The globe. (Huntingdon, Pa.) 1856-1877, April 15, 1857, Image 1
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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."