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Vottrg.
THE LIGHT AT HOME.
The light athome I how bright it beams
When evening shadows - round us - fall;
'And from the lattice far it gleams,
To love, and rest; and comfort
When wearied with the toils of day,
And strife for glory, gold or fame,
How sweet to seek the quiet way,
Where loving lips will lisp our name
Around the light at home.
When through the dark and stormy night,
The wayward wanderer homeward hies,
How cheering is that twinkling light,
Which through the forest gloom ho spies;
It is the light at home; ho feels
That loving hearts will greet him there,
And softly through his bosom steals
The joy and love that banish care,
Around the light at home.
The light at home! whene'er at last
It greets the seamen through the storm,
He feels no more the chilling blast
That beats upon his manly form.
Long years upon the sea have fled,
Since Mary gave her parting kiss,
But the sad tears which she then shed,
Will now be paid with rapturous bliss,
Around the light at home.
The light at home! how still and sweet
It .peeps from yonder cottage door—
The'weary laborer to greet—
When the rough toils of day are o'er,
Sad is the soul that does not know
The blessings that its beams impart,
The cheerful hopes and jots that flow,
And lighten up the heaviest heart
Around the light at home.
dui
j . ui•
BY EMERSON BENNETT.
"We doctors sometimes meet with strange
adventures," once said to me a distinguished
physician, with whom I was on terms of in
timacy.
" I have often thought," I replied, " that
the secret history of some of your profession,
if written out in detail, would make a work
of thrilling, interest."
" I do not know that I exactly agree with
you in regard to details," rejoined my friend;
for we, medical men, like every one else,
meet with a great deal that is common in its
place, and therefore not worthy of being re
corded ; but grant us the privilege of you nov
elists, to select our characters and scenes and
work them into a kind of a plot, with a stri
king de no item e I, and I doubt not many of us
could give you a romance in real life, com
prising only what we had seen, which would
equal, if not surpass, anything you ever met
with in the way of fiction. By the by, I be
lieve I never told you of the most romantic
adventure in my life I"
" You never told. me of any of your adven
tures, Doctor," I replied, " but if yuu have a
story to tell,. you will find me an eager listen
er."
" Very well, then, as I have a few minutes
to spare, I will tell you one more wildly ro
mantic, more incredibly remarkalle, if I may
so speak, than you probably ever found in a
work of fiction.
" Twenty-five years ago," pursued the Dr.,
" I entered the medical college at F
as a student. I was then young, inexperien
ced, and inclined to be timid and sentimen
tal ; and well do I remember the horror I ex
perienced when one of the senior students,
under pretence of showing me the beauties
of the institution, suddenly thrust me into a
dissecting room, among several dead bodies,
and closed the door upon me ; nor do I forget
how the screeches of terror, and prayers for
release from that awful place made me the
laughing stock of my old companions.
Ridicule is a hard thing to bear ; the cow
ard becomes brave to escape it, and the brave
man fears it more than a belching cannon.—
I suffered it till I could bear it no more ; and
wrought up to a fit of desperation, I deman
ded to .know what I could do to redeem my
.character, and gain an honorable footing
among my fellow students.
" I will tell you,?' said one, his eyes spark
ling with mischief, "if you will go at the
midnight hour, and dig up a subject, and
take it to your room and remain alone with
it till morning, we will let you off, and never
say-anotherword aboutyour womanly fright."
I shuddered ; it was a fearful alternative,
but it seemed less terrible to suffer all the
horrors that might be concentrated into a sin
gle night, than to bear day after day the jeers
of my companions.
" Where shall Igo ? and when ?" was my
timid inquiry, and the very thought of such
an adventure made my blood run cold.
"To the Eastern Cemetery to-night at 12
o'clock," replied my tormentor, fixing his keen
black eyes upon me, and. allowing his thin
lip to curl with a smile of contempt. " But
what is the use of asking such a, coward as
you to :perform such a manly feat," he added
deridingly, •
Tlis words stung me to the quick ; and with
out further reflection, and scarcely aware of
what I was saying, rejoined boldly :
" I am no coward, sir, as I will prove to
you by performing what you call a manly
feat."
" You will go ?" he asked quickly.
"I will."
" Bravely said, my lad 1" he rejoined in a
tone of approval, and exchanging his expres
sion of contempt for one of surprise and'ad.-
miration. "Do this, Morris, and the first
man that insults you afterwards, makes an
enemyof me."
Again I felt a cold shudder run through
My frame at the thought of what was before
men but I had accepted his challenge in the
presence of many witnesses—for this conver
sation-had occurred as we were leaving the
haThafter listening to an evening lecture—
and I was resolved to make my:word good,
should it even cost my life ; in fact, I knew I
could not do otherwise now, without being
in disgrace from the college.
-' I should. here • observe that there were no
professional. resurrectionists, and as it was
absolutely necessary to have subjects for dis
section, -the unpleasant business of procuring
them _devolved upon - the students, who in con-
$1 50
P-r
WILLIAM LEWIS,
VOL. XII.
sequence, watched every funeral eagerly, and
calculated the chances of cheating the sexton
of its charge, and the grave of its victim.
There bad been a funeral that day of a
poor orphan girl, who had been followed to
the grave by a very few friends, and this was
considered a favorable chance for the party
whose turn it was to procure the next sub
ject, as the graves of the poor and friendless
were never watched with the same keen vig
ilance as those of the rich and influential.—
Still it was no trifling risk to attempt to ex
ume the bodies of the poorest and the hum
blest—for not unfrequently persons were on
the watch even over these ; and only a year
before, one student, while, at his midnight
work, had been mortally wounded by a pis
tol ball, and another a month or two subse
quently, had been rendered a cripple for life
in the same way.
All this was explained to me by a party of
six or eight, who accompanied me to my room
—which was in a building belonging to the
college, and rented to such of the students
as preferred bachelor's hall to regular board
ing—and they took care to add several terri
fying stories of ghosts and hob goblins, by
way of calming my excited nerves, but, as I
have before observed, old women stand round
a feverish patient, and croak out their expe
rience in seeing , awful sufferings and fatal
terminations of just such maladies as the one
with which their helpless victim was then af
flicted.
" Is it expected that I should go alone ?"
I enquired in a tone that trembled in spite
of me, and my knees almost knocked togeth
er, and I felt as if my very lips were white.
" Well, no," replied Benson, my most
dreaded tormentor, " it would be hardly fair
to send you alone, for one individual would
hardly succeed in getting the body from the
grave quick enough, and you a mere youth
without experience, would be sure to fail al
together. No, we will go with you, some
three or four of us, and help you to dig up
the corpse ; but then you must take it on
your back, bring it up to your room here, and
spend the night alone with it."
It was some relief to me to find I was to
have company during the first part of my
awful undertakings; but still I felt far from
agreeable, I assure you, and chancing to look
into a mirror, as the time drew near for set
ting out, I fairly started . at beholding the
ghastly object reflected therein.
" Come, boys," said Benson, who was al
ways by general consent the leader of wh
ever frolic, expedition or undertaking he w
to have a hand in. - " Come boys, it is time
to be on the move. A glorious night for us,"
he added, throwing up the window and let
ting in a gust of wind and rain; " the devil
himself would hardly venture out in. such a
storm."
lie lit a dark lantern, then threw on his
long heavy cloak, took up a spade, and led
the way down; the rest of us, three beside
myself, threw on our cloaks, also, took each
a spade and followed. , hine.
We took a roundabout course, to avoid be
ing seen by any citizens that might chance
to be stirring, and in something less than
half an hour we reached the cemetery, scaled
the 'wall without difficulty, and stealthily
searched for the grave till we found it in the
pitchy darkness—the wind and rain sweep
ing past us with dismal howls and moans,
that to me, trembling with terror, seemed to
be the unearthly wailings of the spirits of the
damned.
" Here we are," whispered Benson to me,
as we at length stopped at a mound of fresh
earth, over which one of the party stumbled.
" Come, feel round, Morris, and strike in your
spade, and let us see if you will make as
good band at exhuming a dead body as you
will some day at killing a, living one with
physic."
I did as directed, trembling in every limb,
but the first spadeful I threw up, I started
back with a yell of horror, that on any other
than a howling, stormy night, would have
betrayed us. It appeared to me as if I had
thrust my spade into a buried lake of fire—
for the first dirt was all, a glow with living
coals; and as had fancied the moaning of
the storm the wailings, of tormented spirits,
I now fancied that I had uncovered a small
portion of the bottomless pit itself.
" Fool!" hissed Benson, grasping my arm
with the grip of a vice, as I stood leaning on
my spade for support, my very teeth chatter
ing with terror , "another yell like that, and
I'll make a subject of you! Are you not
ashamed of yourself, to be seared out of your
wits, if you ever had any, by a little phos
phorescent earth ? Don't you know that it is
often found in graveyards ?"
His explanation re-assured me, though I
was too weak from my late fright, to be of
any assistance to the party, who all fell to
with a will, secretly laughing at me, and soon
reached the coffin. Splitting the lid with a
hatchet which had been brought for the pur
pose, they quickly lifted out the corpse, and
then Benson and another of the party taking
hold of it, one at the head and another at the
feet, they hurried away, bidding me to follow,
and leaving the others to fill up - the grave,
that it might not be suspected that the body
had been exhumed.
Having got the corpse safely over the walls
of the cemetery, Benson now called upon me
to perform my part of the horrible business.
• " Here, you quaking simpleton," he said,
" I want you to take this on your back and
make the best of your way to your room, and
remain with it all night. If you do this brave
ly, we will claim you as one of us to-morrow,
and.the first man that dares to say a word
ag,anast your courage after that, shall make
a foe of me. But bark you! if you make
any blunder on the way, and lose our prize,
it will be better for you to quit this place be
fore I set my eyes on you again. Do you un
derstand me ?"
"Ye-ye-ye-yes," I stammered with chatter
ing teeth.
,
' Are you. ready P'
, "Ye-ye-yes," I gasped. -
"Well come here—where are you "‘"
At this time it was so dark that I could
not see anything but a faint line of white,
which I knew to , be the shroud of the corpse,
but I felt carefully around till I got hold of
Benson, who told me to take off my cloak ;
and then rearing the cold dead body against
my back, he began fixing its cold arms about
my neck—bidding me to take hold of them
and draw them well over, and keep them con
cealed, and be sure not to let go of them, on
any consideration whatever, as I valued my
life.
the torturing horror I experienced
as I mechanically followed his directions ;
tongue could not describe it
At length having adjusted the corpse so
that I might bear it o' with comparative
ease, he threw my long cloak over it and my
arms, and fastened it with a cord about my
neck, and then inquired:
" Now Morris, do you.think that you can
find your way to your room ?"
"I
-I-do-do-don't know," I gasped, feeling
as if . l should sink to te earth at the first
step.
" Well, you cannot lose your way if you go
straight ahead," he replied, " keep in the
middle of the road and it will take you to
College Green, and then you are all right.—
Come, push on before your burden grows too
heavy ; the distance is only a half mile."
I set forward with trembling nerves, ex
pecting to sink to the ground at every step ;
but gradually my terror, instead of weaken
ing. gave me strength, and I was soon on the
run—splashing through mud and water—with
the storm howling about me in fury, and the
cold corpse, as I fancied, clinging to me like
a hideous viper.
How I reached my room, I do not know—
but probably by a sort of instinct; for I only
remember of my brain being in a wild, fever
ish whirl, with ghostly phantoms all about
me, as one sees them in a dyspeptic dream ;
reach my room I did, with my dead burden
on my back ; and I was afterwards told that
I made wonderful time ; for Benson and his
fellow students, fearing the loss of their sub
ject—which, on account of the difficulty of
procuring bodies, was very valuable—follow
ed close behind me, and were obliged to run
at the top of their speed to keep within hail
ing distance.
The first Iremember distinctly after getting
to my room, was finding myself awake in
bed, with a dim consciousness of something
horrible having happened—though what, for
some minutes, I could not for the life of me
recollect. Gradually, however, the truth
dawned upon me ; and then I felt a cold per
spiration start from every pore, at the thought
that perhaps I was occupying a room alone
with a corpse. The•-room was not- dark;
there were a few embers in the grate which
threw out a ruddy light ; and fearfully rais
ing my head, I glanced timidly and quickly
around.
And there—there on the floor, against the
right hand wall, but a few feet from me—
there sure enough, lay the cold, still corpse,
robed: in its white shroud, with a gleam of
fire light resting on its ghastly face, which to
my excited fancy seemed to move. Did it
move? I was gazing upon it, thrilled and
fascinated with an indescribable terror, when,
as sure as I see you now, I saw the lids of its
eyes unclose, saw its breast heave, and heard
a low, stifled moan.
"Great God !" I shrieked, and fell back
into a swoon.
How long I remained unconscious, I do
not know, but when I came to myself again,
it is a marvel to me that in my excited state
I did not lose my senses altogether, and be
come the tenant of a mad house ; for there—
right before me—standing up in its white
shroud—with its eyes wide open and staring
upon me, and its features thin,
hollow and
death hued, was the corpse I had brought
from the cemetery.
"In God's name avaunt!" I gasped. "Go
back to your grave and. rest in peace. I will
never disturb you again!'
The large, hollow eyes looked more wildly
upon me—the head moved—the lips parted—
and a voice in a somewhat sepulchral tone
said:
" Where am I? Who am I ? Who are
you? Which world. am lin ? Am I living
or dead ?"
"You were dead," I gasped, sitting up in
bed and feeling as if my brains would burst
in a pressure of unspeakable horror; " you
were dead and buried, and I was one of the
guilty wretches who disturbed you in your
peaceful rest. But go back, poor ghost, and
no mortal power shall ever induce me to come
near you again !"
"Oh, I feel faint !" said the corpse, gradu
ally sinking down upon the floor with a groan.
"Great God!" I shouted, as the startling
truth suddenly flashed upon me, " perhaps
this poor girl was buried alive, and is now
living 1"
I bounded from the bed and grasped a.
hand of the prostrate body. It was not warm
—it was not cold. I put my trembling fin
gers upon the pulse. Did it beat, or was it
the pulse in my fingers.? I thrust my hand
upon the heart. It Was warm—there was
life there. The breast bemired; she breathed;
butthe eyes wore now closed, mad the features
had the look of death. Still it was a living
body—or I myself was insane.
I sprang to the door, tore it open and shout
ed for help.
"Quick 1 quick 1" cried I ; " the dead is
alive ! the dead is alive I"
Several of. the students sleeping in adjoin
ing rooms came hurrying to mine, thinking I
had gone mad, with terror, as some of them
had heard - my voice before, and knew to what
a fearful ordeal' I had beep subjected.
"Poor fellow f" exclaimed one in a tone of
sympathy ; " I predicted' this.", • •
"It is too bad," said another ; "it was boo
much for his nervous system."
"I am not Mad," said I, comprehending
their suspicions . ; '" but the corpse is alivel
hasten and see it !"- •
They hurried into the room, one after an
other, and the foremost stooped down to what
he thought was -a corpse, put his hand upon
it and instantly exclaimed. :
"Quick! -a light and some brandy ! sho
lives, she lives 1"
excite
ment,•
was now bustle, confusion and excite
ment,. one proposing one thing, and another
something else, and all speaking together—
They placed her on the bed, and gave her
PERSEVERE.-
HUNTINGDON, PA., MAY 6 9 1857.
some brandy, when she again revived. I ran
for a physician, one of the faculty, who came
and attended upon her through the night, and
by sunrise the next morning she was reported
to he in a fair way of recovery.
" Now what do you think of my story thus
far ?" queried the doctor with a quiet smile.
" Very remarkable I" I replied. ; " very re
markable, indeed But tell me, did the girl
finally recover 2"
"She did, and turned out to be a beautiful
creature, and only sweet sixteen."
" And I suppose she blest the resurrection
ists all the rest of her life," I rejoined with
a laugh:
"She certainly held one of them in kind
remembrance," replied the doctor with a
sigh.
" What became of her, doctor l"
" What should have become of her, accord
ing to the well known
. rules of poetic justice
of all you novel writers ?" returned my friend
with a peculiar smile.
"Why," said I, laughing, " she turned out
an heiress and married you."
" And that is exactly what she did," rejoin
ed the Doctor.
"Good Heaven are you jesting !"
" No, no, my friend," replied the doctor in
a faltering voice; " that night of horror only
preceded the dawn of my happiness; for that
girl—sweet, lovely Helen Leroy—in time be
came my wife, and the mother of ' two boys.
She sleeps now in death beneath the cold
sod," added the doctor in a tremulous tone,
and brushing, a tear from his eye, "no human
resurrectionists shall ever raise her to life
again."
&ttruting ntisttilm.
A Short Story with a Good Moral.
We must work. Many who have been
fortunate in business, and having early ac
quired wealth, have retired from the active
pursuits of life to find what they call ease,
have found instead an accumulation of evils,
which they never supposed to be connected
with a life of idleness. There, for instance,
is our old friend Coffee, for many years one
of the firm of Coffee, Rice, & Co., wholesale
grocers, in South street. Coffee commenced
business. in early life, and being enterprising
and energetic, and as "busy as a bee," the
business prospered, and the firm became
widely known for its successful trading.--
After Coffee , .had been, in business about
twenty years; he concluded that he would
retire from active life and spend the
rest of his days (he was only forty-five) in
some secluded spot, where the fluctuations of
the flour market, or the rise and fall of pork
and molasses would disturb his quiet no
longer. He would not be an anchorite, no,
not ho. He loved good living and good
society too well for that. Ho would build
him a mansion in the country, far from the
noisy sound and noisome smell of South
street. lie would provide ample accomoda
tions for friends who might come to partake
of his good cheer, and he would lead a pleas
ant, easy life. uch were his plans. But,
alas ! poor Coffee, while thou wast acquaint
ed with all the ins and outs of trade, thou
wast ignorant of thine own self.
The partnership was dissolved, the site for
a house selected, and in due time a splendid
mansion was built. It was the most elegant
mansion in all those parts. The honest rus
tics gazed with astonishment at the eviden
ces of wealth it displayed, the country store
keeper congratulated himself on the proba
ble acquisition of a customer, the village doc
tor calculated on an additional patient, while
the poor parson rejoiced in his heart, that
there was some probability of having his
small salary increased by the liberality of a
retired merchant. For the first few months
everything went on
admirably. Coffee had
enough to keep him at work in arranging
matters around the place, and getting in
proper order everything for permanent use.
But when all this was done, time hung
heavily on his hands. There was nothing
to keep him employed, for all the work on
his place was done by hired hands; and as
he was determined to be free from all care,
he even employed a man as overseer of the
whole. The sum total of Coffee's daily occu
pation was eating, drinking and sleeping,
with a little reading and an occasional ride.
Ikwas not long before symptoms of dyspep
sy and gout appeared, and after suffering
months of untold agony, he left his splendid
mansion for " the narow house appointed for
all the living." He .died because he had
nothing else to do.
Then there was neighbor Lapstone, who
tried hard to keep souls in the bodies of him
self, wife and eight children, by daily plying
his honest trade of shoemaking. Lapstone's
humble house was almost under the shadow
of the great mansion, and he often sighed as
he looked up from his leather seat and saw
the rich Coffee whirled by -in his splendid
coach, and was so often tempted to break
the tenth commandment, and wish himself
away from his wax-ends and his awls, and
in possession of some of his neighbor's rich
es. True, Lapstone was in comfortable cir
cumstances, though lie was a poor man:
He bad a little garden patch where he could
labor an hour or two every day, and while
providing for his table, be preparing, by out
door exercise, for the in-door confinement of
his trade. Then his wife was a perfect mod
el of a woman, frugal and industrious, while
the eight young Lapstones were heart and
robust, and some of them able to work in the
shop. But Lapstone had fancied, as lie saw
the wealth and show of his neighbor, that it
Was a fine thing to be rich and take the
world easy. Therefore he sighed when his
neighbor rode lazily along in his carriage,
while he sat for ten hours a day hammering
sole leather. But when at length he saw
the funeral train which conveyed the rich
idler to his long home, he came to the con
clusion that health was better than wealth,
and contentment more to be desired than,
groat riches. All that's the moral "of this
story.
Xte" The lady whose *sleep was broken, has
had it mended.
An active business man is a rational man,
and. a great blessing to the community. He
keeps in exercise the talents confided to him,
making them a blessing to himself, and a
source of good to those by - whom he is daily
surrounded. Ile furnishes employment to
the industrious, which is far better than be
stowing ams upon the unemployed. Herein
are the legitimate and rational results of ac
tive business pursuits and wealth-getting----
the employment of the gratification of the
active powers, and the reward of industry.—
But the slavish toil of accumulation merely
for the sake of possession—the lust of cupidi
ty—the remorseless desire of growing rich
solely or principally to die rich, is one of the
most foolish and debasing intentions which
find lodgment in the heart of man.
What can praise, if praise it be, have to
do with "the dull, cold ear of death?"—
What can it profit one, when he is lower and
more insensible than the sod, to have it
sounded above him, "How rich he died ?"
Experience has fully and emphatically taught
the lesson, that much wealth left to heirs is,
in eight times out of ten, not a blessing, but
rather a curse. Its expectation beguiles and
spoils the manly powers; its possession leads
to misjudgement, to excess, and finally to
exhaustion, and ruin. Wealth is dangerous
to all men, but especially to those who ac
quire it by inheritance, and consequently
without having sustained the toil or secured
the maturity of character that was necessary
for its acquisition. The time will yet come
when men of wealth will be wise enough to
make a gradual distribution of their proper
ty while living—not prospective, but opera
tive—thereby having an eye to the use that
is made of it, and a participation in the
greatest enjoyment its possession is capable
of giving, that of seeing it do good to others.
They will dismiss the foolish aspiration—
foolish, especially in this country, where
there are neither laws of primogeniture or
entail, by which a succession of family mil
lionaires may be kept up—of dying rich,
with the certain reflection that the heirs will
sooner or later die poor. To use borrowed
but energetic language on this subject:—
"After hypocrites, the greatest dupes the
devil has, are those who exhaust an anxious
existence in the vexations and disappoint
ments of business, and live meanly and
miserly only to die magnificent and rich."
For, like the hypocrite, the only disinter
ested motive these men can accuse them
selves of, is that of serving the devil without
receiving his wages; for the assumed morali
ty of the one, is not a more effectual bar to
enjoyment than the real avarice of the other.
He who stands every day at the ledger till
he drops into the grave,• may negotiate many
profitable bargains ; but he has made a sin
gle bad one, indeed, that more than counter
balances all the rest; for the empty foolery
of dying rich, he has laid down his health,
his happiness, and his integrity; since, as a
very old author observes, "mortar sticketh
between buying and selling." Enterprise
and activity in business, and a passion for
honest money-getting are good things in the
world, and he who uses his talents and capi
tal in this way is a benefactor to his race—
but he who does - all this for the sake of
dying rich, is a not a wise man in any
way.
There is no wit, says the author of the Be
haviour Book, in a lady to say " snooze" in
stead of nap ; in calling pantaloons " pants"
or gentlemen "gents ;" in saying of a man
whose dress is bad that ho looks " seedy;"
and in alluding to an amusing anecdote or
diverting incident, to say that it is "rich."
All slang words are detestable from the lips
of ladies. We are always sorry to hear a
young lady use such- a word as " polking "
when she tells of her having engaged in a
certain dance, too fashionable not long since,
but happily now is going out and banished
from the best society. To her honor be it re
membered Queen Victoria has prohibited the
polka being danced in her presence.
Wo have little tolerance for young ladies
who having in reality neither wit nor humor,
sot up for both, and, havingnothing of the
right stock to go upon, substitute coarseness
and impertinence, not to say impudence, and
try to excite laughter and attract the atten
tion of gentlemen by talking slang. Where
do they pick it up ? From low newspapers
or from vulgar books? Surely not from low
companions I We have heard one of these
ladies, when her collar chanced to be pinned
awry, say it was pinned on drunk, also that
her bonnet was drunk, meaning crooked, on
her head. When disconcerted, she was
"floored." When submitting to do a thing
unwillingly, she was 'brought to the "scratch?"
Sometimes she " did things on the sly." She
believed it very smart and piquant to use
these vile expressions. And yet she was a
woman of many good qualities, who boasted
of having lived in good society.
Zeno cure a pain in the breast, procure
a well-made woollen dress—with an equally
well constructed woman inside of it, and
press closely to the part affected. Repeat
the application till the pain ceases. This re
ceipt, when the directions are carefully , ob
served, has rarely been known to fail in
effecting a cure. The medicine is found in
almost every household, and may probably
cost a trifle.
lIED—It is said that inflammatory rheuma
tism can be cured by the following simple
method, which we extract from a medical
publication an ounce of pulverized
saltpetre put in half a pint of sweet oil.
Bathe 'parts affected, and a sound cure will
immediately follow.
Ifte—Winter, which strips the leaves from
around us, makes us see the distant regions
they formerly . concealed ; so does old age rob
us of our enjoyments ; only to enlarge the
prospects of eternity before us..
Joseph's brethren cast him into the
pit, because they thought it a good opening
tor the young man.
Editor and Proprietor.
Dying Rich.
Avoid Slang 'Words.
Of all acts of folly, that expressed by tho
phrase, "building castles in the air," is most
consummate. There are thousands who em
ploy their thoughts in this species of archi:
tecture. They are not contented with their
night dreams, but they encourage diky dreams'
also—and thus they dream, dream', dream, td
their sorrow I They build castles in imagi
nation, which fall as soon as erected; • Like
the house of the silly man Mentioned in the
Se - riptural allegory, they build on an unstable:
foundation. But they are even more silly,
He built his house on the "sand." , The wind
and flood were required, to. deinolish it. They
build on "air," and the first,breath of expe
rience brings their castles tumbling. and crash
ing about their ears. A little forecast, as the
dictate of common sense, would have preven
ted the sorrowful catastrophe: As it as, they
must pay the penalty, and suffer. . -
To the young there is no mental habit more
unfortunate than this of building air castlei
—unless, indeed, it be a degree of intellectu:
al laziness which would prevent their think
ing at all. Such airy speculations would,:
perhaps, be better than none. But, in a state
of society like thepresent, there is really no.
excuse for the building of air castles under
any supposable circumstances. The age is
full of enterprise, and of material for useful
thought. It may do for the spider, of whose
gossamer castles the old ditty sings—
" And, when ehe aces
'Tie broke by the breeze,
She woaves the bright tissue again."
But it is unworthy of men and women, wire
should be leading lives with more rational
motives and better results I
NO. 46.
For tho habit of air-castle building, we
know of no better remedy than the following
words, attributed to a learned Brahmin:
"In all thy desires, let reason go before
thee, and fix not thy hopes beyond the bounds
of probability. So shall success attend thy
undertaking, and thy heart shall not he vexes
with disappointment:
It should be the aim of young men to go'
into good society: We do not mean the rich,
the proud and fashionable; but the society of
the wise, the intelligent and good. Where
you find men that know more than you do,
and from whose conversation one can gain
information; it is always safe to be found.—
It has broken down many a man by associa
ting with the low and vulgar—where the ri
bald song was inculcated—and the indecent
story, to excite laughter and influence the bad
passions. Lord Clarendon has attributed his
success and happiness in: life, to associating.
with persons more virtuous than himself. If
you wish . to be wise and respected—if you
desire happiness and not misery, we advise
you to associate with the intelligent and the
good. Strive for mental excellence and strict
integrity, and you will never be found in the
sinks- of pollution; and on the benches of the
retailers and gamblers: Once habituate your
self to a virtuous coUrse-- - --once secure a love
of good society, and no pUnishment would be
greater than by o:ccident, to be obliged. for
half a day to associate with the low and. vul-:
gar.
reir Why is a muffin like a chrysalis? Be- -
cause it is a kind of grub that makes the but
ter-fly.
Jae' Somebody say* it, is better - o"die - poor
than to live upon the hard earnings of the
unsuspecting.
The man who was: so forgetful, that
he forgot his honest debts, we learn, had his
memory jogged by a "Justice of the Peace."
A Lancaster County Farmer's Method of
Mn. Enixon.:—l give you herewith an ac-:
count of the plan which I always pursne, and
after an experience of nearly forty-eight years;
have found under all circumstances to pro
duce the best crops. Many years' observa
tion has satisfied me of the fact, that my sys;
tern will answer as well as any other, in fa
vorable seasons, and far better during such
a one as that just passed.
I always make it a point, when practicable,,
to put corn on sod ground, which Ditty be
plowed in the fall, and with excellent effect;
but which should be, at the earliest possible:
period in the spring. I always plow eight
inches in depth, then score out my ground
very deep, leaving the distance between the
furrows three feet. The corn is then drop-I
ped, single grains, twelve inches apart.
Where the ground is strong, the distance may
be less. My ten-toothed harrow is next brought
into play, being fashioned as follows : four
teen inches in width in front, and eight inch;
es behind. This is carefully drawn th6llo
the furrow, thinly covering the corn, and the
field permitted to lie in this condition for six .
or seven days, when, with my twelve-toothed
harrow I go over the whole, most thoroughly ;
covering the corn. The effect of this last .
harrowing is to retard somewhat fhe first ap-z
pearance of the corn, (which, by the way, is
act an objection,) and to keep' down the weed 6
and grass. When about four inches high, I
go through the furrows lengthwise with a
shovel harrow; which is another death-blow
to the weeds and grass, and when it has reach
ed the height of twelV.e inches, I give it an
other and final dressing with one of Harnley's;
corn plows. This last dressing effectually
destroys the weeds ; and leaves the ground in
a fine mellow condition.
The advantages I claim for this method are'
these: First, the deep plowing gives the roots.
of the corn a fine chance to penetrate the soil,
to a considerable depth, in search of suitable
food. The depth which they reach ; secures
them in a great measure against the effects
usually produced by drought. A second good
result of the deep plowmg is, that in very
wet seasons, the over-moisture will effect the:
young corn less than where the plowing is
shallow, because, not being obstructed at a
depth of four or five inches by the hard pan
beneath, it has a chance to sink several inch- -
es lower.
Secondly, The heavy harrowing, after the
corn has been six or eight days planted, cony:
pletely exposes to the sun and air, the seeds.
of weed and grass which have commenced
germinating, and either kills them complete-:
ly, or so injures them,- that their future growth
and vigor is retarded so much us to place'
them completely at the mercy of the shovel
harrow and corn" plow, with which the after
dressings are given. Again ' • the last dressing
with the corn plow keeps the mellow earth
around the stalk, and most cases the result
is, a second set of roots which give increased
vigor to the growing stalk - and ears -
y the plan above detailed I have rarely ;
if ever,. failed to have an average ()rep, ,even
in the most unfavorable seasons, and when
the seasons. have been good, I have been led
to think the yield to be fully equal to any of
my neighbors. CHRISTIAN STourrsm.•
Pinc Farm, Lancaster county.
Air Castles.
Good Society.
grintiturai.
Planting Corn:
El