TERMS OF THE GLOBE.
Per annum in advance
Six months
Three months
A failure to notify a discontinuance at the expiration of
the term subsoribed for will be considered a new engage
naent,
TERMS OF ADVERTISING
1 insertion. 2 do. 3 do.
Pour lines or less, $ 25 $ 37% $ 50
One square, (12 lines,) 50 75 1 00
Two squares, 1 00 1 50 2 00
'Three squares, 1 50 2 25 3 00
Over three week and less ,than three months, 25 cents
per square for each insertion.
3 months. 6 months. 12 months.
Mx lines or less, $1 50 $3 00 $5 00
Ono square, 3 00 5 00 7 00
Two squares, 5 00 8 00 10 00
Three squares, 7 00 10 00 15 00
Four squares, 9 00 13 00 1..20 00
Half a column, 12 03 15 00 24 00
One column, 9 0 00 ,30 00 50 00
Professional and Business Cards not exceeding four lines,
one year, $3 00
Administrators' and Executors' Notices, $1 75
Advertisements not marked with the number of inser
tions desired, will be continued till forbid and charged ac
kording to these terms.
tJtctrottu.
BY-AND-BY.
There is an angel over near,
When toil and trouble vex and try,
That bids our fainting hearts take cheer,
And whispers to us—" Ily-and-hy."
We hear it at our mother's knee ;
With tender smile and 'event eye,
She grants some boon on childish plea,
In these soft accents—" By-and•by."
What visions crowd the youthful breast—
What holy aspirations high,
Nerve the young heart to do its best,
And wait the promise—" By-and-by."
The maiden sitting sad and lone,
Her thoughts half uttered with a sigh,
Nurses the grief she will not own,
And dreams bright dreams of
The pale young wife dries up her tears,
And stills her restless infant's cry,
To catch the coming step, but hears,
now sadly whispered—"l3y-and-by."
And manhood with its strength and will,
To breast life's ills and fate defy,
Though fame and fortune be his still,
His plans that lie in—" By-and-by."
The destitute, whose scanty fare,
The weary task can scarce supply,
prects the dim visage of despair,
With Hope's fair promise—" By-and-by."
The millions whom oppression wrongs,
Send up to Heaven their wailing cry,
And writhing in the tyrants thongs,
Still hope for freedom—"lty-and-by."
Thus ever o'er life's rugged way,
This angel bending from the slay,
Beguiles our sorrows day by day,
With her sweet whisperings—'
elcct
THE RICH COUSII4
" But, my dear father, he has had undis
turbed possession so long, that it is cruel to
reduce him to beggary now."
" Cruel ! You know nothing of the sweets
of revenge, boy, or you would not say that.
Think you that I have waited all these years
to gratify a purpose, and now when the time
comes, give it up because it is cruel?"
"But his wife and children? Surely you
will not—cannot punish the innocent for the
guilty?".
"In that is my revenge. What would pov
erty be to Edward Leicester alone? No, no,
he must see his family stripped of all the
luxuries they have so wrongfully enjoyed ;
he must lose his proud position, and labor for
their bread ; he must encounter all the hor
rors of the most absolute poverty before I can
be satisfied."
" Father, this is horrible! You will crush
out all the love and reverence my sainted
mother so carefully sought to instil into my
heart. Ido not believe now that you can be
serious in this matter, or that you will load
your conscience with so much guilt. We are
wealthy. Even now I am at a loss how to
spend the income that is mine. What do we
want with your cousin's possessions ? Let
him live in peace. - It will be a sweeter re
venge than any you can take."
" Silence, boy ! This is no affair for you
to meddle with ; and though my fond indul
gence gives you much license, beware how
you abuse it by interfering in what you do
not understand. I have told you my plans
now, not because I wanted your advice, know
ing that you would find them out ou our ar
rival in England. The instant I set foot on
my native land I shall take steps to carry out
those plans and no impertinent interference
of yours can prevent their succeeding. You
have mentioned your mother—another act of
disobedience. 'Tis a pity you do not resem
ble her as much in mind as you do in p k rson.
I never had occasion to remind her twice of
her duty. And now let this conversation
cease, never to be renewed. Whatever Ido
I will not have questioned; and I warn you
never again to excite my anger by like con
duct."
Dear reader, after such conversation, need
we say that Colonel Leicester was an over
bearing tyrant—hard-hearted and revengeful,
domineering, often cruel to his dependents,
pitiless to his foes, feared by his friends, with
but one spot in his heart, and that occupied
by his only son.
True, the Colonel had loved his wife—a
beautiful gentle creature—who never in her
life presumed to contradict him, or dared to
oppose his will. But she was born to be cher
ished and sheltered, and the cold formality
of her life withered the warm young heart
'pining for its mate. Her husband wished
her to dress like a princess! and to please him
she robed her slender figure in the richest
satins, her pale brow arched under the spark
ling gems that pressed it, and diamonds glit
tered on her fair neck and arms. But she
sighed for the days when free and happy she
wandered amid the hills of her "highland
home," and shuddered at the thought that
.her grave should be made under the burning
Eastern sky.
. Once only did Mrs. Leicester venture to ask
iher husband to let her " see her home once
more;" then silenced by his cold refusal, she
without a murmur submitted to her fate, and
calmly resigned herself to die. It was an
unexpected piece of rebellion on the part of
his gentle' partner, and Cclonel Leicester was
astonished when informed that she was no
more. He had told her that he wished her
to get better—in fact, she must get better—
and she had disobeyed him, hence his sorrow
was largely mingled with anger, and he for
bade her name ever to be mentioned in his
"-presence. This prohibition fell heavily upon
his son, who, idolizing the memory of his
mother, could with difficulty refrain from
speakingof her; and favorite as he was, this
- was a fault that always drew on him his fa
ther's anger and reproach.
At the time our story opens, young Lei
cester was in his eighteenth year. His father
did not speak Chatruth when he expressed a
... .... .$1 50
75
.. . 50
wish that he bad resembled his mother in
temper ; for in his secret heart did the old
man rejoice at the evidence of a fine manly
spirit already manifested by his son. And
the handsome noble-like youth, possessed
great influence over his parent, though not
sufficient to turn him from his revengeful
purposes. Brought up in the East amid scenes
and with habits foreign to his nature, young
Leicester joyfully left his native hind to seek
the early home of his parents, and the knowl
edge of his father's purposes was the first
cloud that overshadowed his happiness. One
week after that conversation they landed in
England.
Had England been searched over, alappi
er man than Edward Leicester could scarcely
have been found at the time we commenced
this little history. The devoted husband of
an excellent and amiable wife, the proud and
happy father of three lovely children, the
possessor of a magnificent home, and an in
come more than adequate to meet his utmost
wishes, surrounded by friends and a prosper
ous tenantry—what could man wish for more?
Edward Leicester knew these privileges,
and was thankful for them. No man could
say that in word or deed he had offended
him ; and endless were the blessings bestow
ed on the kind landlord, the liberal master,
and the firm friend. No formal ceremony,
no forced show of humility, prompted the
greeting that everywhere met the Leicesters,
that taught the cottager's wife to curtesy, and
the laborer to touch his hat at their approach.
And Edward Leicester loved his people; and
never lost an opportunity of increasing their
comfort, and adding to their means. He
built them new cottages, he planted them
fruit trees, he gave them a school, and he en
couraged education. His wife, no less ener
getic and enthusiastic, attended to other wants,
and unlike many of her station, she sought
for and relieved their necessities, ere she ex
pected them to comply with all her wishes.
Again we say, a happier man, a happier
family, or one that better deserved prosperi
ty, could scarce have been found in all Eng
land. But sorrow and trial were in store,
misfortune as complete as it was unexpected,
and poverty as distressing as it was unde
served.
-" By-and-by."
"My dear Mary, you look sad this even
ing. Surely, that is a scene to inspire you
with pleasant thoughts." And Edward Lei
cester passed his arni around his wife's waist,
and leading her to the open window, pointed
to the lawn on which their children were mer
rily sporting.
"I feel sad, Edward," was the low response.
"An unusual presentment of evil has pos
sessed me all day, nor can I look on my chil
dren without a feeling of "terror."
"My dear wife, this is unusual for you,"
said Edward. " Certainly, at present we have
no reason to apprehend any trouble; but
should misfortunes come, we must meet them
with fortitude. Poverty, earth's bitterest
trial, we have no reason to dread:"
Alas ! for the confidence in earthly riches!
That day week, Edward Leicester and his
family were far away from the scenes of their
happiness, homeless, almost penniless, and
with the humiliating consciousness that for
many years they had been appropriating the
inheritance of another.
"It is time to talk over our plans for the
future, my Mary," said the husband and fath
er as the family gathered together on the first
night after their arrival in the humble Lon
don lodging-house that must henceforth be
their home. "Our means are barely suffi
cient for present wants, and I must lose no
time in seeking employment. At present I
am unable to determine what I had better
try first."
" My husband, this is the cruelest blow of
all," replied Mary. " Freely would I have
yielded up all we loved so well—freely have
endured poverty and privation; but to see you
labor for our daily bread I oh, my Edward, it
is hard, very bard !" And the loving wife,
who without a murmur had parted with the
luxuries and comforts which long use had
made necessaries, wept at the thought of her
husband's trials.
" Mary, you know that for years I have in
dulged my love of painting as an amusement,
and have been called no mean artist," said
Edward. " What better plan can I adopt
than now to make it a source of profit?"
It was with sincere sorrow that Mrs: Lei
cester gave her consent to this proposal ; but
feeling at last that without something of the
kind her children must perish from want, she
smothered her grief, and her smile and kind
caress cheered the heart of the weary , artist,
when, in long after days he was sinking un
der the united effects of incessant toil and re
peated disappointment.
Colonel Leicester felt that his revenge was
complete, when those whom he had employed
to watch the proceedings of the ruined family
informed him that not only was his cousin
laboring for an existence, but that his wife
also had felt herself called on to lend her as
sistance, and was even then toiling day and
night to meet their increasing expenses.
" Ha, revenge is sweet !- Truly, this is an
hour worth living for !" was his exulting ex
clamation on hearing of their poverty.
His son made no remark ; he bad long felt
how useless was remonstrance. But the sum
intended for the purchase of a splendid ad
dition to his " sportsmanlike possessions"
found its way to the humble home of his rel
atives, where it proved a seasonable and most
welcome gift.
" Can Charles have relented, and taken
pity on his victims 2" was Edward's excla
mation on beholding the banknotes.
"It is not from him. Too well do I know
his implacable nature to imagine this most
welcome present is his," replied Mrs. Leices
ter, who found it very hard to forgive the man
who with abundant wealth had turned them
all penniless into the world.
"Never mind, mamma, who sent it I" ex
claimed little Marian, the pet of the house
hold. " I will pray for blessings on our kind
friend for sending us money to buy sister
Alice medicine and brother Charley books."
The mother -looked at her sick child—her
delicate, beautiful Alice—on whose sensitive
WILLIAM LEWIS,
VOL. XI,
4.
i: - . -
.4 , -
Y.:'
::14
?J'.' .
:-.i., 1, -.:-.!...; `4..'v ,
) L
:r: . ~.., ..;'.,,-
ik ~..-, `.
~•-..- r;', #
. - ~..,
••
nature her parent's distresses had produced
a most alarming effect, and a fervent benedic
tion was bestowed on the unknown for the
much needed assistance. Three months after
when Colonel Leicester heard that his cousin's
eldest daughter was no more, he renewed his
rejoicings with almost fiendish delight.
" You little thought when you rejected me
with scorn, Mary Wyndham, that the day
would come, when I should mock at your sor
row and rejoice at your bereavement!" he ex
claimed; "nor did your proud husband dream
that his defeated rival would one day crush
him to the dust, and exult over his fallen
pride."
But Colonel Leicester was far from being
at ease even when triumphing at the success
of his schemes. Knowing the generous na
ture of his son, he was in daily dread of hear
ing him avow a determination to visit his
relative, even in defiance of the curse he had.
threatened to pronounce on him in case of
such disobedience. But young Leicester had
been too early impressed with the reverence
due to his parent to hazard so fearful a con
sequence. The dead mother's teachings were
strong in his heart, and he felt compelled to
content himself with occasionally sending
his cousins such sums of money as he could
venture on - without exciting his father's sus
picions. It was therefore with sincere pleas
ure that the Colonel gave him permission to
travel for a few years in company with a most
estimable gentleman about to leave his native
land in search of health.
We must now pass over a space of six
years, during which the relative positions of
the two families were but little changed.—
Edward Leicester's circumstances had slight
ly improved, but he still found it necessary
to labor at his pencil for a maintenance. His
son Charles now nearly eighteen, was in a
situation of but little profit, but which bid
fair to reward him some day.
The Colonel had grown very old in that
short time. He had discovered that revenge
was not quite so sweet as he had imagined.
Unpleasant thoughts would arise at times,
and something very near akin -to remorse,
whenever he thought on the child he could
not but feel his cruelty had murdered. Again
it was annoying to reflect that he made him
self an object of hatred to his people; that
one and all had deserted him, and drew un
pleasant comparisons between him and their
former landlord. His son, too, gave. him
many a heartpang ; for well he knew that,
disguise it as he might, the noble young man
in his inmost soul looked with horror on his
father's guilty revenge. Altogether it was
not wonderful that Colonel Leicester looked
old, that his hair had grown gray, and the
marks of care had come thickly on his coun
tenance.
Our next scene opens on the banks of one
of those beautiful " lochs," the pride of Scot
land and the delight of poets. A blue sky
and a bright sunshine were not wanting ; nor
fine old trees, nor distant hills and rocks—all
that artists love to paint and poets to sing of.
But the loveliest object in our picture was a
fair young girl, who, gazing thoughtfully on
the blue waters, looked the very personifica
tion of graceful beauty. She stood on a
branch of an overwlielniing tree, the other
carelessly holding a gypsey hat, the long blue
ribbon of which trailed down to hqr feet.—
Her white dress was perfectly plain, and
there was something in her whole attire that
showed her one who wore no ornaments ;
while her exceeding beauty at once told the
beholder that there was little need of them.
Long she stood in silent thought, all un
conscious that one was gazing on her in
wrapt astonishment, with quickly throbbing
heart and strange emotions. With a start
the maiden raises her head and beholds the
intruder. The next instant makes a back
ward movement—her balance is lost; for a
second she seems falling into deep waters—
another, and the stranger's arm is around
her, he clasps her to his breast, and she feels
that she is saved from a fearful death.
After such an introduction, was it likely
that they should be other than friends ?
They met again and again in those shady
walks on the banks of the beautiful loch, and
Marian Leicester (for the maiden was none
other than she we last saw as a child) gave
her heart into the keeping of the stranger.—
And stranger he truly was, for she did not
even know the name of him who had gained
so great an influence over her future life.—
She loved him passionately, devotedly, with
all the strength of an innocent, unworldly
heart ; and he returned her affection with a
-love no less sincere and pure. Yet never for
an instant did the young girl forget the duty
she owed her parents. No promise would
she make him, and he reverenced her for her
filial respect.
" Fain would I call you mine, Marian," he
said, when the time came that the maiden
must return to her English home. -" Happy
should I be to call you my own betrothed, but
I dare not ask you to do aught displeasing to
your parents. All I may say is, do not for
get me. We shall meet again, when I may
openly avow my name, and with the sanction
of your friends, claim your promise. Until
then, darling, keep me in your heart, and ne
ver doubt my truth. I shall come to you
sometime. It may be very shortly—it may
not be for years ; but I shall come, never
doubt that."
Marian promised all he asked, and then the
farewell words were spoken. For one instant
she was clasped to his heart, his first kiss
was imprinted. on her brow, and they parted.
The night after her arrival at home, Marian
Leicester told her parents everything. Very
slightly did she allude to her feelings on the
subject, but readily the mother's heart divi
ned all her child might have expressed.
" Heaven shield my darling from the mis
ery of a blighted, disappointed existence I"
was the mother's prayer.
" Let us trust in Providence, my wife," ob
served her husband. " That our child loves
an honorable man his conduct proves. I am
deeply grieved at the course of events, but
they might have been worse. Our Marian
has returned to us with recovered health and
strength ; let us not repine that new love has
~--PERSEVERE.^
HUNTINGDON, PA., APRIL 15, 1857.
brought light to her eyes and joy to her young
heart."
The father's words seemed prophetic. Mar
ian Leicester—the quiet, reserved Marian—
was wonderfully changed. Her merry songs
were ever on her countenance; and her words,
always kind and pleasant, now took a ten
derer tone.
It was summer when she parted from her
lover. For six months the remembrance of
those happy days was a pleasant dream; but
Christmas came, AO with it a token that an
other also remembered. Mr. Leicester look
ed sad as he perused the few lines addressed
to himself ; but he placed on his child's hand
the costly gem which her unknown lover had
requested him to allow her to accept, and
though pained at the continued mystery,
there was nothing he could reasonably feel
displeased with in the letter itself. On the
contrary, it breathed sentiments the most hon
orable to the stranger.
On Marian the letter and its accompanying
present produced very little effect; and her
father felt some surprise at her indifference.
" Are you aware of the value of that ring,
my child ?" he said one day, looking at the
sparkling gem on her finger. "Do you know
that none but a very wealthy man could make
you a present of so valuable a diamond ?"
"I always knew he was wealthy, dear fath
er," replied Marian, "but that makes no dif
ference. I should have been as happy had
his letter not came. I needed nothing to re
mind me of my promise."
- The winter passed, and when the spring
came Charles Leicester received an offer from
his.employer to go to China and transact bu
sinass for him—an offer so good that the
young man felt unable to refuse. It was a
sad for the whole family; but none
dared make objections to what was so obvi
ously for the benefit of the beloved friend and
brother. After his departure, Edward Lie
cester's health declined visibly. He lost the
energy that had hitherto characterised his
endeavors to maintain his family, and again
they were made to suffer all the evils of pov
erty.
Early in the spring they heard that Colonel
Leicester and his son had returned to India,
the health of the former having suffered se
verely from his short sojourn in his native
land. The estate was given in charge of an
agent. The friend, whose secret aid had so
materially assisted the stricken family, ap
peared to have forgotten them. Marian's un
known lover preserved the strictest silence,
and the summer passed sadly to the parents
and sbild in the gloomy old house they made
their home.
Before the autumn came serious fears were
entertained about the safety of the ship in
which Charles had gone out as passenger.—
This was the crowning of their misery. Even
Marian's brave heart yielded to this great
sorrow; and but for one hope she would pro
bably have given way in despair. As it was,
in her deepest grief there came the remem
brance of her promise, and she fought bravely
with her fears, lest health and beauty should
leave her. She knew that in his eyes she
had been exceedingly fair—and must he re
turn to find her a miserable invalid ? No,
she would hope on ; something whispered to
her heart that her brother would return, and
they should be happy.
The old proverb says, when affairs get to
the worst, they generally " take a turn for
the better ;" and it proved so in Edward Lei
cester's case. Their money all gone, himself
confined to a sick bed, his wife vainly striv
ing to earn enough to support them, and Mar
ian worn out with anxiety and toil, nothing
could be more gloomy than their prospects,
when a letter arrived from Charles—a letter
doubly welcome, as the token of his safety
and the bearer of welcome assistance.
The same post brought the announcement
of Colonel Leicester's death, and a letter from
his own hand, written on his death-bed. In
it he bequeathed his English property to Mar
ian, on condition that she became the wife of
his son. Of her he spoke affectionately—her
parents he had evidently not forgotten.
This letter was a cruel blow to the gentle
hearted girl, and. was the cause of more suf
fering than all her previous trouble com
bined. She felt that one word of her's would
place her parents in affluence for ever—re
moving them effectually from the fear of
poverty or want. But could she speak of it?
Could she forever crush out of her heart all
those sweet hopes that through so many tri
als had sustained her drooping spirits?—
Could she consent to marry her unknown
cousin, of whom she absolutely knew nothing,
and forever banish the remembrance of BIM
who alone could possess her heart? And
must she see those dear parents in sickness
and suffering, pining for the comforts in her
power to bestow'? The thought was distrac
tion.
But Edward Leicester and his wife loved
their child too well to see her sacrifice her
self for their benefit. The character of their
young cousin was totally unknown to them,
and the father had done little to prepossess
them in favor of the child. Marian was for
bidden to vex herself with any more ques
tions on the subject.
Our happiness would be dearly bought by
the sacrifice of yours, my darling," whisper
ed the mother, as she pressed her child to
her bosom, and kissed away the tears from
her pale cheeks.
Filled with gratitude for their unselfish
kindness, the poor girl parted with the pre
cious token she had received from her un
known lover, and with the proceeds obtained
for her invalid father numerous little luxu
ries rendered absolutely necessary by long
custom.
"Marian!" She was seated in the dingy
little room they called their parlor; tears
were on her cheek, and painful thoughts
were evidently occupying her mind; but the
sound of that voice has driven them away,
the tears that are now falling are tears of
joy,-for once more Marian is clasped to her
lover's heart. "My own, have you doubt
ed?" he continued; "despaired of my com
ing ?" forgotten your promise?"
"Never, never," she replied. "But oh,
the trouble, the poverty 1"
. 5 1 7
"Hush, my Marian, it is all at an end,"
said her lover. No more care, no more sor
row; nought but joy and love for my beauti
ful bride."
With mingled feelings the father gave his
consent to his daughter's bethrothal. He
felt that the stranger exerted a great influ
ence over himself, that he felt peculiarly in
terested in him; yet the mystery of his name
was still unsolved, and that excited suspi
cion.
"In two days you shall know all," said
the young man; "at present my anxiety to
remove you from this wretched place will
not admit of my now making the long expla
nations that will be necessary. Surely you
cannot doubt me ?"
Edward Leicester gazed searchingly into
those truthful, earnest eyes, and felt that his
fears were groundless.
It was the afternoon of the second day.—
For many long hours the party had travelled
without rest, and Mr. Leicester and his wife
were leaning wearily back in the luxurious
carriage so carefully provided for the com
fort of the invalid. The bright autumn sun
shone in at the windows, the roads were
dusty, the air was oppressive; Marian re
moved her bonnet. The sight of her unglov
ed hand appeared to suggest a thought to
her companion.
"I have never seen you wear your ring,
Marian," said he. " Did it not meet your
approval? or is your dislike of ornaments so
great?"
He was watching her attentively, and she
blushed deeply at the confession she was
about to make.
"I kept it through long months of poverty
and distress," she replied, and once I thought
that nothing would tempt me to part with it.
But a few weeks since my father saved me
from a fate worse than death, and in grati
tude I felt compelled to give it up, painful as
the sacrifice was."
"And so it would have 'been 'a fate worse
than death' to have married your rich cous
in, would it Marian ?" said her companion.
"That little speech is more precious to me
than a thousand assurances of your love.—
But here we are at our journey's end."
Before Marian could recover from aston
ishment to inquire how he had learned her
well kept secret, the carriage turned into a
magnificent avenue of trees, dashed past the
gate-keeper's lodge, and in a few seconds
drew up at the entrance of an elegant and
familiar mansion.
Springing to the ground, the young man
assisted his companions to alight, and then
led them 'confused and puzzled into the
house, where bowing attendants ushered them
into the well-remembered rooms. Edward
Leicester and his family were in their old
home, and to their companion they now
looked for a solution of the mystery.
"This is Marian's home, and I am Bern
ard Leicester," was his answer to the inquir
ing looks and words. "My father's com
mand, not my own will, kept up the decep
tion. He wished me to put my betrothed
wife to a severe proof, and truly she has
nobly passed through it; and in my new
character I must strive to obliterate any lin
gering prejudices she may entertain against
a marriage with her RICII COUSIN."
31. 31.
We love to believe there is more moral good
ness than depravity in human nature. When
we see one tear of pity drop from the eye, it
gives more pleasure than would the finding of
a diamond. There is goodness—real and un
selfish—in the heart, and we have seen it man
ifest itself to the making of a scene of sorrow
the vestibule of heaven. For him who is al
ways picking out flaws of his neighbor's char
acter, we have no sympathy. Ile reminds us
of those birds who resort to the dead and de
cayed. limbs to feast on worms. In the char
acters of most men we shall find more good
than evil—more kindness than hate—and
why should we seek to pick out the flaws and
pass over the sterling traits of character ?
We hold this to be the true doctrine to por
tray real goodness and hold it up to the gaze
and admiration of all, while we suffer the
evil to remain in the shade and die. If every
picture of human nature were only pure and
beautiful, we are inclined to believe that we
should have thousands of such characters
living and loving around us.
LITTLE RULES.-Cut lemon and orange
peel, when fresh, into a bottle kept full of
brandy. This brandy gives a - delicious fla
vor to pies, cakes, &c. Rose leaves may be
preserved in brandy. Peach leaves steeped
in it, make an excellent seasoning for cus
tards and puddings.
Keep a bag or old pieces of tape and
strings and a bag or box for old buttons.
A little salt sprinkled in starch, -while
boiling, prevents sticking ; it is also good to
stir it with a clean sperm candle.
Green tea is good to restore rusty silk. It
should be boiled in iron—a cup full to three
quarts. The silk should not be wrung, but
ironed damp.
Lime sifted through course muslin, and
stirred pretty thick with the white of an egg,
makes a strong cement for a glass or china.
Plaster of Paris pulverized, is still better,
and should be stirred by the spoonful as it is
wanted.
When the stopper of a glass decanter is
too tight, a cloth wet with hot water and ap
plied to the neck will cause the glass to ex
pand and the stopper may be easily remov
ed.
"Hallo!" ejaculated an anxious guar
dian to his lovely niece, as ho entered the
parlor, and saw her on the sofa in the arms
of a swain who had just popped the ques
tion, and sealed it with a smack—" What's
the time of day now?"
"I should think it was now about half
past twelve," was the cool reply; "you see
that we are almost one."
gThore is a man in Cincinnati in pos
session of a powerful memory. He's em
ployed by the Humane Society "to remem
ber the poor."
Editor and Proprietor.
NO. 43.
Virtue in Man
Re-Interment of Mary Jane Tompkinat.
REMARKABLE PRESERVATION OF TUE CORPSE:
—We were present on the 27th ult., says the
Vicksburg ,S'entinel, at the disinterment of the
remains of Mrs. Mary Jane Tompkins ; first;
consort of Hon. P. W. Tompkins, former
member of Congress of this District, and sis
ter of ex-Governor Helm, of Kentucky.. She
had been interred seventeen years on the 14th
instant, enclosed in a zinc coffin, filled with
alcohol, which was re-enclosed in a wooden
coffin, and all carefully packed, in charcoal.
The wooden coffin and the top of the zinc one
were somewhat decayed, but the corpse itself
was in a perfect state of preservation; fea
tures natural, and hair as flexible as in life.
The object of the disinterment was the re
moval of the remains from a private lot, to
one in the public cemetery; Its the former
might ; in the course of years; iM,ss into the
hands of strangers: Among the affecting
incidents of the interesting occasion, was the
presence of the only daughter of the deceased;
who was but a child at the time of the death
of the deceased; and who now finds protec
tion and a shelter in the family who have se
long watched and guarded the ashes of her
deceased mother, and who have just given td
those ashes a more secure and permanent
resting place, where the flowers which affec
tion may plant, can grow and blossom with
out fear of being bruised by profane feet:
To-Morrow,
To-morrow is a time that never comes. It
is the rainbow, albeit we see its base resting
on the hill directly in our path, is still, no
matter how far we may advance, just as far
removed as when we first commenced pur
suit. To-morrow is written by angels among
the stars, and comes not here, save in tho
dreams that hope whispers to our heart.
What we most prize and cherish, and long
for, lies often in to-morrow:
Our ideas, our holiest affections, our sym
pathies, our soul's highest soarings centre
there, and wealth, and fame, and all that man
believes his blessing, beam out of to-morrow,
as the purest diamonds in the dark; and light
us towards their pursuit. Therefore, it is
that we honor and love, and worship to-mor-;
row; we could not live and enjoy ourselves
without it. It never comes, it is true, more
than the ignzts fatuus comes to those who fol
low it—but it brings pleasant dreams, and
fills our slumbering ears with sweetest mu
sic, and binds up our weak hearts with reso-:
lutions ; and for noble offices it has our hear
ty benison.
FARMERS.—Adam was a farmer while yei
in Paradise, and after his fall commanded to
earn his bread by the sweat of his brow.
Job the honest, and upright, and patient,
was a farmer, and in patience he passed into
a proverb.
Socrates was a farmer, and yet wedded to
his calling the glory of his immortal philoso
phy.
St. Luke was a farmer,. and divides with
Prometheus the honor of subjecting the ox to
the use of man.
Cincinnatus was a fafmer the noblest Ro
man of them all.
Burns was a farmer and the muse found
him at the plow, and filled his soul with po
etry.
Washington - was a farther, and retired from
the highest earthly station to enjoy the quiet
of rural life and present to the world a spec
tacle of human greatness.
The enthusiastic Lafayette—the steadfast
Pickering—the scholastic Jefferson =— the ver
satile Randolph—all found an Eldorado of
consolation from the cares and troubles of
life, in the green and verdant lawns that sur=
round their homesteads.
Scarlet Fever and Small Fox.
Dr. William Fields, of Wilmington, Dela=
ware, gives publicity to the following recipe;
which, he says, if faithfully carried out, will
cure forty five cases out of fifty:
SCARLET FEVER.—For adults, give one
table-spoonful of good brewer's yeast, in
three table-spoonfuls of sweetened water,-
three times a day; and if the throat is much
swollen, gurgle with yeast, and apply yeast
to the throat as a poultice, mined with Indi-*
an meal. Use plenty of catnip tea, to keep
the eruption out of the skin for several days.
Suxid, Fox.—Use the above doses of yeast
three times a day, and milk diet throughout
the entire disease. Nearly every case can
be cured, without leaving a pockmark.
A BEAUTIFUL THOUGEFT.—TheTO is but a
breath of air and a beat of the heart between
this world and the next. And in the brief
interval of painful and awful suspense, while
we feel that death is present with us, that WO
are powerless=and the last faint pulse here
is but the prelude of endless life hereafter--
we feel in the midst of the stunning calamity
about to befall us, that earth has no comppn
sating good to mitigate the severity of our
loss. But there is no grief without some ben
eficial provision to soften its intenseness.—
When the good and lovely die, the memory
of their good deeds, like the moon-beams, on
the stormy sea, light up our darkened hearts,-
and lends to the surrounding gloom a beauty
so sad; so sweet that we would not, if we
dispel the darkness that environs them.
ELEGANT ExTRACT.•-A man who would
systematically and willfully set about cheat
ing a printer, would commit highway robbe
ry on a crying baby and rob it of its ginger
bread—rob a church of its counterfeit pen
nies—lick the butter off a blind nigger's last
"flitter"—pawn his grandmother's specks
for a drink of whiskey—steal acorns from a
blind sow; and take clothes from a scare crow,
to make a respectable appearance in society.
A man who would cheat a printer, would
steal the coppers from a dead nigger's eyes
—steal the hay from a blind ram, and sue hie•
widowed mother for his father's funeral ex- -
penses.
mr" May I leave a few Tracts ?" asked a
missionary of an elderly lady, who responded
to his knock:
" Leave some tracks!—certainly you may, 4
said she, looking at him most benignly over
her specks ; " leave them with the heels to
wards the house, if you please."
If a girl thinks more of her heels than
of her head, depend upon it she will never
amount to much. Brains which settle in the
shoes, never get above them. Young gentle-
Men will please put this down.
M.. Pride, though it cannot prevent the
holy affections of nature from being felt, may
prevent them from being shown.
..=-A watch has been facetiously desi.-
nated as the image of -modesty, since it
always holds its hands before its face.
Jack, did you carry that umbrella,
home that I borrowed yesterday?
"No father, you have often told me to lay
up something for a rainy day, and-as I tho't
it would rain before long, I have laid the
umbrella up."