=2l
MI
TERMS OF THE GLOBE.
Per annum in advance
Six months
Threo mon the
A failure to notify a discontinuance at the expiration of
the term subscribed for will be considered a now engage
ment.
TERMS OF ADVER,TISINO.
1 insertion. 2 do.
25... ...... $ 37341
...... ...
:LPL: It 1:
o:lL—Tlal'a (1 11:11-3.)
TWO cillWae
dquares, 1 50 2 25 2. 00
User three week and less than three mouths, 25 cents
per square for each insertion.
3 months. 6 months. 12 months.
Six lines or less, 41 50 0 ,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 1 5 00
Four squares, 9 00 13 00 "0 00
I.lalf a column, 12 00 16 00 ...... —.24 00
One column, °O GO 30 00.... ..... .50 00
Professional and Business Cards not exceeding four lines,
ono year, S 3 00
Administrators' and Executors' Notices, $1 75
Ath - ertisements not marked with the number of inser
tions desired. will be continued till forbid and charged ac
cording to these terms.
JENNSYLVANIA RAIL ROAD
TIME OF LEAVING OF TRAINS.
y • A,— r-11.5[1 ,
rze:7-7.71
WESTWARD. WA RD. I I
EASTWARD.
,-.
-,
--.
,- :.-- ~.. 1 tt. r I
'4 s - r4l. ~., 7. c 0 . .
,i- .. rkv E . ; STATIONS.,... 0
%?.. ‘,',.-', ...I tn '.. ''''''
V.: EA '44 Cl 7 " tt
P. M. I P. X. A. M. I I A. M.l A. M. l P. M.
4 44' 6 44 5 49 Newton Hamilton, 110 15 3 OS 932
4 52 6 50 5 56 Mt. Union, 10 09 302 9 2-1
5 07 703 609 Mill Creek, 9 56 249 909
6 21 715 622 Huntingdon, 946 239 867
5 37 7 26 636 Petersburg, 9 Si 2 26 8 43
5 45i 7 32 643 Barree 9 24 2 191 8 35
.
5 32 737 649 Spruce Creek, 9 19 2 1318 28
608 753 705 Birmingham, 901 1 56 811
6 17 S 00 7 10 Tyrone, 8 54 1 4S 8 03
627 807 7 19 Tipton, 545 1 40 7 53
6 32 S 11 7 2.3 Fostoria, 8 41 1 36 7 48
6 36 814 7 27 Bell's Mills, 8 38 1 33 7 44
6 55 8 25 7 40 Altoona, 8 10 1 15 7 15
P. M. P. M. A. M. P. M. A. M. A. M.
11 C:7INGI9N&preAD TOP
RAlloo.cnoolcimLE.
On and after Wednesday, Sep. 3d, Passenger Trains
will arrive and depart as follows:
UP TRAINS,
Leave Huntingdon at 7.40 A. M. 0 4.00 P. M.
" Saxton " 9.40 A. M.
Arrive at Hopewell " 10.15 A. M.
DOWN TRAINS,
Leave Hopewell at 10.45 P. 51.
Saxton " 11.20 P. N. k 0.30 P. 111.
Arrive at Huntingdon 1.20 P. N. a 8.30 P.
ON SHOUP'S RUN BRANCH, a passenger car will con
nect with Morning train from Huntingdon for Coalmont,
Crawford, Barnet and Station, connecting at the
latter place with Hack to Broad Top City : where hrstclass
hotel accommodations will be found.
J. J. LAWRENCE,
Sep. 5, ISOO. Sept.
DON'T FORGET,
'WALLACE Sc CLEMENT,
Have just received another stock of new goods, such as
DRY GOODS, GROCERIES, QUI; ENSW A ItE,
in the store room at the south-east corner of the Dilmond
in the borough of Huntingdon, lately occupied as a Jew
elry Store.
Their Stock has been carefully selected, and will he
sold low for cash or country produce.
FLOUR, }um", HAMS, SIDES, SHOULDERS. SALT,
LARD, and provisions generally, kept constantly on hand
on reasonable terms.
Huntingdon, Sept. 24, 18(10.
t(--J
z\i:\\"...,„----,,
~T....
a -
. i; _ s .N.Elt - 64 4. ,* , a
\.4\
~. V : DEALER IN , ,
..,, % 1
W 1 114 . 4 i., .
1 . \ 'i un ,AND r. 1
;;:lr c "
re,
up /
\
c\.........._ )
ET.Ulltillg:Ci.oll,
'al
: *
-
- e - it/ %,- - -
1.(,,r,iV,"
\ _
- r
0,
.--,
. _...,
SELLING OF I? k'utt CASH!!
BARGAINS IN HARDWARE
As "the nimble penny isbetter than the slow sixpence,"
nod small profits in cash, are better than vexiny eye-sore
book accounts, JAMES A. BROWN is now determined to
sell off the large and splendid stock of Hardware, Paints,
&c., which lie has just brought from the east, at bnch low
prices, as will induce everybody to crowd in for a share of
the bargains.
His stock includes a complete variety of
DU I ',DECO -HARD WARE, MEC" I ANTOS' TOOLS,
CUTLERY, HOLDOW-WARE,
OILS. PAINTS, SADDLERY.
TARNISHES, GLASS, CARRIAGE IntIMMINGS,
STEEL, IRON, CHAIN PUMPS, LEAD PIPE,
MOROCCO, LINING SKINS,
COAL OIL LAMPS and COAL OI L, Sc.. &c.,
Together with ti full ii-sortinent of everything pertaining
to his line of business.
.4;y-All orders receive prompt attention.
JAS. A. BROWN
Tluntingdon, Sept. 24. 1860_
2 g ®oo
*.i/CUSTOMERS 11T_AJ.NTED !
NEW GOODS
JAC':•I3S
Has received a fine assortment of DRY
GOODS for the Spring and Summer season, comprising a
very extensh a assortment of
LADLES DRESS GOODS,
DRY GOODS in general,
READY-MADE CLOTHING,
For Men and Boys
GROCERIES, HATS S: CAPS,
BOOTS AND SHOES, Sc. S:c.
The public generally are requested to call and examine
my goods—and his prices.
As I am determined to sell my Goods, all who call may
expect bargains.
Country Produce taken in Exchange for Goods.
BENJ. JACOBS, atthe Cheap Corner.
Huntingdon, Sept. 24. 1860.
:71 00
Pv
E.
on ;;
W 0 70
on 0-4
rm
.4
= CZ
CZ
4gt
CD
CD CD
El
HAINES C B c rS . ' OVERSTRUNG
PIANO FORTES,
Celebrated for superior quality of ToNE and elegance and
beauty of finish. These Pianos have always taken the
FIRST PRE:11177.31 when placed in competition with oth
er makers. Cnkursos ALL cOmPrimos. A splendid as
sortment of LOUIS XIV and plainer styles always on
band. Also Second-band Pianos and PIIINC.E'S 111-
'I3.OVED MELODEONS from $45 to $350.
Every Instrument warranted.
GEO. L. WALIZER'S
Piano and Melodeon Depot,
S. E. Cor. 7th lz Arch Sts., Philadelphia.
July 25, 1860.-6 m.
$1 50
MEM
ME
. it .
TILE NEW STORE
FOR FALL and WINTER
-;\
(CE)
05
0 1 9
1:;t52,
f }'ci
=ME
EVE
;tl.)
1 OJ
BM
WILLIAM LEWIS,
VOL XVL
Ratiu.
WHAT XS LIFE
0, what's life? 'tis one beset
With many days of doubt and fear,
Of which we all our share shall get,
As rolls around each passing year.
0, what is life? 'tie one of pain,
Of vain regrets said tearful eyes;
Of constant toil for ill or gain,—
So pass away our fleeting lives.
0, what is life? 'tie one of care,
Of trouble much, and sorrow too:
With now and then a day that's fair,
Which often ends at night in woe.
0, what is life? 'tis one for ayo
Of dark forebodings ever near,
That ever drive our joys away,
While we live on in constant fear
Yes, such is life's true picture drawn,
E'en from the cradle to the grave;
And but for hope that cheers us on,
The ills of life we ne'er could brave
linteresting
MY PENNY DIP
What was it ? A tallow candle, to be sure.
The gas wouldn't burn, the kerosene stran
gled me with its noxious odor, the fluid sput
tered, burned blue, and went out. I am
afraid of the dark ; that ghostly blackness
which makes one's eyes ache with its want
of light; that palpable gloom which seems to
beat like a roomful of palpitations of the heart
around you, above you, about you, every
where ; that visible nothing, which holds the
tables, the chairs, the portraits you are fa
miliar with, yet hides them in its black veil
from your view ; that empty fulness through
which you thrust out your groping arms, then
shrink back, oppressed with a presence you
can neither, hear, see, nor feel.
"hilly," I said to my little maid, "run
somewhere and get me a light."
She ran to the grocer's wife, and came back
with a penny dip in a brass candlestick.
As she placed it on my table, went out and
closed the door, the little boy in bronze, on
my mantle, raised his hammer and struck
the figure of time, twelve ringing blows upon
the heart. It was midnight.
The candle burned clearly. I resumed the
old volume of German legends I was reading,
and as I laid my finger on a paragraph, and
paused to ponder on the possibility. of spirits
returning to earth to wreak vengeance on
foes, or work weal to friends, I . heard a deep
sigh at my elbow.
I turned and beheld the ghost of my grand
mother.
I knew her from her resemblance to her
portrait. She wore the same white cap with
its wide border plaited round her face—the
same prim dress with which I bad grown fa
miliar in tho picture.
She died twenty years ago. I was named
for her.
I drew up the rocking-chair for the ghost.
She sat down in it. A pillow could not have
sank there more noiselessly than she did.—
She kept her hands in the same position on
her breast, that somebody tied them twenty
years ago.
She fixed her keen black eyes upon me—
beautiful eyes, which I had always admired
in the portrait. None of her descendents had
such eyes.
" I could not come," she said in deep sep
ulchral tones, " in gas-light. Ghosts and gas
light are at war always. As for kerosene
oil, we groan in spirit at its use. How mor
tal noses, can, night after nigh, inhale the
odor it emits, is a wonder. It is worse than
brimstone. We have put our cold lips under
your chimneys, and blown our ghostly breaths
into the flame. We have seen the chimneys
blacken with smoke, and apartments fill with
disgusting fragrance. People only said the
lamp is in a draught. They moved it and
bore with it. We shall have to yield. Ker
osene is a modern discovery. Ghosts are old
fashioned. To be out of date is to be out of
mind. Your tallow candle pleases me. We
ghosts like the light of other days around us.
We always, in the body, burned tallow can
dles."
The fine eyes of my grand-mother gazed at
my penny dip steadfastly for a moment. She
seemed to see visions and dream dreams.
" My dear," she said, " you are the first of
the family that has returned to candles since
the innovation of gas. You are indebted to
your dip for my presence. how hollow I
would have looked under a chandelier—how
bloodless, how white As it is, I think lam
looking very natural, am I not ?"
She glanced up at her portrait and waited
my reply.
" A little pale, grand-mother," I said ;
"but tell me, dear madam, if your pursuits
in the other world are of such a- nature that
they admit of your returning to this at any
time !"
"By no means. lam permitted to appear
in this sphere but seldom. •Dly influence I
can make felt oftener. I have not been seen
before, since my Coffin lid was closed. lam
come to tell you there arose a yell in Pande
monium. I looked in to see whence it came.
I found the great chamber assigned to little
children, and which is always full of little
ones of all sizes and ages, the scene of great
commotion. Infants were crawling into cor
ners, three-year-old toddlers were tottering
out of the way. Older ones were hastily find
ing seats, and all faces wore a listening ex
pression. A small voice was saying :
" It was no fault of mine that brought me
here. I, who am now but five years old,
might have lived to be fifty. Nature, unfor
tunately, gave me fine physical development.
My chest was round and full, my skin clear,
my limbs finely moulded. My birthplace
was in a cold climate. My tender mother;
proud of her offspring, bared my neck and
arms in thech ill winters, when her rose-bushes
and vines were packed in warm straw and
thoroughly protected from every blast. I was
33Y IV. 11. DAVIS
brought down to be viewed by company, and
exposed to different temperatures - as I went
from room to room. My mother, wrapped in
soft velvet and comfortable silks, did not suf
fer. I did, but could not tell her so. I took
cold. I became a great trouble in the house.
My beauty faded. I lingered on from month
to month, and died at last, at five years, of
consumption. My mother cried over my little
corm. I knew, but I could not tell her then,
that her own vanity had placed me there—
would send me here.'
" I was trotted to death,' cried a more
piping voice, as the first speaker sat down.—
' A woman was hired expressly to take care
of me, and she took care that I should not
want for exercise. Her days and nights were
spent in keeping me going " up, up, upy,"
and " down, down, downy." That unknown
wonder, perpetual motion was to be found in
my nurse's knees. Every bone in my poor
little body was racked, every ounce of flesh
was sore. My food went down milk, and
came up cheese. If I cried, I was trotted, if
I screamed, I was trotted ; if I was still, I was
trotted—l became little better than a human
churn, from which the butter had been taken
and the sour milk left standing. My brains
turned to bruises, my blood to whey, my
bones grew so sharp they almost pierced the
knees which trotted them. As I began to cut
teeth, my tongue was constantly jolted be
tween my - jaws, and in danger of being bit
off. I dared not whine, for I knew the pen
alty; I began at last to calculate how long
the torture could possibly continue. Warm
weather was coming on, and I thought one
or the other of us must soon give up the ghost;
and as my nurse's exertions were almost su
perhuman, I imagined that perhaps I might
outlast her. One unlucky day, however, my
mother, entering the room unexpectedly, I
smiled at her. I had never done so before.
"The darling," cried my parent, "see, it
knows me."
" Poor thing, rather," said the nurse, "it
has wind on its stomach !"
" Forthwith she proceeded to trot it out.
Every thump of her foot on the floor was, I
knew, a nail in my coffin. I felt I should
never smile again. My faithful nurse con
tinued her efforts, and I was trotted out of
existence upon the poor old woman's knee.'
" As the speaker ceased, one of the older
occupants of the room descried me," said my
brand-mother. "He at once made room for
me to enter, and begged me to remain awhile
and hear the remarks. I consented, and took
a seat near the entrance."
" I,' said a little fellow, rising from his
seat, with his blue eyes all bloodshot,. and his
curls matted together, died of delirium tre
menn, --At the age of sim month; I was a
confirmed drunkard. I had not been a very
quiet baby, and every time I was uneasy a
little liquor was administered to do me good.
I did not want wine, but water. I was nat
urally a very thirsty child, and everything
that was put between my speechless lips in
creased my thirst. My mother's milk was
sweet, the panada given me was sweet, and if
now and then I was blessed with a draught
of goat or cow's milk, it was warmed and
sweetened first, to make it as much like my
mother's as possible. I used to cry. No other
way do we poor babies have of expressing our
feelings, and the chances are ten to one that
we will be misunderstood. To stop my cry
ing, I was put to the breast; this, at such
times, I would indignantly refuse. Then
there would be a commotion. " Nurse," my
mother would say, " what shall we do with
him ?" The nurse was a stout, hearty old
woman, who always made a practice of tast
ing whatever was provided for her charge.—
Her sovereign remedy was liquor. It *as
taken, and a spoonful administered at a time.
At first I rebelled—l strangled, kicked, and
coughed. The firm hand held the spoon to
my little tongue, and down went its contents
in spite of me. Little by little the dose was
increased. I soon liked it. In my thirsty
moments I cried for it. It was given me
readily, for after a few moments of wild glee,
I fell into a drunken stupor, which gave my
attendants many opportunities of enjoying
themselves, as my sleep was sure to be long
and sound.
" At length mania a-polo assailed me,
during my whole life no one had ever thought
of . giving me a single spoonful of the water I
had craved—the cooling, cheering, refreshing
drop of water Now, Ino longer cared for
it. In my wildest frenzies I was accused of
having the colic; down, as usual went the
fiery drink, until finally I was literally burnt
out. I am nothing but a cinder within,' a
shell without. My stomach was cooked to a
crisp, my intestines were shrivelled—my
lungs no longer filled with pure air, belched
forth only the fiery fumes that had consumed
me. I died. I was good for nothing. I
hope whatever from my dust is destined to
take on earth, it will not be water, as when
I inhabited it, with alcohol.'
"'As this speaker ceased, there arose a wail
of sympathy, such as bad first, attracted me
to the pandemoniac chamber; tis it subsided,
another little figure had taken the stand—
" My logs,' he said, brought me out of
the world. My mother labored under the
strange delusion that her child was born a
Highland laddie of American parents and in
America. I was dressed, or left undressed
rather, in short plaid stockings, reaching to
the calf of my leg, and an elegant kilt reach
ing just to the knee. My limbs were moulded
in cherubic forms, and when exposed in the
nursery were pretty. But the nursery was
too narrow a field in which to display my
beauty. On bitter cold days I was walked
out over the icy streets, the keen wind chap
ping my flesh and chilling my blood till my
knees looked like twin nutmeg graters painted
purple. I used to look at my mother's long
comfortable skirts and thick leggins drawn up
over warm hose, and wondered if she could
survive a fashion such as I wore if adopted
by herself. I became afflicted with inflam
matory rheumatism, and unable to endure
the pain, gave up the ghost."
" I felt," said my grandmother, " that this
victim was a sacrifice to a fashion started
since my day. I know that your father was
never dressed in such a ridiculous style when
a little boy; for with my own hands I knit his
-PERSEI7ERE.-
HUNTINGDON, PA., NOVEMBER 28 t 1860.
warm woolen stockings, and saw that his
comfortable little trousers came well over the
instep of his little calf-skin shoes."
" The next speaker was a dream faced little
girl, who trembled as she rose and said :
" I am an opium -eater. My death-war
rant was written on the label of the first bot
tle of Godfrey's Cordial brought into my
mother's house. A few drops at first sufficed
to huh my feeble cries. Then Godfrey's
Cordial would not do. A few drops of pure
laudanum was administered. Soon I could
not go to sleep without it. Then my nurse
would give me a small opium pill in my pa
nada. Of course I was but little trouble. I
was a deep sleeper, but my digestion became
impaired ; too much sleep weakened me, and
I knew no natural slumber. My eyes became
like those of a sleep-walker, full of dreams
when wide awake. I lost my appetite ; my
head grew full of pain ; my baby-heart was
always aching. I closed my eyes one day
forever on the home where I felt I could be
little loved, when my low wails were never
permitted to appeal to those around me, but
were hushed at once; where my .blue eyes
were scarcely ever permitted to look around
in the world in which they had been opened
and where, instead of proper care and food
and exercise, the baleful pill and enervating
sleep were all that was offered me. There
are many parents who seem to think children
must pass their childhood ' out of the way,'
and only get in the way when they have be
come, in spite of all sorts of ill-treatment use
ful or ornamental members of society."
" This child was still speaking," said my
grandmother, " when I rushed out. I had
been a mother once, and I could not listen to
these innocents in that fearful waiting cham
ber, recapitulating the woes that had sent
them there, -any longer.
"I felt impelled to revisit the earth. I
came. In no light could I make myself visi
ble to you, until your tallow candle was
brought in.
"My dear, remember what I have told you.
Some of these days you may be a mother.
Be more than careful of the sacred charge of
little children. Think for them—feel for
them. Do not, tnease your cares, sink them
into unnatural slumbers, or give them over
to selfish nurses. Upon you hangs their
lives—in a great measure their happiness,
both here and hereafter, I beg you will give—
Just at this moment the cock crew loudly.
The voice at my elbow was still. I looked
around—the rocking chair was empty, the
ghost had vanished.
Rlhrtliantong.
EXPOUNDING THE BIBLE
A learned pedagogue at Nantucket used
every morning to read passages in the Bible,
and expound the same as he proceeded in or
der that by asking questions as to how much
they remembered of his comments, he might
ascertain who were the bright boys of the
school. On one occasion he read from the
book of Job thus:
" There was a man in the land of Us, and
his name was Job, who reared God and es
chewed evil. Eschewed evil, that is, he es
chewed evil as I do tobacco, he would have
nothing to do with it."
With this very clear and forcible elucida
tion of the word " eschew" he proceeded,
and a number of verses were read and com
mented on in a similar clear and intelligible
manner.
After along interval, when the young mind
bad time to digest its food the pedagogue
called upon one of the youngest boys, and
the following dialogue ensued :
" Who was the man that lived in Us ?"
"Job."
" Was he good man ?"
,t Yes."
" 'What did he do ?"
"He chewed tobacco when nobody else
would have anything to with it," was Bob
Holmes' answer. The boy was permitted to
take his seat.
SLANDER
Against slander there is no defence. Hell
cannot boast so foul a fiend ; nor man deplore
so fell a foe ; it stamps with a word—with a
nod—with a shrug—with a look—with a
smile. It is the pestilence walking in dark
ness, spreading contagion far and wide,which
the most wary traveller can't avoid ; it is the
heart searching dagger of the dark assassin ;
it is the poisoned arrow whose wound is in
curable; it is the mortal sting of the deadly
adder; murder is its employment; innocence
its prey—and ruin its sport. Its foundation
is in envy, jealousy, and disappointed ambi
tion. Its heralds are found in all sects, in
every community. The slanderer is vindic
tive,malicious, a cowardly insinuating demon
—worse than a murderer.
Imo' A. boy of thirteen,.in Memphis, Tenn.,
had
_been in the habit of stealing from his
father's pockets, by slipping into his room at
night. The servants wore suspcted, charged
with the offence, and one after another sold
off, yet the young rascal continued his crimes.
His sister at length detected him, and he si
lenced her, threatening to stab her if she told
his father. She promised silence if he would
quit stealing, but he continued his habits,
and finally, on the morning of the 2d, the
sister, finding that she herself wal at last sus
pected, told the whole story. The boy in
stantly drew a large knife, and rushed on
his sister, exclaiming, " I told you if you told
father I'd stick you." The girl ran from
him ; the father caught his son, who kicked
and hit at him, and was only mastered by
main force. He was at last accounts locked
in a room, in which his chief pastime was
swearing vengeance on his sister.
Draw up a particular account of your
time, and see what a fine bill you have !
Time is what we want most, but what we use
worst.
ro A person being asked how old he was,
answered he was in health ; and how rich he
was ; observed, he was not in debt.
It is pleasant to look upon those whom Old
Age has furrowed with many years. .They
tell us of lives well spent, when in addition
to years the ruddiness of health still lingers,
loth to depart, upon the shrunken cheeks.
Old age is the Alpine height of life, from
which the soul looks down through the long
vista of the past upon deeds that have added
to the happiness of the race.
The good man who has seen the sun rise
and set upon his generations, and who is
ready with patriarch hand to bless the world,
and smiling, bid it good night forever, is a
noble monument to look at.
Rarely do men of turbulent soula live to
that period when they can say we hare em
braced Old Age; and are thence prepared to
go willingly to the silent chambers of the
dead, there to prepare themselves for that
journey into the unknown regions of eternity
which all must take.
Only the good grow old. It is only they
who, loving truth—who, having rested con
fidingly upon lofty assurances and holy pur
poses, gradually pass from stage to stage in
Life's great journey—enjoy what may be tru
ly called a " sweet old age"--an age that is
full of honor and glory.
We all involuntarily respect the aged. No
one, however uncouth his nature, but feels in
the presence of the snow-crowned patriarch
as if there were something of Heaven near
unto him. Such a one knows that one life at
least has been well spent—that a soldier, full
of honor, has retired from the battle of the
world, and is now camly awaiting the hour
when he shall be summoned to his reward;
and, that when lie does depart, there are
those who will not soon forget his place even
in the narrow circle in which for the last
time he saw the sun, so typical of his career,
go down forever.
Remarking upon sweet old age, a writer
has well said, " God sometimes gives to man
guiltless and holy second childhood, in which
the soul becomes child-like,not childish—and
the faculties, in full fruit and ripeness, are
mellow, without sign of decay. This is that
fought-for land of :Beulah, where they who
have travelled manfully the Christian way
abide awhile, to show the world a perfect
manhood. Life, with its battles and its sor
rows, lies far - behind them; the soul has
thrown off its armor, and sits in an -evening
undress of calm and holy leisure. Thrice
blessed the family that numbers among it
one of those not yet ascended saints l Gentle
are they and tolerant, and apt to play with
little children, easy to be pleased with little
pleasures."
TEM CAPITALS OF THE WORLD.
We subjoin some . " information relative to
the chief cities of the world, commencing
with the numbers of their inhabitants:
London, 3,470,000
Paris, - 2,000,000
Dayton, 40,000
Washington, 61,400
Providence, 49,000
Rochester, 48,000
There are 57 cities in the world which con
tains from 100,000 to 200,000 inhabitants,
23 from 200,000 to 500,000, and 12 which
contain above 500,000.
The force of habit is perceived and ac
knowledged by every person of discernment.
It is allowed to have a more steady control
over our actions than any other principle or
propensity whatever. Such being its influ
ence, too much pains cannot be taken to con
tract habits that have a useful tendency. Our
happiness and usefulness depend on making
no material mistakes in this respect. Habit
bath so vast a prevalence over the human
mind, that there is scarce anything too
strange, or too strong can be asserted of it.—
The story of the miser, who, from long ac
customing to cheat others, came at last to
cheat himself, and with great delight and
triumph picked his own pocket of a guinea
to convey to his hoard, is not impossible or
improbable. The principal part of the task
in educating youth, consists in preventing
the growth of bad habits. It is more difficult
to guard the mind against error, than to cre
ate a desire to gain knowledge ; and if wrong
principles and actions are carefully suppress
ed, learning and virtue will grow up and
flourish almost of their own accord. Keep
out evil and good must prevail, for the mind
cannot be inactive.
Editor and Proprietor
OLD AGE
New York, 960,000
Philadelphia, 600,000
Constantinople, ' 840,000
St. Petersburg, 600,000
Vienna, 500,000
Berlin, 480,000
Rome, 198,000
Dublin, 308,000
Mexico, 218,000
Palermo, 193,000
Cincinnati, 158,000
Leeds, 158.000
Hamburg, 150,000
Turin, 160,000
Genoa, . 125,000
Frankfort, 163,000
Naples, 510,000
Liverpool, 400,000
Glasgow, 380,000
Boston, 178,000
Moscow, 370,000
Manchester, 304,000
Madrid, 286,000
Lyons, 300,000
Lisbon, 254,000
Amsterdam, 225,000
Havana, 240,000
Marseilles, 206,000
Milan, 153,000
Brussels, 132,000
Copenhagen, 136,000
Bristol, 120,000
Florence, 107,000
Second Class American Cities.
St. Louis, 161,000
Milwaukee, 46,000
Detroit, 47,000
Cleveland, 43,550
Zanesville, 9,212
Columbus, 18,628
_
THE FORCE OF HABIT.
There is a gradual change going on in so
ciety now-a-days, so that it is really fashion
able to dress conveniently. The " dress "or
swallow-tail coat is perhaps the most inconve
nient and unsuitable article of dress to be
worn out of doors that can be, and yet how
many men go to church in this ball costume,
and think they are well dressed. Our atten
tion is called to this garment at this time by
seeing from our office window a charcoal
dealer, standing in the rain, dressed in black
pantaloons and a dress coat. A red shirt and
overalls would be appropriate, and with a
blue frock be would look like a man of sense.
Clothing should always be appropriate and
convenient. In farm labors the body has to
undergo as many peculiar bendings and take
as many attitudes as in the sailor's, but not
as constantly. We go aloft in the barn, we
climb fences, spring upon horseback, dig in
narrow ditches, and go through all sorts of
movements in using the axe and flail, the hoe
and pick, the scythe and shovel, ; and our clo
thing, like the sailor's, should be loose and
easy, warm, not in the way, and many-pock
eted, A Dutchman's frock is a good dress to
go to market in ; and, depend upon it, a far
mer in a frock will be - better attended to in
market, whe.ther he is purchaser or seller,
than if he comes in an old-fashioned rusty
broadcloth suit, like a poor gentleman, or de
cayed professional man. By his very dress
he shows that he is not above his business,
and buys and sells as a farmer.
NO. 23.
A sailor's dress is after all not exactly the
best dress for a farmer. The farmer should
wear boots—thick, water-proof boots for
much of his work. The sailor wears shoes.
The pantaloons of the farmer should tuck in
to his boots, hence, as little cloth as possible
should be in the legs. For our own part we
like the style worn by the old countrymen,
whose breeches button moderately tight about
the ankle and half way up the calf. Like
the sailor's, the farmer's pantaloons should
be supported by the waist-band and not by
suspenders,unless indeed the man be grown
corpulent, and like a barrel his waist is the
thickest part of him,—and should be loose
and full about the hips.
It is most important that persons who are
liable to profuse perspiration--and all men
who labor are—should wear woolen garments
next the skin. Red flannel shirts are to be
recommended for both summer and winter.
They are cool in summer and warm in win
ter, absorb the perspiration, and permit its
evaporation without chilling the wearer. The
color is bright and agreeable, and it prevents
a soiled appearance before the shirt is really
dirty. A knit shirt, particularly for winter
wear as an outer garment while at work,
tucked inside the waistband, is exceedingly
comfortable ; and when the regular sailor's
pea-jacket, made of good stout pilot cloth, just
long enough to cover the hips, with liberal
side-pockets, double-breasted,and with a good
collar to turn up to keep snow out of the neck,
is.worn outside, a man needs no better clo
thing for ordinary cold weather. There are
no coat-tails or skirts in the way, no difficul
ty about getting one's hands into his pockets,
nothing superfluous and everything conveni
ent; loose enough for every action, and close
enough for warmth. The throat ought, never
to be protected, (except when affected by a
cold or cough; then keep it thoroughly warm,)
except in cases of extreme exposure, like
driving in a storm or great cold. Nothing
makes the person more susceptible to lung
and throat complaints than this bundling up
with furs, or tippets, or comforters—good in
their time, but greatly abused by our people
by being used at all times.
Finally—hats. A farmer is not exposed
to falling ropes, or spars, or tackle—hence,
does not need t stiff tarpaulin, like a sailor
or a fireman. His hat should he cool and
airy in the summer, and should give shade to
his head and face. A light straw, palm•leaf,
or chip hat, with a moderately broad brim
and low crown, is the thing fur the hot sea
son. Fur the winter we need something
which is warmer, which will not blow off ea
sily, which will shade the eyes from the
great glare of the sueon the snow, which will
in a measure protect us from the rain, and
which will not be in the way nor become ea
sily injured. A cloth cap with good liberal
front-piece, or a medium or low-crowed soft
felt hat, answers these requirements perfect
ly.
As to color of garments—the farmer should
avoid black, unless he is in the habit of ma
king and attending fashionable parties, and
then he must, of course, conform to the mode.
All the greys, pepper-and-salts, and a great
variety of browns commend themselves. Blue
we avoid, because it is a color that has been
adopted by the military, and has a sort of
"U.S.A. " or "U. S. M. " look. Poor stock
is oftener made up into black goods than in
to cloth of other colorse—an additional reason
why it is not profitable. It shows every
speck of dirt, and wlen threadbare looks pov
erty-stricken enough.
As to texture. Other things being equal,
those goods which either possess a full nap
or felty surface besides the thread, and thus
are, though loosely woven, quite thick, and
enclose considerable air, are warm in propor
tion to the quantity of air, enclosed in their
structure. A shaggy cloth, if not made of
too coarse wool, though coarsely woven and
loose in texture, will be found warmer than
an equally heavy cloth which is woven com
pactly, and which has been sheared, carded
and te.azled till on every part the close short
nap is laid in an even silky surface. Our
clothes keep us warm not by keeping the air
off, that is, from contact with the skin, but
by surrounding us with a mass of air which
is warm and by its adhesion to the fabrics
with which we are clothed is not readily dis
placed, at least not before it imparts a por
tion of its warmth to the air which displaces
it, and so prevents our feeling the chill. Out
er garments with a long nap shed rain also
much more readily than those with a fine-fin
ished surfaace.
The long and short of this matter is that
we should have a regular working dress,
which should be made with a view to conve
nience and decency only, and for other times
clothing that can be worn and worn out with
out its appearing ridiculous. We are said to
be the worst-dressed class of the population,
and distinguished from others by being inap
propriately and inconveniently dressed, and
it is because we cannot say it is not so, that
we have written the abave. Let us make a
change.—Condensed from 211 e Homestead.
The Vermont Legislature has passed a law
against prize fighting—principals, ten years
imprisonment or $5OOO fine; aids,, seconds or
surgeons, five years imprisonment or $lOOO
fine ; and citizens of the State who attend a
prize fight in either capacity, out of the State,
to receive the same punishment.
Ara'Envy is like a sore eye—offended by
whatever is bright.
The gay world, so called, is general
ly the least happy.
Hearts may agree, though heads may
FARMERS' CLOTHES.