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~iitittt Vottrg.
THE LIGHT OF HO3lO.
The Light of Home! how bright it beams
When evening shades around us fall ;
And from the lattice far it gleams
To love, and rest, and comfort, all ;
When wearied with the toils of day,
And strife for glory, gold and fame,
How sweet to seek the quiet way,
Where loving lips will lisp our name
Around the light at home!
When through the dark and stormy night
The wayward wanderer hoineward flies,
'How cheering is that twinkling light
That through the forest gloom he spies!
It is the light of home. He feels
That loving hearts will greet him there;
And softly through his bosom steals
The joy and love that banish care
Around the light at home!
The light at home how still and sweet
It peeps from yonder cottage door—
The weary laborer to greet—
When the rough toils of day are o'eri
Sad is the soul that does not know
The blessings that the beams impart,
The cheering hopes and joys that flow,
And lighten up the heaviest heart
Around the light at home!
A .e.t.ect '5, trm.
A TRUE STORY.
BY BAYARD TAYLOR.
On the 15th of November, 1856, a celebra
tion of a peculiar character was held in a
small village near Jena. It was an occasion
of entirely a local nature, and might have
passed over unobserved and unknown to all,
except the immediate vicinity, but for its con
nection with the battle that fifty years and
one day before annihilated the power of Prus
sia. Au account of it, however, was pub
lished in most of the German newspapers,
and this circumstance, the sequel of the story
which I am about to relate, was brought on.
At the time the celebration took place, I was
residing in Gotha, not more than fifty miles
from the spot, and received the story almost
in the very words of the chief actor in it. I
am sorry that his name and that of the vil
lage have escaped my memory.
We must first go back to the 14th of Octo
ber, 1806. On that day the windy uplands
northeast of Jena witnessed the brief but ter
rible combat, which resulted in the triumph
ant march of the French army into Berlin
eleven days afterward—during which time
Prussia had lost 60,000 men, 65 standards,
and 600 cannon. A portion of the French
was encamped on the battle field, or quarter
ed in the village around. The poor inhabi
tants overwhelmed by this sudden avalanche
of war upon its quiet fields—where for a hun
dred years or more they had reaped their har
vest in peace—submitted in helpless apathy
while their houses and barns were plundered
by the lawless soldiery. The battle was over
but there was no lull in the blast of ruin.—
Through the clouds of cannon smoke which
settled in the bosom of the deep valleys as
the raw October evening came on, were heard
in all directions, shrieks of fear, yells of rage
or triumph, and cries of pain or lamentation.
Davoust—the "Butcher of Hamburg," as
the Germans called him—took up his quar
ters fur the night in one of the most conve
nient and comfortable houses which could be
found in the neighborhood of the scene of
slaughter. Here he rapidly issued orders
for the disposition of the forces under his
command, gave directions for the morrow,
and received reports from his adjutant. He
had taken his cloak, and was about retiring
to an inner chamber for repose, when an of
ficer entered. " Pardon me, General, he
said, but there is a case which requires. atten
tion. The German canaille must be taught
to respect us. Ten soldiers of Company
of the Fourth infantry, who quartered them
selves in the village of Waldorf, (let us say,)
have been driven away by the people, and
two or three of them are severely injured.
Davoust's eye glittered' and his moustache
curled like the lip of a mastiff, as he turned
and halted a moment at the door of the bed
room. " Send a lieutenant and twenty men
to the village, pick out ten of the vagabonds
and shoot them down !" was the brief order.
" Where is Waldorf ?" he added, turning to
one of those useful creatures who are always
willing to act as guides and interpreter for
the enemy in their own laud.
"There is a village called Upper Waldorf
which lies near the head of a small valley to
the left ; Middle Waldorf is on the other side
of the hill, and Lower Waldorf about half
an hour's distance beyond.
The marshal not caring to make more mi
nute inquiries, went to bed. If ten men were
shot, that was sufficient.
The next morning, at sunrise, Lieutenant
Lawotte with twenty men marched over the
trampled hills to seek Waldorf. It was a dis
agreeable business, and the sooner it was over
the better. On reaching a ridge which over
looked the intersection 'of two or three valleys,
more than one village was visible through
the cold fog that was beginning to rise.—
" Out est Waldorf," inquired the officer of
the man whom he bad impressed by the way.
" Das," answered the man, "WI ober Wal
dorf," pointing to a village on the left. "En
(wawa!" and in fifteen minutes more the
Frenchmen marched into the little hamlet.
Halting in an open space between the
church, and the two principal beer houses,
the officer summoned the inhabitants togeth
er. The whole village was already awake,
for few had slept during the night. Their
ears were still stunned by the thunder of yes
terday, and visions of burning and pillage
still danced before their eyes. At the com
mand of the lieutenant the soldiers seized
all the male inhabitants, and forcibly placed
them in a line before him. The women and
children waited near in terrible anxiety, for
no one understood the words which were spo
ken, and these ominous preparations led them
to imagine the worst.
1 insertion.
$ 25.....
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$
37% $ 50
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$1 50
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WILLIAM LEWIS,
VOL. XV.
At this juncture, the son of the village pas
tor appeared upon the scene. He was a
young man of twenty, who was studying the
ology, in order to become his father's succes
sor, and fortunately had some knowledge of
French. The appearance of things without,
the cries and entreaties of the terrified peo
ple, told him that his help was wanted. He
immediately addressed himself to Lieutenant
Lamotte, and begged for an explanation of
the proceedings.
" I am ordered to punish this village," an
swered the latter, " for your treatment of our
soldiers last night. The marshal orders that
ten of you must be shot. The only thing
that I can do is, to allow you to draw lots
among yourselves, or to point out those con
cerned in the outrage.
" But," continued the young man, " your
General has been misinformed. No French
soldiers have visited our village before you.
We truly have been in great fear and anxiety
the whole night ; but the valley is deep and
the village is partly concealed from view by
the woods on the aide. There are also the
villages of Middle and Lower Waldorf, which
lie further down in the open valley. You can
soon satisfy yourself, sir, that this village is
completely innocent; and I entreat you not
to shed the blood of our harmless people."
" There is no time for investigation," said
the officer. " I was ordered to proceed to
Waldorf, and I em guided hither. I will
wait till you make your choice of ten to be
sacrificed, but have no authority to do more."
By this time the people had learned the
fate in store for them. The women with tears
and appealing gestures, crowded around the
officer, begging him to spare their sons and
husbands ; the men stood silent, with blood
less faces and dumb, imploring eyes. The
scene was evidently painful both to the officer
and the soldiers, accustomed as they were to
the unmerciful code of war. They were anx
ious to put an end to it and leave ; but the
clergyman's son inspired with the belief that
the fate of ten men rested upon his efforts,
continued to urge his plea with a zeal and
eloquence that would not be set aside. Lieu
tenant
Lamotte struggled awhile between his
sense of duty and his natural humanity, while
the young advocate appealed to his conscience
and to the obedience which he owed to a high
er commander than Davoust. Finally he
consented to wait while a sergeant was dis
patched to head quarters, accompanied by a
peasent to show him the nearest way. A
few lines hastily penciled, stated the facts
in the case, and asked further instructions.
Meanwhile the inhabitants waited in a
state of suspense scarcely to be endured—
Lieutenant Lamotte—who, as a thorough
Frenchman, soon wearied of a painful emo
tion, and shaking it off at the risk of appear
ing heartless—said : " The morning is keen,
and a walk before sunrise doesn't diminish
the appetite ; can you give -us some refresh
ments from your hidden supplies ?" At a
word from the young man, many of the wo
men brought together the coffee they had pre
pared for their own breakfast, with black
bread, mugs of beer, and a small cheese or
two—sufficient for a rough meal—of which
the soldiers partook with the usual laughing
comments on " la crisine Altamande." The
company of victims looked on in silence, and
more than once muttered gloomily : " We are
feeding our executioners."
" Even if that should be true," said the
young man, " it is but doing as Christ taught
us. Whether or not we obtain Christian
charity from these men, let us, at least, show
them that we are christians."
This solemn rebuke had its effect. A few
of the men assisted in entertaining the sol
diers, and the latter with their facility of fra
ternization, soon made themselves at home.
As the stomach fills the heart also enlarges,
and the men began to say among themselves :
" It is a pity these men should be shot by
mistake."
It was not long before the sergeant and his
guide arrived. The former handed the Lieu
tenant a note, which ho hastily tore open and
read. " Waste no time in parley. It is indif
ferent which village is punished, an example
must be made. Do your duty and return in
stantly." So ran the pitiless answer.
" Choose your men !" said the Lieutenant
rising to his feet, and grinding his teeth to
keep down his faltering heart. But now the
lamentations broke out afresh. The women
citing around the men that were dear to them,
and many of the latter overcome by the gen
eral distress, uttered loud cries and prayers
for mercy. The young man knelt down in
front of them, saying to the - officer: " I do
not kneel to you ; but I pray GOD that he will
remove the sin of slaughter from your soul."
As the officer met his earnest eyes full of
a sublime calmness and courage, his own
suddenly filled with tears. He turned to his
men who stood drawn up in a line before
him, but no word was spoken. Their hands
were in their proper places, according to
drill regulations ; and there were drops on
many cheeks which they could not wipe away.
There was a silent question in the officer's
eye—a silent answer in theirs. The former
turned hurriedly, beckoned the young man
to him, and whispered in an agitated voice.
" My friend I will save you by stratagem."
Choose ten of your most courageous men,
place them in a line before me and I will or
der my men to shoot them through the head.
At the instant I give the order to fire, they
must fall flat on the ground ; my soldiers will
aim high, and no one will be injured. As
soon as the volley is fired I will give the or
der to march ; but no one must stir from his
place until we are out of sight.
These words were instantly translated to
the people, but so great was their panic that
no one offered to move. The pastor's son
then took his place, alone, in the vacant space
before the line of soldiers. " I offer myself,"
said he, " as one trusting in God that all shall
be saved ; and I call upon those of you who
have the hearts of men in your bodies to
stand beside me." Young Conrad, a sturdy
farmer, and but newly a bridegroom, joined
—casting as he did so a single encouraging
look upon his wife, who turned deadly pale
but spoke not a word. One by one, as men
who have resolved to face death—for the most
of them had but a trembling half-confidence
~:
in their escape—eight others walked out and
took their places in the line. The women
shuddered, and hid their eyes; the men looked
steadily on, in the fascination of terror ; and
the little children in awed but ignorant curi
osity. The place was silent as if devoid of
life.
Again the Lieutenant surveyed his sol
diers.
" Take aim 1" he commanded. He con
tinued—" aim at their heads that your work
may be well done !" But though his voice
was clear and strong, and the tenor of his
words not to be mistaken, a clairvoyant flash
of hidden meaning ran down the line, and
the men understood him. Then came the
the last command :—" Fire !"—but the sec
ond which intervened between The word and
the ringing volley the ten men were already
falling. The cracks of the muskets and sound
of their bodies were simultaneous. Without
pausing an instant, the Lieutenant cried :
" Right about wheel ?" " Forward !" and
the measured tramp of the soldiers rang down
the narrow village street.
The women uncovered their eyes and
gazed, There lay the ten men, motionless
and apparently lifeless. With wild cries
they gathered around them; but ere their ex
clamations of despair had turned into those
of joy, the last of the soldiers had disappeard
in the wood. Then followed weeping em
braces, as all arose from the ground—laugh
ter and sobs of hysterical joy. The pastor's
son, uncovering his head, knelt down ; and
while all reverently followed his example, ut
tered an eloquent prayer of thanksgiving for
their merciful deliverance.
What this young man had done was not
suffered to go unrewarded. A blessing res
ted upon his labors and his life. In the
course of time he became a clergyman, filling
for a while his father's place for the people
he had saved, but was afterwards led to a
wider and more ambitious sphere. He was
called to Leipzig, received the degree of Doc
tor of Divinity, and finally became known
throughout Germany as the founder of the
Gustav Adolf Ferein, (Gustavus Adolphus
Union,) which has for its object of the dis
semination of protestant principles by means
of voluntary contributions. In some respects,
it resembles the Home Mission of our country.
Many churches built by this association are
now scattered throughout the United States.
The inhabitants of Waldorf never forgot
their pastor, nor he them. He came back,
from time to time, to spend a few days in the
quiet little village of his youth, in which the
most eventful crisis of his life was passed. -
In 1856, three out of the ten pseudo vie
ims of Davoust were still living in their old
homes, and the people besought them that
the semi-centennial anniversary of such an
event, deserved a special celebration, Dr.
of Leipzig, (formerly the pastor's
son,) was invited to be with them. He came
—he would have come from the ends of the
earth—and after a solemn religious service
in the church, proceeded to the very spot on
which he had stood and faced the French
muskets, and there related to the children
and grand children of those he had saved,
the narrative which I have here given in less
moving and eloquent words. Those who
were present, described the scene as singu
larly impressive and affecting. The three
old men sat near him as he spoke. And the
emotions of that hour of trial was so vividly
reproduced in their minds, that at the close,
they laughed and wept as they had done on
the same day fifty years before.
In conclusion, the speaker referred to the
officer whose humane stratagem had pre
served their lives. "Since that day," said
he, " I have never heard of him. I did not
even learn his name; but he is remembered
in my prayers. Most probably he died a
soldier's death on one of the many fields of
slaughter which intervened between Jena
and Waterloo; if he should be living it
would cheer my last days on earth if I could
reach him with a single word of gratitude."
In the same year there lived—and no
doubt, still is living—in Lyons, an invalid
and pensioned captain of the Napoleonic
wars. A life of vicissitudes, he found him
self in old age, alone, forgotten, poor. His
daily resort was a cafe, where he could see
and read the principal European journals,
and perhaps measure the changed politics
of the present time by the experience of his
past life.
One day in November, 1856, he entered
the cafe, took his accustomed seat and picked
up the nearest paper. It happened to be the
Augsburg Allegemine Zeitung ; but he had
spent some years in Germany, and under
stood the language tolerably. His attention
was arrested by a letter dated Jena. "Jena,"
he thinks, " I was there too. What is going
on there now ?" He reads a little further ;
" Celebration at 'Waldorf—Waldorf ? The
name is familiar ; where have I heard it ?"
As he continues his perusal, the old captain's
excitement, so unusual a circumstance, at
tracts the attention of all the other habitues
of the cafe. Grand Dicu, Davoust—Waldorf
—the ten men—the pastor's son! Did I
dream such a thing, or is this the same?—
Forgotten for years—effaced by , a hundred
other military adventures—overlaid and lost
in th'e crowded stores of a soldier's memory,
the scene came to light again. The pastor's
son still lived, still remembered, and thanked
the preserver of his native village I Many a
long year had passed since such a glow
warmed the chambers of the old man's
heart.
That evening he wrote to Dr. , in
Liepzig, He was ill, and but a few months
distant from his last hour; but the soldier's
letter seemed like a Providential answer to
his prayers, and brightened the flickering
close of his life. A manly and affectionate
correspondence was carried on between the
two while the latter lived. The cir , rastance
became public, and the deed was officially
recognized is a way most flattering to the
pride of Captain Lamotte. The Grand Duke
of Sate Weimar, and the King of Saxony
conferred upon him the order of their re
spective houses, which were followed soon af
terward by the cross of the legion of honor
from Louis Napoleon, and an increase of his
HUNTINGDON, PA,, JANUARY 25, 1860,
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pension, which assured him ease and comfort
the rest of his life. A translation of the
doctor's narrative, published in the French
papers, drew attention to him, and he was
no longer a neglected frequenter of the cafe.
He was known and honored, even without his
three orders.
" Cast thy bread upon the waters, and thou
shalt find it again after many days."
The Advantages of Poverty
Of course by this we do not mean that pen
ury and want are beneficial, but that to be
so far relatively poor as to feel that one's cir
cumstances do not come up to one's -wants
and expectations and desires, while it has its
obvious disadvantages, is also highly useful
and advantageous to most men in several res
pects. As to happiness, for instance. Take
two young men of equal health and educa
tion, one notoriously rich and the other not
worth a cent, and the poor man will, in more
than half the number of instances, be the
most cheerful and happy man of the two.—
He will have fewer indulgences and excesses
to re-act upon his system, fewer sources of
anxiety and dread, fewer unemployed hours
to let the mind turn in broodingly upon it
self. He is compelled to be at work regu
larly, lives carefully, sleeps soundly and is
happy. There is many a young man who
begins life cheerful and happy, but who in
creases regularly in riches and in size, in the
comforts of home and the luxuries and re
finements of an advancing position, and yet,
as he does this, will confess that he is not so
happy now, rolling in wealth, as twenty years
ago when worth nothing but a clear head, a
brisk pair of hands, and the conviction that
the world was before him.
And as to the prospect even of becoming
wealthy, the poor man at starting is, on the
whole, we believe, better off than the young
man who receives an inheritance to begin
with. Facts show this. True, money grows
and paves the way finely to success. " The
gift of the wise man maketh room for him."
But the ways of getting rid of money also
grow, and much faster in every young man
who has more money in his purse than he
knows what to do with. We have known
young men not spending more than two hun
dred dollars a year yet moving always in the
best society, and we have known young men
to get through nearer twenty thousand with
out being really respectable or half so hap
py. Habits of frugality, fore-thought and
calculation as to where the means were to come
from for anything wanted, are the necessary
foundations of enduring wealth. Without
these, no matter how rich a man may be to
day, either he or his children will get through
it in a very short time. So far from a capi
tal to begin with being necessary to operate
upon, the want of capital often teaches the
poor man superior financial wisdom and econ
omy.
As to fame, few rich men, at the beginning
of life, ever win it in any pursuit that requires
labor or peril. It is the children tugging at
the lawyer's gown that makes him an eloquent
pleader at the bar. In fact, strong necessi
ties and pressing wants do more to elicit ge
nius and develope greatness than can well be
described. A man rolling in wealth and
luxury has too many enticements to ease to
climb the rugged path of lofty achievement.
As to care there is no eamparison. The
poor man has nothing to loose, while the
rich live in perpetual dread. The abundance
of the rich will not suffer him to sleep.—
They are not so sure that their friends are
true and disinterested. It has often been said
that prosperity makes friends and adversity
tries them. But the real fact is exactly the
other way. It is adversity that makes real
friends and prosperity that tries them.
And now, as to the next generation. Are
the children of wealthy or of poor parents,
(those parents being of equal intelligence and
character,) most likely to prosper ? The
strongest, healthiest, finest men, grow up
from boys who have to do all they can for a
living. It is possible, no doubt, for the chil
dren of the wealthy to be thus brought up.—
Yet not one child in a hundred is, most of
them are pampered and puny, without the
same mental strength and fortitude which
those of a more hardy training exhibit.—
The habit of self-reliance is the foundation of
all independence of character, and this is
closely connected with every virtue. Yet
none are so self-reliant as the poor.
So far, then, the chief advantage of wealth
is the means it affords of superior mental
cultivation, superior books, and apparatus of
learning of all kinds. This is the chief ad
vantage of it. Where wealth is only regar
ded as capital, the principal of which is only
to make the possessor more wise and power
ful for good—there, it is a blessing and one
of the greatest of blessings. But directly
any man feels wealthy—that is, that he has
more money than he knows how and needs
to use, as capital for higher good and more
extended usefulness—then his money be
comes an injury to him and not a blessing.
Many, with a little assistance, surmount the
evils of poverty in obtaining an education,
and everything else—few that of too much
wealth. In one State at least, even a Uni
versity education is without charge. Many
work their way through, and those who do,
almost always make the best scholars. In
deed, some of those now among the highest
literary men in the land, have worked their
way through college from the carpenter's
bench or by personal labors. Facts like these
should remove the discontent of those whose
lives are spent in visions of what they would
accomplish had they only the pecuniary ad
vantages of others around them.—Dollar
Newspaper.
gar Boys and girls here is a word for you ;
get out of bed early in the morning—sing,
dance and jump till your eyes are fairly open,
do up your chores and morning work with a
will, and then HIE off to school with a light
heart and clear head, and you-will be happy
all day. The active boy makes the active
manond the slow, moping, listless, lazy man
was once the boy who grumbled when he had
a lesson to learn. Wake up then, and off to
school.'
Editor and Proprietor.
Paddy's Coon Hunting.
An Irishman of our acquaintance named
Michael O'R.Alger, who settled in this part of
the country some years ago, lately received
an unexpected visit from his brother Pat,
who was direct from the sod. Mike heartily
welcomed his brother and resolved to do every
thing in his power to make his visit an agree
able one. Accordingly at the end of the sec
ond day after Pat's arrival, which bad been
spent by them in general carousal, Mike
armed his brother with a shilelah, and imme
diately led off in the direction of the corn
field, about a half mile distant, where he as
sured Pat that they would enjoy a rare even
ing's coon hunting.
The night was too dark to distinguish the
objects of their search at any great distance,
but on entertng the field and setting up a yell
they soon discovered by the rustling of the
corn stalks in various directions that they
had been successful in routing several of them
from their hiding places.
Mike's keen eyes were now fixed upon a
large tree, which stood a few yards distant,
and he soon had the satisfaction of detecting
an object moving up its trunk at a rapid rate.
This he knew to be a coon, and with a shout
of joy he rushed towards the tree calling his
brother to follow up. In a moment the two
sportsmen were under the tree. Mike pre
pared to climb, and directed Pat how to act
when the coon reached the ground.
" He'll be after makin' a great noise to get
away," said Mike, " but for your life don't
let him escap ye."
" OA, be off up the tree wid ye," answered
Pat flourishing his shilelah, evidently grow
ing impatient for the sport, " niver fear but
I'll put an ind to him when he comes down."
Mike now commenced climbing the tree
with all possible haste and succeeded very
well in the ascent until he reached the first
branches and become hid from the gaze of
the brother, when he paused a moment to as
certain in what part of the tree the coon had
taken lodging. While matters were in this
state, the coon made a sudden move among
the branches which so startled Mike that he
unfortunately let go his hold and fell head
long to the ground.
Pat supposing him to be the coon, rushed
furiously upon him with his shilelah, and
commenced that delightful operation of put
ting an end to him.
" Murther ! murther I" cried Mike, at
tempting to raise his feet, " in the name of
St. Patrick don't be afther bating me to death!"
" Ye needn't be givin' me any uv of your
dirty excuses; shure my brither tould me
ye'd be afther makin' a great noise to git
away, but not a tut ye'll move out o' this
alive."
Mike now supposing his brother to be cra
zy, thought it time to struggle for life, so seiz
ing Pat by the legs he succeeded in throwing
him to the ground, whereupon a rough and
tumble fight commenced which lasted for
some time without either of the brothers ut
tering a word.
After a violent contest, however, Mike
came off victorious, Pat being so completely
subdued as to render him helpless. But fear
ing it was not all over with him, he began to
call wildly for Mike to hasten down the tree
and assist him, or the " ugly baste" would
have his life.
By this time Mike fully comprehended the
error into which his brother had fallen, and
commenced every means in his power to bring
him to his senses, which after a great deal of
persuasion he succeeded in doing.
But the coon was allowed to escape un
harmed, as neither of the adventurers felt in
a humor for continuing the hunt that night.
Indeed it was Pat's first hunting scrape, and
he swore by all the saints it would be the
last.
Benjamin Franklin's Integrity
But few have it in their power to do as
much good or evil as printers. We know
they all glory in Dr. Franklin as a father,
and are wont to mention his name with ven
eration. Happy would it be for them if they
would read the following, with a resolution
to imitate it:
Soon after his establishment in Philadel
phia, Franklin was offered a piece to pub
lish in his newspaper ; being very busy, he
begged the gentleman to leave it for consid
eration. The next day the author called,
and asked his opinion of it. Franklin re
plied:
" Why, sir, I am sorry to say that I think
it highly scurrilous and defamatory. Being
at a loss, on account of my poverty, whether
to reject it or not, I thought I would put it
to this issue—at night, when my work was
done, I bought a two penny loaf, on which,
with a mug of cold water, supped heartily,
and then wrapping myself in my great coat,
slept very soundly on the floor till morning,
when another loaf and a mug of water af
forded me a breakfast. Now, sir, since I can
live comfortably in this manner, why should
I prostitute my press to personal hatred and
party passion, for a luxurious living?"
One cannot read this anecdote of our Amer
ican sage, without thinking of Socrates' re
ply to King Archelaus, who had pressed him
to give up preaching in the dirty streets
of Athens, and come and 1:':e with him in
his splendid court:
"Meal, please your Majesty, is a 1 -alf
penny a peck at Athens, and water I can get
for nothing,"
A WIFE WORTH HAVING—TIER PRAYER.—
" Lord! bless and preserve that dear person
whom thou host chosen to be my husband;
let his life be long and blessed, comfortable
and holy ; and let me also become a great
blessing and comfort unto him, a sharer in
all his sorrows, a meet helper in all the acci
dents and changes in the world, make me
amiable forever in his eyes, and forever dear
to him. Unite his heart to me in dearest love
and holiness, and mine to him in all sweet
ness charity and compliance. Keep me from
all ungentleness, all discontentedness and un
reasonableness of passion and humor ; and
make me humble and nberlirnt, useful and
observant, that we may CAelight in each other
according to Thy blessed word, and both of
us may rejoice in Thee, having our portion
in the love and service of God forever Amen."
Eiow Do You Spend Your Evenings ?
Young man, how do you spend your even
ings ? Answer this question, and we can tell
you, almost to a certainty, what will be your
future character. In our view, more depends
upon the manner in which young men pass
this season, as it regards their course and
conduct years to come, than upon anything
else. We have been an observer of men and
things for the last twenty years, and can
point to many a youth, who has caused weep
ing and sorrow in his family, disgraced his
name, and is now an outcast in the world, or
has sunk to a dishonored grave, who com
menced his career of vice, when he broke•
away from wholesome restraint, and spent
his evenings in the company of the abandon
ed. On the contrary, we know many estima
ble young men—the pride and hope of their
friends—who are working their way to favor
and wealth, who spend their evenings in some
useful pursuits.
Young man listen to us, and take heed to
our words—not that we wish to deprive you
of a single pleasure, or debar you from any
innocent amusement. We entreat you, be
particular where and how you pass your even
ing hours. If you lounge about the bar-room,
partaking of the vulgar conversation that is
introduced, and join the ribald song, or stand
at the corner of the streets, using profane
language, or waste your time at dance-houses,
or in the sensual club room, you will soon so
habituate yourself to low biackguardism and
vile conversation, that no young man who
respects himself will be found in your com
pany, and your future life will be mapped
before you, in living, lamentable characters.
Think, therefore, and ere it is too late, change
your ways and lay down a career of useful
ness and respectability, discharging all your
duties to God'and to man,, and thus securing
to yourself contentment in the present world,
and the hope of a glorious immortality in the
world to come.
NO, 31.
It is related of a Persian mother, that on.
giving her son forty pieces of silver as his;
portion, she made him swear never to. tell a
lie.
" Go on my son, I consign thee to God, and
we shall not meet again here, till the day of
judgment."
The youth went his way, and the, party he
traveled with were assaulted with robbers.
One fellow asked the boy what he had got,
and he said—
" Forty diners are sown up in my gar
ments."
He laughed, thinking he jested.
Another asked him the same question and
received the same answer.
At last the chief called him and asked him
the same question, and he said—
"l have told two of your people already
that I have forty diners sewed in my clothes."
Ile ordered the clothes to be ripped open
and found the money.
" And how came you to tell this," said the
chief.
" Because," said the child, "I would not
be false to my mother, to whom. I promised
never to tell a lie."
" Child," said the robber, "art thou so
mindful of thy duty to thy mother at thy
years, and am I insensible at my age of the
duty I owe to God? Give me thy hand that
I may swear repentance on it."
" You have been our leader in sin," they
said to the chief, "be the same in the path
of virtue," and they immediately made res
titution on the boy's hand.
There is a good moral in this story, which
goes beyond the direct influence of the moth
er on the child. The sentiments infused into
the breast of a child is again transferred from
breast to breast.
SQUIRE `V.'S MISTAKE.-A correspondent
of the Mobile Tribune tells the following:
Old Squire IV. is an honest jovial soul,
with a few religious scruples—fond of a
hearty laugh or a good joke at any time.—
He relates the following on himself as an ac
tual occurrence :
" One night, boys, I had a very strange
dreani, I thought I was about to get to heaven.
A long ladder, like Jacob's, reached from the
ground towards the good place,' and it was
on this ladder that I went up. When I
reached the top, I found a space of seven or
eight feet intervening between the last round
and the celestial gate. I could see within,
and catch glimpses of the things inside.—
Peter stood at the entrance—he leaned over
—reaohed out his hands and told me to jump.
I did jump, boys, and got one of the d—dst
falls you ever heard of—for I found myself
sprawling on the floor, having jumped out
of bed, while I was trying to jump to heav
en."
OBEDIENCE TO THE MOTH ER.—"Oome away;
come instantly, or I will call your father," I
heard a mother say to her child, who was
playing in the street before ber window. I
did not stop to learn the result, but I pitied
the poor mother who had not power within
herself to control her child, and who so un
hesitatingly declared her inefficiency.
A mother should never thus appeal to the
father's authority to strengthen her own, nor
should she admit, by thought, word, or deed,
that her power is inferior to his. God never
made it inferior, and he requires as prompt
obedience to the one as to the other. The
mother who allows herself thus to appeal to
another, is continually weakening the author
ity she should exercise over her children.--
She is herself teaching them to disobey the
commandment which inculcates obedience to
parents, for what child can honor a mother too
weak to govern him ?
ENGAGING MANNERS.—There are a thous
and pretty, engaging little ways, which every
person may put on, without running the risk
of being deemed either affected or foppish.—
The sweet smile, the quiet, cordial bow, the
earnest movement in addressing a friend, or
more especially a stranger, whom one may
recommend to our good regards, the inquiring
glance, the graceful attention which is so cap
tivating when united with self-possession—
these will insure us the good regards of even
a. churl. Above all there is a certain softness
of manner which should be cultivated, and
which, in either man or woman, adds a charm
that almost entirely compensates for lack of
beauty.— Taylor.
Ile- The following advertisemen under the
head of a " Wife Wanted," is_in the Bates
ville, (Ark.) _Yews :
" Any gal what's got a bed, coffee pot, and.
skillet, knows how to cut out britches, can
make a huntin' shirt, and knows how to take
care of children, can have my services until
death parts both of us."
par " Friend Mallady, I am pleased that
thee has such a fine organ in thy church?'—
" But," said the clergyman, "I thought you
were opposed to having an organ in church ?"
"So I am," replied friend Tommy, "but then,
if thee worship the Lord, by machinery, I
would like thee to have a first-rate instru
naeut."
A Story for Boys