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elegyVottr.
TEE WORLD IS FULL OF BEAUTY
There is beauty in the forest,
Where the trees are green and fair;
There is beauty in the meadow,
Where the wild flowers scent the air;
There is beauty in the sun-light,
And a soft, blue beam above,
Oh I the world is full of beauty,
When the heart is full of love.
There is beauty in the fountain,
Singing gayly at its play,
While the rainbow hues are glittering
On its silver shining spray;
There is beauty in the streamlet,
Murmuring softly through the grove,
Oh! the world is full of beauty,
When the heart is full of love. .
There is beauty in the moonlight,
When it falls upon the sea,
While the blue-foam crested billows
Dance and frolic joyously;
There is beauty in the lightning gleams,
That o'er the dark waves roll,
Oh! the world is full of beauty.
When the heart is full of love.
There is beauty in the brightness
Beaming from a loving eye;
In the warm blush of affection,
In the tear of sympathy ;
In the sweet, low voice, whose accents
The spirit's gladness prove;
Oh: the world is full of beauty,
'When the heart is full of love.
~seiect
[From the 'Waverley Magazine.]
THE BRIDE'S APPEAL
BY ANNIE E. LERAND
Brightly burned the blazing fire, and mer
rily ticked the exquisite little mantle clock,
within the comfortable and neatly arranged
sitting-room of Mrs. Small, whose genial face
lit up with a smile as she thought how com
fortably she was situated.
It was indeed a pleasant home picture.—
Mrs. Small sat with her knitting needles
gliding noiselessly through her fingers ; Em
ma, her oldest daughter, held a closed book
carelessly within her hand ; while mischiev
ous Bell, the younger of the group, was pat
ting a milk-white kitten, which lay like a
small parcel of the softest silk floss upon the
folds of her dress..
They were all drawn up close around the
blazin g fire, and presented a beautiful pic
ture of anaffectionate mother and daughters.
There. was a striking resemblance in the form
and features of the whole group. They were
all of very fair complexion, with the lightest
shade of Brown hair, small in stature, but
fat and rosy.
There was one other occupant of that room
—Ada Ford, the orphan neice of Mrs. Small.
She was widely different, in face or form,
from her aunt and pretty cousins. She was
tall, with - a graceful and slight, almost ethe
rial figure ; her hair was a rich, glossy
black, and fell in. heavy curls around her
fair neck and shoulders; her face was fair,
with only a slight rose-tint upon either cheek,
and her voice was clear and sweet as the
chimes of the joy bells. If her cousins were
termed pretty, then might she be called beau
tiful.
On the evening of which we have spoken,
she did not join in the spirited conversation
which her aunt and cousins were carrying on,
but she sat apart from the rest, seemingly
lost in thought. At length Mrs. Small turn
ed to her, and said—
" Why are you so pensive this evening,
Ada ?"
" I am thinking of the future, aunt," she
replied, sadly.
" And what is there in your anticipations
of the future to make you gloomy ?" ques
tioned her aunt, in a solicitous tone.
" Oh," said Emma Small, in a gay voice,
"she is grieving for the many hearts she will
break when she marries Dr. Ward."
"All T" chimed in Bell, " I wish I had the
assurance of as good, handsome and intelli
gent a husband as Dr. Ward. I would nev
er trouble myself about anybody's heart be
ing broken."
" Or even the hope of getting as good an
offer as Dr. Ward," answered Mrs. Small.
" But seriously, Ada," she continued, speak
ing in a kind, motherly tone, to her niece,
"what is it that troubles you ? I have noticed
the shadow that has rested upon your usual
ly calm brow all day, and am at a loss how
to account for it."
" Well, really, aunt," she replied, " I can
hardly.tell ; perhaps it is wrong of me ; but
I cannot feel otherwise than troubled about
the contents of that letter which I received
concerning the habits of Dr. Ward."
" Well, Ada, although I think your fears
are groundless, but, feeling as you do, I should
advise you to mention the matter to Dr.
Ward," sail. Small.
." That I already done, dear aunt,"
replied Ada ; " that is, I did not tell him
about the letter, nor speak directly about his
own conduct; but I spoke to him of the evils
arising from intemperance, and he said that,
in many respects, he concurred in my opin
ions ; but he thought a man might drink in
toxicating liquors, and drink frequently,
without being in any danger of becoming a
drunkard, if he was possessed of any reason
or judgment. And then, when I warned
him to beware, he laughed at my fears, and
told me that I should have more confidence
in him than to think he would ever so far
forget himself as to become a common drunk
ard."
"And did not this assurance satisfy you,
Ada. ?" asked her aunt."
"On the contrary, it has only excited my
fears in a greater degree, for he made light
of my anxiety, and spoke rather in favor of
intoxicating liquors, while I have such a
horror of all such ;" and a perceptable shud
der passed through the young girl's frame as
she spoke.
$1 50
WILLIAM LEWIS,
VOL. XIV.
"Feeling as you do, Ada, I think it would
be better for you to speak plainly and di
rectly to Dr. Ward upon the subject which
troubles you so very much, although I think
your fears and anxiety are without any just
cause," said Mrs. Small.
"I think I shall do as you advise, aunt,"
replied Ada.
Here their conversation was interrupted
by a servant, who informed Ada that Dr.
Ward was awaiting her in the parlor. Af
ter pausing a fetv moments before a mirror,
to arrange her somewhat dishevelled curls,
she hastened to meet Dr. Ward, her betroth
eda,sband.
Ford told him, that evening of the
anonymous letter she had received from S—,
denouncing him as a wine bibber, also her
fears and anxiety on his account ; and now,
when the subject was laid plainly before
him, he made every effort, and used every
argument in his power to quiet the fears of
the beautiful and fondly loved girl. And he
succeeded;
for his eloquent pleadings, - added
to those of her own heart, were sufficient to
allay her fears, and cause her to feel that she
had wronged him by even indulging the
thought that he, in whom she saw so many
noble qualities, could be guilty of indulging
in that vice, the very thought of which filled
her with horror and disgust.
When Gilbert Ward went out from the
presence of Ada Ford, he left her happy—
happier than she had been for many days;
and he, too, happy ; happy in the assurance
that, in two short months, he was to come and
claim the beautiful Ada, the idol of his heart,
as his bride.
As he wended his way from the residence
of Mrs. Small, he resolvad in his heart that,
for the sake of his beautiful betrothed, he
would taste no more of the sparkling bowl.
But, alas ! temptation lay in his path ; he
was not strong to resist, and his good resolu
tions were broken.
The few weeks that intervened before the
marriage of Dr. Ward and Ada, passed rap
idly by. If a fear of evil, or a dread of the
future, caused the fair brow of our heroine
to he clouded for a few moments, these fears
were quickly dispelled by the gay raillery of
her cousins, and the motherly counsel and
encouragement of her kind aunt.
At length the important day arrived.—
They were married very quietly, in the little
brown stone church in G—, the town where
Ada resided ; and all who wished to go were
present to witness the solemn ceremony
performed. The church was crowded to over
flowing ; the fair bride looked very beautiful
and very happy in her plain travelling dress
and flowing mantle. And Dr. Ward, the
new-made husband, looked very proud and
very happy, too.
Ada took leave of her numerous friends at
the door of the church ; and then went forth
from G— with the man of her choice, to
whom she was devotedly attached, whither
she had come seventeen years before, a lone
orphan—a prattling and innocent child of
three summers—to reside with her maternal
aunt, Mrs. Small, who had ever treated her,
in every respect, as she did her own daugh
ters.
Ada had been a favorite with the kind
hearted villagers ever since her first appear
ance among them. They loved her in her
childhood for her innocence and artlessness,
and they loved her no less in her womanhood
for her noble, generous qualities of mind and
heart. And many were the sincere blessings
and prayers that were breathed for her as she
went out from their midst, on the bright
morning of her bridal.
But now, leaving Dr. Ward and his lovely
bride to pursue their way to the town of S—,
which is to be their future residence, we will
turn our attention to Dr. Ward alone.
A few years previous to the opening of our
story, he had gone to S— from a neigh
boring State, and commenced the practice of
medicine. At first his practice was limited ;
but gradually he gained the confidence of
a large portion of the people in S— and
the vicinity, and soon began to be very pros
perous.
It was during a short sojourn in the city of
B— that he first met Ada Ford. He was
fascinated with her exquisite beauty ; and
when he found an opportunity to converse
with her, he found the charms of her mind
no less than those of her person ; and thus
did he bow at the shrine of the beautiful Ada,
and at length became her husband. He was
truly a man of many noble qualities, but ad
dicted to the vice of drinking intoxicating
liquors—that vice which the fair Ada . so ab
horred. Notwitstanding this, he had many
friends in G—, and many who deplored
his sad fault.
When he carried his bride to G—, she
was kindly and warmly received ; for with
her beautiful face, and gentle, winning way,
she could not fail to please wherever she
went.
The winter of 185— was one of unusual
gayety in G—, and there was scarcely an
entertainment given to which Dr. Ward and
Ada were not invited. And they generally
attended, for Dr. Ward was exceedingly fond
of social entertainments, and Ada enjoyed
society greatly ; she liked also to mingle with
the friends of her husband, it appeared to
give both him and his friends so much pleas
ure for her to do so. But Ada had a dread
of wine parties, because she feared for her hus
band. She had noted with watchful eye that
his glass never remained undrained.
There was to be a grand entertainment
given by Captain Warner, who had lately re
turned from a long and successful voyage.—
Expectation and anticipation was on tiptoe,
for Captain Warner's entertainments were
always given in magnificent style, and the
guests never failed to enjoy themselves.—
But somehow Ada Ward felt a dread of go
ing, and a presentiment of evil to come ; but
it would never do to decline the invitation,
for he was one of Dr. Ward's most intimate
friends, and so, with a heavy heart, she pre
pared herself to go. Her spirits, however,
revived when she stood before her husband
arrayed for the ball, and saw the proud light
that gleamed from his eyes as he surveyed
her queenly form, and listened to the fond
praises that he bestowed upon her.
....,:;;::. :-......,
~. - :,.,
. ; ,.. 1, . :
".- .... ' "
) •,,f.%,.
~ ..,:,';.:7';',,.. ..,...,......,..... :
r_,;1.::..,::,
And well might he be proud of his lovely
wife ; for, although in that vast assembly
there were many faces fair to look upon, and
many forms of exquisite grace and elegance,
yet Ada Ward—the gentle, and the beautiful
—stood pre-eminently the queen of them all.
For a while all went merry as a marriage
bell. The soft light emitted from the highly
polished chandaliers, lent a kind of bewil
dering charm to those rooms, through which
the delicate aroma of choice flowers floated,
as though wafted from the orange groves of
sunny Italy; while here and there fairy forms
flitted,. and sweet strains of music mingled
with happy voices, and gay laughter burst
forth, lending a kind of witchery to the scene.
During the first part of the evening our he
roine was very happy. She had seemingly
forgotten all her former fears and anxieties ;
and often, as she glided through the mazy
dance, or joined in the gay sallies of wit that
flowed from rosy lips and guileless hearts,
could her low, musical laughter be heard,
like the gentle rippling of glad waters. But
bye and bye, as the evening began to wear
away, a shadow upon her hitherto calm brow,
for she marked a change in the bearing of
her husband; perhaps one less accustomed to
his manner would not have noticed it; but
she noted that the tones of his voice were
louder, and more hurried and abrupt, than
was his wont, and that his manner was more
familiar; not that he was rude, but he had
lost his dignity which always characterized
him.
Ada knew but too well how to account for
this change, for she was well aware that
wine had passed freely and frequently among
the guests, and that to this might be attribu
ted the change in her husband's manner. It
was, therefore, 'with deep anxiety that she
saw the red liquid again being passed among
the guests, for she felt convinced that one
draught added to what he had already drank,
would place her husband on a level with,
what he termed a common drunkard. She
watched him narrowly and resolved that she
would make an effort to save him from what
she considered so terrible a fate. It was a
moment of intense suffering to poor Ada, as
her bloodless cheeks and trembling limbs
testified. •
When she saw him stretch forth his hand
to take the proffered glass, she seemed sud
denly to regain her strength, and flew like
lightening speed toward him. She reached
his side just as he was raising the clear, crys
tal-like goblet to his lips, to drain it of its con
tents; and, placing her hand gently but firm
ly upon his uplifted arm, she exclaimed, in
clear, thrilling tones—
" Gilbert, my husband, forbear ! drain not
the poisonous draught !"
Slowly the upraised hand descended, and
he looked searchingly in her face, as if to
read her meaning. For a moment he gazed
upon her, and then a dark frown gathered
upon his brow, and again ho raised the gob
let to his lips ; and then poor Ada, forgetful
of everything but her own intense anxiety
and suffering, in an agonized voice, exclaim
ed—.
"Oh, Gilbert, for my sake drink not the
maddening potion ! Oh, beware I beware 1"
Again did Gilbert Ward's hand descend,
and he allowed Ada to take the goblet from
him. Stepping back a few paces, she seized
a glass of water that stood upon a richly car
ved table ; she gazed with burning eyes upon
its contents, then raised the goblet contain
ing the sparkling wine, and gazed wildly up
on it ; while her cheeks blanched to a death
ly palor, and her bosom heaved with intense
emotion, she exclaimed, in clear ringing
tones—
" Behold what I see within this flowing li
quid ! I see for you, Gilbert, sorrow, shame,
dishonor, misery, despair—yea, death ! I
see that face, now bearing the impress of
health and peace, burning and scorched with
the great heat of poison, and seared and dis
figured by the traces of debauchery and con
tracted disease ? I see that lithe and active
frame growing bent and emaciated ! I see
your firm step becoming weak and tottering !
I hear your .rich voice growing hollow and.
unnatural—your flashing eye becoming dim
and lustreless—your intellect becoming im
paired, and your mind enfeebled and weak
I see your home growing desolate and neg
lected ; your friends all forsaking you, and
you travelling down to a pauper's grave,
uncared for and unwept ! I see for myself,
s'uffering, want, misery and despair ! I see
my brightest hopes all crushed—my fondest
wishes blighted, and my poor heart torn and
laceratedand all this is the work ofmy husband!
"On the other hand," said she, raising the
vessel containing the clear, cold water, "I
see peace, prosperity, honor, renown, joy,
hope, friends and long life, and all for you
if you so will it And will you, oh, Gilbert,
thus ruthlessly cast them all from you—thus
heedlessly rush on to ruin, and relentlessly
torture your loving, suffering wife, until she
sinks into a premature grave?
" Choose ! ' she exclaimed, wildly, extend
ing her hands toward - him, "choose this mo
ment, oh, my husband, between wine and wa
ter—choose between happiness and misery,
both here and hereafter! Oh, choose between
life and death ; extinguish the last spark of
joy and life within my bosom, or bid me live
and be happy 1"
With bloodless lips and heaving bosom,
Gilbert Ward, fully sobered by the events of
the last few moments, stretched forth his
trembling hand, and, taking the goblet con
taining the clear, cooling water, raised it to
his lips, and drained the grateful draught.—
Then, as his hand descended, he exclaimed,
in solemn tones—
"God help me to keep this resolve !"
"Amen," was responded from every lip in
that vast assembly, in tones of reverence,
though many cheeks were wet with tears,
and many voices husky with emotion.
"Saved, saved, thank God, saved !" mur
mured Ada, as she staggered forward, and
fell fainting into the arms of her husband.
Ay, he was saved ; and not him alone, but
many others who stood within sound of Ada
Ward's voice on that memorable night.
They bore the fair young bride to her home,
and laid her upon a downy couch; from which
she rose not for long, weary days and nights,
-PERSEVERE.--
HUNTINGDON, PA., MAY 11, 1859.
but lay insensible to all things around her ;
yet still pleading wildly, passionately with
her husband, to forsake the drunkard's cup.
As Gilbert Ward watched beside his suf
fering and adored wife, again did he renew
his vow of total abstinance. Ay, and angels
may have recorded those vows in the courts
of the most High King.
When Ada recovered her reason and health,
her husband went forth into the busy tumult
of the world and became one of the most zeal
ous workers in the great cause of Temper
ance.
Wives, have you intemperate husbands ?
Then seek, by every means in your power,
to rescue them from a drunkard's grave.—
Mothers, have you intemperate sons ? Cease
not to warn and entreat. Sisters, have you
intemperate brothers ? Seek to save them
from the sorrow and woe that attends the
wine bibber !
The Great Strasburg Clock.
Henry C. Wright, in a letter to the Boston
Liberator, thus describes the great clock in
Strasburg Cathedral :—I am now sitting in
a chair facing the gigantic clock, from the
bottom to the top not less than 100 feet, and
about 30 feet wide, and 15 deep. Around
me are many strangers, waiting to see the
working of this clock as it strikes the hour
of noon. The clock is struck in this way:
The dial is some twenty feet from the floor,
on each side of which is a cherub, or a little
boy, with a mallet, and over the dial is a
small bell. The cherub on the left strikes
the first quarter, and that on the right the
second quarter. Fifty feet over the dial, in
a large niche, is a huge figure of Time, a bell
in his left and a scythe in his right hand.
In front stands a figure of a young man with
a mallet, who strikes the third quarter, on
the hanu cis Time, and turns and glides, with
a slow step, round behind Time. Then comes
out an old man, with a mallet, and places
himself in front of him. As the hour of
twelve comes, the old man raises his mallet,
and deliberately strikes twelve times on the
bell, that echoes through the building, and
is heard all around the region of the church.
The old man glides slowly behind Father
Time, and the young man comes on ready to
perform his part, as the time comes around
again. Soon as the old man has struck
twelve and disappeared, another set of ma
chinery is put in motion, some twenty feet
higher still. It is thus: There is a high
cress with the image of Christ on it. The
instant twelve has struck, one of the Apos
tles walks out from behind, comes in front,
turns, facing the cross, bows, and walks on
around to his place. As he does so, another
comes out in front, turns, bows, and passes
on. As the last appears, an enormous cock,
perched on the pinnacle of the clock, slowly
flaps its wings, and stretches forth its neck
and crows three times, so loud as to be heard
outside of the church to some distance, and
so naturally as to be mistaken for a real cock.
Then all is silent as death. No wonder this
clock is the admiration of Europe. It was
made in 1571, and has performed these me
chanical wonders ever since, except about
fifty years, when it stood out of repair.
There is no Such Word as Pail.
This sentence should be deeply impressed
upon the hearts of the young. He who will
not strike boldly in the battle of life, and con
quer the opposing foe, must sink sooner or la
ter into the slough of despond, and be forgot
ten by the onmarching army, whose lips are
singing the paean of victory. It were better
for that one that he had never been born.—
Life is not a rose-laden path for carpet knights
to tread. No ; its ways are rugged and it is
the brave in heart only that, fearlessly ac
ceptinr, its challenges doing battle as they
move along, wins the goal. He who sets out
with fear and trembling, dreading to meet
foes seen and unseen, succombs ere he has
commenced the journey; but he who boldly
adventures the path whether it leads to gloomy
abysses or up giddy ascents, over morasses,
through night-like forests, or into regions of
perpetual snow, holding aloft his banner in
scribed with the daring motto "There is no
such word as Fail !" is victory in every fight.
His heart beats quick, his eye brightens and
his strong arm is nerved for battle when dan
ger approaches. No thought has he of re
treat—onward, onward he marches, driving
his enemies before him ! What cares he for
these—was he not made to do or die? He
will be victorious. Nothing shall deter him.
He knows no such word as fail. Whatever
he resolves on must be accomplished. He
cannot succomb, though the world should
press upon him. Death, rather, and he con
quers The hero of the field, he wears the
laurel crown ! It is only when Age over
takes him, palsying his arm, and stealing his
strength of purpose, that he "wraps the-dra
pery of his couch about him, and lies down
to pleasant dreams." Even their he is but
subdued, not conquered. His task has been
faithfully accomplished. His end is blessed!
Young man and young woman, if you would
succeed in life, strike from your vocabulary the
stumbling block to success.—the word fail !
A Ricu EnlToa.—The editor of the Prai
rie News, published at Okalaona, Miss., feels
rich, and thus lets himself off on somebody
who called him poor :
1Y Pout ?—.A. few days since some one
had the hardihood to call us "Poor Editors 1"
We poor? No, sir-ee, sorrel tail; not by a
jug full, we ain't. Why, we have a
good library, made for the most part of pat
ent office reports and Kansas speeches ; a
a double barreled pistol, but 'twont stand
reared back ; a game rooster ; a gold watch ;
six suits of clothes; fourteen shirts ; a cat;
bull pup ; seventy-five cents in clean cash ;
and no poor kin, and are going to have a
pretty wife, and, soon as possible, a town lot 1
Talk about being poor 1
WE?' A popular author gives the following
advice to wives :
" Should you find it necessary, as you un
doubtedly will, many of you, to chastise your
husbands, you should perform this duty with
the soft end of the broom, not with tho han
dle."
On one occasion a hatter named Walter
Dibble, called to buy some furs of us. For
certain reasons, I was anxious to play a joke
upon him. I sold him several kinds of fur,
including " beaver" and "coney." Ile wan
ted some "Russia." I told hinl we had none,
but Mrs. Wheeler, where I boarded, had sev
eral hundred pounds.
" What on earth is a woman doing with
Russia ?" he said.
I could not answer, but lissured him that
there were 130 pounds of old Rushia and 150
pounds .of young Rushia in Mrs. Wheeler's
house, and under her charge, but whether it
was for sale I could not say.
Off he started with a view to make the
purchase. He knocked at the door. Mrs.
Wheeler the elder, made her appearance.
" I want to get your Russia," said the hat-
ter.
Mrs. Wheeler asked him to walk in and be
seated. She, of course, supposed he had come
after her daughter "Rushia."
" What do you want of Rushia ?" asked the
old lady.
" To make hats," was the reply.
" To trim hats, I suppose you mean," res
ponded Mrs. Wheeler.
"No—for. the outside of hats," replied the
hatter.
" Well, I don't know much about hats, but
I will call my daughter," said the old lady.
Passing into another room where"Rushia,"
the younger, was at work, she informed her
that a man wanted her to make hats.
"0, he means sister Mary, probably. I
suppose he wants some ladies hats," replied
Rushia, as she passed into the parlor.
" I suppose you wish to see my sister Mary;
she is our milliner," said the younger Rushia.
" I wish to see whoever owns the property,"
said the hatter.
Sister Mary was sent for and soon made
her appearance. As soon as she was intro
duced, the batter informed her that he wished
to buy "Rushia."
"Buy Rushia !" exclaimed Mary, in sur
prise. "I don't understand you.".
" Your name is Miss Wheeler, I believe,"
said'the hatter, who was annoyed at the dif
ficulty he met with in being understood.
" It is, sir."
" 11h ! very well. Is there old and young
Russia in the house.
" I believe there is," said Mary, surprised
at the familiar manner in which he spoke of
her mother and sister, both of whom were
present.
" What is the price of old Rushia per
pound ?" asked the hatter.
" I believe, sir, that old Rushia is not for
sale," replied Mary indignantly.
" Well, what do you ask for young Rus
sia ?" pursued the hatter.
E
" Sir," said Miss Rushia, the younger,
springing to her feet, " do you come here to
insult defenceless females ? If you do we
will soon call our brother, who is in the gar
den, and he will punish . you as you deserve."
" Ladies !" exclaimed the hatter, in aston
ishment, "what on earth have I done to offend
you ? I came here on a business matter. I
want to buy some Russia. I was told you
had old and young Russia in the house. In
deed, this young lady just stated such to be
the fact, but she says the old Russia is not
sale. Now, if I can buy the young Russia,
I want to do so—but if that can't be done,
please say so, and I will trouble you no fur
ther."
"Mother open the door, and let the gentle-
Man pass out; he is undoubtedly crazy,"
said Miss Mary . .
"By thunder ! I believe I shall be if I
remain here long," exclaimed the hatter, con
siderably excited. "I wonder if folks never
do business in these parts, that you think a
man is crazy if he attempts such a thing ?"
" Business 1 poor man," said Mary, sooth
ingly, approaching the door.
" I am not a poor man, Madam." replied
the hatter. "My name is Walter Dibble;
carry on hatting extensively in Danbury ; I
came to Grassy Plains to buy fur, and have
purchased some 'beaver' and `coney,' and now
it seems I am to be called 'crazy' and a 'poor
man,' because I want to buy a little 'Russia'
to make up an assortment."
The ladies began to open their eyes a little.
They saw that Mr. Dibble was quite in ear
nest, and his explanation threw considerable
light on the subject.
" Who sent you here ?" asked sister Mary.
" The clerk at the opposite store," was the
reply.
" He is a wicked young fellow for making
this trouble," said the old lady. "Ile has
been doing this for a joke," she continued.
" A joke!" exclaimed Dibble, in surprise.
"Have you not got any Russia then ?"
"My name is Jerusha, and so is my daugh
ter's," said Mrs. Wheeler, "and that I sup
pose is what he meant by telling you about
old and young Rushia."
Mr. Dibble bolted through the door without
a word of explanation, and made directly for
our store. "You young scamp !"-said he, as
he entered, "what did you mean by sending
me over there to buy Russia ?"
" I did not send you to buy Rushia. I
supposed you were either a bachelor or a
widower, and wanted to marry Rushia,"
replied with a serious countenance.
" You lie, you dog, and you know it," he
replied ; "but never mind, I'll pay you off
for that some day." And taking his furs he
departed, less ill-humored than could have
been expected under the circumstances.
Poon BUT PROUD.-A highwayman under
took to rob Maj. Jones. He met Jones in a
wood over in Jersey. He asked Jones for
his pocket-book. Jones refused to yield.—
Highwayman took Jones by the neck and
undertook to choke him. Jones made fight
and kept it for half an hour. At the expi
ration of that time Jones caved, and the
highwayman commenced rifling his pockets.
The contents amounted to eighteen cents.
" Is that all you've got ?"
"Every cent."
"What made you fight so long ?"
" Didn't want to be exposed. Bad enough
to have only eighteen cents : a great deal
worse to have the whole world know it."
Editor and Proprietor.
A Hatter in Search of Russia Fur
Every human being is in the pursuit of
happiness. And every human being pur
sues happiness not only in every purpose but
in every event of his life, as far as they can
control it. And how many fail in the pur
suit ? How many break down in the passage
or make shipwreck of all they . adventured in
the experiment ? If the question were asked,
Why, after so much expenditure of means
and labors, do so many fail? The answer
may be readily given. They do not proper
ly estimate the process by which the great
disideratum is to be attained. They adven
ture all upon the chance without providing
for the contingencies they may meet with on
the way. So the merchant that insures his
goods, the premium he considers as a mere
nothing, when compared with the loss he
may sustain by accident. low then can he
expect success who seeks his happiness in
every thing and insures nothing? Voyager
upon the sea of life, estimate at its proper
value the property you hazard in the adven
ture I Meditate every act; examine well eve
ry purpose, and look to the result of each.—
Be sure your bark is a safe one and well in
sured, on the proper consideration of forth
coming events and the preparation to meet
them. To a practical inind the preconcep
tion of what may happen is not impossible
and in its study of the probable contingencies
of the future and provision to meet them,
there may be a reason of safety that cannot
be secured to any other way.
NO. 4G
No poverty there ? Millions of good men
have left the earth poor ; but has one entered
heaven poor. Lazarus, the moment before he
died, was a beggar at the gate, but a moment
after his death ns estate had grown so fast
that the haughty worldling, still surviving in
all his influence, in comparison with him,
was a penniless pauper. Oh, poor believers
rejoice in prospect of your grand inheritance.
It is really immense, inestimable, unspeaka
ble, undefiled, and fadeth not away. Has it
not been your endeavor to lay up for your
selves treasures in heaven ? Why not often
er think of results there ? Fear not. There
is good news from that far country. Unsuc
cessful as you may have seemed on earth,
your heavenly schemes have all prospered.
The treasury of God overflows with your
wealth. And it is safe—perfectly safe.—
Neither " moth nor rust" corrupts it, nor
can thieves break through and steal it,—
Moreover, it shall increase—forever increase.
As long as you live on earth you add to the
principal, and its interest will multiply be
yond all computation, to all eternity. era;
sus was rich, Solomon was rich, Lucullus was
rich, but the humblest heir of God, is richer
far than all. It may be that the stores you
have already accumulated in heaven would
buy this town, buy the district, buy the coun
ty, buy the world, and still be comparatively
untouched. Nay, think not this extravagant:
I would not barter the heritage of the most
destitute of Christians for the whole globe
and all its improvements. Lift up your
heart; let it expand and overflow with bliss.
At the close of the short journey through
time, you will see eternity open before you,
all radiant with the variety of your boundless
possessions. Be not proud t but be grateful,
thankful, hopeful and happy.
Who preached that men were only mon
keys, who had rubbed off their tails ? I wish
I had his bust—l would give it the place of
honor in my house. By Jove ! I believe we
are all Gorillas ; and Owen, the naturalist
knows it, but is too polite to say so. After
I don't know how many thousand years, and
I don't care, but we'll take the orthodox six,
and say that after six thousand years, of
working, fighting,. thinking, worshipping—of
Shasters and Korans and Bibles—of kings
and priests and parliaments and republics—
of sermons and books and newspapers—of
marching of intellect and counter-marching
of religion—of altars and temples, churches
and chapels—in a word, after six thousands
years of learning how to live, what have we
come to? The whole of the most ciiilized,
the most intellectual, the most religious- part,
of the globe is content to leave it to . the de
cision of one bad man whether half-a-dozen
of countries shall be devasted with fire
.and
sword, thousands of their noblest and best
shall be slaughtered, and their wives and
mothers sent mourning to their graves.
And Man holds up his head, and talks of
his being the image of his Creator. I tell
you we arc idiotic Gorillas, and shall be dug
up by the next race that inhabits this planet,
and shown in their museums, with our swords,
pens and prayer books in glass casses, illus
trating the monkey species.—Shirley Brooks.
How TO SILENCE A. Foor,.—A Galway gen
tleman once entered a coffee house in Lon
don, and called for tea. His brogue attract
ed the attention of a scented civilian in the
opposite box, who, relying upon his superi
or ascent, resolved to have a zest at the ex
pense of the stranger.
The civilian called for tea, also. The Irish
gentleman called for muffins, so did the civil
ian—toast, milk, sugar, &c., were severally
called fur by the fop, who enjoyed in his cor
ner the supposed embarrassment to which he
was subjecting the gentleman from Galway.
At last, with the greatest composure, and
if possible, with a richer brogue, the Irish
man demanded the waiter to—
" Bring up pistols for two !"
This was a stretcher in the performance by
no means in the fop's programme, and rath
er beyond what he had bargained for; so, like
a well-bred dog, walked down the stairs for
fear of being kicked.
THE PHILOSOPHY or PLVERTY.—Some wri
ter says, "A happy man, surrounded by the
blessings of poverty, thus sums up the uses
of adversity : You wear out your old clothes.
You are not troubled with many visitors.—
You are excused from making calls. Bores
do not bore you. Spungers cannot haunt
your table. Itinerant bands do not play op
posite your windows. You avoid the nuis
ance of serving on juries. No one thinks of
presenting you with a testimonial. No
tradesman irritates you by asking, 'ls there
any other little article to-day, sir ?' Begging
letter writers leave you alone. Imposters
know it is useless to bleed you. You prac
tice temperance. You swallow infinitely less
poison than others. You are saved many a
deception, many a headache. And lastly, if
you have a true friend in the world, you are
sure, in a very short space of time, to learn it."
AZT- A neighbor of mine was fairly or oth
wise accused of sheep stealing, and the day
was set when he was to answer the charge
before a court of justice. But, as it happen
ed, before the day of: trial he sickened and
died. His old mother was overwhelmed with
grief, and sat long by the corpse, filling the
house with wailing and lamentation. At
last a thought seemed to strike her ; she
brightened up, and throwing up her hands,
she piously ejaculated : " Well, thank
God, he is out of the sheep scrape any how :"
The Pursuit of Efappiness.
The Incorruptible Inheritance.
A Sermon Upon Man.,