TERMS OF THE GLOBE.
Per annum in advance
Six „months
Thrn months
A failure to notify a discontinuance at the expiration of
the term subscribed for will be considered a now engage-
Mont.
TERMS OF ADVERTISING.
1 insertion. 2 do. S do.
Four lines or less, $ 25.. $ 37% $ 50
One square, (12 lines,) ...... .... 50 75 100
Two squares, 1 00 1 50 2 00
Three squares, 1 50 2 25 3 00
Over three week and less than three months, 25 cents
per square for each insertion.
3 mouths. 6 months. 12 months.
Six. lines or less, $1 50 $3 00 $5 00
One square, 3 00 5 00 7 00
Two squares, 5 00 8 00 10 00
Three squares, 7 00 10 00 15 00
Pour squares, 9 00 13 00 0 0 00
Ralf a column, 12 00 10 00 ...... ....21 00
One column, 9 0 00 30 00.... ......50 00
Professional and Business Cards not exceeding four lines,
one year, $3 00
Administrators' and Executors' Notices, $1 75
Advertisements not marked with the number of inser
tions desired, will be continued till forbid and charged ac
cording to these terms.
Vott.u.
PEKE LIGHTHOUSE. OF TEE SOUL.
I=
A lighthouse stood upon a sandy shore,
Where tempests howl, and seas their fury your;
A while its lantern with revolving light
Directed true the sailor's wandering sight;
But for a white the sea encroached the strand—
The building wrested from the yielding sand—
Darkness and death upon its ruins hung,
And tempests howled, and winds in fury sung,
There is a Lighthouse on our nature's shore,
And thousand souls its lasting light adore;
Eignal, deep, the strong foundations lie—
The light reflected is Christ's love on high.
Far o'er the sea, where most we need its ray,
It guides our bark to heaven's salubrious bay :
Still stands secure, and shall its purpose prove,
Till all the ransomed are restored above
A Pew Short Years—And Them.
A few short years—and then
The dream of life will be
Like shadows of a morning . cloud,
In its reality I
A few• short years—and then
The idols lovua the best
1.1 - iII pass in all their pride away,
As sinks the sun to rest!
A few short y - ears—and then
Our young hearts may be reit
Of ey'ry hope, and find no 71 , 2 am
Of childhood's sunshine left!
A few short years—and then
Impatient of its bliss;
The weary saul shall seek on high
A better home than this!
etect
How An Advertisement Got a Wife
.[From Once a 'Weald
" Tobacco is the tomb of love," writes a
modern novelist of high standing ; but, with
every respect for his authority, I beg to say
it was quite the contrary in my case.
Twenty-two years ago I was sitting by my
fire-side, totting up innumerable pages of my
bachelor's housekeeping-book, taking- exer
cise in arithmetic on long columns of " petty
cash"—comprising items for carrots and Bath
bricks, metal tacks and mutton chops—until
tired, and wearied, I arrived at the stun total,
and je - ked the book on the mantle-piece.—
Nearly at the same time I placed my hand in
the pocket of my dressing-gown, drew out a
leather case, and lit a principe. Well, hav
ing lit the principe, I placed my feet on the
fender and sighed, exhausted by my long job
of domestic accounts. I was then in business
—'twas a small wholesale business then, 'tis a
large one now—yet one morning's totting of
carrots and Bath-bricks, of metal tacks and
mutton chops, would tire me a thousand times
more than twenty-four hours of honest ledger
work. I sighed, not from love, but from la
bor, for, to tell you the truth, I had never
been in love. Is this to goon forever ? thought
I, as I took my third whiff, and. looked dream
ily through the thin smoke as it ascended be
tween me and a large print of the capture of
Gibraltar which hung over the chimney
piece. Am Ito spend my prime in totting
up parsnips, and computing carrots. and
comptrolling washing-bills ? I sighed again,
and in the act, off flew the button of my neck
band, as though some superior power had
seasonably sent the accident to remind me of
my helplessness.
The button settled the business ; though as
it slipped down inside my shirt, and passed
with its mother-o'-pearl coldness over my
heart, it for a moment threatened to chill my
matrimonial resolution. I pitied my own
lonely state, and pity, we know, is akin to
love. But how was the matter to be accom
plished? Most men of my age would already
have adjusted their inclination to some ob
ject ; so that having made up their mind and
counted the cost, little more would have re
mained to be done than to decide upon the
day and lay hold upon the license. This
however, was not the case with me. I had
been too much occupied, too idle, or too in
dolent to devote time or make the effort to
" form an attachment." It was through no
disinclination or difficulty to be pleased ; for
had any young lady of moderately agreeable
powers taken the trouble, she might have
married me long ere then. I should even
have been grateful to her for taking the trouble
off my hands, but I was too bashful to adopt
the initiative.
I was a bashful man. This weakness came
from the same cause as my Uncle Toby's,
namely a want of acquaintance with female
society, which want arose from another cause
in my case, namely, too close an application
to business.
Accordingly I thought of an advertisement;
yet with no practical design of doing business,
but, as I persuaded myself, for a joke. So I
scratched with a pencil on the back of a let
ter the following
WANTED, A WIFE.—Nona but the princi
ples need apply. The advertiser does not re
quire cash, but only a companion. lie is
six-and-twenty, and tired of single, he thinks
he can settle down to married life. As men
go, believes he has a moderate share of tem
per, and want of time is his only reason for
having recourse to the newspapers. Ile has
enough means for himself and second party,
and is willing to treat at once. He is quite
aware that a great many attempts to convert
his honest intentions into an extravagant joke
will be made, but he warns ail rash intruders.
If he finds a man hardy enough to make sport
of his affections, he will thrash him—if a wo
man, he will forgive her. lie has a heart for
the sincere, a horsewhip for the impertinent.
In either case, all applications will be prompt
ly attended to, if addressed to P. P., to the
office of this paper.
I felt proud of my composition, and puffed
away at my principe with a vague glee and
anticipation of something coming out of it.—
had no very great idea that anything but fun
would result ; and I certainly had not the
$1 50
WILLIAM LEWIS,
VOL XV.
slightest notion of involving myEelf in a per
sonal collision with any one. Still the pre
sentiment that it was not destined to be all a
barren joke pressed upon me. On Saturday
the advertisement appeared, and I heard its
style canvassed by all my friends, and it was
jokingly suggested by more than one that I was
the domestically destitute individual who put
it forth.
On Monday morning I sent a boy to the
newspaper office for P. P.'s letters. I ex
pected he might be followed by some curious
and inquisitive persons ; so I told him on his
way back to call at a bachelor neighbor's of
mine for a book. The trick told. The lad
was followed by some persons who never lost
sight of him until they ran him to my friend's
and then they went back and announced that
he was the advertiser. I thus discharged in
full one or two practical jokes which my neigh
bor had played upon me. The answers were
of the usual character—several seeking to
elicit my name, and still more suggesting
places of meeting, where I was to exhibit my
self with a flower in my button-hole and a
white handkerchief in my hand. One only
looked like business. It was from a lady,
who proposed an interview in a neighboring
city, about forty miles north. She said there
was something so frank and straightforward
in my advertisement that she was convinced
it was real, and she could rely upon my keep
ing her name secret, if, after we met, nothing
cane of the meeting. She would, therefore,
see me at the , at , on a certain
day, and if mutual approbation did not fol
low the interview, why there was no harm
done.
Most people would have put this down as
a trap to give me a journey for nothing. I
did not. A presentiment impelled me to ac
cept and'keep the engagement.
This was in the old coaching days, when a
man had time to make an acquintance in for
ty miles, not as now, when you are at your
journey's end before you have looked round
your company in a railway carriage. There
were but two inside—myself and a pleasant,
talkative, honest-faced, elderly gentleman.—
Shy and timid in female society, I was yet
esteemed, animated and agreeable enough
amongst my own sex. Ylre had no trouble,
therefore, in making ourselves agreeable to
one another, so much so, that as the coach,
approached G—, and the old gentleman
learned that I meant to stop there that night,
he asked me to waive ceremony and have a
cup of tea with him after I had dined at my
hotel. My "fair engagement" was not till
next day, and as I liked the old gentleman,
I accepted his offer.
After my pint of sherry, I brushed my hair
and went in search of my coach companion
and my promised cup of tea. I had no dif
ficulty in finding him out, for he was a man
of substance and. some importance in the
place. I was shown into the drawing-room.
My old friend received me heartily, and in
troduced me to his wife and five daughters.
" All spinsters, sir," said he, " young ladies
whom an undiscriminating world seems dis
posed to leave upon my hands."
" If we don't sell, papa," said the eldest,
who, with her sisters seemed to reflect her
father's fun, "it is not for want of puffing,
for all your introductions are advertise
ments."
At the mention of this last word I felt a
little discomposed, and almost regretted my
engagement for the next day, when that very
night, perhaps, my providential opportunity
had arrived.
I need not trouble my readers with all our
sayings and doings during tea ; suffice it to
say that I found them a very pleasant, friend
ly- family, and was surprised to find I forgot
all my shyness and timidity, encouraged by
their good tempered ease and conversation.
They did not inquire whether I was married
or single, for where there are five young un
mated daughters the question might seem in
vidious. I, however, in the freedom of the
moment, volunteered the information of my
bachelorhood ; I thought I had no sooner
communicated the fact than the girls passed
round a glance of arch intelligence from one
to the other. I cannot tell you how odd I
felt at the moment. My sensations were be
tween pleasure and confusion, as a suspicion
crossed my mind, and helped, I felt, to color
my cheek. Presently, however, the eldest,
with an assumed indifference which cost her
an effort, asked me where I was qtaying.
"At the hotel," I answered with some
embarrassment.
It was with difficulty they restrained a
laugh, they bit their lips, and I had no longer
a suspicion—l was certain. So after having_
SOITIO music, when I rose to depart, I mus
tered courage as I bid them good-by, to say
to the eldest—
" Shall P. P. consider this the interview?"
A blush of conscious guilt, I should rather
say innocence, told me I had sent my ran
dom arrow to the right quarter; so I pressed
the matter no further at that moment, but I
did her band.
I remained at my hotel next day until an
hour after the appointed- time, but no one
made their appearance. "Then," thought I,
brushing my hair and - adjusting my cravat,
" since the mountain will not come to Mo
hammed, Mohammed must go to the moun
tain ;" so I walked across to my old friends.
The young ladies were all in. The eldest
was engaged with some embroidery at the
window. I had, therefore, an opportunity,
as I leant over the frame, to whisper—
" S. S. is not punctual."
The crimson in her face and neck was now
so deep, that a skeptic himself would no
longer doubt. I need say no more—that
evening in her father's garden, she confessed
that she and her sisters had conspired to
bring me up to G— on a fool's errand, nev
er meaning, of course, to keep the engage
ment.
" Then," said I, " since you designed to
take me in, you must consent to make me
happy."
" And what did she say, papa 2" asks my
second ,:daughter, who is now looking over
my shoulder as I:write.
" Why, you little goose, she promised to
be your mamma, and she has kept her
word."
\ P e'
•
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v-- - -
A farmer of Cheshire once had a dog, re
markable for courage, intelligence, and other
good qualities ; but there was one fault about
him which was inexcusable—he was deficient
in probity. Certain sheep would disappear
from time to time in a mysterious manner
from the farmer's fold. The wolves could
not be accused of the theft, for there are no
wolves in England, we all know. The hon
est countryman had his suspicions, and it
was not long before the true offender was dis
covered and punished according to his de
serts. But the don. did not reform, and his
next offence subjected him to a far severer
chastisement. He was whipped within an
inch of his life, and left for dead on the same
spot where he had committed his depreda
tions. He was so far alive, however, as to
be able to limp towards some neighboring
underwood, where, thanks to the strength of
his constitution, the energy of his character,
and, perhaps, the absence of all medical in
terference, in a short time nothing remained
of his wounds save the scars.
But what could his recovery avail him?—
He believed himself expelled forever from his
master's presence—he considered himself un
worthy of forgiveness, and despaired of ever
correctinff c' his irresistible penchant for mut
ton. In fine, be decamped from his native
village, and after wandering a long while,
finished his rambles by enrolling in a band
of highwaymen.
Two or three years after, the farmer of
Cheshire chanced to be journeying in an un
frequented part of the country. Night and
a storm overtook him near an isolated and
suspicious-looking inn. He entered it. An
old woman and three men were seated before
a fire, whilst a huge dog was turning the spit.
The farmer recognized his old attendant in
the latter, and advanced to fondle it. The
animal growled furiously, showed his teeth,
and was about to spring upon the stranger.
The inmates of the tavern interposed, and
the dog, repulsed, resumed his culinary func
tions. The new comer, having supped, re
tired to the apartment allotted him.
He was preparing to undress when a low
barking at the door induced him to listen.—
He opened it, and the canine turnspit entered.
The dog was no longer surley and ferocious,
but meek and gentle, crouching at the feet of
his old master, licking his hands, and asking
pardon, as distinctly as he could for his late
conduct. After returning him his caresses,
the man of Cheshire wished to be rid of his
presence. The dog refused to retire. The
traveler finally consented to his remaining,
and rose to shut the door. This the dog op
posed, seizinc , the flaps of his coat between
his teeth and striving to drag him out of
the room. The farmer did not know what to
make of all this. He thought it strange, that
when he went towards the bed, the dog should
drag him towards the door—and when he ap
peared on the point of leaving the chamber,
that the creature should exhibit such lively
demonstrations of joy. Where was he? In
an isolated house, situated in the midst of a
solitary moor. The individuals who wel
comed him on his arrival were not possessed
of physiognomies calculated to do away his
unfavorable suspicions. Might he not be
even now, in a den of thieves ? This, any
how, was his final conclusion. He then
armed himself with a brace of pistols, opened
the shutters, took the clothes from off the bed,
tied them from the window, and placed the
lamp in the chimney. Having taken these
precautions, he barricaded the door and await
ed the result.
He did not wait long. At the touch of a
spring a trap door opened beneath the bed,
and the latter slipped down out of sight.
At this occurrence our farmer let himself
down by the clothes which he had tied to the
window, and ran at full speed to the nearest
village. The inhabitants armed themselves,
and accompanied him to the inn. It was soon
surrounded, and the bandits wore arrested.—
Search was made under the guidance of the
dog, and connected with the trap door was
found a vault, where visable proofs were ex
hibited both in their guilt and cruelty.
The farmer gratefully took back his pre
server, and never had occasion to beat him
afterwards; he having overcome his old pro
pensity of sheep-stealing, and acquired hab
its of honor and integrity in a school of
thieves.
[From the Country Gentleman and Cultivator.]
"Tired Nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep."
Winter is the night of nature ; and when
we say that the streams are frozen, and the
quilt of snow is upon the face of the earth,
it is true, both in a figurative and literal
sense. Sleep is indispensable to life and
motion ; rest is necessary for man, animals,
and even nature, to a limited extent; and the
night of winter is succeeded by the morning
of spring and the beauteous day of sum
mer.
No fact which has been developed by study
ing the beautiful phenomena of vegetable
life is more interesting than that plants re
quire sleep. To be sure, we know that night
comes to plants as to - men, and leaves them
in utter darkness ; and the morning glory
gives us an instance of flowers opening their
petals with the light of day, plainly showing
that during the night the law of rest has
been obeyed. It is related of Linnams, that
nothing displayed his love for botany more
than his floral clock, which consisted of a
number of plants formed in a half circle
around his writing table which opened their
flowers each at a certain moment, revealing
at a glance the hour of the day with exact
precision. Some plants exhibit signs of sleep
more prominently than others. Leaves of
the clover, lucerne and others, close as the
sun approaches the horizon ; and this char
acteristic is particularly striking and beauti
ful in the honey locust. The beautifully
formed leaves close in pairs as the shades of
evening approach, remaining in this position
until sun-rise the next morning, when they ex
pand to the tallest extent. So of your common
chick-week, of which a modern botanical
writer said : "At the coming on of night,
the leaves of this delicate plant which are in
pairs, begin to close towards each other, and
HUNTINGDON, PA.,, MARCH 21, 1860.
The Dog and His Master.
Sleep
-PERSEVERE.--
when the sleeping attitude is completed these
folded leaves embrace in their upper sur
faces, the rudiments of the young shoots ;
and the uppermost pair, but one, at the end
of the stalk are furnished with longer stalks
than the others, so they can close upon the
terminating pair and protect the end of the
shoot." So all plants have their fitful naps,
and may be said to sleep,.although governed
by modifications of the same law. The daisy
opens with the sun ; the dandelion opens at
half-past five, and closes at nine ; the scarlet
pimpernel waits until noon-day, and dislikes
the rain so keenly, that it closes its leaves on
the approach of a shower, opening them as
it passes, by; and the white lotus opens when
the sun rises, and closes when it sets.
Trees also have a natural period of growth,
and then an appointed time of sleep and rest,
from which they will not be awakened.—
With the fall of the leaves in autumn sleep
commences, and although the Indian sum
mer time may intervene ere the closing of
the year, and weeks of mild weather come
on in January, yet they are undisturbed.—
Experiments have been made by careful nur
sery-men with lilacs,
spirams and other plants
quite easily excited, and it has been found
that if they are taken up in the fall, and
placed in a warm green-house, constantly ex
posed to heat, light and moisture, they will
not start for at least a month. not-house
grapes require a Sleep of from two to three
months; and a heat of .40 degrees which is
required to start them before they have "gone
to sleep," must be 20 degrees higher to per
form the same results during their time of
rest.
The winter rest or " sleep " of insects, is a
subject full of interest to every lover of na
ture. In some animals life seems extinct ;
and often when cutting into a hollow or de
cided log in the winter time, the writer has
come across the home of the ants, each in
habitant of which seemed as lifeless and un
feeling as the wood itself. Here arises ques
tions of great attractiveness, in regard to their
- )f winter. Naturalists have proved to
sleep of Wintc, _,lLturaliStS nave proveu,
us that ants do not hoard up food for winter
use, as has been supposed ; for when the tem
perature is below freezing point they cluster
together in a state of torpidity ; and when
above this point, they pursue their usual av
ocations. Their food at such periods, is found
in the saccharine juice which exudes from the
bodies of the plant-lice or aphides, of which
ants are very fond. "In fact," says Kirby,
" the aphides are their mulch cattle, which
willingly render to them their liquid honey."
In the fall, many insects seek refuge beneath
hark of trees, retire into crevices, or bore
deep into the ground. The bat, the snake,
the lizard, the frog, the snail, all fall into a
deep sleep during our cold season, and al
though they require no food, yet life is not
extinct, and the temperature of the body is
the same as that of the surrounding atmos
phere; and this sleep, or as naturalists call
it hybernation, is the means of life to a large
list of animals. Smellie, in his "Philosophy
of Natural _History," says : "It is not im
probable that this winter lethargy acts in
some measure like sleep, in refreshing and
invigorating the system, and may be neces
sary to the constitution of some animals."—
Snakes have frequently been placed in an ice
holise in their torpid state, and after remain
ing there a period of three years and a half,
have readily recovered at the end of that time.
A single thought. We see in the winter
sleep of such animals as are not able to en
dure the cold of the season, nor to procure a
sufficient supply of food, and yet unable to
migrate to warmer latitudes, a wise and won
derful provision of nature in giving them
this sleep, as the great resource fur their
preservation.
It was night. Jerusalem slept as quietly
amid her hills as a child upon the breast of
its mother. The noiseless sentinel stood like
a statue at his post, and the philosopher's
lamp burned dimly in the recess of his cham
ber.
But a dark night was abroad upon the
earth. A mortal darkness involved the na
tions in its unlighted shadows. Reason shed
a faint glimmering over the minds of men,
like the cold and insufficient shining of a dis
tant star. The immortality of man's spirit
ual nature was known, his relations unto
Heaven undiscovered, and his future destiny
obscured in a cloud of mystery.
It was at this period that two forms of ethe
rial mould hovered about the land of God's
chosen people. They seemed like sister an
gels sent to earth on some embassy of love.
The one of majestic statue and well formed
limb, which her snowy drapery hardly con
cealed, in her erect bearing and steady eye,
exhibited the highest degree of strength and
confidence. • Her right arm was extended in
an impressive gesture upwards where hight
appeared to have placed her darkest pavillion,
while on the left reclined her delicate com
panion; in form and countenance the contrast
of the other, for she was drooping like a flow
er when moistened with refreshing dews, and
her bright but troubled eyes scanned the air
with ardent, but varying glances. Suddenly
a light like the sun flashed out from the
heavens, and Faith and Hope hailed with ex
ulting songs the ascending star of Bethlehem.
Years rolled away, and the stranger was
seen in Jerusalem. He was a meek, unas
suming man, whose happiness seemed to con
sist in acts of benevolence to the human race.
There were deep traces of sorrow on his coun
tenance, though no one knew why he grieved,
for he lived in the practice of every virtue,
and was loved by all the good and wise. By
and by it was rumored that the stranger
worked miracles ; that the blind saw, the
dumb simile, the dead reaped, the ocean mod
erated its chafing tide ; and the very thun
ders articulated, he is the Son of God. En
vy assailed him to death. Slowly, and thick
ly girded, he ascended the hill of Calvary.—
A heavy cross bent him to the earth. But
Faith leaned on his arm, and Hope, dipping
her pinions in his blood, mounted to the skies.
ge - By the removal of prized and cher
ished earthly props and refuges, Goi I
unfold more of his own tender ,- tgq.
A Beautiful Extract
Editor and Proprietor.
The Book of Thanks
" I feel so vexed and out of temper with
Ben," cried Mark, " that I really must—
" Do something in revenge?" inquired his
cousin Cecilia.
" No, look over my book of Thanks."
" What's that," said Cecilia, as she saw
him turning over the leaves of a copy-book,
nearly full of writing, in a round text hand.
" Here it is," said Mark, then read aloud!
March 7. Ben lent me his new hat.
Here again : Jan 4. When I lost my shil
ling Ben made it up kindly. " Well," ob
served the boy, turning down the leaf, " Ben
is a good boy after all 1"
" What do you note down in that book ?"
said Cecilia, looking over his shoulder with
some curiosity.
"All the kindnesses that are ever shown
me, yeu would wonder how many there are.
I find a great deal of good from marking
them down. Ido not forget them as I might
do, if I only trusted to my memory, so I hope
that I am not often ungrateful, and when I
am cross or out of temper, I almost always
feel good humored again, if I only look over
ray book."
" I wonder what sort of things you put
down," said Cecilia. Let me glance over a
page."
" Mrs. Wade asked me to spend the whole
day at her house, and made me very happy,
indeed."
" Mr. Philips gave me five shillings."
" Old Martha Page asked after me every
day when I was ill."
" Why do you pfit father and mother at
the top of the page ?" asked Cecilia.
"O, they show me so much kindness that
I cannot put it all down, so I must write their
names to remind myself of the great debt of
love. I know that I can never repay it. And
see what I have put at the beginning of my
book : " Every good gift is from above ;" this
is to snake me remember that all the kind
friends whom I have, were given to me by the
Lord, and that while I am grateful to them,
I should, first of all, be thankful to him."
I think that such of my readers as have
ability and time, would find it a capital plan
to keep a Book of Thanks and may such as
cannot write them down yet, keep a Book of
Remembrance of past kindnesses in their
hearts.
The Apple Tree Borer---A
. Remedy.
Henry Dull, of Pennsylvania, gives the
following account of his method of prevent
ing the ravages of the borer, which is both
economical and easily tried, anywhere and
on any farm :
I planted an apple orchard eighteen years
ago, and the trees thrived very well for five
or :six years, when they began to droop and
look sickly. Upon examining them I found
the borer in great numbers, having done con
siderable damage, and some of them appeared
to be past recovery. I went to work and took
them out. After removing them I was about
to apply coal tar ; but I was told that it would
be a worse enemy than the borer. I thought
awhile, and decided to apply urine from the
cow stable, having tanks and appliances to
secure all this valuable liquid manure, as
every farmer should have. I applied this co
piously around the bottom of the trees, and
washed the trunks thoroughly. The result
is that I have not a borer in my orchard, and
the trees have completely recovered and give
me abundant crops.
I have been using this remedy for three
years, and it has well repaid me for the labor
required; and I think I can commend it con
fidently to my brother farmers, who will first
carefully remove the borer, and properly ap
ply it, say twice a year afterwards.
It will be seven years this Spring since I
planted five apple trees. Three of the five
were attacked by the borer, killing one, and
the other two looked very sickly. I removed
the worms, and upon the remaining four used
the urine freely ; they recovered and bore
this season very fine fruit.
Three years ago the coming Spring, I plan
ted thirty-six. apple trees, and at once applied
the urine copiously, and there is not, to my
knowledge, a single borer in the whole of
them • besides they have grown and looked
remarkably well. Some of my neighbors
who planted trees at the same time, obtained
at the same nursery, complain of the depre
dations of the borer.
A Good Anecdote
Old Parson B—, who presided over a
little flock in one of the back towns in the
State of was, without any exception,
the most eccentric divine we ever knew.—
His eccentricities were carried as far in the
pulpit as out of it. An instance we will re
late:
Among the church members was one who
invariably made a practice of leaving ere the
parson was two-thirds through his sermon.—
This was practised so long that after a while
it became a matter of course, and no one,
save the divine, seemed to take notice of it.—
And he at length told Brother P. that such a
thing must be needles,
but P. said at that
hour his family needed his services at home,
and he must do it, nevertheless. On leaving
church he always took a round about course,
which, by some mysterious means, always
brought him in close proximity to the village
tavern, which he would enter, "and thereby
hangs a tale."
Parson B— learned from some source
that P.'s object in leaving church was to ob
tain a "dram," and he determined to stop
his leaving and disturbing the congregation
in future, if such a thing was possible.
The next Sabbath Brother P. left his seat
at the same time, and started for the door,
when Parson B— exclaimed :
" Brother P.
P., on being addressed, stopped short, and
gazed towards the pulpit.
"Brother P.," continued the Parson, "there
is no need of your leaving church at this
time, as I passed the tavern this morning, I
made arrangements with the landlord to keep
your toddy hot until church was out."
The surprise and mortification of the broth
er e2.n hardly be imagined.
Never say " I can't".truth and act honestly.
Once upon a time, Frederick, King of Prus
sia, surnamed " Old Fritz," took a ride, and
espied an old farmer plowing his acre by the
way side, cheerily singing his melody.
" You must be well off, old man," said the
king. " Does this acre belong to you, on
which you so industriously labor ?"
" No, sir," replied the farmer, who knew
not that it was the king.
" I am not so rich as that, I plow for wa-
ffes "
-
" How much do you get a day ?" asked the
king farther.
" Eight groschen," (about twenty cents)
said the farmer.
" That is not much," replied the king ;
" can you get along with this ?"
" Get along and have something left."
" How is that ?"
NO, 39.
The farmer smiled and said—" Well if I
must tell you; two groschen for myself and
wife ; and with two I pay my old debts ; two
I lend away, and two I give away for the
Lord's sake."
" This is a mystery which I cannot solve,"
replied the king.
" Then I will solve it for you," said the
farmer.
" I have two old parents at home, who kept
me when I was weak and needed help, and
now that they are weak and need help I keep
them. This is my debt, towards which I pay
two groschen a day. The third pair of gro
schen, which I lend away, I spend for my
children, that they may learn something good
and receive a Christian instruction. This
will come handy to me and my wife when
we get old. With the last two groschen I
maintain two sick sisters, whom I would not
be compelled to keep—this I give for the
Lord's sake."
The king, well pleased with his answer,
said—
" Bravely spoken, old man. Nov I will
also give you something to guess. Have you,
ever seen me before ?"
" Never," said the farmer
" In less than five minutes you shall see
me fifty times, and carry in your pocket fifty
of my likenesses."
" This is a riddle which I cannot unravel,"
said the farmer.
" Then I will do it for you," replied the
king.
Thrusting his hand into his pocket, and
counting him fifty bran new gold pieces into
his hand, stamped with his royal likeness, he
said to the astonished farmer, who knew not
what was coming—
" The coin is genuine, for it also comes
from our Lord God, and I am his paymaster.
I bid you adieu."—German Reformed Mes
senger.
Said a. young person to a lady who sat
holding her child, " Now what good will all
your education do you ? You have spent so,
much time in study, graduated with high
honors, learned music and painting, and now
only married a farmer. Why do you not
teach a school or do something to benefit oth
ers with your talents, or if you choose to mar
ry, why not take a teacher, a clergyman, or
some professional man ? But as it is, you did
not need so much learning for a rural life."
The lady replied, " You do not look very
far into the future. Do you see this boy on
my lap ? I need all the study, all the disci
pline, both of mind and body, that I could
get in order that I might train him aright.--
You see I have the first impressions to make
on the fair blank of his pure heart, and un
less my mind was first cultivated, my own
heart first purified, how could I well perform
the task now placed before me ? And be
sides, do you not suppose that farmers have
hearts like other men, tastes just as pure, be
cause they guide the plow and till the soil
for their support ? Do you not suppose their
minds are just as capable of cultivation and
expansion as other men? Have they no love
of the beautiful in nature, or art ? Cannot
good paintings be just as much admired on
their walls as others, or does the evening
hour never pass pleasantly with them when
they gather around the piano after a day's
labor is finished ? Ah, my young friend,
you have made a sad mistake in your reckon 7
tug."
Of all the occupations give me that of a
farmer. It is the most beautiful ; his life is
free from care, his sleep sweeter, his treasures
safer. A farmer need not be a slave to any,
for he has none to please but himself. Not
so with almost any tradesman, mechanic or
professional man. They have more to do
with the world at large, and have all manner
of persons to deal with, so they have need of
the patience of Job to live. They are well
aware that they must not freely speak their
minds at all times ; that if they do they will
lose their custom ; for they depend upon the
people for a living, therefore, they are the
servants of all. Then what can be desired
more—what is more peaceful, prosperous,
honest, healthful, than a farmer's life.
Parental Sympathy.
Parents express too little sympathy for their
children ; the effect of this is lamentable.
" How your children love you! I would
give the world to have my children so devo
ted to me l" said a mother to one who did not
regard the time given to her children as so
much capital wasted. Parents err fatally
when they grudge the time necessary for their
children's amusement and instruction ; for no
investment brings so sure and so rich returns.
The child's love is holy; and if the parent
does not fix that love himself, lie deserves to
lose it, and in after-life to bewail his poverty
of heart.
The child's heart is full of love, and it must
gush oat toward somebody or something. If
the parent is worthy of it, and possesses it,
he is blest ; and the child is safe. When the
child loves worthy persons, and receives their
sympathy, he is less liable to be influenced
by the undeserving ; for in his soul are mod
els of excellence, with - which he compares
others.
Any parent can descend.from his chilling
dignity, and freely answer the child's ques
tions, talking familiarly and tenderly with
him ; and when the little one wishes help, the
parent should come out of his abstractions
and cheerfully help him. Then his mind
will return to his speculations elastic, and it
will act with force. All parents can find a
few minutes occasionally, during the day, to
read little stories to the children, and to il
lustrate the respective tendencies of good and
bad feelings. They can talk to them about
flowers, birds, trees, about angels, and about
God.
'I he y can show interest in their sports, de
termining the character of them. What is a
surer way than this binding the child to the
parent ? When you have made a friend of a
child you may congratulate yourself you have
a friend for life.
" Father, did you ever have another
wife besides mother ?" " No, my son, what
possesses you to ask such a question." " Be
cause, I saw in the family Bible Where you
married Anna Dominy, 1838, and that isn't
mother, for her name is Sally Smith,"
The Contented rarmer.
Farmers and Their Wires.