the Jer
sey traders were far-famed
,for being among
the smartest jockies in the country; but I pri
' sled 'myself on a judge, was obstinate, and
insisted on having my own way.
• Joe had always a stock of horses on hand
- to trade or sell; in fact he hardly ever drives
the same - horse twice. The bar-room, as usu
al, was full of loafers talking horse, and,al
- on hand when drinks were bet for the
crowd. Joe was delighted to see me, and all
-the more so, when he found out my business,
I3Q he stood treat, and led. the.way to, the sta
bles. • •
• "There's a nice little boy," said he, hitting
a half-starved looking mare a slap that al
mostimade her jump into her feed-bcq.;_"a
good - traveller, head up, and as sound as a
nut"
sl'so
75
50
WILLIAM LEWIS,
VOL. XIL
"What is that lump ?" said I, pointing to
a very suspicious bunch on her fetlock's joint.
" Oh," replied Joe, "that's nothing; anoth
er hoss kicked her on to it."
"Humph," says I, "let's look a little fur
ther."
" Perhaps you would like a tall, showy
boss," said. Joe, pointing to a horse that the
man might have sworn was fourteen feet high,
and not perjure himself much either. - But
as the animal seemed to be merely -in the
stocks as it were, all ribs and stays, I thought
it would require too much time and capital
to finish him; so we pressed on to the next.
This was a very nice- looking little horse, of
a dark bay color, small head, well set on,
black mane, tail and• legs; in fact, just about
such a horse as I wanted. He seemed to.be
all right, except a hollowness over his eyes,
a good many grey hairs about his head, and
a hard, dry feeling about the muscles, that
seemed to indicate he had fully arrived. at the
years of discretion. -
" How old do you call that horse.? Joe,"
said I.
"Six, 'going on seven," replied he, "and a
mighty nice hoss he is, too; but I'll let you
judge for yourself; you know all about bosses,
and there's no use trying to take you in.
" Not very easily," replied I, mightily
pleased with Joe's opinion of my ability, and
opening the horse's mouth with all the air of
a man that seemed to know what he was about.
Sure enough, I found his teeth marked seven,
as plain as any print in Youatt.
"He looks older," said I, "but his teeth are
all right. Hitch him up, Joe, and let's try
him."
Away we went. The little horse traveled
well, and seemed to have a moderately ten
der mouth. (I have a horse that pulls your
aims off every time you take him.) So, agree
ing as to the price, Joe stood another drink,
and we returned. Joe offered to give a war
rant that the horse was just what he said ;
but he seemed so honest about it, that I told
him it was no matter, and asked him to send
him around to the saddler's 'to get a harness.
I now flattered myself that I had bought a
horse in Jersey, and had not been cheated.
satisfaction, however, was of short dura
tion. The saddler put on a very queer look
when I came up with my purchase.
" Been buying a new hoss?" said he, look
ing at him all over.
" Yes," said I, rather exultingly, " and
quite reasonable, too."
" A 1,," said he, "how old do you call him?"
" Seven years," replied I, confidently.
" Ho-W' do you know ?"
" By his teeth," said I, beginning to get a
little riled, for I thought the man took me for
a greenhorn.
" Il ic. teeth !" said the saddler, bursting
info a laugh; "his teeth were ,filed down,
burnt over, in Freehold, seven rears ago; and
I'll bet y,in drinks for all Red 'Bank, that the
boss is not a day less than fourteen years old.
Why, he has been owned by fifty different
poisons in as many weeks, and the man who
got stuck on him last, coultEnt get rid of him
no how, so he left him to Joe's to pay for a
week's board. I rather think, stranger, that
you are hardly up to trading hosses in Jer
sey.- You may do in York, but when you
come down here you must cut your eye-teeth
a little sharper."
Farewell to all pride; farewell to all pre
tensions to a knowledge of horses. I had
been taken in with a most villainous "screw,"
fourteen years old. Oh, shade of Youatt
I however ordered a harness and buggy, and
sent the horse hack to Joe's to be kept till
called for, in fond hopes that I might come
across as '' .lecn a man as myself to purchase
him; for I consider selling or-trading
a "screw," just as bad as stealing umbrellas.
All this while our double flirtation went on
well enough; we both had our ups and clowns,
our shadows and sunshine, just as the caprice
of - a pretty girl of •eighteen dictated. Our
summer vacation was nearly Over, and as yet,
neither of us seemed to have gained any ad
vantage, solve got up a at Long Branch,
and determined to decide the momentous
question on that day. "But who shall take
Clara?" said I. will decide," said
Charley, whirling a cent in the air. - "Heads,"
I cried, and heads it was. I could bare kiss
ed the cent, but Charley put it back in his
pocket, and whistling a doleful air, - walked
into the house. The day for our excursion
arrived, as line and fair a day as could have
been desired. All things were ready at an
early hour, and Clara seemed to be perfectly
satisfied with her chaperon. My new horse
had been several days in the stable, and re
ally looked quite juvenile, as he pawed up
the turf in front of the , door. Charley said
he would goats baggage wagon, as he did not
care about taking a lady. So after loading
him down with all kinds of eatables, and. get
ting in and out a dozen times for articles that
could not be dispensed . with, we got 'under
way.
Now, the wise and econominal people in
these parts, had built several bridge's across
the Navesink,'only wide enough fora single
team, except a small turn-out in.the
and . overone of these well-planne - d.bridges
we had to pasS. My horse was •very fresh
and lively, and we were just fairly on the
bridge, when lie showed. a new trick, by try
ing to-take the bit in•his teeth, and bolt; but
by dint of coaxing and a firm hand, I got
him to the turn-out, there to wait for a team
of mules that had. just driven on the other
end. At this moment Charley's high-step
ping horse struck the - bridge behind us, and
cane On at a furious rate; away went my
horse as though he had been made of gun
cotton, and Charley had been a spark of fire,
instead Of a disappointed spark of the young
girl' beside me. "Hold on," shouted the man
withthe, mules., All very well for him to say
hold. on, but you might as well have tried to
stop a razor-back whale, first struck, as stop
that horSe. I felt the cold. chills run down
my back, and told Clara to take a firm hold
of the seat, brace herself,' and not scream ;
gave one more desperate pull-,--thought of my
.pet grey -hounds, and new shooting-tackle, and
all the fine sport I should miss, shut both
eyes and gave myself up to fate. -
The first thing I remember after these
pleaSant sensations; was wakingin a darken
ed room, various bottles, phials, wine-glasses,
tumblers, &0., besides a queer feelinf , b in my
upper 'story, left me the impression that some
one had been hurt, or sick. A quiet old lady
came forward and told me to lay still and get
some sleep, which advice I considered entire
ly superfluous, as I was too weak to move,
and thought I had slept a week already.—
Presently I heard a voice, and Charley came
in on tip-toe, his face beaming with smiles.
"Oh, my dear fellow," said he, "I am glad to
see you yourself again. You must have had
a hard time of it, sir. Crazy, sir, crazy as b.
bed-bug; would hollow whoa, and talked all
kinds of nonsense; but you are all right now;
you'll soon be around again. And now my
boy, I have some news I am going to tell you.
Ned, my boy, I have just been married to
Clara, and she is waiting outside to see you."
"The deuce you have," said I, "now I don't
call that fair. Don't you remember our con
tract? and here you have been and done it
while a body was sick a-bed, "and' crazy to
boot. Now' I really do ,not think it fair.
"My dear fellow, how can you talk .so ; did
you not break the- contract by trying to run
away with her, in the first place, and if you
had not fallen out, where should I have been.
now?"
Clara now opened the door and came in,
looking so happy and contented, that.l could
not find it in my heart to be angry, so, find
ing that nothing could be made by being sick,
with the help of my kind friends, and care
ful nursing, I got well. - I have now a pleas
ant home with Charley and his wife; we made
a very happy trip, and often have a good.
laugh over our adventures. Clara has prom
ised to let Charley go down with me to Squan
for duck-shooting, and if we have any adven
tures, let you inow them. I forgot to say
that I have got rid of my young horse. • Lie
luckily. broke his neck at the time I lost my
wife; and it is only after - a hearty supper and
a bottle of Ileiclsick, that I am troubled with
any visions of him.
1I
tertSting nliStenaltn*.
Colonel Butler and the Inebriate.
THE BATTLE OF WYOMING.
Who is there that has read Campbell's
beautiful poem, "Gertrude of Wyoming,"
and not risen from its perusal with feelings
the most bitter, a hatred the most intense,
toward the band 'a - white and red savages
who laid waste and depopulated that beauti
ful valley. Yet it is more than probable
that, , could the-fact§ be divested.of those dis
torted positions and extravagant coloring
which the excited fancies of the fugitives
gave them, we shoUld find much that has
rendered the story one of the most thrilling
on record, to be mere fable. Enough - is true,
however, to stir up the blood and awaken.
the liveliest emotions of anguish, in perusing
the history of the valley, as written by an.
unbiass,ed and careful pen. Replete with in
cident, it has furnished the pencil of the art
ist with innumerable objects, full of action
and bold relief; and among many others - of
thrilling interest the little circumstances rep
resented in the engraving, will serve to:con
vey an idea of the peculiar position. 'a some
of the actors in that memorable fight and
rout. When the enemy consisting of eleven
hundred tories . and Indians, under the com
mand of Col. John Butler, arrived in the vi
cinity of the valley, they found it undefend
ed by any force which could be considered
respectable, and ; feeling secure of their prey,
they made their head quarters at a fortified
house called Wintermoot's fort, sent out
scouts and foraging parties, and gave them
selves up to riot and debauchery. The in
habitants, finding themselves, deserted by
Congress, and thrown upon their own exer
tions to defend their homes from the torch,
and themselves, their wives and children,
from' the tomahawks of the savages, resolved
as the only hope of success, to march out
and attack the - foe while lulled in fanciful se
eurity. Their whole force, consisting of
about three hundred -old men and boys, di
vided into six companies, and under com
mand of Col. Zebulon. Butler; who happened
to be in the valley at.the time, marched out
of Forty Fort. The women, children, and a
few, old men, were left in the fort to await
with feelings-of the most intense-anxiety, the
issue of a battle on which depended their
lives. The little force was joined by the jus
tices of the courts, and every male inhabi
tant capable of bearing arms, and marched
forward to the contest, strong in-determina
tion, if not in numbers. Tho object was to
surprise the enemy in his camp i. and gain by
stratagem what they lacked in strength.
Col. John Butler was not to be caught nap
ping, however,, and although' encamped in a
very, irregular Manner, 'and exposed to.sucl
'den , surprise, yet his scouts had informed
him of the' march, of .the . little army, and
when they arrived in the.vichaity.of Winter
moot's, they found - his lino drawn up pre
pared to receive them. There was no alter
native but to fight; and the little force was
wheeled into line and harangued by their
brave commander. "Men," 'said he, "yon
der is the enemy. The fate of-the' liardings
tells us what we have to expect if defeated.
We come outto fight not only for liberty,
but for life itself, and what is dearer, to pre
serve our- homes from conflagration and our
women and children froin the tomahawk.—
Stand' firm the first shock, and the Indians
will give away: EVery man to his.duty."
It was about four o'clock
. of . a hot, sultry
afternoon, when .the battle commenced by. an
attack on the enemy's left wing: The contest
was short, sharp and bloody.• 'For half an
hour it was kept' up with• the utmost spirit
and determination, and' promised success to
the Americans,•but an unfortunate mistake
of an, order threw the victory into the hands
of the enemy. - Colonel Dennison, who com
manded the American .left, finding the In
dians who opposed were outflanking him and
getting into his rear, .gave the order to. " fall
. back,' in order to change his position. This
was understood as, an order to retreat, and
was repeated with increasing emphasis along
the line. Fatal error I A few moments more
^PERSEVERE.--.
HUNTINGDON, PA., MARCH 18, 1857.
and the enemy's left, which was composed of
tones, would have given way, and the Indians
would have retreated also. The damage was
irretrievably done, however, and no exhorta
tionsor commands, could rally the broken
division. The Indians sprang from their co
verts In a cloud and fell upon the retreating
Americans, cutting them down by scores ;
and now commenced that fearful massacre
,Which makes the blood run chilled through
, the veins as we read. Desperation lent wings
to the flying fugitives, while "fury raged and
_shuddering pity quit the sanguine field."
•, Finding his efforts to rally the retreating
Ainericans unavailing, and hoping to be able
to "collect a sufficient number to defend the
fort until assistance could arrive, Col. Zebu
lon Butler who had exposed himself to the
fiercest of the battle without regard to his
personal safety, turned his horse's head in
that direction, and hastened forward to the
garrison. As he was speeding along the road
toward the fort, he overtook an Indian war
rior in pursuit of one of his men, who, almost
exhausted, would in a few moments have
yielded, froth utter exhaustion, his scalp to
_the knife of his , purSuer. Having lost his
sword, or there being no time to uSedt, But
ler was compelled to pass the Indian without
attacking him. The danger was too .immi
nent to allow him to stop,for the man, and
was obliged to . . pass hini also. Despair -gave
momentary strength and renewed activity,
- however, to the latter, and springing forward
he seized the long tail of the Colonel's
with
with the grip of 'a vice, and held on the
tenacity of death. The Indian Still continued
to pursue, hoping, probably, that something
would "turn . up" to his advantage. Some
thing did turn up, but not as he •anticipated.
It happened in the morning, when the lit
tle force of defenders marched out to the con
test, One of the number having, in his endeav
ors to raise his latent courage, indulged too
freely in his libations, had laid. down by the
side of a fallen tree and fell asleep while his
comrades marched forward and left him.—
While his friends were selling their lives in
defence of their homes, their wives and child
ren, their all lie was snugly sleeping by the
side of the road, a mile from the scene of
strife. The stupor had worn •off, however,
and as Butler came up, .he was rubbing his
eyes to endeavor to clear up the mist which
enshrouded his faculties. - Perceiving at a
glance the state of the case, Col. Butler, as
he passed the spot, leaned forward and shout
ed to -the man_ to kill the Indian. With a
coolness which
the
have won him laurels
in the battle, the inebriate, resting his elbow
on-the trunk
_of a, fallen tree, took deliberate
aim at the breast of the pursuer, and a mo
ment after he rolled in the dust, dead. Then
as if-he had just discovered the relative posi
tion.of affairs, he took-to his heels and push
ed onward at his utmost speed after the Col
onel.
When the fart was invested by the enemy,
a few dayS afterwards, and Butler found it
untenable he managed to escape therefrom,
and started for the army to bring relief to the
garrison.
I Never Gossip
Oh no, I never gossip I I have enough to
take care of my own business without talk
ing about the: affairs of others, Mrs. Smith.
Why, there is ,Mrs. Crocker, she deals in
scandal by the. wholesale ; it does seem to
me as though that woman's tongue must, be
almost worn out ; but no there's no danger
of that. If everybody was like me there
would not be much trouble in the world.—
Oh no, I never gossip., But did you know
that Miss Elliot had got a new silk dress,
Mrs. Smith? You-didn't I well she has; Ws
a real brocade.; I saw it myself—l do say it's
shameful for-her to be so extravagant; I
mean to give her a piece of my mind, Mrs.
Smith. -You -believe her uncle gave it 'to
her? . Well I don't care if he did; why, its
only two months since her father failed,: and
now, to see-her dash out in such style, its a
burning shame. I suppose she thinks she's
going to catch young lawyer Stanhope, but
I guess she'll find herself mistaken • he's got
more sense than to be caught by her if she
has got a brocade silk dress.
And there's the upstart dressmaker, Kate
Manly, setting her cap for the doctor's son ;
the impertinence of some people is perfectly
astonishing. I don't think she's any better
than she ought to be, for my own part; I
never did like her with her mild soft look,
when any - one's around; my word for it, she
can look cross enough when there ain't;
then she say's she's only seventeen ! Good
ness knows, she's as old as my Arabella Lu
cretia, and she's—well, I wont say how old,
but she's more'n seventeen ,and I aint asham
ed to say so either; but I guess Dr. May's
son .will have more discretion than to think
of marrying her.
Some folks call her hand Some. Well I
don't. - She aint half as good looking as my
daughter Jane. The way she does up her
hair in such fly-away curls ; and, 'if you be
lieve it,'Mrs. Smith, she actually had the
impudence to tell me that she couldn't make
her hair straight as my Maria 'Jane's. Im
pertinence! if she'd let curling irons alone,
I'd risk bUt what her hair would be as
straight as anybody's..
:But what do you think of the minister's
wife, Mrs. Smith? You like her! Well all
I can say, is you've got 'a very peculiar
taste. 'Why she's proud as Lucifer, been
married a-whole week and hasn't been to see
me yet. You presume she hasn't had ,time ?
I don't see what the minister wanted to go
out of town to get him a wife for, any -Way ;
and then .above all things to get that little
girlish looking thing. Why didn't he take
one of his parishoners ? There's my Arabel
la Lucretia, would -make him a better wife
than he's got now. Then she's two years
older than the minister? 'I should think , it
was a pity if I didn't know my daughter's
age, Mrs. Smith I if some folks would Mind
their own business as I do, I'd thank, them.
—"Waverly Magazine. •
. •Excess of ceremony shows want of
breeding; that civility is best which ex
cludes all superfluous ceremony.
40- '''''''.
J :,: ::: .
.r.a 7 , . •
1,..
Nature never did betray the-soul that loved
her ; and nature tells men and women to
marry. Just as the young man is entering
upon life—just as he comes to independence
and man's estate—just as the crisis of his be
ing; is to be solved, and it is to be seen whe
ther he decide with the good, and the great ;
and the true, or whether he sink -and be lost
forever—matrimony gives him ballast tind.
right impulse. War with nature, and she
takes a sure revenge. Tell a young man not
to have an attachment that is virtuous, and
he will have one that is vicious. Virtuous
love, the honest love of a man for a woman
he is about to marry, gives him an anchor,
for his heart : something pure and beautiful
for which to labor and live. And the woman,
what a purple light it sheds upon her path ; it
makes life for no day dream, no idle hour, no
painted shadow, no passing show, but some
thing real earnest, worthy of heart and head.
But most of us are cowards, and dare not
think so ; we lack grace ; we are of little
faith ; our inward eye is dim and dark. The
modern young lady must marry in style ; the
modern young gentleman marries a fortune.
But in the meanwhile the girl grows into an
old maid, and the youth takes chambers—
ogles at the nursery maids, and becomes a
man about town, a man whom it is danger
ous to ask into your house, for his business is
intrigue. The world might have had a happy
couple ; instead, it gets a woman fretful, ner
vous, fanciful, a plague to all around her.—
He becomes a sceptic in all virtue ; a corrupt
er of the youth of both sexes ; a curse in
whatever domestic circle he penetrates. Even
worse may result. She may be deceived and
may die of a broken heart.
He May rush from one folly to another ;
associate only with the vicious and depraved ;
bring disgrace and sorrow on himself and all
around ; and sink into an early grave. Our
great cities show what become of men and
women who do not marry: Worldly fathers
and mothers advise not to marry till they can
afford to support a wife, and the boys wick
edly expend double the amount in low com
pany. Hence it is, all wise men (like Frank
lin) advocate early marriages ; and that all
great men, with rare exceptions have been
men that married young. Wordsworth had
only one hundred pounds a year when he first
married. Lord Eldon was so poor that he
had to go to Clare market, London, to buy
sprats for supper. Coleridge and Southey we
can't find had any income at all when they
got married. We question at any time whe
ther Luther had more than fifty pounds a
year. We blast humanity in its very dawn.
Fathers, you say you teach your sons pru
dence—you do nothing of the kind ; your
worldly-wise and clever son is already ruined
for life. You will find him at the faro table
and at freelove circles. Your wretched world
ly wisdom taught him to avoid the snare of
marrying young, and soon—if he is not in
volved in embarrassments which will last a
life L-he is a blaze fellow—heartless, false,
without a single generous sentiment or manly
aim he has—" No God, no Heaven, in the
wide world l"
The President in 1900
A cotemporary says that the boy is now
'living who will be President of the - Republic
in 1900. What his name is, or where he re
sides, he does not stop to inform us. He
may at this moment be gathering pumpkins
in Oregon, or peddling corn around Troy.
Daniel Webster once made "a new suit of
satinet" by selling catfish at a shilling a
string. Wherever he may be, all uncon
scious of his high destiny, he feels the divin
ity that stirs within him, and grasps his
book, thirsting for knowledge. Ms parents,
as they answer his endless queries, rejoice lit
his developing intellect, yet little dream that
his will be a great name among men, known
wide as the world.• Or perchance the hard
hand of poverty; or the cold hand of orphan
age, are moulding and training him for the
patient effort, that, self-reliance and resolute
Will, that fit hint for great aciiievements.--:-
He must pass through the school that pre
pares him for his high career. In his youth
many.a trial and wrong must break him to
the hardness of life. In his manhood many
hardShips'must be endured, many obstacles
overcome, and rivals outstripped in the race;
the Voice of envy and detraction .despised ;
and hatred and .malice defied. Through
such a school and training the President of
1900 - will doubtless CDIIIO, and is now coming.
But from what condition in life, from what
part of our broad land, no one can predict or
know but Providence, who presides over the
destinies of all nations.
Is there a Maelstrom ?
This question is thus answered by a cotem
porary;—
" Every school boy of the last century has
been taught to believe that there is a Wonder
ful vortex on the coast of Norway, with an
eddy several miles in diameter, and that ships,
and even huge whales, were sometimes drag
ged within its terrible liquid coils, and for
ever 'in ocean's awful depths.'" A corres
pondent of the Scientific American says:
"'I have been informed by a European ac
quaintance that the maelstrom- has no exis
tence. A nautical and scientific commission
went out and sailed all around and all over
where the was said to be, but could
not find it; the sea was as smooth where the
whirlpool ought to be as any other part of
the German ocean.'
"We presume the above is correct. The
latest geographers and gazetteers barely allude
to the maelstrom. Colton, in his large atlas,
gives the site upon his map, but does not al
lude to it in his description of Norway.—
Harper's Gazetteer, in its article on Norway,
says, that 'among the numerous islands an
the west coast there are violent and irregular
currents, -which render the coast navigation
dangerous. Among these is the Celebrated
Mal-Strom, or Meskenacs-Strom, the danger
from which has been greatly exaggerated,
since it can, at nearly all times, be passed
over by boats.' The romance of the mael
strom has been pretty effectually destroyed."
Editor and. Proprietor.
NO. 39,
From the Homo Journal
Mairiage
Politeness.
One of the English infidels Was so struck
with the politeness and good feeling manifest
ed in St. Paul's writings; that he affirmed that
if St. Paul had said that he himself had ever
performed a miracle, he would believe it, be
cause he deemed St. Paul too much of a gen
tleman to tell an untruth. Whatever we
may think of this remark, we cannot but be
struck with the power which politeness had
over the infidel. And as this infidel is not
an exception, it may be well to show some
few of the advantages of being polite.
1. We conform io the Scriptures. If St.
Paul taught politeness by his example—so did
he in his writings: He tells us, "In honor
we must prefer one another.", Here is the
great secret of politenesS, viz:: forgetfulness
of self. In another place he says, "Be cour
teous," in other words—be polite;
2. We make friends. Nothing so wins upon
strangers as true politeness. A little atten
tion, shown in a stage, or in the cars, or at a
public table, costs us very little. But what
an effect it has upon the persons to whom the,
attention is shown. The pleased look, tho
grateful smile, show us we have gained a
friend.
3. Trre increase our usefulness: One reason
ivhyministers and good Christian people have
no more influence, is on account of their sour
face and forbidding countenance. They l'.ok
as if they said—Keep away from me. But
if they allow the vulgar to approach within
reach of their majestic presence, there is a
pompous manner or way they have, which
prevents the hearts of others going out to
them ; and thus influence over such people is
lost.
4. B gives success. Let any man who has
goods to sell, or office to attain, be kind and .
polite, no sham—like that put on by the pol
iticians—and his goods are sold, and his office
reached, ten times sooner than the man who
looks mad, and cuts you up as he cuts off his
calicoes and clothes:
Politeness, of all things earthly, costs tho
least. But its power, it is not saying too
much, is tremendous. The polite man, other
things being anything like equal, will accom
plish good in the world, 01, er the rest of tho
world without this accomplishment:
A Constant Miracle.
The - Bible itself, says Prof. Maelagan, is a
standing and an astonishing miracle. .Writ
ten, fragment by fragment, throughout tho
course of fifteen centuries, under different
states of society and in different languages,
by persons of the most opposite tempers, tal
ents and conditions, learned and unlearned,
prince and peasant, bond and free; cast
into every fOrm of instructive composition
and good writing, history, prophecy, poetry,
allegory, emblematic representation, judi
cious interpretation, literal statement, pre
cept, example, proverbs, disquisition, epistle,
sermon, prayer, in short, all rational shapes
of human discourse, and treating, moreover,
on subjects not obvious, but most difficult—
its authors are not found like other writers;
contradictini , one another upon the most or
dinary matters of fact and opinion, but aro
at harmony upon the whole of their stblimo
and momentous scheme.
Domestic Receipts.
We extract the following good-looking re
ceipts from various numbers of 2 7 ha Homo;
stead :
OYSTER Sou - P, (finel)—Take one quart of
oysters and separate them from the liquor,
- wash them thoroughly in a pint of water,
strain the liquor;, add one pint of milk, some
mace, netnTeg, and pepper, with three crack
ers pounded fine, add one-fourth pound of
butter to the liquor, boil all together about
five minutes, take it off the fire, when about
to serve up the soup, put in the oysters and
let all boil one minute. The soup will then
be ready for the table; for each quart of oys
ters, a pint of milk must be added and every
other ingredient in proportion to the quanti-'
ty required. Three pints of oysters are suf
ficient for eight persons.
SCALLOPED OYSTERS.—Two quarts of oys
ters, eight soda crackers; butter a deep dish,
sprinkle in cracker crumbs, then a layer of
oysters; a little salt and pepper ; little' mace ;
bits of butter; wine glass of wine poured over
the whole.
CRACKERS roll. mrtn Srcx:—Ond pound of
flour; one egg, not beaten; one tablespoon of
yeast; one tablespoon of cream ; a little salt;
mix all to g ether with milk to a stiff paste, and
beat them twenty minutes with a rolling pin,
to be rolled in small pieces round, separately,
very thin:
en : ARLES PUDDING, (fine!)—One cup of su
crar • one cup of sweet milk; one egg; one >,,ta
blespoon of melted butter; half a teaspoon
of soda .dissolved in the milk; teaspoon of
cream of tartar sifted through the flour. Eat
with wine sauce, and bake in a loaf.
APPLE FLOAT.—Tho white of two•eggs well
beaten; add to it, four spoonfuls of sugar, and
Sli apples stewed, and drained until quite
dry. These ingredients must be beaten a
long time; add also a lemon to it. Then
make either a soft or a hard custard, and put
at the bottom of the dish, and lay the mix
ture on the top. Ornament with sugar mites.
APPLE PUDDING, (delicious!)—One pound
of apples stewed and strained; one pound of
sugar; six eggs; one pint of cream; six oun
ces of butter; glass of wine, and a little nut
meg. Paste on the bottom of the dish, and .
bake like a pie.
GATE.ir DES Poatims.—Put three quarters
of a pound of loaf sugar in a stew pan, with
a pint of water, and when dissolved and re4dy
to candy, take two pounds of apples pared
and cored, the peel of a lemon, chopped very
fine, and part of the juice. Boil it until
quite stiff, and put in a mould; when turned
out for use, stick it with blanched almond,
and put a rich custard in the dish.
FINE Mumss.—One quart of milk, three
eggs, teaspoon of salt; four tablespoons of
yeast; flour to make it stiff enough for a bat
ter; butter the size of an egg. The milk
mast be blood warm.
COOKIES.—Ten ounces of sugar, one guar•
ter pound of butter, one egg, carge teaspoon
of .sakeratus ' dissolved in two-thirds of a tea
cup of milk. They . should be rolled vory
soft.
I—Nobody seems to have heard of that
chap at Aberdeen, Miss., who just came home
from a year's absence in Nicaragua. On his
way up from the landing he met quite anum
ber of ladies. After kissing his sister, &c.,
"Pray," said he, "aro all the girls in Aber
deen married? I met Miss "Why
brother, Miss A---- isn't married." "Not
married! Nor Miss 11---? nor MissC—?
nor Miss,"—"Oh, pshaw I brother," said Sis
just beginning to catch the idea, "that's noth
ing but hoops."
MIND TOUR PRONIINCIATIONS.-A young
gentleman of our acquaintance created quito
a sensation a few evenings since while read
ing to a circle of young ladies a. poetic effu
sion:—"To a beautiful Belle," by pronoun.
cing the latter word in two yllablos:'