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r S V - "tiiis
6
•
CIHANG-E OF SCHEDULE.—On and
after Wednesday, April 7th., the Trains carrying pas
sengers on the HUNTLVGDON & Bri.o.tn Tor RAILROAD : will
leave and arrive as fiillows :
Leave at 3.15 A. M. Arrive at 3.04 P. M.
" " 4.00 P. M. " " 3.10 "
S. S. LAWRENCE.
Huntingdon. April, 7, 1853.. Superintwlent.
'EMPORTANT TO FARMERS.—The
most valuable MANURE now in the anarket is MIT
ittIELL & CROASDALE'S Improved Ammoniated BON E
SUPER-P.HOSPIIATE OP LIM E. It not only stimulates
the growing crop, but permanently - enriches the land. It
is prepared entirely by ourselves under the direction of one
of the first Chemists iu the country, and is warranted pure
and uniform in its composition. It only needs to be seen
by the intelligent Fat mer to could:tee him of its intrinsic
value as a permanent Fertilizer. Fur sale in large or small
quantities. by CROASDALE, PEIRCE & CO.,
104 North Wharves, one door above Arch St.. Philada..
And by most of the principal dealers throughont the conn
fry. [March 24, i'c3S-3m.
A
'XANDRIA FOUNDRY
The Alexandria Foundry has been
bought by 11. C. MeGILL, and is in blaqt.
rtnd have all kindsof Castings, Stoves Ma- '' •
chines, Plows, Kettles, &c., &c., which be wiumvoia g l i o^
will sell at the lowest prices. All kinds
of Country Produce and old :Metal taken in exchange for
Castings, at market prices
April 7,1858
TO MERCH R M
ANTS AND FAERS.
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Feb. 24, 1658
F YOU WANT TO BE CLOTIM),
Call at the store of BENJ. JACOM,.
.....$1 50
EMI
R. C. McGILL
FISHER & McMUILTRIE
WILLIAM LEWIS,
VOL XIII,
cititct Iltrtity.
I Wept Beside thy Grave, Mother.
I=
I wept beside thy grave, mother,
My heart is weeping still,
And fondly lingers near the tomb
On yonder lonely hill.
I did not hear thy parting words,
I did not see thee die;
But thy last message came to me,
When death was hovering nigh.
I have been a truant boy, mother,
And caused thee many a pain,
But I would heal the wound I made,
Could'st thou return again ;
My boyish heart would not obey
Thy wild commands, I know,
And o'er my waywardness to thee,
My tears will ever flow.
I was thy cherished pet, mother,
Thy love was fond and true,
Thy kisses oft bcdew'd my cheek,
Ere manhood's care I know;
Affliction's child from infancy,
Ye loved me but the more,
And o'er me we wept as oft ye tho't
Life's pilgrimage was o'er.
I've wanderedmany a league, mother,
From where we used to dwell;
No cherished one is near me now,
Of those I loved so well;
&ut oft my weeping heart returns
Across the foaming sea,
To where my precious relics lie,
And there it weeps for thee.
, G % dett
TELE OUTPOST.
A TALE OF FRONTIER LIFE
Towards the latter part of the year 1751,
the French, aided by vast bodies of the Hu
ron and Iroquois Indians had began to make
themselves very disagreeable neighbors to the
British and American colonists in northern
Virginia and Ohio, and the northwest portion
of New York State—the French by their en
croachments on the frontier, and the Indians
by their numerous forays and savage barbar
ity to all who were unfortunate enough to
fall into their hands.
To put a stop to these aggressive proceed
ings, numerous bodies, both of the " regu
lars" and the colonialmilitia, were despatched
to the several points assailed ; and among the
rest, Col. Henry- Innes, with a company of
thirty men, among whom were a party of
some dozen Virginia riflemen, was ordered to.
occupy a small outpost, or log fort, which at
this period stood within a few Miles from the
north forks of the Allegheny river.
Having arrived safely at their quarters, the
little company set about righting up the old
outpost to make it as comfortable as circum
stances would permit ; and this being done,
and order once more restored, sentries were
placed at all the advanced points of the sta
tion, while the strictest vigilance was both
enjoined and exercised by day and night.
Among the Virginia riflemen who had vol
unteered into the company, was a tall, manly,
fine looking fellow, who from his fatal and
unerring skill as a marksman, had received
the non de plume of Death. But with what
ever justice the name had been applied to him
for skill, his disposition certainly entitled him
to no such terror spreading epithet. On the
contrary, he was the very life of the com
pany.
His rich fun of mother wit, large social pro
peusities, and constant good nature rendering
him a general favorite with the men ; while
the never-failing stock of game which his
skill enabled him to supply the mess table of
the officers with, not only recommended hint
to their good graces, but caused many a lit
tle "short coming" of his to be winked at
and passed over in silence, which otherwise
perhaps he might not have gotten over so
easily.
The company had nut been stationed at the
Fort much more than a week, ere Death, in
one of his excursions fur game, discovered
that at a small farm-house, some three miles
or so distant from the Fort, there lived a cer
tain Miss Hester Stanhope, whose equal in
beauty and amiable qualities lie had never
seen before. And to render himself still
more certain of the fact, he. called the day
following under cover of a pretence of hav
ing forgotten his powder flask.
Death was invited to come again, by Far
mer Stanhope, who happened to be from the
same parish as the father of our hero; and
we need scarcely say that the invitation was
both eagerly and joyfully accepted, and as
often as circumstances would permit, com
plied with.
The second week after this occurrence took
place, was marked by two events, which—
though both affecting the welfare of the lit
tle community at the Fort, were widely dif
ferent in degrees of importance.
The first was, that Death had either sud
denly lost all his skill as a marksman, or that
the game had removed to a safer and more
distant neighborhood, for the officers' larder
had been sadly wanting in the items of wood
cocks, blackcoeks, &c., for the week past ;
and the second and most important of the two
events was, that in regular suggestions, four
sentinels had disappeared from the extreme
left line, without leaving the slightest trace
to elucidate the mystery of their disappear
ance
The last circumstance struck dread into the
breasts of the rest of the company, that no
one could be found willing to volunteer to
take the post--well knowing that it Would be
only like sirrning, their own death-warrant to
do so ; aneCul. Innes, not wishing to wilful
fully sacrifice the lives of his men by compel
ling them to go, enjoined double caution to
the remainder of the sentinels, and left the
fatal spot unoccupied for a night or two.
It was on the third night of the desertion
of the post, that our hero, Death, was return
ing to the Fort, after paying a visit to Stan
hope farm. The moon was up, but her light
• •*•;,
•; . •,..,c; ) , • ,
•
was almost obscured .by the dense mass of
clouds which at every few minutes were driv
en by a pretty stiff breeze over her face, while
the huge trees, now in full leaf, cracked and
groaned, and bent their tall forms to and fro,
as the heavy gusts rushed whistling in among
their brancles.
Our hero had approached within a hundred
yards of the termination of the forest that
skirted the small open space in which the
Fort stood, when suddenly he paused, and
crouching down on his hands and knees, crept
cautiously forward a few paces. Having re
mained in this position several minutes, he
again quickly retreated in the manner he had
advanced at a point considerably lower than
where he had intended to leave it before.
Col. Innes sat reading alone, iu his private
apartment, when an orderly entered and in
formed him that one of the men wished to
speak to him.
" Send him in," replied the Colonel ; and
at the next minute our friend Death had en
tered and made his best bow to his command
ing, officer.
‘• Well, what scrape have you been getting
into now ?" said the Colonel, .when he saw
who his visitor was.
"None, Colonel," replied Death ; "but I
have come to ask a favor."
" Let us hear it," said. the Colonel, " and
we will then see what we can do."
" Well, Colonel, it is simply this—if you
will put the 'rifles' under my orders to-night,
and let me occupy the deserted post, I will
not only clear up the mystery of the disap
pearance of the four sentries, but make the
post tenable in future."
" But how?" said the Colonel, in intense
surprise.
" I guess, Colonel," answered Death, "you
had better let me hare the men, and order us
off and I'll tell you the whole affair after. I
promise no one shall receive a scratch if they
follow my direction implicitly.
" Yes, you are a strange man," said the
Colonel, " but I think I will Jet you have your
own way this time. When do you intend to
start ?"
"In about an hour's time," answered
Death.
" - Very well, I will give you the necessary
orders so that you can start when you think
proper. And m hat is more, if you perform
all you have promised, and don't cause me to
repent having humored you, you shall have
poor Campbell's place."
Hector Campbell was a brave but very
headstrong young Scotchman, who had oceu—
pied the post of Lieutenant at the Fort. In
a sudden freak of daring he bad volunteered
to stand sentry at the fatal spot from whi
three sentries had already so mysteriously
disappeared, and he paid for his rashness
with his life.
"Now my lads," said Death, as in about
an hour after his conversation with Col. blues,
he approached the deserted post, at the head
of a dozen riflemen wbo had been temporally
placed under his orders.
" I will tell you what we are going to do.
The long and the short of the affair is simply
this, it's a gang of them cussed thieven' Iro
quois that have circumvented and_ carried
away four of our men—shooting them with
their arrows and then decamping with their
bodies.
" To-night as I was returning to the Fort,
I suddenly thought I heard the sound of sev
eral voices. Creeping on my hands towards
the spot, t got nigh enough to see and hear
that about a dozen Iroquois were then and
there arranging their plans to surprise the
Fort to-night—intending to steal in upon it
by the point which their cussed deviltry had
rendered so easy an access. I only stopped to
learn this, when I hurried to the Colonel, and
asked him to place you at my disposal, and
here we are. I did not say a word to him
about what I had learned, being determined
that if possible the 'rifles' should have the
honor of exterminating the varlets. And now
I ask you, are you willing and ready to fol
low my orders ?"
Every man cheerfully answered in the af
firmative, and with quiekuing pulse and san
guine hopes, the little company again moved
fbrward.
The post consisted of a long narrow space,
bounded on each side by a rocky bank, while
its extreme end was closed in by a dark and
impenetrable forest. The bank on each side
of the pass was thickly covered with brush
and underwood, and among these, Death now
concealed his men, taking care to arrange
them so that their fire would not cross each
other, and bidding them not to fire until he
gave the signal , • and after they had fired not
to st , %p to reload, but clubbing their rifles to
jump down and finish the struggle in that
manner.
With steady alacrity each man took up the
post assigned him, and in another minute the
spot presented the same lone, still and solemn
appearance it had worn previous to their ar
rival.
The little company had begun to grow im
patient, and Death himself, to fear that the
Indians had either rued their attempt, or else
had changed their plan of battle, when sud
denly his quick eye, detected the form of his
crafty fbe issuing in a crouching position from
the deep shadow which the lofty trees threw
far up the pass.
" Three, six, nine, twelve, thirteen," count
ed Death, as one after another they emerged
in single file from the wood, and with quick,
cat-like stealthiness of movement advanced
up the pass, their files in trail, and their
faces rendered still more ferocious looking by
the grotesque marking of their war paint.—
On they came, swiftly and silently, and all
unconscious of the fate that was in store for
them.
The foremost of the band, whose command
ing stature, wolf teeth, collar and eagle tuft,
aL once proclaimed him as chief. and ad
vanced until he was opposite the bush in
which Death was bid, when the latter with
startling distinctions imitated the cry of an
owl and discharged his rifle.
Eight of the Indians fell by the volley which
the riflemen now poured upon the remainder
of them; but strange to say, one of the five
who did not fall, was the Chief whom Death
aimed at. This unusual occurrence was ow-
-I'.ERSE VE RE. -
HUNTINGDON, PA., MAY 12, 1858.
ing to the following cause : the branch on
which he had steadied his aim in firing, had
suddenly yielded at the moment he discharged
his piece, thus rendering harmless his other
wise unerring aim.
Uttering an imprecation at his ill luck,
Death sprung down the bank with the rest of
his companions, and with one bound reached
the side of the Iroquois chief. They grap
pled and fell to the ground heavily, and dart
ing glances of savage hatred at each other
beneath their knitted and scowling brows.
" Keep off," shouted Death, as he saw one
or two of his companions in the act of stoop
ing down to assist him, " keep off! and if he
masters me let him go."
Over they rolled, and writhing and strain
ing, but seemingly neither obtained any ad
vantage of the other. At last the head of
the Iroquois suddenly came in contact with
the point of a big rock that projected from
the bank, stunning him so that he relaxed
his vice-grip of Death's throat; and the lat
ter thus released springing to his feet finished
his career by bringing the heavy breach of
his rifle, with sledge-hammer force down upon
his head.
The remaining four Indians had been like
wise dispatched ; and the victorious riflemen
(none of whom had received any wound worth
mentioning,) now sent up such a shout of
triumph for the victory, that the old woods
rang with it for minutes after.
As Colonel Innes bad promised, Death was
promoted to the vacant post of Lieutenant ;
and now, dear reader, we beg to inform you
that our hero and the uncompromising vete
ran, General Morgan, of Revolutionary celeb
rity, was the one and the same individual.
About a fortnight after this eventful night,
Stanhope farm was the scene of such mirth,
good eating and dancing as could be disposed
of during the twenty-four hours, and though
we think it superfluous to do so, we will add
that the cause of this "merry making" was
the marriage of the beauteous Hester Stan
hope with Lieutenant henry Morgan.
A Patient Man.
Forty years ago, in St. Paul's church-yard,
that famous place in the metropolis of Eng
land, there was a dry-good store, the favorite
resort of the ladies. The partners of the
house and all their clerks were known for
their respectful and indulgent conduct ; but
one of the clerks had earned the appellation
of "the patient man." lie had never been
r known to lose his temper or polite attention,
under the trying tedium of a lady's whims—
a thing of course remarkable.
A lady of title and large fortune determined
would test his patience. She induced
another lady to accompany her, dressed in a
courtly style, drove in her elegant carriage,
with a coachman and two footmen dressed in
splendid livery, to the store, and singled out
the patient man.
She first desired to see some satins, and af
ter handing down all that were there, none
of them suited her. She then requested to
be shown the velvets. Those were as little
to her mind, and they were left for muslins.
These were unfortunate in price or quality,
or breadth, or length, or something, and she
asked to see some ribbons. Some were too
plain and others too much fringed, some
were too narrow, and others were too broad.
At length she bought a yard of calico and
paid the price, (and not without grumbling,)
one shilling.
The patient man folded it up, handed her
to her carriage, and politely bowing, went
back to his counter, and put up his satins,
velvets, muslins, ribbons, calicos, &c., an oc
cupation costing him an hour or more.
lle is a patient man !". exclaimed the
lady, when she had relaxed the tension of
her face and mind, which had been requisite
to the performance of her part, "He is de
serving of encouragement—l will return to
morrow and really purchase:"
She went again, and singling him out, she
pleasantly apologized for her behavior yester
day, and said she meant to buy to-day. He
said there needed no apology, he never wished
to sell what the ladies did not wish to buy.
She now had down the satins and took a
piece, she looked over the velvets and selected
the best piece. She took two or three pieces
of muslin, and several rolls of ribbons. Se
lecting other things, she made up a bill of
£5O, for which she gave her banker's check
—and asked the favor of the partners, for the
patient man to go home with.
Ile went with her, and as the carriage
drove along she said to him,
" Why - do you not go into business for
yourself?"
" I have not the - capital," he replied.
She told him if he would select a place
where business could be done, she would as
sist him to set up a store, and promise to se
cure him many tinniiies.
He was not prepared for this,
and pleaded
inexperience, and his fears of failure. She
insisted his indomitable patience would over
conic all difficulties, and she would run all
risks if he would try. He wished to tell his
worthy employers and ask their advice—she
consented; and they advised hint to accept
the offer.
The lady sent her own surveyor and her
lawyer with him, and they chose a place on
Ludgate hill. She advanced £2,000 in cash
and backed his credit for the same amount.
lie commenced and was successful. Ile took
in partners, and in thirteen years retired
from Ludgate 11 "Great Shawl Establish
ment," with 40,0001. The basis of which
was an hour's patience.
.4Y Charming must be the swamps of
Florida, which are said to be capable of pro
ducing seven hundred bushels of frogs to the
acre, with alligators enough, for Awl !
Mr. Green, when you said there was
too much American eagle in the speaker's dis
course, did you mean that it was a talon-ted
production;. and to what claws of the speoch
did you especially refer ?"
What is buckwheat ?—Answer—nts
culine wheat. 'The female is called dough.
gt..-No man believes absolute nonsense, al
though he often speaks it.
_ .
7- A 2,1', :','
:''
4\- •
•v,; .', . .i.t.
),; ff
-1
I
tit
,*:,.,,,f,;.,,
Of course you can. You show it in your
looks, in your motion, in your speech, and
everything else. Every attitude shows that
your body has a soul, and is inhabited by
resolution and moral sense. I ean. A brave,
hearty, soulful, manly expression. There is
character, force, vigor, determination, and
will in it. The words have a spirit, spark
ling, and pungency about them not to be re
sisted or forgotten.
There is a world of meaning expressed,
nailed down, epizramised, and rammed, so
to speak, in these few letters. Whole lec
tures are there, and sermons of mighty gran
deur and eloquence, on the stern and noble
virtues.
We more than admire to hear the young
man speak out bravely, boldly, determined,
as though it was an.outstretching of his en
tire nature—a reflection of his inner soul.—
It tells of something that is earnest, sober,
serious ; of something that will race and bat
tle with the world, when the way is open for
it.
I can! 'What a spirit, purpose, intensity,
reality, in the phrase. It is a strong arm, a
stout heart, a bold eye, a firm spirit, an in
domitable will. We never a knew a man of
its energy, vitality, unsuldued and energetic
fire, that did not attain a place of some dis
tinction amonghis fellows.
How should, we may say, how could it
have been otherwise? Take Franklin, Wash
ington, - Wilberforce, Fergusen, La Place, and
all the master spirits that have found a name
and a place on the page of history, and
where is the nation, where is the people,
among whom they would not be distin
guished ?
It could not be otherwise. It is the nature,
constitution, order, necessity, the very inevi
tability of things and events that it should be
so. I can, truly and rightly said, and then
clinched and riveted by the manly and heroic
deeds, is the real secret, the true philosophy
of all great men's lives. They took I can, for
a motto, and they went forth and made of
themselves and the world exactly what they
pleased.
Then, young man, hear us, if it be only
this once. If you would be sometbinc , more
than a common, prosy wayfarer in life, just
put these magic words on your lips, and their
musing, hopeful, - expanding philosophy into
your heart and arms.
Say 1 can, and do it, and you are a man
whose fortune will soon be made ; and you
blessed with the recollection of making it
yourself.
Character is Essential to Happiness.
Without a good character happiness is
never known. All that exalts, enobles, im
bashes, and dignifies humanity is blended
in the beauty and the glory of a truly genu
ine character.
All treasures of ten thousand_ worlds will
not campare in value with one pure heart
for the production of all that is satisfying
and blessed. They will not purchase peace
nor joy, nor sacred rest, nor the sweet tran
quility of an usullicd conscience, nor a single
moment's real bliss. They can never be ex
changed for those golden gloried virtues that
blossoms on a thick bed of roses, and which
are as rich as the sweet incense that the heart
loves most as the flowers are in refreshing fra
grance.
The youth who places a proper estimate
upon a good character has learned a lesson
that is more valuable to him than anything
else possibly can be. He has learned the
source of his purest joys.
But the happiness and blessedness of a
good character are not confined to sunny
chambers of its possessor. Character is catch
ing. If one has a good character, lie gives
something of its goodness to all with whom
L•e associates. If his is radiant with the light
of virtue, that gets out and shines in upon
the hearts of others. He can scarcely look
at another without impressing some mark of
his own character on the one upon whom he
gazes. A. man's face is almost always radi
ant with the light of his true character.—
Character, like murder, will out. It cannot
long be concealed. You might as well at
tempt to chain the lightnings in the black
caverns of the surcharged cloud, or put a
hood os er the great bright face of the sun,
as to lock up a man's character from the
sight of his fellows. God never designed
that it should be. Character was made to be
seen. It is the government of the soul—put
on, not only fin. the comfort and convenience
of the wearer, but for the pleasure of other
people's eyes. It is not worn for self alone,
for that would be mean, but for all by whom
it is surrounded.
One of the requisites for the successful
training of children at home, or in the school
room, is patience. Every teacher, whether
the mother or a hireling, will find her labors
made easy by the constant exercise of this
cardinal virtue. If they "let patience have
its perfect work" in their own hearts, it will
be visible in all their conduct, and exert a
salutary influence upon the minds of the
young, in whose future well-being they feel
a deep interest.
There may be hours when, perplexed with
care and worn out with undue labor, the
mother may feel the rising of impatience in
her heart; but nip it in the bud, before the
fruits become visible in acts, of which she
may afterwards bitterly repent. Let no un
kind word, or hasty blow be given in anger,
lest the remembrance of it. should prove a
poisoned avow to the bleeding, heart, when
those loving eyes are closed in death, and
the head which nestles on her bosom is pil
lowed in the grave. Chidreu are won by
kind words; but cross looks and harsh tones
deter them from seeking our sympathy, or
giving us their confidence. The mother'or
teacher should regard, the sports of child
hood as a blessing, join in their innocent
amusements,. and draw from them some use
ful lesson for their future cosideration. They
should learn to look up to her as a friend in
whom they could confide, who will bear pa
tiently with their childish follies,
.and in
kindness seek to improve whatever may be
amiss in their manners or morals.
Editor and Proprietor.
I Can
Patience With Children
The balance of power between these three
rival interests in man's life, has never yet been
settled. Not, however, so much from the ac
tual impossibility as from the difficulty of re
ducing to practice the principles already ar
rived at. For while common sense teaches
that the seasons of relaxation and repose
should both be lengthened exactly in propor
tion as the hours of labor are prolonged, it ss
equally evident that every hour added to
those devoted to labor is taken from those re
maining for repose. So, again, what matters
it that a man be convinced that eight hours a
day are as many as be can devote to actual
labor consistently with the preservation of his
health and the improvement of his mind, if he
finds he cannot provide for his family without
working ten or twelve ? Such is the structure
and organization of society, such especially
are the expensive habits of living adopted by
most people, that they are obliged to rob the
mind in order to cater to the body—prefering
to appear in goodly apparel even though lean
ness enter the soul. We are no advocate for
primitive simplicity and wooden shoes, the
offspring of ignorance, and marked by the ab
sence of all ambition, nor are we to be fonud
among the number of those who, for the sake
of avoiding the fullies and frivolities of civili
zation, would return to ancient barbarism, for
getful that the rude and ungainly forms of
savage races were animated by minds far
more uncultivated, and swayed by emotions
barbarous in the last degree. Such persons
would first destroy society, that they might
afterwards have the pleasure of attempting
to restore it. Let them be called destroyers,
not reformers. And let us remember that as
Archimedes demanded some point upon which
to place his lever in order to move the world,
so we, in order,to improve society, must have
some society to live in. some platform to
stand upon while doing it.
It has been thought that by the improve- -
merits in machinery, &e., which are so con
stantly reducing the expenses of living, that
men may have more leisure time for study,
for mental and moral improvement. So in
deed it might be, were it not for the fact that
just in proportion as people are able to satisfy
at a cheaper rate all their former wants, they
either have less means with which to do it, or
find new wants springing up to enslave them•
to labor as much as before. Hence the only
real cause or means by which men are to be'
persuaded to devote less time to the gratifica
tion of fashionable follies and more to their
own improvement, must consist in a juster
appreciation of the comparative importance
of the opposing interests. Thus it happens,
that mankind can never make any substan
tial and universal progress,-until the mass of
the people learn to think less of gold and
more of knowledge, less of authority which
is brief at best, and always fickle, and more
of moral power which can neither be lost nor
destroyed—less of outward appearance and .
show, and more of mental and moral worth,
Never can civilization be superior to refined
barbarism until men learn to regard the soul
as the essential man, of which the body is
but the form—till men learn to estimate in
their proper light the qualities of the mind
and spirit which eau neither result from the
ingenuity of a low ambition. Never can the'
proper organization of society be arrived at,
nor its highest benefits be experienced, until
men learn to labor not solely for the meat
that perishes, but in order to acquire even
the means of progress—never, until men'
learn to give the mind and soul their proper
share of attention, and to live as becomes ra
tional and intelligent beings.
NO, 47.
There is something worth living for he:-
sides money. That is very good but it
not all. With the least, let us raise a crop'
of good ideas. While you are farmers, re
member also that you are men with duties.
and responsibilities. Live down the old bru
tal notion that a farmer must be uncouth,
uneducated and unthinking—a mere' crod- -
hopper. You are brought into immediate
contact with the great heart of civilization.--
You cannot get out of the reach of the buzz'
of the toiling world. The thrill of the won
der-working wires, and the rumble of the
locomotive, the thunder tread of nations,
come to your once secluded hill side. Move'
toward a better life. Do not keep your boys
corn-shelling all the long winter evenings.—
Make your farms a place that your sons and.
daughters cannot help loving. Cultivate the
trees—they arc God's messengers.
Care much for books and pictures. Don't
-keep a solemn parlor into which you go but
once a month with the parson, or the gossips
to the sewing society. Hang around your
walls pictures which shall tell stories of mer
cy, hope, courage, faith and charity. Make
your living room the largest and most cheer
ful in the house. Let the place be such that
when your boy has gone to distant lands, or
even when, perhaps, he clings to a single'
plank iu the lonely waters of the wide ocean,
the thought of the old homestead shall come
across the waters of desolution, bringing al--
ways light, hope and love.
Have no dungeons about your house—mv
rooms you never open—no blinds that are
always shut. Don't teach your daughters
French before they can weed a flower bed, or
cling to a side-saddle ; and, ye daughters, do.
not be ashamed of the trowel or the pruning..
knife, bring to your doors the richest flowers
of the woods, cultivate the friendship of birds,
study botany, learn to love nature, and seek
a higher cultivation than the fashionable•
world can give you.
A gentleman once asked a company of lit
tle boys what they were good for? One little
fellow promptly answered,
" We are good to make men of."
Think of that, my young friends; you are
all good to make men and women of. We
do not mean—nor did that little boy—that
you are merely good to grow up to the size
of men and women. No, we mean a good
deal more than this. You are to make per
sons that will be respected and useful—that
will help to do good in the world. No one,
who is not useful, and who does not seek to ,
make the world better, deserves the name of
Dian or 'wom an.
You should not forget that, if there are to
be any men and' women—any that deserve
such a name—twenty or thirty years hence,
they are to he made of you who are now
children. What a world this will he, when
you grow up, if all only make men and wo
men ! Will you not ponder this subject, and
" Show yourselves men ?"
" Good to make men of." What kind of
men will our youthful readers be twenty
years hence? Will therbo classed with the'
intelligent ; the respectable, the industrious,
the prosperous, the benevolent, the pious
men of the time? for doubtless there mill be
such. It may require a little self-denial, and
hard study and hard work; but such a char
acter is cheaply purchased at that price--
and such a character we wish all our modera
to bean—Youth's Companion.
Labor, Relaxation and Repose
What Farmers Should Live For
“Good to make Men of.”