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He left the muse's haunts to deal in ham, And while with brow serene, and heart as calm lie deals in lowly life, why may not I Rob him of wings, and like him—try to fly. The balmy breezes fan me as I soar To dizzy heights which Robert trod before, Bach lofty mole-hill with success is gained As I admire a Pegasus so trained! Immortal Bob I how oft celestial fire Has flow from off your chariot's blazing tiro, As with the lightning's speed, you seemed to play With space,—and picked up pebbles by the way I But all! we're higher now than o'er before, And fearful lest this view we have no more, We'll eye the plain spread out before our feet, And see the tumblers at their loathesome treat. With fear and care each sinking heart_opprest With double gloom each lowly brow is Brest, And wild commotion fires the doubling mass As Whittaker lets out the pent up gas. The combat deepens, Oa, he cries, ye brave, Who kindly run the gauntlet to the ,gravel With fired eye : lie bravely takes the van, And calla on each to show himself a man ; With lunges fearful bursts upon the foe, And madly kicks and bites and squeals, each blow With feet and hands,—with frenzied head and heart, Makes legions fly beneath the galling smart ! One more—my hero—this may be the last, 'Tis done—and now at "blud" ho stands aghast: With clutching fingers rends his matted hair And damns himself in frenzy of despair ! The Doctor now in sweet simplicity Commends the act that made his paper free, And with a swelling heart in joy he cries, " Theman that nobly lives, right nobly dies !" flow noble in simplicity his end! Ho stabs himself to help along a friend! The world with hollow-heartednesa is led Here's ono so tender both in heart and head A pity 'tie his value is not known And must ho die without a tear—alone? The dread decree is passed—with piteous sigh brawn brokenly, he lays him down to die. His partner smoothes the pillow for his head, And sings the solemn requiem for the dead, With ono short howl, he quickly dares mankind And with the film of Death is likewise blind. "The world recedes—it disappears"—all's o'er, Tho "Journal" now is but a thing of yore! Levi, dispirited, is seen to turn And shed a tear beside the mouldering, urn— " My friend is gone, too nobly gone," ho sobs, l'And ever while ray aching bosom throbs"— But here, the sun had melted Robert's wings (They were at best nought but indifferent things) And I was forced to leave the hill before, Compassionate, I saw the matter o'er. Now Robert, here, I bring your wings all back, With them I flew just like another jack, Obliged, however, Rob, I am to you, For I have learned some things I never knew. .ititresting ilisttliany. A SUDDEN CONVERSION BY SYLVANUS COBB, JR. The simple story I am about to relate pos sesses much interest for those who were ac quainted with the parties concerned, and to others its interest will not only be in its truth, but also in the peculiar soul-touch it developes. In one of the northern towns of Vermont lived a young man whom I shall call Daniel Bryan. Ho was a lawyer by profession, and one of the most intellectual men in that sec tion of the country. No one possessed the confidence of his friends more than he did, and no one was better calculated to secure the good will and friendship of all with whom he came in contact. Business poured in upon him, and he failed not to give the ut most satisfaction. At the age of twenty-seven Bryan took to himself a wife from among the most favored ones of the country. Mary Felton experi enced a strange pride when she gave her hand to the young lawyer, and if none envied her, many at least prayed that they might be as fortunate. But ere long a cloud came over the scene. Conviviality ran high among the members of the bar, and young Bryan possessed one of these peculiar temperaments which at length gave the whole body and soul up to the de mons of appetite. For three years he follow ed the social custom of the times without neglecting much of his business, but finally be sank into the lowest pit of degradation; when at the age of five-and-thirty, he had be come a. confirmed drunkard. He now neg lected his clients altogether, for he could not remain sober long enough at any one time to carrry any case through court. The only business.he had now upon his hands was the collecting of some few small debts. On the evening of his thirty-fifth birth day he joined the Washingtonians, and once more his bright genius shone out upon the world. But it could not last long ; amid the examples of those who were his constant com panions' he went back to his cups, and down he sank as rapidly as he had risen. In one short year from that time he was a miserable, degraded thing. People who had left notes and accounts for him to collect, .called at his house, and upon inquiring of his wife where he was, she would tell them he was away.— Poor woman I they could not bear to dispute her—they would go their way . though they knew full well that the remains of Daniel Bryan were prostrate upon his bed-room floor. One day a Mr. Vinson called to see him.— Vinson had left notes and accounts to the ani ount of several thousand dollars with Bry an) to collet:t r am} hewras anxious about: them. Hik poor wife answered him as usual; that her bus band had gone away. " My dear madam," returned Mr. Vinson, " I know your misfortune, and I appreciate you r feelings ; but -I- must see your husband. iiiii WILLIAN LEWIS; VOL. XIII. If I can ' see him for even one minute I can learn all I wish to know." Mary Bryan spoke not a word, but with a tearful eye she turned away, and Mr. Vinson followed her. He found Bryan in a back room, stretched at full length upon the floor, with a jug of Medford rum at his side. With much effort Vinson aroused the poor man to a state of semi-consciousness, and asked him if he had done anything about the notes and accounts he had left with him. " Yes," returned the lawyer, in a weak, husky, hiccoughing voice. " I've had the money for you. over a•month. I've deducted my per centaoe, and you'll find the rest in that trunk. Mary's got the key." Mrs. Bryan was called in, the key was pro duced, and Mr. Vinson found his money, four thousand and some odd hundreds of dollars, all right and safe. In his worst moments Bryan never used for himself a single penny he had in trust.— Hundreds there were who labored bard to re claim the wanderer, but without effect. Year after year went by, and he sank lower—yet his wife left him not. Her brother, a young lawyer, named Moses Felton, often urged her to forsake her husband, at the same time of fering her a comfortable homo beneath his own roof, but she would not listen. At length all hope was given up. Week after week would the fallen man lie drunk on the floor, and not a day of real sobriety mark ed his course. 1 doubt if such another case was ever known. He was now too low for conviviality, for those with whom he would have associated would not drink with him.— All alone, in his own office and chamber, he drank accursed poison, and even his very life seemed the offspring of the jug. In early spring, Moses Felton had a call to go to Ohio. Before he set out he visited his sister. He offered to take her with him, but she would not go. " But why stay here ?" urged the brother. " You are all faded away, and disease is upon you. Why should you live with such a brute ?" " Hush, Moses. Speak not so," answered the wife, keeping back the tears. " I will not leave him now. But he will soon leave me. 'lle cannot live much longer." that moment Daniel Bryan entered the apa - rtment. Even Moses Felton was startled by his appearance. Ho looked like a wan derer from the tomb. He had his hat on and his jug was in his hand. " Ah—Moses, how are you ?" he gasped, for he could not speak plainly. The visitor looked at him a few moments in silence. Then, as his features assumed a cold, stern expression, he said, in a calm but std ongly emphasized tone-,- "Daniel Bryan, I have been your nearest and best friend but one. My sister is an an gel but mated with a demon. I have loved you, Daniel, as I never loved man before, for you were noble generous and kind; but I hate you, for you are a perfect devil incarnate.— Look at that woman. She is my sister—the only sister God ever gave me. I wish her to live with me, but she will not while you live; yet when you die she will come to me. Thus do I pray that God. will soon give her joys to my keeping. Now, Daniel, I do sincerely pray the first intelligence which reaches me from my native place, after I shall have reached my new home, may be, that—you— are—dead." ANONT3fOIie Bryan gazed upon the speaker some mo month without speaking. "Moses," he at length said, "you are not in earnest?" "As true as heaven, Daniel, I am. When I know that you are dead I shall be happy, and not until then; so go on. Pill your jug, and— "Stop, stop, Moses. I can reform." "YOu cannot. It is beyond your power.— You have had inducements enough—enough to have reformed half the sinners of creation --and yet you are now lower than ever be fore. Go and die, sir, as soon as you can, for the moment that sees you thus shall set mourners free!" Bryan's eye flashed, and he drew himself pronellk up. "tae," he said, with a tinge of that old, powerful sarcasm that had often electrified a jury, "go to Ohio, and I'll send you news.— Go, sir, and watch the post!" With these words Daniel Bryan hurled his jug into the fire place, and while yet its thousand pieces were flying over the floor, he strode from the house. Mary sank fainting to the floor: Moses bore her to a bed, and then having called in a neighbor, he hurried away, the stage was waiting. For a month Daniel Bryan hovered over the brink of the grave, but he did not die. "One gill of brandy will save you," said the doctor, who saw that the abrupt removal of all stimulants from a system that for long years had subsisted almost on nothing else, was nearly sure to prove fatal. "You can surely take a gill and not take more." "Aye," gasped the poor Man, "take a gill and break my oath! Moses Felton shall never learn that brandy killed me If the want of it can kill me, then let me die! But I won't die ! I'll live—live till Moses Felton shall eat his words !" He did live; an iron, will conquered the messenger death bad sent, and Daniel Bryan lived. For one month he could not even walk without h'elp. But he had help--joyful f prayerful help, Mary helped him. A year passed away, and. Moses Felton re turned to Vermont. He entered the court house at Burlington; Daniel Bryan was upon the floor pleading for a young man who had been indicted for forgery. Felton started with surprise. Never before had Bryan looked so noble and commanding, and never before had such torrents of eloquence poured from his lips. The case was given to the jug , and the youth was acquitted. The successful advocate turned from the court room, and he met Moses Felton, They shook hands but they did not speak. When they reached a spot where none others could hear them, Bryan stopped. "'Moses," said he, "do you remember the words you spoke to me a year ago?" "I do, Daniel." "Will you now take them back? Unsay ... . . . .. .. .... ) ..... ~... : .7r.' • . :;:4 . .] ''...".: ."......:' ..".,;:.• :!..' , them now and forever!" " Yes—with all my heart." "Then I am in part repaid." "And what must be the remainder of the payment?" asked Moses. "I must die an honest, unperjured man!— The oath that has bound thus far was made for life." That evening Mary Bryan was among the happiest of the happy. No allusion was made in words to that happy scene of one year before, but Moses could read in both the countenances of his sister and her husband the deep gratitude they did not speak. And Daniel Bryan yet lives, one of the most honored in- Vermont. Five times has he sat in the State Legislature; thrice in the Senate, and once in the National Congress, and he is yet a noble man, and an ornament to society; declining all offers of public office, from the fact that his profession is more lu crative, while plenty of others want the offi ces which he cares not for. Many who read this will know the charac ters whom I have used, and will at once rec ognize the true individuals beneath the ficti tious names I have borrowed. In times of trouble and disaster all our selfish instincts are first awakened to activity. This is apt to be the case with the most dis interested, so long as they see the means of guarding themselves and their own firesides from impending harm. It is not till they find that the storm of desolation can be stay ed by no human hand, and is liable at any moment to sweep over them, that they lift up their eyes and follow the lightning's shaft to the hand that directs it. Then our selfish impulses give way to more generous emotions; we find ourselves involuntarily drawn tow ards our fellow sufferers by the ties of a com mon brotherhood, and how reverently to dis pensations which prove in the end, to all right thinking men, blessings in disguise. There is much in the present state of af fairs in. the financial world to move our sym pathy, and there is much to arouse our sel fish impulses. So many and such great chan ges of fortune as have occurred within the last month, have rarely, if ever before been witnessed in this country. 'While it was sup posed that the rage of the storm was circum scribed ; so long as the wary and the wealthy believed they could keep beyond its reach, they naturally flattered themselves that they had been more prudent, and perhaps more deserving than their unfortunate neighbors. This complacency on the one hand, and pre cautions for their own security on the other, left them little time, and less inclination, to concern themselves much about the troubles of others. Presently the cloud, which was no bigger than a man's hand, covers the whole horizon with its darkness. No one can any longer comfort himself •with the as surance that he is beyond the reach of its accumulating terrors. The wise man begins to realize his weakness; he is ashamed of his harsh judgment of others, and of his too flattering judgments of his own wisdom and goodness; his indifference about the troubles of others, which he might have relieved and did not, fill his heart with remorse. The curtain. of selfishness which bounded his vision seems to be suddenly drawn aside, and ho discovers for the first time how little he has had, himself, to do with the accumulation of property upon which he has presumed so much; how it may have been sent to him for the very purpose of being taken from him again under circumstances like these, and as the best means of revealing to him a sense of his daily dependence upon Providence and upon his fellow-man. Looked at from this point of view, who shall speak of the recent breaking up of the great deep of commer cial credit as a calamity? Who knows how many, in consequence of it, will experience for the first time the enduring pleasure of obeying a general impulse, and of sacrifi cing a selfish one? Who knows how many it will teach to think moderately of their own aehievments, and judge leniently the short comings of the less successful? How many will learn from it what they never ex perienced before, the acquisition of wealth is neither a test of a man's merits, nor any security for his happiness. Can any one doubt that this crisis will develope in many a higher morality, a more watchful domestic economy, less ostentatious habits of life, and a corresponding respect for those whose ob scure and humble lives may have been teach ing the inattentive world around them from infancy, how little the splendid fortunes which we spend toilsome lives in accumula ting, contribute to our goodness or to our happiness? What, after all, is the loss about which we make so much ado ? The money or the pro perty, for the want of which so many fail, is not lost. The absolute losses—such as occur, for example, by fire and slfip-wreck—have been less for the last six months than usual. The wealth of the country is merely chang ing hands. Some of those who had it, per haps, will be bettor off without it ; some will be benefitted by the trial which their pride or their vanity will experience from losing it ; it will unite many domestic circles which worldly influences were separating, and it may remove unsuspected temptations from the path of young people who were not pre pared to resist them. On the other hand, there are those in the lower walks of life who require the discipline of prosperity. The lessons of adversity may have been lost upon them. Their hard hearts may require to be broken, as the eagle is said sometimes to break the shell of the tortoise by bearing it high lute the air, and then letting it fall upon the rocks. Shall we murmur at this dispen sation till we know better than man possibly can know, how nearly and deeply wo may all be interested in the results which are to come from it ? The unexampled prosperity of this country, and the prompt reward which every species of intelligent industry commands here, have macte`.A:mericans the most conceited and self- - reliant people upon the face' of the earth. So far as this self-reliance has emancipated us from the tyranny of traditions, and has be gotten habits of independent thinking, it has HUNTINGDON, PA., OCTOBER 14, 1857. The Moral of the Times -PERSEVERE.- served a great, we believe a Divine purpose. But it has long fulfilled that purpose, and for some years past we have been growing as a nation, grasping, arrogant, quarrelsome, in different to international obligations, and tolerant of private as well as public fraud.— It requires something more than self-confi dence to produce an elevated national char acter. Our conceit may help to rid us of other people's errors, but not of our own. Being in a measure rid of the faults which, as a nation, we inherited or were taught, it is now time that we make war upon our own, and we can conceive of no lesson more effica cious for that purpose than that we are now receiving. All our past follies are coming to light ; tjie great men of the Exchange, to whom we bowed with a selfish idolatry, are proving to be but wooden images; the powers that we were accustomed to regard as irre sistible, crumble up like paper in the fire.— Nothing proves in these times to be strong but the virtues which as a nation we have most neglected to cultivate. Their value is being proved and vindicated, and we already begin to see the fruits of it. We witness ev ery day striking instances of forbearance and consideration for each other's troubles among commercial men. They are less disposed to judge hastily, even where there is room for censure, while multitudes spend their whole time in doing what they can to relieve and assist their less fortunate acquaintances.— There are men of wealth among us who go about quietly doing good in this way, like nurses in an hospital, by night and by day, who but for some such crisis would never have revealed their own noble attributes to others, nor would they have learned how much better and truer hearts than they had ever suspected are beating around them.— N. Y. Evening Post. As snow is of itself cold, yet warms - and refreshes the earth, so afflictions, though in themselves grievous, yet warm the heart of the Christian and make it fruitful. When a man has the approbation of his own mind, the frowns of the world, like the pressure of an arch, only serve to strengthen him in his position. Many friends are lost by ill timed jests— rather lose your best joke than your worst friend. As nothing is so honorable as an ancient friendship, so nothing is so scandalous as an old passion. Prefer solid sense to wit:, never study to be diverting without - being useful; let no jest intrude upon good manners, nor say anything that may offend modesty. In love, in friendship, the dream of senti ment is extinguished,, the moment we utter a word which has been necessary to calculate or consider before it is pronounced. When acts of courtesy come gratuitously; they are as acceptable as the clear brook to the thirsty traveler. When the million applaud you, seriously ask yourself what harm you have done—when they censure you, what good ! lie who would! have friends, must show himself friendly. True, and when a man complains of having no friends, he ought to ask himself the question, whether he is a friend to any one.—Eliza Cook. A MASONIC MOVEMENT -Pu rchase of Mount Vernon. ----We find the following an nouncement in the Richmond Dispatch: We understand that one or more of the Masonic Lodges of this city have originated a plan for the purchase of Mount Vernon, which, if taken hold of in earnest by the "brothers of the mystic tie" throughout the Union, cannot fail, of success. The plan pro posed is to get the subordinate Lodges to con tribute $1 for each member. The price ask ed for the Mount Vernon estate is $200,000 and the Masonic statistics show that the or der numbers three hundred thousand ; so that if all the Lodges in the Union accede to the proposition—and the probability is that they will—the purchase of Mount Vernon may be looked upon as a fixed fact. But the sugges tion, as given out, does not stop here. When the lands which contains the last mortal remains of the immortal Washington is possessed by the Masons, they propose to present it to the State of Virginia, only re serving to their order the right to meet around the tomb of their deceased brother once every year, to celebrate his imperishable deeds and to keep alive his great name. We have strong faith in this patriotic plan for the purchase of Mount Vernon,` knowing, as we do, that the order from which it emanates are ever ready for good deeds, and never look back when they put their hands to the plough. Let every true Mason feel the tomb of Washington, can only be preserved from de cay by his efforts, and but a few short months will roll by ero it will be the proper ty of that State which gave him birth, and to whose keeping alone his ashes should be entrusted. THE NEW TERRITORY OF DACOTAII.—The last Congress, it will be remembered, formed a new Territory under the name of Dacotah. The Independent, published at Sargeaut's Bluff, says the Territory includes a great part of the valley of the Sioux, the valleys of the James and Vermillion rivers, and large tracts of beautiful bottom lying on the Missouri. In reg ard to the climate, it be comes milder to the westward, so that the winters in the northwestern parts of Dacotah are said to be not much more severe than in northern Pennsylvania. The prevailing want of this entire region is timber. Its chief at tractions are fertile soil, pure air and water, and unusually healthy climate; and it is be lieved also to possess abundance of mineral coal. NoTmNo To SmOat.—The whole number of cigars exported from Havana up to the 15th of August, the present year, was 84,- 985,000, of which 29,681,000, were cleared for this country,• 16;30b,000 to Great Britain, 17,733,000 to Hamburg and Bremen, 9,628,- 000, to France and 8,130,000 to Spain. The exports of tobacco amounted to 1,180,345 pounds, of which 528,636 pounds were clear ed for this country. Diamond Dust • • • The Scoffer Silenced. DY REV. C. R. SPITRGEON, OF LONDON. Let me tell you a story. I- have told it before ; but it is a striking one, and sets out in a true light how easily men will be brought, in times of danger, to believer . in a God, and a God of justice too, though they have denied him before. In the backwoods of Canada there resided a good minister, who one evening went out to meditate, as Isaac did, in the fields. He soon found himself on the borders of aforest, which he entered, and walked along a track which had been trodden before him; musing, musing still, until at last the shadow of twilight gathered around him, and began to think how he should spend a night in the forest. He trembled at the idea of remain ing there, with the poor shelter of a tree into which he would be compelled to climb. On a sudden be saw a light in the distance among the trees, and imagining that it might be from the window of some cottage where he would find a hospitable retreat, he hasten ed to it, and to his surprise saw a space clear ed, and trees laid down to make a platform, and upon it a speaker addressing a multi tude. Ile thought to himself, " I have stum bled on a company who in this dark forest have assembled to worship God, and some minister is preaching to. theta at this . late hour of the evening, concerning the kingdom of God and his righteousness ;" but to his surprise and horror, when he came nearer, he found a young man declaiming against God, daring the Almighty •to do his work upon him, speaking terrible things in wrath against the justice of the Most High, and venturing most bold and awful assertions concerning his own disbelief in a future state. It was altogether a singular scene ; it was lighted up by pine knots, which cast a glare here and there, while the thick darkness in other places still reigned. The people were intent on listening to the orator ; and when he sat down, thunders of applause were given to him, each one seeming to emulate the other in his praise. Thought the minister, "I must not let this pass ; I must rise and speak; the honor _of my God and his cause demands it." He feared to speak, for he knew not what to say, having come there suddenly ; but he would have ventured, had not something else oc curred. A man of middle age, bale and strong, rose, and leaning on his staff, he said, " My friends" I have a word to speak to you to-night. I am not about to refute any of the arguments of the orator; I shall not criticise his style ; I shall say nothing concerning what 1 believe to be the blasphemies he has uttered; but I shall simply relate to you a fact, and after I have done that, you shall draw your own conclusions. Yesterday, I walked by the side of yonder river ; I saw on its flood a young man in a boat. The boat was unmanageable; it was going fast towards the rapids ; he could not use the oars, and I saw he was not capable of bring ing the boat to the shore ; I saw that young maturing his hands in agony; by and by he gave up the attempt to save his life, kneeled down, and cried with desperate ear nestness, '0 God, save my soul! If my body cannot be saved, save my soul!' hoard him confess that he had been a blas phemer ; I heard him vow that, if his life were spared, he would never be such again ; I heard him implore the mercy of heaven for Jesus Christ's sake, and earnestly plead that he might be washed in his blood. These arms saved that young man from the flood ;_ I plunged in, brought the boat to shore, and saved his life. That same young man has just now addressed you, and cursed his Maker. 'What say you to this, sirs ?" The speaker sat down. You may guess what a shudder ran through the young man himself, and how the audience in one moment changed their notes, and saw that after all, while it was a fine thing to brag rend bravado against Almighty God on dry land, and when danger was distant, it was not quite so grand to think ill of him when near the verge of the grave. We believe there is enough con science in every man to convince him that God must punish him for his sin, and that in every heart the words of Scripture will find an echo, "If he turn 'not, he will whet his sword." kar . A. shocking instance of human deprav ity is related in the Cincinnati Gazette. A brutal-looking fellow, while walking along the bank of the Mianii canal, saw a noble= looking spaniel lying in the sun, and most wantonly threw a stick with a heavy piece of lead attached, which he held in his hand, at the poor brute, but missed him, and the mis= sile flew into the water. The dog, who, it seems, had been taught to go into the water and dive, plunged into the canal, brought out the weapon, and carried it in his mouth to the , man, and laid it at his feet; and that man picked up the stick s and struck the generous creature dead ! From this incident our cotem porary very naturally doubts whether all men have souls. How TQ EAT GRAPES.-Dr. Underhill has reduced eating grapes to a science. Here are his directions : " When in health, swal low only the pulp. When the bowels are costive and you wish to relax them, swallow the seeds with the pulp, ejecting the skin.— When you wish to check a too relaxing state of the bowels swallow the pulp with the skin, ejecting the seeds. Thus may the grape be used as a medicine, whilst at the same time it serves as a luxury unsurpassed by any other cultivated fruit. An adult may eat from three to four pounds a day with benefit. It is well to take them with or immediately after your regular meals, A WARNING --COWS POISONED BY WILD CHEARY.—The Ohio Farmer reports that a man having occasion to cut down a small wild cherry tree, threw the branches over the fence into the road or common, and that two cows, after eating the loaves, died within twenty minutes, and within fifty feet of the place. That Prussic acid. is contained in the leaves, &c., of this tree, we were aware, but did not suppose it existed in sufficient quan tity to produce such effects. Editor and Proprietor. NO. 17. "Don't tell Father." There is many a good mother who plans the ruin of the child she dearly loves—teach es it the first lesson in wrong doing, by simp ly saying, "Now don't tell Father." Sara.* mothers do it thoughtlessly; ignorantly, not considering that it is a first lesson in decep- : - don. • Not at all strange that gamblers and liars_ and thievbs and hypocrites, and distrustful, evil minded people so abound, when weak, loving Mothers, with honeyed words, and, caresses, sweeten the little teachings that so soon ripen into all kinds of meanness anci unprincipled rascality. 1 heard a kind, well meaning mother say to the puny baby in her arms, "well, birdie shall have its good candy every day; bad. pappa shan't know it; see how it loves it!" and the little thing whose reach of life had. not a whole winter in it yet, snatched at the bright red and blue colored poison, and made as imply glad motions, as though it took its whole body to suck it with. The poor little thing had been fed on candy, almost, and fretted for more whenever its mouth wasn't filled, Even the nourishment nature provi ded didn't. wholly satisfy it, for it wasn't as sweet as candy. - I thought it was no won,-_r,if children were taught even in babyhood that papa was bad and ugly and unkind, that in youth they ehotild call him a "snob" and "the oldman,' and the mother, Whoni they had learned by experience had no stability of character, and was capable of deception, not strange they should. so little respect her as to call her the "Old woman.?" I shudder when I hear the frequent words drop from young lips, "Oh, I must not lot father know that." . The father may be a stern man, rigid in his way of bringing up his children, but he has a heart somewhere, and surely truthful. honest, loving words from his own child, will find that warm place. So it is best never to deceive him in anything, but keep his confi dence whole and unshaken, and the whiteness of the soul unstained by that loathsome sin, deception. _; . "Fathor don't allow me to read. novels," said a young lady to me lately, "but mother does, and so we two read all we can get, and he never knows it;" giggled as though they were very cunninc , and worthy of praise, for so completely deceiving poor, good father. My soul sickened at the idea of a wife daring to teach her children to disobey their father; of the daughter, vain and unprinci pled, with such a mother to teach and vide her. Better for the world she had never been born,— Ohio Cultivator. What do these things mean ? We find the following in a late number of the New York Evangelist : " Vermont, one of the most purely agricul tural States in the Union, exhibits sad evi dence of religious indifference. The annual report of the general convention in that State, discloses the . following fact, published in the Congregational (N. I.) Journal:— " More than 20,000 families in Vermont habitually neglect all public worship ; only about one-fifth of the people in the average, attend upon evangelical worship, and four fifths of the inhabitants on each returning Lord's day are absent from the sanctuary.— IP hat do these things mean? Making all duo allowance for the necessary absence of those who, in the Providence of. God, cannot be present, there ought to be at least three-fifths instead of one fifth of the . people at public worship. Where, then, are the 150,000 souls that ought to be in the house of God every Sabbath ? What are their thoughts and deeds on God's holy day 2" The Boston Courier has the following com ments on the above:— " The New York Evangelist (a religious paper inclining.to anti-slavery) ought not to ask: What do these things mean ?' as if the reason were not perfectly obvious. That abolitionism would inevitably lead to such a. sad result has been preached upon the house tops. The Courier, with other conservative journals, has never ceased to urge entreaties and warnings upon the subject for a year past. Many of the clergy, with a zeal quite surpassing their religious ministrations, have entered into abolitionism in the pulpit, direct ly or indirectly ; and out of the pulpit have too often set examples of partisanship to their people. Abolitionism is not religion ; but; like all other fanaticism, it is an absorb ing delusion. The human niind cannot be Mil of One engrossing topic and find room for another. The consequence is that aboli tionism in Vermont, and elsewhere, has ex cluded Christianity. The process of opera tion is—first, lukewarmness, then neglect of religious, ordinances, then disbelief. And yet the New York Evangelist, adopting the report of the convention, innocently asks, What do these things mean?" A HARD STONE.—About the hardest case ever heard of was a murderer named Stone, exeCuted many years since in Exeter, N. H. Just before the rope was put around his neck, he requested the Sheriff to give him a mug of ale. The request being promptly acceded to, he took the mug and commenced blowing the froth from the ale. "What are you doing that for?" nervously asked the Sheriff. " Because," returned the stubborn wretch, " I don't think froth is healthy." CLEANING SADDLES, &c.—The following is a good recipe which will give saddles and. bridles a good polish, and be entirely free from all stickiness :—The whites of three eggs evaporated till the substance left resem bles the common gum, dissolved into a pint of gin, and put into a common wine -bottle, and filled up with water.—Scientific Ameri can. 1169. A Lewisburg pal* says, a farmer re siding somewhere on the North Branch in voked curses upon his head, because ho was unfortunate in some of his crops, and an of fended God. has taken him at his word by Pausing him to remain in the position he was in when he invoked. the curse. He is not able to move a muscle, and can only roll his eye balls to give signs of life. He has not been able to speak another word since the profane sentence passed through his lips. rer A bright child asked his mother where he should go to when he died. "To heaven, I trust," said the mother. "Bhall I have anything to eat there?" - "Yes, love, you *ill be fed on the bread of life." "Well, I hope they'll put lots o' butter on it," concluded the youngster. XPEr" You saved my life on one occasion," said a beggar to a captain under whom ho had served. "In what way ?" "Why, I served under you in battle, awl, when you run away, I followed."
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers