TERMS OF THE GLOBE
' Far annum in advance.
sfr. months
Three months
.. - TE11143 Or AIArRITTI3ISIO.
1 ineertion. 2 do. 3 do,
Our square, (10 lines,)or loss.s 75 $1 25 $1 50
Two squarea, 1 50 2 00 3 00
Theca squares, • 225 300 450
3
months. 0 months. 12 mouths.
/no square, or less $4 00 $0 00 $lO 00
Two squares, 8 9 00 15 00
Three squares, 8 DO 12 00 20 00
Four squares 10 00 15 00 25 00
half a column, 15 00 0 0 00 30 00
Ono column 20 00 15 00.— ..... .00 00
Professional and Business Cards trot exceeding slx. lines
- 9 se year . $5 od
Administrators' and Breautors' 'Notices $2 50
Auditors' I , Zettcos, 2 00
7.etray, or other short Notices 1 50
Ini-Tea linos of nonpuroil make a square. About
.eight words conetitnte a line, so that nuy person can ens
ally calonlato asquare in manuscript.
Advertisements not marked with the number of Inner-
none dettirod, will bo continued till forbid and charged ac. 1
cording to these terms.
Our prices for the printing of Flanks, handbills, etc.
are also increased.
C4t istlyht.
HUNTINGDON, PA.
ROCK ME TO SLEEP
I=
'Mick-ward., turn backwArd, 0, Time, In your Ilight,
Make me a child again, just for to night;
Mother, come back from the erholoss shore.;
'Take me again to your heart as of yore;
•
,Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care,
Smooth the few silver threads out of my bale;
•Over my slumbers your loving watch keep—
,Mock me to sleep, mother—rock mo to sleep f
ittc.kward, flow backward, 0 tide of the ream I
fT am so weary of toll and of toare—
Troil without:recompense—tears all in vain—
Tale tivemnna -give nee my ettlldhocd again I
I have grown weary ntibast. sad decay—.
Weary of flinging- my cool•wealth away;
Mary of flowing for others to reap—
Zook me to sleep, mother—rock me to elects I
Tired of the base, the hollow, the untrue,
Mother, 0, mother, lay bearta calla for yon?
Idany a summer the gran has grown green,
Onoaserned and faded, our !nee between;
Tot, with strong yearning and paeelonatio pain
long I tonight for thy presence again; .„
Come from the silence on long and so deep—
Rock me to sleep, mother—rock Da oio sleep!
Over ray heart, In the days that are flown.
No love like enotherdove ever has shone;
No other worship abides and endures—
. 'Faithful, unselfish, and patient like your!':
None like a mother can charm away pain,
From the sick soul and the world-weary brain,
Slumber's soft claim o'er my heavy lideereep— ,
Rock and to aleep, mother, rock tee to sleep!
Come, let your brorne hair, just lighted with gold,
Fall on your shoulders again as of old;
Let it drop over my forehead to night,
Shading my faint eyes away from the light;
For with its sunnpedged shadows once more
flaply will throng the sweet visions of yore—
Lovingly, softly, its bright billows eweep—
Zook me to sleep, mother—rock me to sleep!
Mother, dear mother, the years have been long,
lima I teat listened your lullaby Hong;
flog, then, mid unto my soul it
. ffhall seem
Womanhood's years have been only a dream.
Clasped to your heart In a loving embrace,
With your light lashes just sweeping my face,
Neverhereafter to webs or to -weep—
Ittick me to elm, mother—rock me to sleep.
_Yr/EL - v - Icl 11/ZELALssc>ri.
BP JOAN G. WHITTIEIt
Who of my young friends have
read the sorrowful story of "Enoch
Arden,'",so sweetly told by the great
English poet? It is the story of a
anan who want to sea, leaving behind
v. sweet young wife and little daugh
ter. He was cast away on a desert
ifiland where he remained se
T'tmlirrwitaT-4•r•-- was — • iscovere • and
taken off, by a :passing vessel. Coming
back to his native town, ho found his
wife married to an old playmate—a
good man, rich and honored, with
- whom she was living happily. The
-pOor man, unwilling to cause her pain
and perplexity, resolved not_ to make
himself known to her, and lived and
diecralone. The poem has reminded
sue of a very similar story of my own
New England neighborhood, which I
have often heard, and which I will
try to tell, not in poetry, like Alfred
Tennyson's, but in my own poor prose.
I can Asians my readers that in its
main particulars it is a true tale.
'One bright summer • morning, more
than threescore years ago, David
Matson, with his young wife' and his
two healthy, barefooted boys stood on
the bank of the river near their dwell-
ing. They were waiting there for
Pelatiah Curtis to .come round the__
Point with his whery, and take the
husband and father to the port, a
few miles below. The Lively Turtle
was about to sail on a voyage to Spain
and Pavia was to go in her as mate.—
They stood there in the lovely morn
ing sunshine, talking cheerfully; but,
had you been near enough you could
have seen tears in Anna Matson's blue
eyes, for she loved her husband, and
knew there was always danger on the
sea. And David's bluff, cheery voice
trembled a little now and then, for
the honest sailor loved his snug borne
on the Morimack, with the dear wife
and Jre protty boys. But presently
f ate wherry came alongside, and David
was just stepping into it, when he turn
,ed back to kiss hie wife and children
once more.
oin with you, man," said Pelatiah
Curtis. "There's no time for kissing,
and such fooleries when tide serves."
And so they parted. Anna and the
boys went back to their home, and
David to the port, whence ho sailed
off in the Lively. Turtle. And months
passed, autumn followed the summer,
and winter the autumn, and then
spring came, and anon it was sum
mer on the river -side, and ho did not
come back. And another year passed,
and then the old sailors and fisher
men shook their beads solemnly, and
lurid the - Mively Turtle was a lost ship,
and would never come back to port.
And Poor Anna bad her bombazine
gown dyed black, and her straw bon
net trimmed in mourning ribbons, and
tbcpcsferth she was known only as the
Widow Matson.
tlnd }}ow was it all this time with
David himself?
Now you must know that the 310.
heaneclan peoyle of Algiers and Trip°.
p l and lfagadbFo and Sztipe, on the
•
42 GO
100
WILLIAM LEWIS, Editor and Proprietor.
VOL XX,
Barbary coast, had for a long time
been in the habit of fitting out galleys
and armed boats to siozo upon mer
chant vessels of Christian nations, and
make slaves of their crews and pas
sengers, just as men calling themselves
Christians in America were sending
vessels to Africa to catch black slaves
for weir plantations. The Lively
Turtle fell into the hands of one of
these roving sea-robbers, and the crow
were taken to Algiers, and sold in the
market place as slaves, poor David
Matson among the rest.
When a boy he had learned the
trade of shipcarpenter with his hither
on the Merrimack, and now he was
set to work in the dock-yards. His
master who was naturally a kind man,
did not overwork him. He had daily
his three loaves of bread, and when his
'elothing.was worn out its place was
supplieruy the coarse cloth Of wool
and camel's hair woven by the Bar
ber women. Three hours before sun
set be was released from work, and
Friday, which was the Moham
medal Sabbath, was a day of entire
rest. Once a year, at the season call
ed Ramadan, he was left at leisure:fora
whole week. So time went on—days,
weeks, months and years. His dark
hair became grey. Ho still dreamed
of his old home on the Merimack, and
of his good Anna and the boys. Ho
wondered if they yet lived, what they
thought of him, and what they wore
doing. The hope of ever seeing them
again grew fainter and fainter, and at
last nearly died out; and ho resigned
himself to his fate as a slave for life.
But one day a handsome middle-aged
vntleman in the dress of ono of his
own countrymen, attended by a great
officer of the Dey, entered the ship
yard, and called up before him the
American captives. The atraugcn7
was no other than Joel Barlow, Com
missioner of the United States to pro,
cure the liberation of slaves belonging
to that Government. Betook the men
by the hand as they came up, and told"
them they were free. As yon :might
expect, the poor fellows were very
grateful; some laughed for joy, some
caps, while others with David Matson
among them, knelt down on the chips,
and thanked God for the great deliver
ance.
"This is a very affecting scene,"
said the Commissoner, wiping his oyes.
"I must keep the impression of it
for my iCohtmbiad; " and . , drawing
out his tablet, he „Proceeded to write
on the spot au apostrophe to Freedom,
which afterwards found a place in
his great epic.
David Matson bad saved a little
money during his captivity, by odd
jobs and work on holidays. He got
a pass to Malaga, where he bought_a
nice shawl for his wife and a watch
for each of his boys. He thon wont
to the quay, whore an American ship
was lying just ready to sail for Bos
ton.
Almost the first man he saw on
board was Pelatiah Curtis, who had
rowed him down to the port seven
years before. Ile found that his old
neighbor did not know him, so changed
was he with hisiong-beard and Moor
ish dress, whereupon without telling
his name, he began to put questions
about his old home, and finally asked
hint if ho know a Mrs. Matson.
"J rather think I do," said Pelatiab,"
"she's my wife."
"Your wife!" cried the other. "She
is mine before God and man. I am
David Matson, and she is the mother
of my children."
"And mine, too!" said Pelatiab. "I
left her with a baby in her arms. It
you aro David Matson, your right to
her is outlawed ; at any rate she is
mine, and I inn nat the man to give
her up.
'God is groat l said poor David
Matson, unconsciously repeating the
familiar words of Moslem submission.
"His will be done; I loved her, but I
shall never see her again. Give these,
with my blessing, to the good wo
man and the boys," and he handed
over with a sigh, the little bundle con
tainii3g the gifts for his wife and chil
dren.
He shook hands with his rival.
"Polatiab,' he said, looking back as he
left the ship, "be kind to Anna and my
boys."
"Ay, sir 1" responded the sailor, in a
careless tone. He watched the poor
man passing slowly up the narrow
street until out of • sight. "It's a hard
case for old David," ho said, helping
himself to a fresh end of tobacco;
"but I'm glad that I've seen the last
of him."
.114
When Polatiah Curtis reached
home, he told Anna the story of her .
husband, and laid his gifts in her
She did not Shriek - nor faint, for she
was a healthy woman, with strong
nerves; but she stele away and wept
bitterly. She lived many years after,
but could never be persuaded•to wear
the pretty shawl which the husband
of her youth had sent as his farewell
gift.. There is, hOwever a tradition,
that in accordance with her dying
wish, it was wrapped about her in the
coffin and buried with her.
The little old bull's oye watch,
Which is still 14 the possession of ono
of her grandchildren, is now all that
remains to tell of David Matson—tho
lost . man . :- 7 0ur Young Folks.
An Address by President Lincoln.
His Views of Slavery and Negro Sol
diers in the Rebel Army.—The Enemy
at the End of his Resources.
WASHINGTON, March 17.—A rebel
flag, captured at Fort Anderson by the
140th Indiana Volunteers, was to-day
presented to Gov. Morton, of that
State, in front of the National Hotel.
A largo crowd of people was in attend.
ante.
Gov. Morton made a brief epoch, in
the course of which he congratulated
his auditors on the speedy end of tho
rebellion, and concluded by introdu
cing President Lincoln, whose purity
and patriotism ; he said, were, confess
ed by all ; oven amongst the most Ilk).
lont agitators. [Applause.] •
His Administration will be recogni
zed as the most important epoch of
history. It struck the death-blow to
slavery, [applause,] and built up 'no
republic with a power it had never be
fore possessed. If he had done noth
ing more than to put his name to the
emancipation proclamation, that act
alone would have made his name im
mortal. [Applause.]
The President addressed the assem
blage substantially as foltows i
I ollgvC.Citizena It will ba hat is few
Words that I shall undertake to eay
I was born in Kentucky, raised in In
diana, and lived in Illinois [laughter ; ]
and I am now hero, where it is my
duty to be, to care equally for the good
people of all the States. I.am glad to
see an Indiana regiment, on this day,
able to present this ea • tured
iio "dove - i-nor of the State of Indiana.
[Applause.] I am not disposed, in say
ing this, to make a distinction between
States, for all have done. equally well.
[Applause.]
There aro but few views or aspects
of this groat war . upon which I have
riot said .or written something where.
by my own views , might be made '
known. There is one—the recent at.
tempt of our "erring brethren," as they
are sometimes called [laughter], to
employ the negro to fight for them. I
have neither written nor made a speech
upon the subject, because that was
their business, and not mine; and if
they had a wish •upon the subject, I
,had not the power to introduce it or
'make it effective. The great question
with them was, Whether the negro,
being put into the army, will fight for
them ? Ido not know, and therefore
cannot decide. [Laughter.] They
ought to knew better than we, and do
know. I have in my lifetime hoard
many arguments why the negro ought
to be a slave, but if they fight for those
who would keep' them in slavery, it
will be a better argument than any I
have yet hoard: [Laughter and ap•
plume.] He who will fight for that
ought to be a slave. [Applause.]
They have concluded at last to take
one out of four of the slaves and put
him in the army, and that one out of
four who will fight to keep the others
in slavery ought to bo a slave himself,
unless he is killed in the fight. [Ap•
plauso.]
• While I have often said that all men
ought to be •free, yet I would' allow
those colored persons to be slaves who
want to be, and next to them those
white men who argue in favor of ma
king other people slaves. [Applause.)
I am in favor of giving an opportu
nity to such white men to try it on for
themselves. [Applause.] I will say
ono thing with regard to the negro
being employed to fight for them that
Ido know. I know that he cannot
fight and stay at home and mako
bread too [laughter and applause];
and as one is about as important as the
other to them, I don't care which they
do. [Renewed applause.] lam rather
in favor of having them try them as
soldiers. [Applause.] They lack one
vote of doing that, and I wish I could
send-my vote over the wires, so that I
might cast it in favor of allowing the
negro to fight. [Applause.] But they
cannot fight and work both. We must
now see. the bottom of the enemy's re
sources.
They will stand out as long as they
can, and, if the negro will fight fm•
thorn, they must allqw hint to fight..
They -have drawn upon their last
branch of rosourees—[applause)—and
wo eau now see the bottom. [Ap-
HUNTINGDON, PA., WEDNESDAY; MARCH 29, 1805,
--PERSEVERE.-
I please.) . em glad to see the end se
near at hand. [Applause.]
I have said now more than I intend
od to, and will, therefor°, bid yOu good
bye.
The President, then retired, while
the erowd'belowsaluted him with loud
and hearty ,cheers, the band at. tbe
semi° time phiying a lively tune.
Govern'or plorton then stepped for
ward and remarked that they had now
seen the rebel flag, and he: proposed
that each man in favor of the perpe
tuity of this Union should take off his
bat and.giveithree cheers for the Un
ion flag. Thp.requost was responded
to with a hearty good will. Three
rousing cheers were then given for
president Lieoln, and three, more for
Governor . Morton, after which the
band: struck "Yankee Doodle."
(from tho Pittsbirglx CoMmercl6l.]
The .Teacher's Work.
To love aVatitiful child is not diffi
cult; if is oneibf the laws of our being.
If with. a higher degree. of beauty
there aro combined: intelligence and
amiability, then ho who sees and does
not love the possessor of these
ties shows an incapacity to appreciate
beauty and excellence.. The teacher's
work is With•thn.beautiful and the de
formed, the active and the dull, with
those whose culture has been the pur
est and , most'reflued, and those who
have ever. been, subjected to the harsh
est treatment, to the most vicious in
fluences, or the tnost_ernel neglect. To
become interested in the former and
to listen to their well learned lessons,
requires no great ,degree of patience,
skill, or ability. To, instruct such is
easy and pleasant, and their rapid ad
vancement is no proof of the remark•
able talent of their teacher.
To ride a gentle, hind, and well
trekked. „herse,.whose_.dispositigxs
never been spoiled by Severity and
treatment, is easy and requires no un
usual horsemanship. To manage and
control the high spirited and unsub
dued steed and render . him gentle and
useful, is the work' of a master—a Its
rey. The ability and 'success of, the
one est s Town .y the intellect
ual and moral improvement of those
naturally dull, and whose tempers
have been chafed and worried by un
mingled• unkindness. To exercise pa,.
thine() at all times towards such, to
encourage and stimulate them to effort
in mental development, as ivoll as to
restrain them, and to form and fashion
thorn for goodnOss and greatneSS, re
quires the rarest and highest talent.—
He who fails here fails wholly. Ho
who succeeds where success is una
voidable, merits no praise. He who
overcomes stupidity and dullness, as
well as coarseness and viciousness, is,
deserving of the highest rank in his
profession. H who merely exhibits
what the pupil has naturally, or has
acquired from others, deserves no
praise.
There is, a strong tendency in very
many teachers from want of reflection,
judgment or selfeontrol, to exhibit
greater kindness towards the bright,
active and interesting than towards
the opposite class. Unless they guard
and control themselves well they will
exhibit impatience and indulge in se
vere remarks towards those who par
ticularly need all their sympathy and
aid. To blame and chastise a pupil
for not doing what is out of his power,
to hold him up to the ridicule of his
fellow students as a blockhead, with
out capacity--,ono who never can do
anything, when this, in part at least,
may be too true, is unkind and cruel
in the extreme. It is crushing instead
of cultivating. The lowest, vilest and
most ignorant, can indulge in such
language. It requires no learning,
power or skill. To bo sensible of this
dullness and ignorance is onough,with
out the scorn and ridicule of others.—
The business of the teacher is to make
the most out of his material. No pol
ishing will make a diamond out of a
piece of clay. Harsh treatment, the
use Of unkind epithets; may wholly
discourage and ruin the student, de
stroying all his self esteem and ambi
tion. .An opposite course may arouse i
and stimulate dormant faculties, and
cause the adunce" to become far more
distinguished than others, accustomed
to nothing but words of praise and
flattery.
An experience of many years has
shown me that many of whom I ex
pected little have far surpassed in all
that is good and noble those of whom I
expected much. "The race is not to
the swift." The brilliant and preco•
cious dazzle for a time, but in the du
ration of their light may he excelled
by others. Many a youth have I seen
apparently dull, uninterested in study,
without energy or animation, giving
no hope of future success and 'reflect
ing no credit on their teachers, who
afterwards, when studies suited to
'.... . .
...f ~....„.„,
, , ~ r„, ::,...,,,
z......r._ ...
4, .4: 7 ,...-ii,, 1
s, --: fi: - ..-,, - . A
1
_ .., 4...,
"ki , : , -'.:= ::::,..
: I , t
~,,. .2 . :• - • 11-! 11)* •
their tastes *ere assigned them, or
when placed in circumstances suited
to their tastes, were at once .aroused,
gave, evidence of high ability and be
came distinguished men, while thoSe
who wore:ever praised never rose 'to
distinction. , That so called "duncci's,
may make groat and useful men the
names of Newton, Isaac Barrow, Dean
Swift, Adam Clarke, Walter Scott, Sir
Humphrey Davy, ChattertOn, 'Burns;
Sheridan and numerous others, most
satisfactorily prove. Lot the teacher,
foci that the child uninteresting to
him is interesting to others; that the
mind whieh'he is seeking to develop
and polish may through his instrumen•
tality heoome radical and sparkling. -7
Lot him not by severe epithets and
unnecessarily unkind treatment de
stroy all desire of excellence and su
periority. Tell him not he is a 'dunce;
if such is the fact you are unreeling
and brutal.; if it is not a tact you are
guilty of faliShood. "" 'W-.
Sixty Thousand POTOODE Drowned in
'lndia.
Late advices reveal the full extent
of the disaster inflicted by the terrible
cyclono.in India. A Calcutta letter to
the London Times, just received says :
"I see that the news of 12,000 per
sons having been lost in the cyclone
was received with incredulity in Eng
land. The estimate was wide of the
truth, but 'only because it vastly un
derated the calamity. AS every one
who knows this country will readily
conceive, there is no possibility of as
certaining precisely 'the loss of life,
because hundreds Might be swept
away and leave no trace behind. But
we are not without data for arriving
at a conclusion, and it has now been
calculated that there cannot be fewer
than 00.000 persons drownedoe_pther
ivise.iriiied-by that - fertiftil storm. In
the island of Sangor alone, before the
cyclone, wore 8,200 . persons. There
are now about 1,200; nor have any
left it to go elsewhere. Seven thou
sand wore carried clean away by the
storm wave. All up the river the pop
ulation has been swept off
. not in the
same proportion but in large nninboVs.
As will bo anticipated, disease is rag
ing everywhere—cholera, fever, and
smallpox.' The epidemic., fever, which
I have mentioned in previous letters
this year, is depopulating whole dis
tricts. A magistrate told me the other
day that he had been riding thrmigh
village in which there was hardly a
grown-up, person, loft. They had died
without hope of assistance, without
medicine, without food—for the crops
are rotting on the ground in many
places wore the salt_ water rushed in.
The Ben - gales aro in a deplorable plight,
and the Zemmders increase the gener
al misery by turning the Ityets out of
their huts because they aro behind
with their rents. There .is money
enough hero' to,give relief—such relief
as can be got for money. But human
means seem quite powerless to, stop
the awful diseases that are walking
through the land carrying thousands
before them. The native feels himself
ill, wraps himselfin his blanket, says
it is his fate, and so perishes. In this
enormous populationlet it bo remora.
bored that hero in Bengal alone we
have at least forty-five millions of poo
plo—the few Europeans can 'only do
good hero and there, and yet it is sole
ly by Europeans that good is, being
done. The rich native will not help
his countryman. God gave him his
money, and God intended, hint to keep
it. That is pretty much his modo of
reasoning. Sometimes the fever strikes
him, and then in abject terror he offers
English doctors a fee of five hundred
rupees to come and visit him. In a
recent case of that sort, the man =- who
was worth about four millions sterling
—bad refused ro give a pica to the
poor after the cyelone. When death
was at his throat ho altered his mind,
and promised largo benefactions if he
recovered. Ho was not spared to add
falsehood to his cruel avarice.
A country schoolmaster, pre
paring for an exhibition of his school
selected a class of pupils and wrote
down the questions which ho would
put to them ,on examination day.
The day arrived, and so did the hope
fuls, all but one. The pupils took
their places as had boon arranged,
ankall went on glibly until tho ques-
tion of the absentee come, when the
teacher asked :
"In whom do you believer
"Napoleon 13onaparto," was the an
swer, quickly returned.
"You believe in the Holy Catholic
Church, dey on nut P'
"No," said the youngster, ninid the
roars of laughter, "the boy that ho- ,
Heves in that church hasn't come -to
school today; ho's at home sick:abed."
AO' Only crows and fools are afraid
of a shabby salt of clothes.
.o=iX,lSw?2,m4w i ki 3 O=MMyM
TERMS, $2,00 a year in advance.
PrOteotion of Birds,
We have published much on the
subject that heads this article, and .are
ready to publish much more whenever
there is anything useful comes under
our. observation. Many farmers, for-
Merly hostile to many 'varieties of
birds, are beginning to see their Mis
take, and instead of, destroying they
strive to protect them. The following
from a farmer in western New York,
to the N. Y. Tribune, m to tbo point:
` - "Fam glad to see you go in so brave
ly for birds. They are invaluable to
us farmers. You may say to the
world, and all mankind in particular
that I am toady to give any person a
good cow if they can show me any
proof, by their own or any trustwor
thy person's experience, that they ev
er found a cherry or a rice bird eating
sound cherries. .1 have watched them
now for ten years, and I have never
yet seen one attack a sound cherry. --1
Robins and woodpeckers will do BO
when the wormy ones are gone, but
oven they do not till the wormy ones
are used up. •
"The presence of the midge in wheat
may always be detected by the yellow
bird, and iLs ravages are accurately in
dicated by their presence. If they.
confine themselvoa to the outside of
the field,'thet:e will not be , tnuch of a
shower,' but if they go far into the
Bold you may cut your wheat At once,
for the midge has destroyed the built
of the crop.
"Say a good word for the crow and
skunk, for they ate among the farmer's
best friends. I never allow either the
crow or skunk to be hunted on my
promises-
qn:tbe - spring I make a bargain
with the, crows that if they Will let me
alone I will pay toll at planting time
and let them alone. I accordingly,
when the corn is planted, scatter a
peck or half bushel about the fields,
and for years never had
.any trouble.
"Say all the good things you can
for the eportsmen's . clubs. They have
done and are doing good service
to the country in helping to preserve
not only .game, --bat also the useful
birds."
People have often said that no dif
ference can bo detected in the analyz
ation of pure and impure air. This is
one of the vulgar errors difficult to dia.
lodge from the public mind. The fact
is, the condensed air of a crowded
room gives a deposit which, if allowed
to remain for a few days, forms a solid,
thick, glutinous mass, having a strong
odor of animal matter. If examined
by a microscope, it is seen to undergo
a remarkable change. First of all, it
is converted into a vegetable groivtb,
and this is followed by the production
of anirnaleulm, a decisive - proof that it
must contain organic matter, else it
could not nourish organic being. This
was the Kermit arrived at by Dr. Angus
Smith, in his beautiful experiments on
the air and,water of towns in England
where he showed how the lungs and
skin:gave out organic matter, which
in itself is rank poison, producing
headache, sickness, fever, or epidemic,
according to its strength. When, if
"a few drops of air of afoul locality .
introduced into the veins of a dog, can
produce death, with the usual phenol
mon mot" typhus fever," what incalcula
ble evil must it not produce ou those
human beings who breathe it again
and again, rendered fouler and less•na
pable of sustaining lifb with every
breath drawn ? Such contamination
of air, and consequent hotbed of fever
and epidemic, it is easily within, the
Power of man to remove. Ventilation
and:cleanliness will do all, so far as the
abolition of this evil goes, and ventila
tion and cleanliness are not miracles
to he prayed for, but certain results of
common obedience to the laws of God.
A GOOD ONE: in tho
outskirts Of Hartford there is a mission
school that has.the reputation of being
rather "noisy," so 'much so, that those
appointed to take charge of it gener
ally resigned in a few weeks. One
Sunday, the school being destitute of
a superintendent; a prominent manu
facturer of Norwich, Connecticut, vol
unteered for the day. Having called
the school to order, and got most Of
them seated, "Boys," said he, mount
ing the platform, "let's see if we can't
have instill," and he • put himself in a
quiet posture for the school to imitate.
As there was some noise, "Boys," said
he, "wo can have it stiller, I know"—,-
and walking to the front part of the
stage and raising his hand—"Nolv,
'let's see if wo can't hear a pin drop."
All was silence, wben a little fellow
in the back part of the room, placing,
himself. in an attitude of breathless'
emotion, spoke 'out : "Let 46 'drop'!"
The stern features of the superinteiti ,
dent are sad to have slightly. relaxed.
NO. 40.
Air Poison.
How an Oil Well is Made.
i. * As everybody in the city and out of •
it is more or less intreetod'irr oil and:
oil wells, a description of how the wolls,
aro made will bo of interest to our
readers: After selecting a ®pot for a.
well, the artesian driller raises. a der:.
rick about 11.0 feet . in height, bringing:
up a steam engine of about six horse,
power, and then, after driving down ,
an iron pipe about six inches in diam
eter through tikr : earth and gravel
some fifty feet or so,.te, the first stra
ta of rock, introduces -a drill of about'
two and S. half inches in diameter at•
tached to a temper screw, and thence
to. the- Ywalking beam" and—engine i
with which he bores Bow at-the, 'rate
of eight or ten feet per day'' Into the.
solid slate soaPstone, - Ar Oniii - hundred,
feet, ho ' hen corned teth:6'#iiit Strata,
of siMdstone, which .- " May be tenor
twelve feCt in "thiclinc64aiiii , he4iii .
through this comes again __to.
,u
slate and -soapstone, of-bluistr vett
and' working on, say for twenty
feat or so, he reaches the' secon lr strir
ta of sandi3tone, out of 'which-Acre
comes rushing up, when theright -vein
is strtick; ibflamable gas salt water 6i.
petroleum. The bore of thi3 well is
enlarged by a 'trimmer," "and then an
iron tube in motions of about four= .
teen feet and closelyscreived together,
is inserted bisections andrun down to'
the veins of oil; a flax Seed bag, which -
expands when wet, is fixed between
the tubinga"and the Walls'of the
in Order to prevent the surface Water
from descending; a "plunger" or
valve piston, is introduced into the,
tube and sucker rod, being attached
to the "walking-beam," - the conduit
pipes and tank, which may hold sixty.
barrels, being in readiness, the engine
moves and the precious treasure ,
gushes forth. This is what is ,called
pumping a well. In the "fiewing
well"--that is such as send the oil Out
spontaneously the drill Monet go
doWn into the third strata of "sand
stone; but this, in some inetnneee, is
very deep.
Out Out.
It is many years since I fell in love
with Jane Jerusha Sheggs, the hand
gamest country girl by far that over
went on logs. By meadow, creek, and
wood and dell, so often we did walk,
and the moonlight smiled on her melt
ing lips, and the night winds . learned
our talk. Jane Jerusha, was all to me,
for my heart was young and true, and
loved with a double twisted love, and
a love that was honest, too. I roamed
all over the neighbors' farms, and I
robbed the -wild wood bowers, and tore
my trowsera and scratched my bands,
in search of flowers. In my joyonaL
love I brought all these to ray Jambe'
Yana; but I wouldn't bo so foolisk.nbyr
if I wore a boy again. A city chap
then came along all dressed up in store
clothes, with a shiny hat and shiny:
vest, and moustache under his nese.—
He talked to her of singing sample,
(for 'her fatherowned a farM,);and she
left mo, the country love; and took the
new chap's ann. And all that nightl
never slept, nor could I eat Ant day,
tor I loved that girl with , a fervent
love that naught could drive away. I
strove to win her back to me, butt
was all in vain—the city chap with the
hairy lip married Tomb& Jane. And
my poor , heart was.sick and sore until -
the thought struck me, that just as :
good fish remainedas were ever caught
in the sea. So I went to a popular
church one night, and saw a dark
brown curl, peeping from: undera gip
sy hat, and I married that very girl.-
And many years have passed and gone,
and I think my loss my gain ; and
often bless thafhairy chap that atole
Jerusha Jane.
COMPUTING INTEREST.--The fullow
ing simple rules 1011 - be found very
convenient for computing interest
At any rate per cent.—Multiply the
amount 'by the number of days, count
ing AO days to the month.
Divided by 60 gives the int. 6. per ct.
if 45 n . 8 it
" 40 " 9 ".
36 ct 10 't
at 30 • 4,2
_Example-8228 for one year, tvrct
months and nine days, or 429 days, is
94,880, divide 4 17 60 gives $15.6,,
which is 'tile irlferest, like per cent.;
add one•sixth for 'f per cent., or divi
ded by 36 gives 626.27, interest at 14
per cent., &o. ' -
Reduce the
,year to Mouths, add in
like months, if :any, take in o,pp third
of the days, and set to the right. of the
months, in decimal form, multiply the
result by one half of the principal, and
you have the interest at sir per cent.
pxample—slsCl for two years, tcre
months apd,nine days •
29 3 •
7'5
1465
2051
21 97 5
s2l' 97 is the interest at 6 per tent.;
for 7 per cent. add one sixth; for 8 per
cent. one third; for 9 - per cent. one
half; for 10 per cent. two thirds; for
11 per cent. fire sixths; for 12 per et.
multiply by 2.
As the good 1114 u ODA Lb, Si) auy
wo; but as the good woman small; Ao it
Enlist be.
r-AlWaye lend a crutch td
ing Humility, but tap-lir, if you will,
the etiltts'ofYletersion.
.. 4 15espondency is the ovor-weight
at may make you kick tbe.beam anq
the buq(et , both at ours,
la
1:31