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NEW GOODS! NEW GOODS!
LF: - ) AT D. P. GW[N'S CHEAP STORE! .4? 2:k r
-.- DAVID P. GIVI.N has ju.st returned from Philndelpida,
with the largest and most beautiful a›sortment of
FALL AND WINTER GOODS
ever brought to Ituutiugdon, consisting of the most f3sh
tenable DIT.Sd Goods fur Ladies and ticialomen, such as
Black and Fancy Silks, All-Wool Delaines,
different colors; Printed and Plain French Merino, Onthre
striped Delaines, Barred and /alloy Dal:Linos, Levella Cloth,
Coburg Cloth, Mohair Dehnize, ,Shepliord6 Linse3 s
.and Prints of every description. . .
Also,—a large lot of Dress Trimmings,
More Antique, Arcl vets, Buttons. Caws, Braids, &c.
Bonnet Silks, Crapes, Ribbons, Cloves, Ali lls, Vei/8, Laces.
Belts, Belting Ribbon, NI - flak:bone, Reed a all Brass Skirt
Hoops, Hosiery, Silk and. Linen Handkerchiefs, Silk Neck
Ties, Zephyr, French Wet king Cot ten. C,,t ton and Linen
Floss, Tidy Yarn, Woolen Yarns, Wool Coal. and Hoods,
Comforts and Scat fs.
Also—Collars and Undersleeves, the best
assortment in town. Jaconets, barred and plain; Mull
and Swiss Mitslins, Moreen Quid hoop Skirts, Irish Linen,
Linen Breasts, Shirts and Drawers, Linen Table Cloths,
Napkins, Towels, &c.
Also—Bay State, Waterloo, Wool Shawls,
Single and Double BroClut Shawls, Cloths, Cassimercs,
sinetts, Tweeds, Kentucky Jeans, Yestin, bleached and
unbleached Mullins, sheeting and pillow-case iluyli is,
Nankeen, Tickett, Checks, Table Diaper, Crash, Flannels,
Sack Flannels, Canton Flannels, Blankets, &c. Also, a
Large lot of silk and colored straw Bonnets of the latest
styles, which will be sold cheaper than can be bad in Hun
Hats & Caps. Boots & Shoes, Gum Shoes.
Hardware. queensware, Buckets, Tubs, Bit-lccts, Churns,
Butter Bowls, Brooms, Brushes, Carpels, Oil Cloths.
• llNsh Sc Salt, Sugar, Coffee, Tea, Molasses, and all goods
Usually kept in a country store.
lify old customers, and as many new ones as can crowd
in, are respectfully requested to call and examine my
All kind 3 of Cduntry Produce taken in exchange for
goods at the Highest .Markot prices,
'Huntingdon, October 7, 1857
jHE CAMPAIGN OPENED !-
FIRST ARRIVAL OF FALL AND WINTER GOODS
Would respectfully announce to their numerous friends,
and public, that they have just received from the East a
most beautiful assortment of FALL and WINTER Goods;
embracing every variety of new styles, such as Valencia
Plaids, Plaid Ducats, Oriental Lustres, Gala Plaids, Tit 111011)
Cloth, Poplins striped, and plaid, timbre striped DeLaines,
French Merino, Printed DeLai nes, llayadere Stripes, Argen
tine, Coburg, Mohair and Madonna Cloths, Shepherd's
Plaids, French Blanket, Bay State. Lone; and Square Broche
Shawls, Gents' Travelling ditto, French Cloths, plain and
fancy Cassimeres, &dinettes, Jeans, Tweeds, &c.
Ribbons, Mitts, Gloves, Gauntlets, Tal Inas, Cloaks, Che
nille Scarfs, Dress Trimmings, Ladies' Collars, 'Brilliants.
plain and spriged Swiss, Victoria Lawn, Nainsooks, and
every variety of white Goods. Hats, Caps, and Bonnets
of every variety and style.
We have a full stock of Hardware, Queensware, Boots &
Shoes, Wood and Willow ware, which will be sold on such
terms as will make it the interest of all to call aud exam
Groceries can be had lower than the high prices which
have been maintained heretofore. _ .
We also deal in Plaster, Fish, Salt and all kinds of Grain
and possess facilities in this branch of trade unequaled by
We deliver all packages or parcels of merchandise Free
of Charge at the Depots of the Broad Top and Denn'a Rail
Huntingdon, Sept. 00, 1857.
rrHE CHILDREN'S FAVOR [TE-
E THE TEACHER'S AID-THE PARENT'S FRIEND!
PROSPECTUS OF VOLUME V.
Tim STUDENT AND SCHOOLMATE ;
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BOOTS & SHOES. A new stock re
ceived I LEVI WESTBROOH. has Just open-FEg
ed another new stock of BOOTS & SHOES, of the
best and most fashionable kind to be had in the
Ladies and Gentlemen, Misses and Boys can be suited by
calling at my store.
Thankful for past favors, I ask a continuance of the
same, knowing that customers will be pleased with my
Boots & Shoes and my prices. L. WESTRE.IOOK.
Huntingdon, October 7, 1557.
COUNTRY DEALERS can
buy CLOTHING from mo in Huntingdon at
WHOLESALE as cheap as they Can in the
cities, as I have a wholesale store , in Philadelphia.
Huntingdon, Oct. 14, 1857. H. ROMAN.
BOOTS and SHOES, the largest and
cheapest assortment in town, at
CLOTHING!—A large stock on. hand,
at the cheap store of ]3ENJ. JACOBS. Call and ex
amine goods and prices. (oci2S.
Nf OUR N — .l. N G COLLARS—handsome
A_ Etylvs,jubt received by
FISHER & McMURITUE
LIFE, DEATH AND ETERNITY.
A dark, inevitable night,
A blank that will remain ;
A waiting for the morning light,
When waiting is in vain;
A gulph where pathway never led
To show the depth beneath ;
A thing we know not, yet we dread,—
That dreaded thing is Death.
The vaulted void of purple sky
That everywhere extends,
That stretches from the dazzled eye,
In space that never ends;
A morning, whose uprisen sun
No setting e'er shall see;
A day that comes without a noon,—
Such is Eternity.
`A 'detesting Inisttlia.
New and Effectual mode of Enforcing
[Cot respondence of the Press.]
SMYRNA, Del., Dec. 29, 1857
We are Informed that a married lady of Dover met a
gentleman from the same place, on the parch of a hotel in.
lino ; rim, a short time since, and cowhided hint severely.—
Our DO irtuant did not learn what the provocation was that
induced her to chastise the gentleman."
The paragraph with which I commence
this letter having gone the rounds of the pa
pers, and created not a little conversation,
speculation, and excitement, I deem it proper
to give you more particularly the circumstan
ces which gave rise to especially as it is a
good thing . and a matter out of which
good will be lilcei y to come.
At Dover there lives a gentleman of very
considerable fortune, a man of unblemished
integrity, a ripe scholar, and, barring his ec
centricities, a very pleasant and useful citi
zen. lie is blest with an excellent wife and
several interesting children. Throughout
this gentleman's life, it has been his misfor
tune, greatly to the regret of his numerous
friends, to get on what is called "a frolic,"
but -which, in his case, (as he never does any
thing by halves,) may more properly, though
perhaps less elegantly, be styled "a regular•
Of late years'his delinquencies in this re
spect have been less frequent, and his friends
have had sanguine hopes that he had resolv
ed to break the devil's head with a bottle, and
never make use of one again. It seems, how
ever, that a fiend in the cloak of a friend,
persuaded him to do otherwise, and that on
various occasions lately, the tempter succeed
ed in introducing an enemy into the gentle
man's head to steal away his brains.
At length the gentleman's wife, mortified
and distressed, called upon her husband's
friend (p,) and as nearly as I have been able
to obtain it, the following dialogue took place :
Lady. I believe, sir, you profess to be a
friend of my husband, myself, and my child
D. P. GISTN
Friend. I have that honor, madam
Lady. Ilow then, sir, does it happen that
you take pains to ruin him, mortify me, dis
grace my children, and make us all very un
Fiend. My good madam, can you for a
moment suppose that I could be guilty of such
an enormity ?
Lady. I suppose nothing. I know, sir,
that you are guilty as I charge you. Under
your influence, persuasion, and example, you
have of late frequently decoyed my husband
from his home, and in your company be has
frequently become drunk, and in that condi
tion, regardless of what he owes to God, the
community, and his family, has done many
things deeply painful to his friends, and a
source of humiliation to him when sober.
Friend. Really ma'am you magnify trifles;
a harmless frolic now and then scarcely de
serves such severe reproof.
Lady. Sir, you may consider drunkenness
and its attendant depravities as trifles. I
think very differently—an evil which changes
a gentleman of refinement and education into
a besotted, senseless, irresponsible being, is
not a trifle. My husband, outside of your in
fluence and association, is true to himself and
the community, admired for his learning,
honored for-his integrity, and beloved by nu
merous friends for the kind and generous
manner in which he dispenses the pleasant
amenities of social life. -I tell you, sir, your
conduct has seriously impaired the happiness
of myself and children. The object of this
visit is to request you to refrain from further
intercourse with Mr. ; you can do him
no good; on the contrary, you do us all a
great deal of harm.
Friend. I regret, madam, that you have
so poor an opinion of me. I doubt very much
the propriety of even a lady making such a
request as you make.
Lady. On that question, sir, I have no
doubts. My mind is made up ; to me the path
of duty is perfectly plain, and I intend to
pursue it. I called upon you with the hope
that I might find in your nature some re
deeming trait, and that, through its influence, i
you would be induced to aid n saving my ex
cellent husband from the ill-effects of .his only
weakness. I perceive my error, and discover
you to be even worse than I had anticipated.
I now inform you, sir, that if, hereafter, I
find you in my husband's company, inducing
him to drink, I will take the matter in my
own hands, and remedy the evil.
Friend. What would you do, madam ?
Lady. Publicly horsewhip you, sir.
Friend, (forcing a, very queer kind of laugh.)
You would scarcely so far forget what is due
to the dignity and delicacy of your sex. In
addition to which, public opinion—
Lady. Public opinion 1 I respect public
opinion, sir, only so far as it acts correctly.—
My first duty is to my husband—te protect
his health and vindicate his honor. If, in
D. P. ()WIN'S
A shadow moving by one's side,
That would a substance seem,—
That is, yet is not—though described—
Like skies beneath the stream ;
A tree that's ever in the bloom,
Whose fruit is never ripe;
A wish for joys that never come—
Such aro the hopes of Life.
f 4 "; .
.•;:',' • . - e . 7
i .Z *A
. :1 ,....: t,,,..,
1 ,' , !:.". - • . ! A , . 4.
.":: -, •' . :1 • !V. Z.:7i;
t. f:•: ,. . ''••,.:;: . 4 . , ..
r.:2 - - ! 2•:!.. ~,,,,•••
doing this, it becomes necessary to publicly
horsewhip a pretended friend, but a real en
emy, I shall not stop to consult either the
dignity or the delicacy of my sex. That por
tion of the public whose opinion is worth
having will judge the act by the motive. I
have not the least objection that it shall be
told to my children when I am in the grave,
their father was saved by their mother pub
licly horse-whipping a heartless associate
Who would have led him to destruction. I
repeat, sir, that if I find you in the situation
I have described, I will chastise you.
The friend smiled, and the lady took her
leave. Time passed on, and the next scene
in this domestic drama is that referred to in
the paragraph at the head of this letter. To
understand it right, you must place your men
tal eye upon the very scene of the adventure.
Fancy alarge,powerful, reasonably handsome,
intellectual-looking woman, her eyes flashing
with indignation, and every energy collected
for an unusual achievement. Her carriage
has just drawn up in front of a hotel, and in
less time than it takes to tell it in she steps
to the bar-room. There, seated glass in hand,
was her husband, and alongside of him his
" friend." Quick as lightning she springs
forward, and before you could say Jack Rob
inson, with the "friend" twisting and writh
ing in her grasp, she is seen upon the hotel
porch raining stripes as thick as hail upon
the doomed delinquent. The thrashing was
fierce in the extreme, and continued until the
enraged woman cast her victim from her, ex
claiming, "Now, sir, I've kept my word."—
She then moved towards her husband, and in
a firm but respectful manner offered her arm,
which he took, and, getting into the carriage
with her, accompanied her home.
An affair so extraordinary, and happening
among persons of high respectability, has
naturally created a great deal of talk, and
has called forth a variety of opinions—some
of the sterner sex think it is really awful, and
a few of the wishy-washy, sentimental Lydia
Languishes of the neighborhood, simper out
a severe condemnation of the lady; the bet
ter and more wholesome opinion, however,
appeared to be, that a few such wives would
redeem many husbands, and save the tem-
Derance societies a great deal of trouble and
expense. If a jury were sommoned, the ver
dict would he, " served him right."
Yours, &c., SPECTATOR.
There is much good sense . in the article
quoted below which we find without credit in
one of our exchanges. The conversations of
adults in the presence of children has much
influence upon the latter in school, sometimes
exercisinc , t' a most baneful and destructive in
fluence. We often hear adults boasting of
certain smart mischievous acts of their school
days, in the presence of children, who are
apt to take it for granted that it is something
worthy to be boasted of. For the most part
these smart things are coined fabrications—
not a word of truth in them—yet they may
influence the child bearing them to a course
of action which will do a life-lon g injury.—
Such follies should be corrected, and every
sensible person should rebuke them whenever
opportunity offers. Bat read the following:
"Parents generally are desirous of securing
for their children what they call a good edu
cation. This is a commendable manifesta
tion of parental affection. It still would be
more so, however, if the motives urging them
to provide a good education for their children
were somewhat more elevated than they usu
ally are. A good education is too often sought,
merely chiefly as a stepping-stone to wealth
or rank, or respectability in the world. There
are considerations rendering a good educa
tion desirable, of a much higher and more
commendable nature than this. Need we
name them? For the present, we will leave
them to be presented by the conscience and
good sense of our readers, while we proceed
to say that which we intend to say.
It is this :—Parents, in desiring a good ed
ucation for their children too commonly in
dulge in a very narrow and inadequate con
ception of what constitutes a really valuable
or good education, and also of what influence
a child must be brought under in order to se
cure it. Do not too many regard a school, a
teacher well versed in the usual branches and
apt to teach, with approved text-books, about
all that is necessary in order to secure the
good education which they contemplate for
their children ? Is it not too generally and
too much forgotten, that every conversation
which they hear from the lips of their'parcnts
and every action of their lives, which mani
fest either a low or lofty character, either
worthy or unworthy principles, are a part of
the education, good or bad, of their children?
Is it not too generally forgotten that every
word and every deed of the companions and.
associates of your children has somethiny to
do in making in their education, either good.
or bad ? Is it not generally forgotten that
the temper, the taste, the habits of their pa
rents," and, indeed, of all with whom parents
receive to their intimacy, livincr. for high, no
ble, Heaven-approved ends and objects—such
appearing plainly in all conversation and
conduct as the ruling
. purpose of life—and
they will then be receiving what constitutes
the most essential part of what may truly be
called A GOOD EDUCATION."
gtV".Lorenzo Dow, the celebrated itinerant
preacher, once came across a man who was
deeply lamenting that his axe had been sto
len. Dow told the man if he would come to
meeting with him he would find his axe.—
At the meeting, Dow had on the pulpit, in
plain sight, a big stone. Suddenly in the
middle of the sermon, he stopped, took up
the stone, and said : "An axe was stolen in
this neighborhood last night, and if the man
who took it don't dodge, I will hit him on
the forehead with this stone !" at the same
time making a violent effort to throw it.—
A person present was seen to dodge his head,
and proved to he the guilty party.
WS—Guard well your flag! uphold it high !
Beneath its folds fight, conquer, die !
.Brave ,actions are the substance of
life, and good saying, , ,. the ornament of it.
HUNTING N, PA., JANUARY 20, 1858.
A Good Education
The Drunkard's Children
BY . W. A. DEVON.
Poor children, God help them; for they
have none other to assist them. What! have
they not a father and a mother to look after
them? No, gentle reader, they have neither
one nor the other. The one who ought to be
a father is a confirmed drunkard, incapable
of taking care of himself, far less the care of
these poor children which he has been the
means of bringing into a world of sin and
sorrow. From the effect of his ill usage, their
unfortunate mother died last winter, leaving
her little ones to the mercy of a selfish world.
Ah I what a sad hour was that for the poor
mother. The snow was lying deep on the
ground, and the bleak, frosty wind was rust
ling among the naked branches as she lay
shivering on a bed of straw in one corner of
a dark dirty room, and with scarcely a rag to
protect her wasted form from the bitter blast.
The stove was cold and black ; for the drunk
ard could not waste his means in buying wood
and coal, as long as he could get rum and
brandy so cheap.
The poor, ragged, unwashed children were
gathered round the bed of their dying mother.
Poor things, they did not know what death
was, but they were only too familiar with
hunger; and now they were gathered round
her who had been 'their only friend, from
whom alone they had ever received a kind
word or look, and asked for bread. There
was none in the house, and she bad not tasted
anything herself since the day before ; for the
little which a kind neighbor had given her
she had divided amongst the children. But
oh, how it wrung her woman's heart at that
sad hour to hear her children cry for bread
and have none to give them. Death was
fearful, but here was a pang more bitter still.
0 ! if the Father had but gathered them home
before her, how gladly could she have gone
to meet them. But no; "Father, thy will be
done on earth as it is clone in heaven," she
said, and kissed the drunkard's poor, despised
children, who were dearer-than all the earth
to her; and with a prayer that the Father of
the fatherless might be their protector, her
spirit passed away. The wind still sobbed
and moaned without, rattling at the casements
and shaking the doors ; but it had no power
to awaken that dead mother, and as little to
call home the drunken father.
The children had cried themselves asleep
by their dead mothes's side, but -they were
aroused at midnight by the inhuman fiend,
who came reeling into the room of death,
drunken ditty, and, fell senseless
on thefioor, quite unconscious of what had
happened. When he awoke in the morning
and beheld the wreck which he had made,
deep, though momentary, was his remorse.—
He cursed the fiend which had bound him
in its spell, and made him the murderer
(lawfully) of the best and gentlest of wives,
and he swore he would never taste it more.
But the fiend laughed at him, and bade him
take a little to soothe his sorrow and ease
his guilty mind, and now he is a greater
slave than ever. His home and his children
are deserted for the " rum hole ;" and they
may be seen sitting on the stoop at all hours
of the day and far into the dark and dismal
night, clothed in rags and filth, - and with
barely enough of food to keep body and soul
- God help them, poor creatures, neglected
by their father and despised by their neigh
bors, their spirits are broken, and they look
upon themselves as Ishmaelites, "every hand
is against them, and theirs against every
one." They are left to grow up rank and
noxious weeds in the garden of life,- without
education and religion. The consequence
will be that they will go to swell the already
too extensive number of criminals, while the
guilty father goes unpunished.
God help the poor children;
and let every
one who knows of such (and who does not)
try and help them also, by word and deed.—
Remember, "Charity covereth a multitude of
sins ;" and what can be greater charity than
to save the drunkard's child for time and
Yes, you pass it along, whether you believe
it or not. You don't believe the one-sided
whisper against the character of another, but
you will use yotir influence to bear up the
false report and pass it on the current.--
Strange creatures are mankind. How many
benevolent deeds have been chilled by the
shrug of a shoulder. How many individuals
have been shunned by a gentle, mysterious
hint. How many chaste bosoms have been
wrung with grief at a single nod. How
many graves hate been dug by false report.
Yet you will keep it above the water by a
wag of your tongue, when you might sink it
forever. Destroy the passion for talc-telling,
we pray. Lisp not a word that may injure
the character of another. Be determined to
listen to no story that is repeated to the great
injury of another, and, and as far as you are
concerned, the slander will die. But tell it
once, and it may go as on the wing of the
wind, increasing with each breath, till it has
circulated-through the State, and has brought
to the grave one who might have been a bless
ing to the world.
Some time in 1838 or 1839 a gentle
man in Tennessee became involved and want
ed money; he bad property and owed debts.
His property was not available just then,and
off he posted to Boston, backed by Dames of
several of the best men in Tennessee. Money
was tight, and Boston bankers,looked
at the names. "Very good," said they, • t,
but—do you know General Jackson?" "Cer
tainly." "Could you get his indorsement ?"
"Yes, but ho is not worth one tenth as much
as either of these men whose name I offer
you." "so matter; General Jackson has al
ways protected himself and his paper; and
we'll let you have the money on the strength
of his name." In a few days the papers with
his signature arrived. The moment these
Boston bankers saw the tall A. and long J of
Andrew Jackson, our Tennesseean says he
could have raised a hundred thousand dollars
upon the signature without the slightest diffi
culty. So much for an c~tablishcd character
Beautiful Tribute to a Wife
Sir James Mackintosh, the historian, was
married in early life, before be attained for
tune or fame, to Miss Catharine Stuart, a
young Scotch lady, distinguished more for
the excellence of her character than her
charms. After eight years of a happy wed
ded life, during which she became the moth
er of three children, she died. A few days
after her death, the bereaved husband wrote
to a friend, depicting the character of his
wife in the following terms :
"I was guided (he observes) in my choice
only by the blind affection of my youth. I
found an intelligent companion and a tender
friend, a prudent monitress, the most faith
ful of wives, and a mother as tender as chil
dren ever had the misfortune to lose. I met
a woman, who by the tender management of
my weaknesses, gradually corrected. the
most pernicious of them. She became pru
dent from affection ; and though of the most
generous nature, she was taught frugality
and. economy by her love for me.
"During the most critical period of my
life, she preserved order in my affairs, from
the care of which she relieved me. She gen
tly reclaimed me from dissipation; she prop
ped my weak and irresolute nature ; she
urged my indolence to all the exertions that
have been useful and creditable to me, and
she was perpetually at hand to admonish my
heedlessness or improvidence. To her I owe
whatever I a,m ; to her whatever I shall be.
In her solicitude for my interest' she never
for a moment forgot my feelings or my char
acter. Even in her occasional resentment
for which I but too often gave her cause,
(would to God I could. recall those moments!)
she had no sulleness nor acrimony. Her
feelings were warm and impetuous ; but she
was placable, tender and constant. Such
was she whom I have lost when her excel
lent natural sense was rapidly improving,
after eight years struggle and distress had
bound us fast together, and moulded our
tempers to each other ; when a knowledge of
her worth had refined my youthful love into
friendship, and before age had deprived it of
much of its original ardor. I lost her, alas!
the choice of my South, the partner of my
misfortunes, at a moment when I had the
prospect of her sharing my better days."
OLD.—Gold—bright, beautiful gold 1—
What an interesting subject to man, because
it fills his heart in the market place—because
it causes him to ponder, with brow on hand,
at- the fire-side, w4en ho should hush the
whisperings of his . Wnting-room's presiding
god, by paying better heed to the sweet
voices of his household deities.
Gold! gold! how many hearts pine for
it as bringing honor—how many hands close
over it with a more earnest pressure than
that which answers the greeting of a friend
—how many eyes glisten over it that never
glistened over tales of woe? How powerful
it is I It brings the gracious nod from lead
ers of fashion and rank to the owner of
bonds and mortgages, be he ever so poor in
soul, and makes dull the vision of such,
when spiritual wealth goes by in a brother's
form, 'whose material pockets, alas I know
only a shilling. It gives some carriages, and
leaves rough traveling-boots for labor-plod
ding feet. It graciously puts out its jeweled
hand to help the millionaire up the rounds
of social fame, while the poor shilling one
lifts up his tattered foot with bitter disap
pointment for a similar ascent. It takes the
life of rarest fish and fowl to gratify the
pampered tastes of fastidious favorites, and
makes dear Mother Earth find roots and
such cheap things for her pauper sons.
Man will not realize the virtue that lies
buried in glittering stones ; he will not see
the balm for stricken hearts which is hid
therein, and so revels in selfish luxury -and
unblessed ease. He , makes of it a bed of
thorns, when it might give sweet rest to the
weary-hearted, and be to himself a pillow of
down when night and memory come. He
chooses the bed that rises to the wine cup's
brim, rather than the grateful tear' which
overflows the eye of blessing poverty. He
uses it to lead the young and thoughtless
through the path which has a pleasant guide
post, but at the end a, graVe with no light
around it, when he might lead them, by its
well-used power, to a final resting-place, the
way to which would shine with deeds whose
brightness would go before them to God's
Why do People eat Fruit ?
Is it becatse it pleases the palate, or do
they look a step further, and take it because
they are convinced, from long observation,
that it has a most beneficial effect upon the
constitution? It would seem most likely,
from a want of any • apparent system in its
daily use, that the former rather than the lat
ter is far more the incentive to its use. Were
our citizens as fully convinced as the people
of France that perfectly ripe -fruits, and the
grape in an especial manner, when used large.
ly, dilute the blood,' made too viscid by the
free use of animal food, increase the circula
tion of the skin, give color to the pallid check,
assist to overcome obstructions of the liver,
lungs and other vital organs, aiding digestion,
and by its diuretic quality renioving gravel
and dislodging calculi from the kidneys.
They not only secure these advantages but
they also give great tone and vigor to the sys
tem, and elevate hi the scale of health and
strength the feeble, the delicate and the con
sumptive to a degree unattainable in so short
a time from the use of any other diet. We
should appreciate this excellent fruit still
higher than we now do. They will tell you
—and they are excellent judges in these cases
—that the grape confers not only all these
advantages so much more important than
the mere gratification of the palate, (though
this is not denied us,' as the fruit must be per
fectly ripe and sweet to possess these virtues, )
that they exert curative and recuperative in
fluences on the system that no other article of
fruit can confer
It is an error to think that a logg face
is essential to god moralF, ur that laughing
is all 111111,11CIOnadb1c : rime
Editor and Proprietor.
The Uses of Rome
Where lie the clearest proofs of a heavenly
watchfulness over, our 'heads,
,if not in the
shelters where we lay those heads at night ?
Consider what securities home affections bind
about tempted virtue; how the man of busi
ness carries a zone. of Moral purity woven
about him by the caresses of children, from
his house to the market-place ; how the false
and fraudulent pUrpose, half conceived in the
countin . g-room, is rebuked and put to shame
by the innocence that gazes into his eyes and
clings about his neck when he goes home and
shuts the door on the world at night. Con
sider what a hindrance household love inter
poses to stay the erring feet of dissipation—
what triple shield it holds up against the sins
of prodigality, indulgence, or dishonor ! Con
sider that, with most of us, whatever inip&-
ses of generosity visit the soul, whatever
prayers we breathe, whatever holy vows of
religious consecration we pledge, whatever
aspiring resolves we form, are apt to spring
up within the' sacred enclosures of thehousc!
Consider how the mere memory of that spot,
with all its precious endearments goes forth
with the traveler, sails with the sailor, keeps
vigils over the exposed heart ameng the per
ils of the foreign city, sweetens the feverish
dreams and softens the pain of the sickly
climate, and, by calling his love homeward,
calls his faith - to heaven Consider that the
discipline of disease, the purification of be
reavement, the tears of mourners, are all el
ements in the sanctity of home ; that closets
of devotion are parts of the architecture of
the house ; that Bibles are opened on its ta
bles ; that the eyes of new-born children open,
and their first breaths are drawn in its cham
ber; and that the dead body is borne out of
its doors; how fast do the gathering proofs
accumulate, that the human dwelling is a
sanctuary of the Most High l—firitiztiion.
A BEAUTIFUL INSCRIPTION.---In Trinity
church-yard there is an inscription on a
tomb so singularly and affectingly beautiful,
that we cannot forbear to record it, and the
emotions it awakened in the bosom of a
stranger. It is en oblong pile of masonry,
surmounted by a slab-stone, on which are
deeply cut the following words :
" MY MOTIIER I
The trumpet shall sound and the dead shall
There are no other letters or characters on
the slab or pile. If there is one inscription
in the thousand languages, that are or have
been of earth, fitted to retain its sublime
meaning through every period of time up to
the resurrection morning it is this. The wri
ter seemed aware that names would be for
gotten, and titles fade from the memory of
the world. He, therefore, engraved the name
by which he first knew her who gave him'
birth, on the stone—and the dearest of all
names, that of 3.IOTEIER, shall sound a thrill
through the heart of every one who may
ever lean over this monumental pile. If any
shall wish to know further of her who hada
child to engrave her most endearing name
upon a rock, he is sublimely referred to the
sonuding of the 'trumpet and the rising of
the dead, when he may know all.
PLAIN TRUTH.—Some one who seems to
understand the subject describes the educa
tion of "young gentlemen and ladies," of the
would-be-fashionable sort, which tends only
to mental weakness and fashionable 'decay,
as follows :
A young gentleman—a smooth-faced strip
ling—with little breeding and less sense, ri
pens first, and believes himself a nice young
man. He chews and smokes tobacco, swears
genteely, coaxes embryo imperials with bear's
grease, twirls a rattan, spends his father's
money, rides . fast horses—on horseback and . '
in sulk.eys—donble and single—drinks Ca
tawba, curses the Main law and flirts with
young 'ladies,' hundreds of which are just
like himself, though of a different gender ;
and this is the fashionable education of our
day. The fathers and mothers of these fools
were once poor. Good fortune has given
them abundance.' Their Children go• through
with an iri,sxlianstible fortune, and into the
poor-house. Parents you are responsible for
this folly. Set your sons and daughters to
work and let them know that only in useful
ness there is honor and prosperity,'
TUE POOR Bor.—Don't be ashamed, my
goad lad, if you hate a patch on your elbow.
It is no mark of disgrace. It speaks well for
your indmitrous mother. For our part, would
rather see a dozen patches on your jacket
than hear one profane or vulgar word escape
from your lips, - or smell the fumes of tobacco
on your breath. No good boy will shun you
because you cannot dress as your compan
ions; and if a bOyl l, nglis at your appear
ance, say nothing, my go, d lad,. but walk on.
We know many a rich and good man who
was once as poor as you. Fear God, my boy,
and if you are poor, but honest, you will be
respected a great deal more than if you were
the son of a rich man, and addicted' to bad
LIMIT Surm.—One of the great secrets
of health is a light supper, and it's a great
self denial when one is tired and hungry at
the close of the day, to eat little or nothing.
Let such one take leisurely a single cup of
tea and a piece of bread and butter; and ho
will leave the -table as fully pleased With
himself and all the world, as if ho had eaten
a heavy meal, and be tenfold better. for, it
the next morning. Take away two men un
der similar circumstances;Strong.; hard-work
ing men, of twenty-five years; let one take
his bread and butter and a cup of tea," and
the other a hearty meal of meat, bread, pota
toes and ordinary et eeteras, as the last meal
of the day, and I will venture to say that the
tea-drinker will outlive the other by thirty
TELE O(; TER AND TUE INNER WORLD.—There
are some who seemi to live entirely in the
outer world; while others find their true posi
tion in the inner—a few live in each alter
The first are such as seize the pleasures of
the present, with no thought of the future,
and find matter for enjoyment and mirth in
almost any Class of externals into which they
may be thrown. The second aro contempla
tive, sensitive and poetic; their thoughts are
with the glories of the past, the idealities of
the present, the. bright hopes of the future.
They merely liVe in the outer world; their
pleasures are all drawn from the inner. The
few, of the third class, combine a hapy ad
mixture of reality and ideality. To-day they
live in, the outer world, to-morrow in the in
ner. They laugh with the cheerful, and dance
with the gay, yet deep within their souls is
a contemplative, sensitive, poetic gem, which,
ever and anon, shines forth amid the grosser
glare of outward formalities. •
It is said that the kind ruothers,of the
East have got so good, that they give their
children chloroform previous to : , ' whipping
rTell ma with whom thou i goet and
will toll thee what thou &est.'