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Vatti'D.
~ ONLY WAITING."
[A very aged man in an Almshouse, was asked «•hat lie
was doing now? In replied, "Only Waiting."]
Only waiting till the shadows
Are a little longer grown,
Only waiting till the glimmer
Of the day's last beam is flown ;
Till the night of earth is faded
From the heart once full of day;
Till the stars of heaven are breaking
Through the twilight soft and grey
Only waiting till the reapers
Have their last sheaf gathered home,
For the summer time is faded,
And the autumn winds have come,
Quickly, reapers! gather quickly
The last ripe hours of my heart,
For the blossom of life is withered,
And I hasten to depart.
Only waiting till the angels
Open wide the mystic gate,
"At whose feet I long have lingered,
Weary, poor and desolate.
()Even now I hear the footsteps,
And their voices far away ;
If they call me I am waiting,
' Only waiting to obey.
Only waiting till the shadows
Are a little longer grown,
Only waiting till the glimmer
Of the day's last beam is flown.
Then from out the gathering dsikness,
Holy, deathless stars shall rise,
By whose light my soul shall gladly
Tread its pathway to the skies.
elect atorn.
TOM'S WIFE;
-OR
MARRYING THE GIRL OF HIS CHOICE
BY ANNIE RAYMOND
"Tom, what are you thinking about, stand
ing there and drurmning on the window pane,
and gazing up at the stars—are you moon
struck or love sick ?" said Thomas Hubert,
Sr., to his only son; but Thomas, Jr., did
not reply, and added ; I say, Torn, it is high
time you were thinking about marrying.—
Why don't you answer me—do you see Clara
Carleton peeping out from among the stars ?"
" Were you speaking to me, father ?" said
Tom in a pleasant voice, for he had been
thinking of Clara, and her name aroused him
from his reverie,
"Been talking this half hour, but nothing
could bring you to your senses, till I said
Clara—so you remember that girl yet?"
said his father, a slight frown resting on his
brow.
"It is not so easy forgotten, such a lovely
face, and such a sweet expressive counte
nance," was the reply.
"Oh, fie ! you are no longer a boy, Torn ;
but instead of appearing manly, you have be
come as sentimental as a girl. Why don't
you get married ? There is Bell Griffin,
handsome and rich, she will make you a splen
did wife," said his father.
" She is a selfish creature, and there is
nothing lovely about her," said Torn.
"Mary Ray, my dearest friend, will be
here next week, and I wish you would marry
her. Will you think of it ?—that's a dear
good brother," said his sister Lucy, laying
her hand carelessly on his arm.
Mary Ray has no mind of her own, and
that is the reason why you like her so well.
I want a wife who can think for herself," said
Torn.
"And who will suit you?" asked Lucy
" No one, but Clara Carleton," was the re-
IM
"And what has become of her ? I haven't
heard nothing of her fur the past two years,"
said Lucy.
" How should I know ? Didn't you and
father try to manoeuvre her out of my way,
and if you succeeded, of course you know
where she is," said Tom, and without waiting
for a reply, left the room.
" How should Torn know that we tried to
get that girl out of his way ?" asked Mr. Hu
bert,
"I don't know, but he must have heard it
recently, as he never mentioned it before,"
said Lucy.
" Well, I shall know more if lie ever finds
her, (but I hope he won't,) and he is deter
mined to marry her. I never will consent,"
said his faller.
"If he was always to live in the country
it might do; but Clara is not accustomed to
fashionable society," said Lucy. Then after
a moment's silence, she added ",W hat would
people say, if our Tom would marry an awk
ward country girl ?"
"Just what they would say if our Lucy
would marry that foolish Timothy Tubbs,
whose father made his money by keeping a
second hand clothing store in Chatham street,"
said Tom who had heard the last words of
his sister ; but not wisliing to hear more on
the subject, he took up the evening paper
and retired to his room.
The dwellings occupied by the lluberts as
a summer residence was ono of the largest
and most aristocratic in a pleasant town upon
tho east bank of the Hudson.
For two summers previous to the commence
ment of this sketch, the rooms had been
crowded with the gay and fashionable city
friends of Lucy, young ladies of her own age,
some of whom were accompanied by manceu
vering mammas; and Torn becoming wearied
of beingilattered by the mammas, and witness
ing the coquettish airs of the simpering
daughters, resolved that they wouldn't catch
him playing the agreeable again. Accord
ingly he astonished his father and sister by
announcing his attention of leaving home on
the day a number of guests were expected to
arrive, among whom was the splendid "Bell
Gran" and sweet " Mary Ray." Lucy im
plored him to remain, saying that they should
then have no gallant but her father, and what
Sr 50
WILLIAN LEWIS,
VOL. XV,
would her friends say ? but Tom was inexor
able, suggesting that she should send for Tim
othy Tubbs, who doubtless would be happy
to be with them. The guests arrived, and a
week later, Lucy received a letter from Tom,
post-marked Boston, in which he stated that
it would be many weeks before he returned,
but he hoped his friends were happy, assur
ing them he thought often of them. Mary's
regrets were uttered by the disappointed la
dies, and meantime Tom was spending the
time happily in a quiet New England vil
lage. But let us turn back four years.
It was a calm starlight evening, and Tom
Hubert was walking listlessly along' a quiet
street upon the outskirts of the . town, when
he heard a sweetly modulated voice caroling
a touching melody, and pausing before a vine
embowered cottage, he saw a woman, pale
and emaciated, reclining in an easy chair,
while upon a low ottoman at her feet, sat a
young girl of not more. than sixteen years.—
The, thin transparent hands of the invalid
clasped the fair hand of the girl, while the
large lustrous eyes, in which crystal tear
drops were trembling, were resting lovingly
upon the beautiful features of the girl, whose
varying expressions told the emotions of the
pure heart as the lips uttered the beautiful
sentiment of the poet. Toni Hubert felt
guilty of rudeness in remaining so long, but
he seemed chained to the spot and gazed
through the open shrubbery like one en
tranced. The faco of the invalid reminded,
him of the fond mother whose loss he yet
mourned, and there was something so win
ning, so angelic in the expression of the girl's
countenance that she made a deep impression
upon his heart. The low window opened to
the ground, and when the song had ceased,
the mother said :
"Clara, I cannot hide the truth from you
any longer, and therefore will now speak
.plainly. I shall not be with you long—a
tee- mere weeks, a few more months at the
farthest, and 1 shall have passed away—shall
be a dweller in that clime where pain, sorrow
and death enter not. I could look forward
to that day with calmness as the day of a
peaceful rest, were it not for_ leaving you
alone and unprotected," and she pressed her
pale lips to the upturned brow.
For a moment the young girl did not ap
pear to hear the mother's meaning—then as
the truth flashed upon her mind, she wound
her arms around her mother's neck and in a
tremulous voice, exclaimed :
" Say not so, my dear mother ! 0, how
can I live without you—life will be so dark'
and gloomy—no mother—no friend—l can
not live without von I"
" God never fbrsakes the orphan ; some
times it may appear very dark ; but then the
sun of happiness, when it does shine, is all
the more brilliant for Lavine- been obscured
in dense clouds, and friendless orphans are
watched over by guardian angels who shield
them from evil. Yes, my dear child, I feel
assured that you will be protected when I
am gone—your own pure heart will shield
you from danger."
" Who would be so base as to harm one so
lovely ? Yet, has it not often been so ? but I
will protect her," Torn mentally exclaimed,
and without waiting to hear more he slowly
' walked away, revolving in his mind many
,plans for the future.
Flattering himself that he was actuated by
motives of disinterested benevolence, Tom
Hubert sought and obtained an introduction
to Mrs. Carleton and her daiighter. Almost
every evening found him a welcome guest at
the cottage, and ere many weeks had passed
he loved Clara Carleton as he had never loved
before. Clara Carleton returned his love with
all the ardor of a young and trustful heart,
and ere the mother passed from earth . she
sanctioned their betrothment, and as they
stood before her, laying her almost pulseless
hands on their bowed heads e she blessed them ,
with her dying breath.
The chill winds of until= sighed a mourn
ful requiem as that loved mother was laid to
rest in the peaceful shades of the country
cemetery; and the sorrow.stricken daughter
was welcomed to the cheerful home of the pas
tor. It had been Mrs. Carleton's request that
Clara should complete her education under '
the guidance of Mr. Hartley, the pastor, and
that kind hearted man and estimable wife
took the lonely orphan to their own home,
where she soon become contented and happy.
The cottage was sold, and when all expenses
were paid, there was only enough left to de
fray the expenses of Clara's education ; but
Torn Hubert loved her all the same whether
she was rich or poor.
None knew of the engagement except Mr.
and 3lrs. Hartley, and whet' it was rumored
that Tom Hubert was attracted to the parson
age by the pastor's ward, the wealthy Mr.
Hubert questioned his son as to the truth of
the report. Toni acknowledged his love for
Clara Carleton, but did not speak of his en
gagement, and his father forbade him to visit
her any longer, as by so doing he would incur
his displeasure. Lucy Hubert, who had been
educated at a fashionable boarding school in
the city, had met Clara a few times and called
her an awkward country girl, but Tom heed
ed not father nor sister, but followed the
promptings of his own manly heart.
Through the influence of Mr. Hubert, Clara,
when she was eighteen, .received an advan
tageous offer to go to a western city as gov
erness' in a wealthy . family, but Tom over
heard the plans of his father and sister, and
-he had his plans also. A few days later,
Clara Carleton had left town, and when Mr.
and Mrs. Hartley were. questioned, they re
plied that Clara was with a friend, and would
eventually return, Torn was apparently as
much surprised as any one to learn that Clara
had left town, and as he never spoke of her
afterward, his father and sister would have
entirely forgotten her, had he not been indif
ferent to the most beautiful and fascinating
belles Meanwhile Clara was residing with
a relative of Mr. Hartley in a pleasant
lame not many miles from the city of Boston,
and pursuing his studies.
The cottage formerly occupied by Mrs.
Carleton had new purchaser, and was being
thoroughly repaired, while the embellishments
of the ground received many an artistic touch
and when in early autumn all was to be com-
~_:
.;::;:
pleted, it was to be the most beautiful and
romantic residence in town. Furniture was
sent on from New York, and an upholsterer
came up to see to its arrangement, but he
evaded the questions of the gossips, who were
in a fever of excitement to know all of the
particulars, how long the owner had been
married, if his wife was beautiful, etc. Even
Lucy and her friends had 'observed it, and
the former had written to Tom; saying that
the cottage was finished. giving a glowing de
scription of its external beauty, and it was
rumored the family would soon take posses
sion.
It was a pleasant morning in September,
when Tom Hubert entered his father's dwel
ling, and was warmly welcomed by father
and sister, while Bell Griffin told him• how
much he had been missed, and after replying
politely, he said :
"How about the . cottage that was being
fitted up when I left home—has the family
arrived ?
" The cottage was brilliantly illuminated
last evening, and as we drove by a carriage
drew up before the gate, so I presume they
have come," said Lucy.
" The fact is, Eucy, I have bought that cot
tage, and my wife will be happy to see my
sister and her friends this evering," said
Tom.
" Married, eh ? and without even asking
me ; I'll cut you off; you'll not have another
cent !" exclaimed his father.
" But father, I hope you will forgive me
when you know my wife, who is as good as
she is beautiful. Go with me now; she is
anxious to see you," said Tom, and in a few
moments he persuaded his father to accom
pany him.
Torn had married Clara Carleton; and Lucy
found that Clara was not only highly accom
plished, but her education was superior to
her own, and most of those with whom she
associated. And the following winter, when
Tom's wife entered fashionable society in New
York City, her "awkward manners" did not
cause Lucy to blush, but she was proud of
her lovely and accomplished sister-in-law.—
Mr. Hubert soon learned to love Tom's wife,
and never was so happy as when with " our
Clara," as lie familiarly called her, and has
often been heard to say :
" Tom married the girl of his choice, and
she is a jewel."
The Cleveland Plaindealer is responsible
- fur the following :
In a small neighborhood in Geauga county
live three deacons. 'Thy first is a Methotlist, -
the second a Presbyterian and -the third a .
Baptist. All live quite a distance from their
respective meeting houses, and as the travel
ing is excessively bad at this time of year,
they concluded to hold meetings in the little
red schoolhouse in the neighborhood. The
question then arose which denomination
should hold the first meeting. The Metho
dist claimed the privilege of opening the bail.
The Presbyterian demanded it. The Baptist
insisted upon it. Here was " a fix."
They wrangled over the matter until the
dander of each deacon arose to fever-heat, and
each vowed he would hold a meeting at the
red school-house the very next evening, which
happened to be Friday last, and on that eve
ning at early candle-light the school-house
was crowded with Methodists, Presbyterians,
Baptists, and several world's people.
The Presbyterian commenced reading a
catechism. The Baptist at the same time,
arose and commenoed reading a tract on im
mersion. The Methodist at the same time,
struck up an old fashioned hymn, shouting
it forth at the top of his lungs. The effect
was ludicrous. It apparently struck the '
mixed congregation so, for they all com
menced laughing. The Baptist was wheezy.
He sank exhausted into his seat, while the
Presbyterian and Methodist continued. All
at once the ludicrousness of the scene struck
the Baptist, and he indulged in a protracted
horse laugh. This displeased the Presbyte
rian, and forgetting himself, he dealt the Bap ,
tist a stunning blow under the right ear.—
The Methodist threw his hymn-book down
and rushed to the Baptist's rescue. He ar
rived just in time to receive Presbyterian's
iron fist between his eyes. The Baptist and
Methodist rallied, and together attacked the
Presbyterian, but he was too much for them.
The scene that ensued beggars description.
Chairs were over-turned, window-glass were
broken, women shrieked, men yelled. We
have no wish to make fun, of an affair which
has caused profound regret among the religi
ous people of Geauga. We merely relate the
facts; the matter is in litigation.
It is heart-sickening to travel through the
country, and note the actual waste of the prop
erty that is constantly going on in the form
of decaying tools—implements exposed to
the weather. During a single hour's ride on
the cars the other day, we counted four plows
standing in the furrow in the field where last
used ; one under the eaves of a building where
the water dripped upon it, and another by
the road-side leaning against the fence ; one
horse-rake tilted up in the field ; three reap
ers or mowers without cover—besides a good
many we did not see. Now estimate the
to the owners of these implements by such
exposure ? Calculate• the interest on the
money invested in them, the money saved by
their use, and their probable endurance with
such treatment, and tell us if it is profitable
to purchase labor saving machinery. The
verdict of three-fifths of the farmers will be
that it is not. Why? Because the best ma
chine will not last more than three years.—
We have heard men in the West gravely en
ter into an argument to prove that the labor
saving machinery in use here, had cost the
farmers much more than it has saved them.
We are not prepared to undertake to contro
vert such argument until we see more care
expended in protecting such perishable mate
rial from weather exposure. Let the reader
calculate what be is losing by such a process
—aye, what he is wasting. 'We ask if he
can afford such prodigality.
ciZt3'. True modesty is a discc'ning grace
HUNTINGDON, APRIL -18, 1860.
Three Fighting Deacons
Waste of Wealth.
=1
-PERSEVERE.-
1 I pitcht my tent in a small town in Inji
army one day last season, & while I was standin
at the dore takin niunny, a deppytashuu of
li.dies came up and sed they was members of
the Runeumville Female Moral Reform &
ViTimin's Rites Associashun, and they axed
me if they cood_go in without payin.
" Not exactly," ses I, " but you can pay
without goin in."
" Do you know who we air ?" said one of
the wimmin, a tall & feroshus looking critter,
i , vith a blew cotton umbreller under her arm
--" do you know who we air, sur ?"
"My impreshun is," sed I, " from a kur
sere view, that 'you are females."
" We air, sur," said the feroshus woman
—" we belong to a Society which bleeves
wimin has rites—which bleeves in raisin her
to her proper speer—which" bleeves she is
indowed with as mutch intellect as man is—
which bleeves she is trampild on & aboosed
—& which will resist hens 4th & 4ever & 4ever
the .encroachments of proud & domineering
man."
Darin her descourse, the acentric female
grabid me by the coat-kollar & was wingin
her umbreller widely over my hed.
" I hope, marm," ses I, startin back, " that
your intenshuns is honorable ? Ime a lone
man, hear in a stranger place. Besides, I've
a wife to hum."
"Yes," cried the female, "& she's a slave!
Doth she never dream of freedorn—doth she
never think of throwing off the yoke of tyran
ny, & thinking & speaking Sc; voting for her
self? Both she never think of these here
things ?"
" Not being a natral born fool," said I, by
this thne,a little riled, " I kin safely say that
she doth nut."
" Oh, whot—whot!" screamed the female,
swingin her umbreller iu the air, " Oh, whot
is the price that woman pays for her expe
riense I"
" I don't know, marm," sez I, " the price
to my show is 15 cents pur individooul."
" And can' our Sosiety go in free ?" asked
the female.
" Not if I know it," sed I.
" Crooil, crooil man 1" she cried, & burst
out into tears.
" Won't you let my darter in?" said anuth
er of the scentric wimin, takin me afeckshun
itly by the hand.
" Oh, pleas let my darter in ! Slices a
sweet gushin child of natur !"
Let her gush I" roared I, as mad as I
Food stick at their tarnal noncents, " let her
ay sh."
Whereupon they all sprung back with the
simultaneous observation that I was a Beest.
"My feemale friends," sed I, " be 4 you
leeve, Ive a few remarks to remark; way them
wall. The feemale wooman is lof the great
est institooshuns of which this land kin poste.
It's onpossible to git along without her. Had
there been no female wimin in the world, I
should scarcely he here with my unparaled
show on this very auspichus occashun. She
is very good in sickness—good in wellness—
good all the time. Oh, wooman !" I cride,
my feeling wurked up to a high poetick pitch,
" you air an angil when you behave yourself;
but when you take off your proper apariel &
(mettyforically speakin) git into pantyloons
—when you desert your firesides & with your
heds full of wimmins rites noshuns go round
like roaring lyons seekin whom you may de
vour sumbody—in short—when you play the
man, you play the devil, & air an emfatick
noosance. My feemale friends, I continude,
as they were indignantly departin, " way
well what A. Ward has sed."
Historical Evidence of the Truth of the
We prwmme that all our readers are not
aware how rapidly and how remarkably evi
dence to establish the truth of the scripture
records is being brought forth from the mon
umental and other remains of the buried
past.
Had the foresight and wisdom of man been
employed, from the building of Babylon to
the fall of the Roman Empire, to collect and
preserve from age to age such testimonials as
might meet and confute the skepticism of the
present day in regard to the truthfulness of
the historical portions of the Bible, it would
not have produced so deep an impression upon
our ages as what God has so wonderfully pre
served, and unexpectedly produced, when
needed most to confound all skepticism, and
confirm the faith of Christendom.
The assault which has been made by the
learning and subtlety of the German infideli
ty upon the credibility of the scripture nar
rative, and ended as every previous attack on
Christianity has done, in establishing its
truthfulness more clearly and firmly than be
fore. Unbelief is continually stirred up to
fresh attempts, in order to show, as it would
seem, that at every point the system of Christ
is invulnerable.
A few years only have passed since these
treasures of the ancient world, which so com
pletely, because undesignedly, prove the
truthfulness of scripture history were en
tirely unknown, and when first discovered
were eagerly seized upon as the very weapons
wherewith to destroy the credibility of the
Bible. The shouts of triumph with which
the celebrated Zodiac Dendora was hailed
by the infidel philosophy of Europe, because
upon its first superficial examination it was
thought to sweep away the whole chronology
of the Scripture narrative, have scarcely had
time to die away before Christianity has won
for herself, and beyond all fear of fortunate
reversal of the world's verdict, the whole field
of evidence as drawn from. authentic records
of every great empire in the ancient world.
Assyria, Baylon, Persia, Phoenicia have come
forth from their tombs, at the bidding of
Christian science ; and testify in the clearest
manner to the truthfulness of those records
which form the historical basis of the• Chris
tian system.
One of the most impressive proofs of the
genuineness of the books of the Bible, is de
rived from the late minute and accurate in
vestigations of travelers in Palestine. Such
is the minute faithfulness of the Sacred Story,
in all things connected with eternal things,
Wimin's Ri tes
BY ARTREMESIGS WARD.
Scriptures
1 1
.-._...,
?::::
s-,..„,:. - - , : ix, •
that it forms the best possible hand-book for
the tourist, and no candid man in traversing
that portion of the. East with the Bible in his
hand, can escape the conviction that its wri
ters lived among and were perfectly familiar
with the scenes which they describe.
- Every great feature of the scene remains
and presents itself to the eye of the modern
traveler, precisely as they were described by
Moses and David the Prophets, and with the
exceptions of the cities and towns, one knows
he is looking upon the very scenes which
their eyes beheld, and which they described
so faithfully, that they are recognized at once,
after so many centuries have passed away.—
The land of the Prophets and the wonderous
people, the land of signs and wonders, re
mains as the writers of the Bible saw and de
scribed it—the inhabitants only are gone.—
Impressions equally strung in regard to the
truth of the Scriptures are derived from the
exhumed remains of the great empires of
the East with which the Jewish nation stood
connected.
The monument of Egypt, the buried pal
aces of Babylon and Nineveh, and the Per
sian ruins, in connection with those of Plice
nicia, have enabled Christian scholars to re
produce the history, and even the aspect—the
manners and customs of the past which
reaches almost to the Deluge ; and with the
history of those ages, that of the Jewish peo
ple and their records has been found so in
terwoven, that the truthfulness of sacred his
tory must be admitted, or all ancient history
must be abandoned at once as false. To deny
the credibility of the Old Testament writers
is not to reject the Bible only, but it is to de
clare the state records of every ancient em
pire false. Of course, men in the enjoyment
of right reason must not be expected to make
this monstrous assumption, and, therefore, as
we have said, the truth of the Bible is far
more firmly established than ever. Nor must
we forget that the proof of the historical ac
curacy of these writers in the circumstances
in which they wrote, carries with it the truth
—fullness of their doctrines, unless we are pre
pared to believe that a perfect historical ac
curacy is connected with hypocricy and dis
honesty in doctrine.—Cincinnati Gazette.
An eye can threaten like the loaded gun,
or can insult like hissing or kicking; or in its
altered mood, by means of kindness can make
the heart dance with joy. The eye obeys ex
actly"the action of the mind. When a thought
strikes .up, the vision is fixed, and remains
looking at a distance ; in enumerating names
of - persons or 'countries—as France, Spain,
Britain or Germany—the eyes wink at each
new name. There is an honesty in the eye
which the mouth does not participate in.—
"The artist," as Michael Angelo said, " must
have his measure in his eye." Eyes are bold
as lions—bold, running, leaping. They speak
all languages ; they need no encyclopedia to
aid in the interpretation of their language;
they respect neither rank non• fortune, virtue
nor sex, but they go through and through
you in a moment of time. You can read in
the eyes the companion, while you talk with
him, whether your argument hits, though his
tongac will not confess it. There is a look
by which a man tells you he is going to say
a good thing, and a look which says when he
has said it.
Vain and forgotten arc all the fine efforts
of hospitality, if there is no holiday in the
eye. how many inclinations are avowed by
the eye, though the lips dissemble I how
often does one come from a company in which
it may easily happen he has said nothing,
that no important remark has been addressed
to him, and yet, in his sympathy with the
company, he seems not to have a sense of
this fact, for a stream of light has been flow
ing into him and out of him through his eyes.
As soon as men are off their centers the eyes
show it. There are eyes, to be sure, that
give no more admission into the man than
blue berries. There are liquid and deep wells
that a man might fall into ; there are asking
eyes, and asserting eyes, and prowling eyes,
and eyes full of faith, and some of good and
some of sinister omen. The power of eyes to
charm down insanity or beasts is a power be
hind the eyes, that must be a victory achieved
in the will before it can be suggested to the
organ but the man at peace or unity with
himself would move through men and nature,
commanding all things by the eye alone.—
The reason men do not obey us, is, that they
see the mud at the bottom of our eyes.—
Whoever looked on the hero would consent
to his will being served ; he would be obeyed.
This tame yielding spirit—this doing " as
the rest did "—has ruined thousands.
A young man is invited by vicious com
panions to visit the theatre, or gambling room,
or other haunts of licentiousness. He be
comes dissipated, spends his time, loses his
credit, squanders his property, and at last
sinks into an untimely grave. What ruined
him ? Simply " doing what the rest did."
A father has a family of sons. He is weal
thy. Other children in the same situation in
life do so and so ; are indulged in this thing
and that. He indulges his own in the same
way. They grow up idlers, triflers and fops.
The father wonders why his children do not
succeed better. He has spent so much mon
ey on their education—has given them great
advantages ; but alas! they are only a source
of vexation and trouble. Poor man, he is
just paying the penalty of " doing as the rest
did."
This poor mother strives hard to bring up
her daughters genteely. They learn what
others do, to paint, to sing, to play, to dance,
and several useful matters. In time they
marry, their husbands are unable to support
their extravagance, and they are soon redu
ced to poverty and wretchedness. The good
woman is astonished. " Truly," says she,
"I did as the rest did."
The sinner followed the example of others,
puts off repentAnce, and neglects to prepare
for death. lie passes along through life, till,
unawares, death strikes the fatal blQw. Tie
has no time left now to prepare, and he goes
down to destruction, because he was so fool
ish as to " do as the rest did."
Editor and Proprietor
The Eyes
"I Did as the Rest Did."
SL lID~'~~:ES3IL:I~S."T3'
A youth was once unintentionally thrown
into the company of some half dozen young
men of very immoral character. • Their lan
guage, their jests, were of the lowest order.
Indecent expressions, vulgar anecdotes, heart
defiling oaths, characterized their conversa,
tion. It was evident there was no thoughti.
of God in all their hearts.
He left them and went to his room. It
was time for retiring to rest. He opened his
Bible and attempted to road its sacred pages ;
but he could not confine his thoughts. The
low, vulgar anecdotes of that godless party
were continually flitting across his mind.—
Their hollow mockery of God still rung in
his ear; the thought that perhaps there was
no God, no heaven, no hell, disturbed his
hitherto pleasant evening meditations; but
that kind, friendly voice within, the lives and
death-beds of parents whom he had loved
only to lose, told him too plainly there was a
God above, of tender and forgiving mercy,
there was a heaven of bliss and joy, there was
a l a ke whose waves of fire and brimstone
were never quiet. He knelt down to pray,
and the profane jests of that God-rejecting
company intruded themselves upon his
thoughts ; lie retired to rest, they haunted
his slumbers ; he awoke in the morning--
they lingered in his mind. Year after year
has passed away, but that half an hour in
the company of the profane, the wicked, still
exerts its injurious influence upon the heart
of that young man. It will never leave him.
Wherever he goes, whatever he does ; it will
remain in his mind to the last day of his
life. It may be forgotten for a time. but
like the serpent concealed in a bed of violets,
it will again and again come up to polute his
best and purest thoughts, to poison his sweet
est affections.
NO. 43,
My dear young friends, particularly boys,
write this as your motto upon the fly-leaves
of your books—write it on the walls of your
rooms—write it in your copy books—write it,
on your hearts—KEEP OFT OF BAD COMPANY,
BARRETT.
Until within a few years, farmers of the
North have hilled their corn and potatoes,
and believed it necessary ; more recently they
have found that roots may be induced from
the epidermis of the corn stalk and the earth
billed about it, but that this earth and the
roots it contains, cannot contribute in sustain
ing the corn-stalk, while it materially deducts
from the growth of the tap root and other
deep permeating roots which can do best ser
vice in the sub-soil in the bringing of inor
ganic matter to give strength and health to
the plant. That with flat cultivation corn
stalks will stand higher gales than when
billed up. With the potato a different ration
ale, but tending to the same result, has proved
true. The original tuber throws up stems,
and instead of the potato being a tuberous
rooted plant, (as most of our hooks in error
call it,) it is a tuberous stem plant, for no po
tato ever grew upon a potato root, they all
grow upon stem ; and therefore the original
seed, when it furnishes the first set of tubers,
does all that nature intended.
If we earth up the stem, we cause a new
exotic growth from the stem, of new tubers,
and these take part of the pabulum, namely,
the starch contained in the original tuber, all
of which should be given to the forming of
the first tubers. For this reason, we find po
tatoes when billed giving unripe results in
part, and potatoes of all sizes; whereas, when
cultivated - flatly, so as to form no-new tubers,
the crop is alike or nearly so in size, all those
originally set perfect, and both in pounds and
measure, the crop is greater and less liable
to disease. Now all the truths that are to be
found in this practice in the growing of corn,
is applicable in degree, as we apprehend,
to the growth of cotton. We can see no
reason why cotton should be grown on raised
beds, unless it be to furnish a larger amount
of surface fur the sun's influence. And if
this be the true rationale, we should rccom
mend such a treatment of the soil as would
change its color, rather than the adoption of
these raised beds.—" Forking Farmer.
LADIES THE BEST COMPANY.—Thackerav
says it is better for you to pass an evening
once or twice in a lady's drawing-room, even
though the conversation be slow, and you
know the girl's song by heart, than in a
club tavern, or pit of a theatre. All amuse
ments of youth to which virtuous women are„:
not admitted, rely on it, are deletrious to t
their nature. All men who avoid female so
ciety have dull perceptions and are stupid, or
have gross tastes and revolt at what is pure.
Your club swaTgercrs who are sticking the
butts of billiard cues all night, call female so
ciety insipid. Poetry is insipid to yokel ;
beauty has no charms for a blind man; music
does not charm the poor beast who does not '
know one tune from another; and as a true
epicure is hardly ever tired of water, sauce s
brown bread and butter, I can sit for a wbol,?,
night talking to a well regulated kindly wo
man, about her girl coming out, her boy at
Eton, and like the evening's entertainment.
One of the great benefits to be derived from
a, wornan'o society is, that he is bound to be
respectful to them. The habit is of great
good to your moral men, depend. upon
education makes us the Most eminently
selfish men in the world. We fight for our
selves, we light our pipes and say we will not
go out ; we prefer ourselves, and our ease ;
and the greatest good that comes to a man
from woman's society is, that he is to think
of somebody t> whom he has about to be con
stantly attentive and respectful,
THE QUAKER. LADIES OF MAlNE.—Quaker
young ladies in the Maine Law States, it is
said, still continue to kiss the lips of the young
temperance men, to see if they have been
tampering with liquor. Just imagine a beau
tiful young girl approaching you, young tem
perance man, with all the dignity of an exec
utive officer, and the innocence of a dove
with the charge : " Mr. —, the ladies be
lieve you are in the habit of tampering with
liquor, and they have appointed me to exam
ine you according to our established rules ;
are you willing?" You nod acquiescence.
She gently steps close up to you, lays her soft
white a.rni around your neck, dashes back
her raven curls, raises her sylph-like form
upon her tiptoes, her round, snowy, heaving
bosom against your own, and with her angel
ic features lit up with a smile as sweet as
Heaven, places her rich, rosy, pouty, sweet,
sugar, molasses, butter, eggs, strawberry,
honeysuckle, sunflower, lily, baby jumper,
rosebud, cream, tart, apple-pie, poach-pud
ding, apple-dumpling, ginger -bread, nectar
lips against yours, and (Oh, Jerusalem, bold
us!) busses you, by craekey I Hurrah for
the gals and the Maine Law, and death to all
opposition.—Exchange.
Zar A preacher lately said in his sermon :
" Let women remember, while putting on
their profuse and expansive attire, how narT
row are the gates of Paradise."
xte- Adversity is the touchstone of merit
Half an Hour In Bad Company,
Etilling Corn, etc