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„ Thick Darkness covers the Earth,
And Gross Darkness the People.”
CaIIOITNTRY MERCHANTS and
Others, will take Notice! that they can supply them
selves, in any quantities, with
JONES' FAR-FAMED PATENT
NON-EXPLOSIVE KEROSENE OR COAL OIL LAMPS,
at the Wholesale and Retail Read-Quarters,
38 South Second Street 33.
PHILADELPHIA.
The only place where exclusive Agencies can be obtain
ed for the States of Pennsylvania, Now Jersey and Dela
ware.
These Lamps give a light equal in intensity of flame, and
similar in appearance to Gas, and are claimed to be supe
rior to all other portable lights, now in use. No fear of
EXplosion—No offensive odor—Nof smoke—Very easily
trimmed-4s easily regulated as a Gas Light—Can be
adapted to all purposes—And better than all for a poor
man-50 per cent cheaper than any other portable light,
now in common use.
, - SOLE AGENT, ALSO, FOR
KNAPP'S PATENT ROSIN AND COAL OIL LIMP.
.tom Lamps, Oils, Wicks, Shades, and every article in the
line. S. E. SOUTIILAND, Agent.
No. 38, South Second street, Phira.
September 8,1858.-2 m.
FANCY FURS,
FOR LADIES AND CHILDREN.
FAREIRA & Co., No. 818, (new N 0.,) 51.4mtEr Street,
above Eighth, rnmuturnra—lmporters, Manufacturers
and Dealers in FANCY FURS, for Ladies and Children;
also, Gent's Furs, Fur Collars, and Gloves. The number
of years that we have been engaged in the Fur business.
and the general character of our Furs, both for quality and
price, is so generally known throughout the Country, that
wo think it is not necessary for us to say anything more
than that we have now opened our assortment of FURS,
for the Fall and Winter Sales, of the largest and most
beautiful assortment that we have ever offered bctbre to
the public. Our Furs have all been Imported during the
present season, when money was scarce and Furs much
tower than at the present time, and have been manufac
tured by the most competent workmen; we. arc therefore
determined to sell them at such prices as will continue to
give us the reputation we have born for years, that is to
sell a good article for a very small profit.
Storekeepers will do well to give ns a call, as they will
find the largest assortment, by far, to select from in the
city, and at manufacturers prices.
JOHN FAREIRA. & CO,
SIS, 3htrket Street, above. Sth, Phira.
September 15, 1858.-4 m.
GREAT EXCITEMENT
AT TITE
MAMMOTH - STORE!!
- 3. BRICKER has; returned from the East kith a tremen
dous Stock of Goads. They are upon the shelves in his
New Rooms, on 11111 street, near M'Ateer's Hotel, ready for
customers.
His Stock consists of every variety of
LADIES' DRESS GOODS,
IVRY GOODS. GENERALLY,
GROCERIES AND QUEENSWARE.
HARDWARE AND GLASSWARE,
CROCKERY AND CEDARWARE,
BOOTS AND SHOES,
HATS AND CAPS,
And everything to be found in the most extensive stores.
His Stock is New and of the Best, and the public are in
vited to call and oxamine, free of charge.
FOR EVERYBODY
TRY TUE NEW STORE,
fl Hill Street opposite Miles cf: Dorris' Office
TUE BEST
SUGAR and MOLASSES,
COFFEE, TEA and CHOCOLATE,
- . FLOUR, FISH, SALT and - VINEGAR,
CONFECTIONERIES, CIGARS and TOBACCO,
SPICES OF THE BEST, AND ALL KINDS,
and every other article usually found iu a Grocery Store
ALSO— Drugs, Chemicals, Dye Stuffy,
Paints, Varnishes, Oils and Slits. Turpentine,
Fluid, Alcohol, Glass and Putty,
BEST WINE and BRANDY for medical purposes.
ALL THE ZEST PATENT MEDICINES.
and a large number of articles too :numerous to mention.
The public generally will please call and examine for
themselves and learn my prices
Huntingdon, May 25, 1858,
T BRICKER'S
BRICKER'S '
.J. BRICKER'S
MAMMOTH STORE
MAMMOTII STORE
MAMMOTH STORE
IS THE PLACE .
IS THE PLACE
IS TUE PLACE
FOR DRY GOODS, HARDWARE, S:c
FOR DRY GOODS, HARDWARE, B.:c
FOR DRY GOODS; HARDWARE, ,te
QTOYES ! STOVES ! STOVES!
INDUSTRIAL STOVE WORKS, No. 33,
North SECOND 'Street, apposite Christ Church,
Prinankt.rntA. The subscriber respectfully in
forms his friends. and the public general/3 , that he has
taken the Store, at No. 33, .11rorth &cam/ Strcet, where he
mill be'pleased to see his old customers and friends.
He has now on hand a splendid assortment of PARLOR,
HALL, OFFICE. STORE and COOKING STOVES, of the
latest and most approved kinds, at wholesale and retail.
WM. C. NE3IAN,
• No. 33, North Second St., Phila.
N.B.—Your particular attention is invited to 3II3GEE
PATENT GAS BURNINGIVARMING and EN TIL AT' NG
STOVES, for Parlors, Offices, Stores, Halls, Cars, &c., which
for economy, purety of air, - and ease of management has
no equal. • , IV. C. N.
.86 - -Odd Castings for all kinds of Stores, on &roil
September 15, 1558.,--3m. •
HUNTIN - 415 - ON HOTEL. . .
•, Thesubscriber respectfully announces to his friends
and the pfiblic generally, that he has leased that old 'and
Atien established TAVERN STAND, known . a.s the
Huntingdon, House, on the corner of Hill and' 'n ,
Charles Street, in the Borough of Huntingdon.— e
He hag fitted up the House in such a style as to __ z _
render it very comfortable for lodging Strangers and Tray
elers.
MS TABLE will always be stored with the best the sea
son can afford, to suit tho tastes and appetites of his guests.
' MS BAR. will always be filled with Choice Lighors, and
MS STABLE always attended by careful and attentive
Ostlers.
.11Z - •He hopes 'by strict attention to business and a spirit
of accommodation, to merit and receive a. liberal share of
public patronage. - P. McATEER.
Tday 13,1858-Iy.
ALEXANDRIA FOUNDRY !
The Alexandria Foundry has been
bought by It. C. McGILL, and is in blast,
and havaall kinds of Castings, Stoves, Ma
chines. Plows, Kettles, ex., &c., which lie o rminrr t :aaldi
will sell at the lowest Prices. All kinds V.-!!, , ,7:"44..4.
of Country Produce and old Metal taken in exchange ibr
Castings, at market prices
April y, 18'ka
gri:7 - rThr..,- COUNTRY DEALERS call
- huy CLOTHING from me in Huntingdon at
, • - WHOLESALE as cheap as they can in the
cities,.as I have a udiolesalo store in Philadelphia.
Huntingdon, April 14,, 1858. . H. ROMAN.
XT:ARNISIT ! :VARNISH !!, •
v • • KINDS; warranted good, for sale at
' BROWN'S Rardwaro Store
•April 28, 1858--tf.
LADIES, ATTENTION assort
ment of beautiful dress goodeis now open;and ready
eritspectiqn. Every article of dress you may desire, can
too founkat my store. D. P. GWIN.
HARD:NV:A:RE I •
A Large Stock, just received, and for sale at
BRICKER'S BIAMMOTII STORM
riI.H.R 'NAM:MOTT:I STORE . •
_M_ placo,for Latest Styles of Ladies' Dress Goods
, 11:RICKER'S Mammoth Storeis the
ey • -place taget the worth of your money, in Dry.Goilds,
Hardwaro, Groceries, Ice.,
DOUGLASS & SHERWOOD'S Pat
ent Estartsion Skirts, for sale only by
FISILER & AIe3II7RTItIE.
HEAT!
For snlo at
2 do. 3 do.
$ 373/ 2 ' S' 50
_1 00
2 00
3 00
1 Insertion
$ 25.-.
50.-.
1 00.-.
70
1 50
2 25
7 00 10 00 15 00
9 00 13 00 0 0 00
S. S. SMITH
R. C. McGILL
, Iluntingdoil, Pa,
D. P. ONVIIC,9
WILLIAM LEWIS,
VOL. XIV,
Wcittt tretrv.
From the Norristown Register
THE FAITHLESSNESS OF NAN.
BY 0. D. MARTYS
I've wooed and sighed at Beauty's shrine,
And threw my heart away,
And thought the charm I won divine,
AND WORE IT FOR A D.Y.
But like a full blown rose, it drooped,
And lost its sweet perfume,
Till from its lofty height it stooped,
To wither in its tomb.
Still thoughtless I—it seemed to fado
lire I had knowu,it well,
And like each beauteous flower made,
It withered and it fell.
This flower had lost its charm to me,
I sought another flower,
I wooed and won it but to see
IT WITHER IN ..4.N HOUR.
Is woman fickle? No 'tis sits
Will love a life long love,
Nan never fears to tun—'tis We
Who false and faithless prove.
Then wrong her not but let us strive
To merit her esteem,
And make life happy—be alive
To good—BE WHAT WE SEEM.
ttect
THE MANIAC'S CONFESSION.
A few years ago I visited an insane asy
lum. The woman in charge conducted us
through various apartments, giving us all the
information in regard to the occupants she
was able, and kindly answering all the ques
tions until we came to a room where one of
the patients had lately died, and now lay
awaiting the disposal of her friends, who had
been apprised of her. disease. We entered,
and gazed reverently upon the face of the
sleeper. She was a woman in the prime of
life and bore traces of great beauty. What
great sorrow had bereft this beautiful crea
ture of her reason ? and by what relative,
and for what motive, had she been incarcera
ted in this living tomb? were queries which
were in my mind as I gazed upon her lifeless
remains.
My eyes involuntarily wandered over the
apartment. A little table stood in the corner,
beneath the grated window. A Bible ]ay
upon it, and as I took it up, a, paper slid
from between the leaves and fell at my feet.
I raised it. It was a closely written sheet,
and a glance convinced me that it was some
sort of a revelation which had been written
there during the last hours of the life that
had fled.
"'ghat is this?" I asked, as I held up the
paper.
" Oh, that is probably some of Aggy's
scribbling. Sho used to call for pen and pa
per, and she would write over several sheets,
and then. destroy them. That is probably
one of them—of no consequence, I presume,"
said the woman.
I asked if I might retain it.
" Why, yes, if you wish to," she replied.
I hid it away in my bosom, and we soon
left the premises.
" What could you possibly want of that
crazy woman's scribbling ?" my companion
asked, as we left the building.
" I fancy there is something here worth
preserving," I replied. " Let us examine
it."
As we rode homeward, I read it aloud to
my friend. It was written in a trembling
hand, and read as follows :
" I was the only and idolized daughter of
wealthy parents. I possessed a haughty and
imperious temper, which was never subdued
or restrained. My parents were not reli
gious, and no care was taken to impress upon
my mind religious truths. Consequently I
grew up unprincipled and extremely passion
ate, While every pains was taken with my
education and accomplishments, my heart
is-as left to run wild, overgrown and choked
by the briers and thorns of selfishness and
love of tyranny ; yet I was passionately at
tached to my friends, and as long as they did
not cross my imperious will, I got on nicely
with them.
"'Thus I grew to womanhood. Chance
threw me into the society of a young lawyer
of distinguished abilities,. - Who had begun
what was predicted to be a brilliant career.
I soon learned to love him with all the depth
of my passionate and impulsive nature ; and
was wild with joy,' when one day he came to
me, and in eloquent language told me how
long and devotedly.he had loved me, and
asked me to be his wife.
"We were married. If I occasionally
felt a twinge of disgust of my own-qualifica
tions for a wife, I soon silenced it with the
argument that my love was strong enough to
make up for all deficiencies.
" My husband was all that was good, and
noble, and generous. I was often passionate
and unreasonable. But he would take me
to his bosom, and, kiss me so tenderly, and
say so gently, 'You must subdue this un
happy temper, Aggy. It is making you mis
erable.'
" Then when he was gone, I would fly to
my chamber, lock the door, and give myself
up to an uncontrollable fit of weeping for very
shame.
" We had been married "about a, year.—
One evening (would to God I could blot from
the record of time that fatal night ; but it
lives like a hissing fiery serpant in my mem
ory, and has doomed me to utter despair in
this world, and I fear the nest!) my husband
did not return at the usual hour. I watched
long at my accustomed place, at the parlor
window. His slippers and dressing gown
were warming by the_ grate, and everything
was in readiness- for him ; but he did not
come. Twilight deepened into darkness, and
I began to grow uneasy. All my selfish feel
ings were roused, and
. 1. felt myself sorely
grieved. An hour more, yet he came not.-
1 paced up and down the floor in a fit of im
patience. A ring at the door, I waited to
hear his step upon the stairs; but it was a
. .
•
- I
lighter stop than his, accompanied by the
rustling of silk. Nellie B ,an intimate
friend, bounded in. She was dressed for the
opera. She said their carriage waited at the
door for myself and Ernest. I told her Er
nest had not yet returned from his office,
and I could not go. She looked disappointed.
A sudden thought seized me. Would it not
be capital revenge for his neglect of me to
find the parlor deserted when he came ? I
went to the opera. We were scarcely seated
in our box when a party entered a box oppo
site. The blood rushed back to my heart,
and my pulse stood still as I recognized Er
nest, my Ernest, my husband, and leaning
upon his arm one of the most beautiful young
creatures my eyes ever beheld. This was my
first impresion, for there quickly followed so
deadly and jealous a hatred as made her look
positively ugly. I quickly drew down my
veil that my husband might not discover me
and from my concealment, I watched them
with glaring eyes. I heard nothing, saw
nothing else ; and once when rallied by my
companions, I replied that I was not well,
and begged to be left by myself.
"Then with the fierceness of a tiger fear
ful of losing his prey, I turned my eyes towards
my husband, and his guilty 'paramour.' She
seemed to be enjoying the performance in
tensely, but he seemed to see nothing but her.
His head was bowed towards her, and she
would occasionally lift her eyes to his face.
Then I saw him smile (just as he had
smiled upon me a thousand times,) while he
bent still lower over her with renewed de
votion.
Each movement was like a red hot dagger
piercing my heart. I knew not what demon
possessed me ; I think I must have been mad
when I vowed a terrible revenge. 'Twere
better, I reasoned, that he should die while
yet there existed in his heart a spark of love
for me, than to see him little by little drawn
away by the syren till perhaps I should be
utterly deserted, and left with all my blind
love eating away my heart strings like a con
suming fire.
"At my request we left the -opera at an
early hour, and with a terrible purpose I en
tered my home. But what was the home
now to me? The love that had brightened it
was no longer mine. Some demon furnished
me with resolution to execute my desperate
purpose.
"It had been our custom somtimes to drink
a glass of sweet wine of an evening when we
were alone. • -I. drew the table to the fire,
placed the decanter. and glasses. Then with
trembling hands I brought a deadly opiate,
the nature of which I well knew. The first
effect it produces, was a deep sleep, which in
a few hours, terminated in the still sleep of
death. I filled the glasses, and into one I
dropped the drug. All was done with ra
pidity, lest my resolution should fail me.
" When all was 'ready, I paced up and
down the room, nursing the,fire which-raged
within my bosom, by recounting to myself
the wrong I bad suffered. I pictured to my
self my idolized husband lying still and cold
before me, and I fell into a passionate fit of
weeping. Then I drew another picture. I
saw him drawn from me, - giving his love to
another. I thought of all .the agony I had
suffered that night, and imagined how much
deeper would be my wrong, if I spared him.
At that moment I heard his night key in the
latch, and he soon entered the room. I stood
in the recess of the window, where he did
not at once observe me. The wine first at
tracted his attention, the fatal glass. I saw
him lift it to his lips, drain its contents, and
I fell fainting to the floor.
I knew no more for• several hours. When
I rallied, I was lying upon the sofa : the
lamp was burning dimly—an easy chair was
wheeled to my side, and in it I saw the form
of my husband. I sprang quickly up. The
drug was doing its work. He was in a heavy
slumber, and already his breath came thicker
and shorter, and his pulse beat but faintly.
" My anger had passed away, and all the
wild worshipping love which I had cherished
towards my husband, came rushing back
upon my heart. I chafed his hands, I kissed
his lips, I strove to rouse him, but all in vain.
Again I paced up and down the floor, but
oh I what different emotions possessed me
now.
" A little folded paper, which I had not
before noticed, and lyinc , upon the table,
caught my eye. Scarcely knowing or caring
what I did, I took it up and opened it. I
saw it was in the hand-writing of my hus
band, and I eagerly read its contents. Great
God of Heaven ! What had I done? It was
a note that Ernest had sent me, and which
did not arrive till after I had gone out. It
ran as follows:
" Excuse me, Aggy dear, from coming.
home to tea. My sister, of whom I spoke to'
you _this morning, has come home, and has
sent for me to come to her. If she is not too
weary, I will take you both to the opera this
evening, and will call for you at eight o'clock.
Your loving HUSBAND."
" Now, for the first time, I remembered
that he had told me in the morning, that an
only sister of his, who had been absent sev
eral years, was expected home that day.—
His parents resided in another part of the
city. would call for me at eight.' I
had gone out earlier, and probably by some
carelessness of the carrier, the note had not
arrived before the time. I afterwards learned
that he did call for me, and being told that I
had gone to the opera with some friends, and
probably had not received his note, he pro
ceeded to that place with his sister; hoping
to find me there.
"A wild hope that he might be yet roused,
seized me, and, I sprang to his side. But
alas ! too late ! He had ceased to breathe.
" Oh ! heaven of heavens ! what evil had
my blind, passionate temper wrought me and
mine. Again I became insensible.
"I opened my eyes. Loving, tear-stained
faces bent over me. A soft hand was gently
stroking my temples, and I gazed into the
face of that gentle sister, whom I had never
seen save upon that fatal night. She kissed
me and whispered,
" Dear Aggy, you are the greatest sufferer
of us all."
HUNTINGDON, PA., OCTOBER 27, 1858.
-PERSEVERE.-
"I was told that I was found in the morn
ing, by the servant, lying upon the floor, in
sensible, and my husband reclining in his
chair, dead !
" It seemed that suspicion had not rested
upon myself. The coroner was called, and
his verdict, 'Died by the visitation of God.'
" Heaven only knows how I loathed and
hated myself. I longed to confess the truth,
but for the sake of others, forebore to reveal
what would have brought upon the family
deep disgrace and additional grief. A long
illness followed, and my reason reeled. I
was carried back to my parents. I could not
remain in the house which had been the
scene of my sin and punishment.
"Years passed; I grew no better, but was
still trembling upon the verge of insanity,
yet retaining sufficient reason to distinctly
remember my sorrow, and to understand
what was passing around me. What was
perhaps strange, I was conscious of my men
tal condition.
" Years passed, and my parents both died.
I was placed in the care of an uncle, who was
my only natural guardian. From him I had
inherited the selfish passion, which had been
my ruin.
" For a time, I lived in his house, but he
found me too great a trouble, and under pre
tence of solicitude for my recovery, he placed
me in the insane asylum. I knew that it
was only to get me out of his way, that he
might have no hindrance in possessing him
self of my large fortune. But I did not ob
ject. I felt I deserved it all.
" Twelve years have I spent in this retreat.
Every one has been extremely kind to me.—
During that time I have never seen my uncle.
It is almost over. I feel that I shall soon fol
low to that dark bourne where in my frezy,
I sent my noble husband nearly twenty years
ago. I have read the Bible—l have tried to
pray."
A few months since, I visited Cem
etery. I found their graves. A costly mon
ument marks the spot. The uncle is living
in possession of his niece's wealth, and is
seemingly prosperous. I have never made
known to any ono the existence of the paper
in my possession. I have learned that the
family of Ernest are all dead.
The dear friend who shared with me the
knowledge of Aggy's confession also lies "be
neath the sod of the valley."
Hoping that it may serve as a warning to
some who may read it, I give this history to
the world.
Some parents are troubled by a gloomy
household. They indulge in frequent fret
tiag4 and moroseness, are impatient at tri
fling vexations, and censure the faults and
errors of their children withisternness in
stead of love. They know little of calm and
sunshine, and home has few charms either
for themselves or their little ones. Love and
gentleness, combined with firmness have a
wonderful power over the most thoughtless
and wayward little ones, and parents who
know how to unite these
,in due proportions,
have perpetual sunshine in their dwellings,
and loving and obedient children. There is
a true philosophy in the following domestic
scene, taken from Steps toward " Heaven."
" I wish father would come home."
The voice that said this had a troubled
tone, and the face that looked up was sad.
" Your father will be very angry," said an
aunt, who was sitting in the room with a
book in her hand. The boy raised himself
from the sofa, where he had been laying in
tears for half an hour, and, with a touch of
indignation in his voice, answered,
"he'll be sorry, not angry. Father never
gets angry."
For tfew moments the aunt looked at the
boy half-curiously, and let her eyes fall again
upon the book that was in her hand. The
boy laid himself down upon the sofa again,
and hid his face from sight.
"That's father now !" He started up after
the lapse of nearly ten minutes as the sound
of a bell reached his ears, and went to the
room door. He stood there for a little while,
and then came slowly back, saying with a
disappointed air,
"It isn't father. I wonder what keeps
him so late. 0, I wish he would come 1"
" You seem anxious to get deeper into
trouble," remarked the aunt, who had only
been in the house for a week, and who was
neither very amiable nor very sympathizing
towards children. • The boy's fault had pro
voked her, and she considered him a fit sub
ject for punishment.
"I believe aunt Phoebe, that you would
like to see me whipped," said the boy a little
warmly.
"But you won't."
" I must confess," replied aunt Phoebe,
"that I think a little wholesome discipline of
the kind you speak of would not be out of
place. If you were my child, lam sure you
would not escape." •
" I am not your child; I don't want to be.
Father's good and loves me."
" If your father is so good, and loves you
so well, you must be a very ungrateful or a
very inconsiderate boy. His goodness don't
seem to have helped you much."
"Hush, will you 1 ejaculated the boy,
excited to anger by this unkindness of
speech.
" Phoebe 1" It was the boy's mother who
spoke now for the first time. In an under
tone she added ; " You are wrong. Rich
ard is suffering quite enough, and you are
doing him harm rather than good."
Again the bell rang, and again the boy
left the sofa and went to the sitting-room
door.
" It's father !" And he went gliding down
stairs. •
"Ah, Richard I" was the kindly greeting,
as Mr. Gordon took the hand of his boy.—
" But what's the.matter, my son ? you don't
look happy."
"Won't you come in here ?" And Rich
ard drew his father into the library. Mr.
Gordon sat down, still holding Richard's
hand.
" You seem in trouble, my son. What has
happened 2"
The eyes of Richard filled with tears as he
Into the Sunshine.
.7",:47 ., -. ,
i i. 2 l : ' - ': , .;„ ' 1 ,; . 1. , :,; :i.: ,
",. - ,:7,-; ::;:.,
. ; I.
~,..
9 )
111
-•,‘ ' ' N. 7".
looked into his father's face. He tried to
answer, but his lips quivered. Then he turn
ed away, and opening the door of the cabinet,
brought out the fragments of a broken statue,
which had been sent home only the clay be
fore, and set them on a table before his father,
over whose countenance came instantly a
shadow of regret.
" Who did this, my son 7" was asked in an
even voice.
"I did it."
" How ?"
" I threw my ball in there, once—only
once, in forgetfulness."
The poor boy's tones were husky and trem
ulous.
A little while, Mr. Gordon sat controlling
himself and collecting his disturbed thoughts.
Then he said cheerfully—
" What is done, Richard, can't be helped.
Put the broken pieces away. You have had
trouble enough about it, I can see—and re
proof enough for your thoughtlessness—so I
shall not add a word to increase your pain.
"0, father 1" And the boy threw his arms
about his father's neck. You are so kind—
so good !"
Five minutes later, and Richard entered
the sitting room with his father. Aunt
Phcebe looed up for two shadowed faces ;
but did not see them. She was puzzled.
" That was very unfortunate,' she said a
little while after Mr. Gordon came in. "It
was such an esquisitive work of art. It is
hopelessly ruined."
Richard was leaning against his father
when his aunt said this. Mr. Gordon only
smiled, and drew his arm closely around his
boy. Mrs. Gordon threw upon her sister a
look of warning, but it was unheeded.
" I think Richard was a very naughty
boy."
" We have settled all that, Phoebe," was
the mild but firm answer of Mr. Gordon;
"and it is one of our rules to get into the
sunshine as quickly as possible."
Phoebe was rebuked, while Richard looked
grateful, and, it may be, a little triumphant;
for his aunt had borne down upon him
rather to hard for a boy's patience too en
dure.
Into the sushine as quickly as possible I
0, is not that the better philosophy for our
homes ? Is is not true christian philosophy?
It is selfishness that grows angry and rebels;
because a fault has been committed. Let us
get the offender into the sunshine as quickly
as possible, so that true thoughts and right
feelings 4nay grow more vigorous in its
warmth.. We retain anger, not that anger
may act as a wholesome discipline, but be
cause we are unwilling to forgive. Ah, if we
were always right with ,ourselves, we would
oftener be right with our children.
WINNING- AND KEEPING ;
Or, Before and After Marriage.
[From the Pennsylvania Enquirer.]
We some time since read an admirable es
say On " THE ART OF WINNING." It described
the polish and power of refined manners, the
exquisite tact by which certain accomplished
women of England and France were charac
terized, and said that their whole study was
to make a favorable impression, as well upon
the eyes as the mind, and thus to captivate
the heart. The women of this country are,
generally speaking, less artistical and arti
ficial. They rarely play a studied part.
Their conquests are in some sense, involun
tary. True, there are exceptions; and in
some cases, we arc sorry to say, that n cruel
system is practised, and merely in the indul
gence of vanity and pride. Affections are
sported with, and hearts are broken. We
can imagine nothing more wicked, reckless
and unpardonable. Our purpose, however,
at the present time, is not so much to allude
to the art of winning a lover or a husband,
a betrothed or a wife, as to urge the policy,
the propriety, the duty and the wisdom of
keeping up the same system AFTER marriage,
that was practised BEFORE, and of thus real
izing as far as possible, the expectations that
were held out, and the promises that were
made, if not in words, by acts. We believe
that the neglect of this course, is the fruitful
source of much of the anxiety, discord and
unhappiness that occur in married life.. In
too many cases, both parties are in fault.
For both are careless, negligent and indiffer
ent. The system that won, is not persisted
- in. It was, in fact, false to some extent, or
at least artificial, and adopted for the occa
sion. We fear that too many inharmonious
marriages may be attributed to this cause.
The lover and the husband are often found
to be very different persons. So also the
sweet-heart and wife. One is all courtesy,
kindness, attention and affection, and the
other all apathy, indifference, and sometimes
asperity. The illusion which charmed and
deceived, is thus dispelled, and the disap
pointed turns with bitterness and anguish
from a dream that is found to be hollow,
empty and unsubstantial. It is not so in all
cases, and these exceptions are every way
desirable. There should be 'no contrast in
manners, attentions and expressions before
and after marriage. The part that was as
sumed in the first instance, should be acted
out to the letters, and the promises that were
made, directly or indirectly, should be real
ized as far as possible. The chief object of
the wife should be to render home a haven
and a refuge from the anxieties of the out
door world, and thus the happiest spot On
earth. The husband, on the other hand,
should endeavor to make himself every way
agreeable and acceptable, and to fulfil every
obligation that he assumed at the altar.
Both should remember that human nature is,
in its best and highest condition, erring and
fallible, that there is nothing perfect on this
side the grave, and that forbearance and con
sideration are absolutely indispensable in
appreciating the conduct of each. And
again, neither should be too exacting. The
wife should not expect the husband to fore
go and abandon all his former associations,
and to devote every hour of leisure to her
particular whims and caprices. The hus
band, on the other hand, should not forget
that the wife is, after all, but n woman, and
therefore, liable to the characteristics, foibles
Editor and Proprietor.
NO, 18,
and peculiarities of the sex. Each should
strive to please and gratify the other, and
yet too much should not be expected on either
side. Carelessness of dress, indifference in
household duties, and excessive fondness for
flippant society and fashionable visiting,
should be avoided as among the fatal errors,
and calculated not only to offend the taste,
irritate the disposition, and pain the heart of
the husband, but to drive him from home, in
the hope of meeting. ;:ith more agreeable
society and associations elsewhere. On the
other hand, the young wife especially, should
not be expected to abandon the world at once
and forever, to shut herself up in her own
dwelling, and to avoid all participation in
the gaities and vivacities, which characterize
refined and social life. In brief, there must
be mutual efforts to please and to gratify, as
well as the spirit of mutual forbearance. It
is not to be expected that the husband, the
nature of whose business is full of care and
anxiety, will constantly annoy his better half
with dolorious accounts of the struggles and
trials of commerce and trade, and yet a sen
sible woman, who fully appreciates her posi
tion, will readily gather enough of the facts,
and shape her conduct accordingly. It often
happens that a word of encouragement is
needed, and that a gentle expression of sym
pathy is absolutely essential. If, therefore,
at such a moment, idle complaints be uttered
and imaginary griefs be described, the effect
is sure to be pernicious. This policy at once
discourages and depresses, and makes home
anything but the delightful place of refuge,
that a true wife should endeavor to render it.
We repeat, the art of winning is compara
tively easy; but the tact of retaining and
keeping constantly alive the flame of affection
and the soul of confidence by which a con
quest was at first achieved, is far more diffi
cult. Nevertheless, it is too often the case
with husbands and wives, that they imagine
all the duties of courtesy, kindness and at
tention are, if not to cease, to become re
laxed, when the matrimonial knot is tied. A
terrible mistake, as too many have found to
their sorrow. We can conceive of no two
beings who are more entitled to emulation
and admiration, than the man and wife who,
after having lived happily together for twenty
years, are still as attentive and devoted to
each other as in the days of their betrothal.
What to them is the out-door world, with all
its chances and changes, its lights and its
shadows ? They feel that their lives and
fortunes are united together, and that each
constitutes to the other, a source of exquisite
enjoyment, because of the harmony, the
kindness, the appreciation, the confidence.
and the affection that have ever existed be
tween them. Wedded life, under such cir
cumstances, is the highest and holiest of hu
man conditions.
Our Daughters.
The greatest danger to our daughters, in
the present time, is the neglect of domestic
education. Not only to themselves, but to
husbands, families and the community at
large, does the evil extend. By far the
greatest amount of happiness in civilized
life, depends upon the domestic culture and
habits of the wife and mother. Let our
daughters be intellectually educated as possi
ble ; let, their moral and social nature re
ceive the highest graces of vigor and refine
ment; hut along with these let the domestic
virtues find a prominent place.
We cannot saz, much about our danglitersr
being hereafter wives and mothers, but we
ought to think much of it and give the thought
prominence in all our plans for their educa
tion. Good wives they cannot be, at least
for Men of intelligence, without mental . cul
ture ; good mothers they certainly, cannot
be without it ; and more than this, they can
not be such wives as men need, unless they
are good housekeepers—wthout a. thoiongh
practical training to that end. Our daugh
ters should be practically taught to bake,
wash, sweep, cook, set the table, and do every
thing appertaining to the order, neatness,
economy and happiness of the household..
All this they can learn as well as not, and
better than not. The knowledge is a burden
that they may . easily carry.
It need not interfere in the least with their
intellectual education, nor with the highest
style of refinement. On the contrary, it shall
greatly contribute thereto. Only let that
time which is worse than wasted in idleness,
sauntering, gossip, frivolous reading, and the
various modern female dissipations, which
kill time and health, be devoted to domestic
duties and education, and our daughters
would soon be all that the highest interests
of our society demand. A benign, elevating,
influence would go forth through all the fami
lies of the land. Health and happiness would
sparkle in many a now lustreless eye—the
bloom would return to beautify many a faded
cheek—and doctors' bills would give place to
bills of wholesome fare
No TIME FOR SvrArrrNo.—An Indiana man
was travelling down the Ohio, in a steamer,
with a mare and a two-year-old colt, when by
a sudden careen of the boat, all three were
tilted into the river. The Hoosier, as ho
rose, puffing and blowing, above water,
caught hold of the tail of the colt, not having
a doubt that the natural instinct of the ani
mal would carry him safe ashore. The old
mare took a " bee line" for the shore, but the
frightened colt swam lustily down the cur
rent, with its owner still hanging fast. , "Let
go of the colt, and hang on to the, old, mare,"
shouted some of his friends. " Phree, boob I"
exclaimed the Hoosier, spouting the water
from his mouth, and shaking his head like a
Newfoundland dog,," it's mighty fine, your
telling me to .let go the colt; but to a man
that can't swim, this ain't exactly the timo
for swapping horses."—State of Maine.
WHOM TO MARRY.—When a young woman
behaves to her parents in a manner particu
larly tender and respectful, from principle
as well as nature, there is • nothing good.
and gentle that may not be expected from
her in whatever condition she may be placed.
Were I to advise a friend as to his choice of
a wife, my first counsel would be, "look out
for ono distinguished for her attention and
sweetness to her parents," The fund of worth
and affection indicated by such behavior,
joined by the habits of duty and consider
ations thereby contracted, being transferred
to the married state, will not fail to render
her a mild and obliging companion.—Everett;
4er• A negro driver of a coach in Texas,
stopped to get some water for the young la
dies. in the carriage, being asked what, he
stopped for, replied, " I am watering my
flowers." A more delicate compliment could
not have been made.
ADVICE TO BACHELORS..-Be sure to annex
a woman . who will lift you up, instead of
pushing you down. In mercantile phrase,
get a piece of calico that will wash.
Se' A hospitable man is never ashamed
of his ..dinner, when you come to dine with
him.