VOL. 46.
e Huntingdon Journal.
J. A. NASH,
Dti RBORROW,
PUBLISHERS AND PROPRIETORS.
on the Corner of Bath and Washington streets.
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Professional Cards
C. MADDEN, Attorney-at-Law.
• Office, No. —, Hill street, Huntingdon,
ILLIAM A. FLEMING, Attorney
at-Law, Huntingdon, Pa. Special attention
to collections, and all other lsgal business
ed to with care and promptness. Office, No.
ill street. [a1:119,71.
1. G. D. ARNOLD, Graduate of the
University of Pennsylvania, offers his pro
tal services to the people of Iluntingdon and
Y.
ertares:—Dr. B. P. Jiook,of Loysville, Pa.,
•hem he formerly practiced; Dm. Stine and
f of Philadelphia.
o on Washington street, West Huntingdon,
[ap.19,71.
DENGATE, Surveyor, Warriors
mark, Pa. [ap12,71.
CALDWELL, Attorney -at -Law,
.No. 111, 31 street. Office formerly occupied
ours. Woods & [apl2,ll.
L. ROBB, Dentist, office in S. T.
Brcwn's new building, No.. 520, Hill St.,
igdon, pa. [apl2,'7l.
R. WIESTLING,
ctfully offers his professional services
as of Huntingdon and vicinity.
fired to No. 61Si Hill street, (Sum's
[apr.s,'7l-Iy.
L • R.
=ef
e remol
:NG.)
IRON MILLER. N. Iltek
ELLER & BUCHANAN,
DENTISTS,
228 hill Street,
11 UNTING DON, PA.
1 5, '7l-Iy.
R. DURBORROW, Attorney-at-
Law, Huntingdon, Pa., will practice in the
Courts of Huntingdon county. Particular
m given to the settlement of estates of dime-
e in he JOCRNAL Building. Ifeb.l;7l
GLAZIER, Notary Public, corner
of Washington and Smith streets, lion
s, Pa. Dan. 1271.
:LES ZENTMYER, .Attorney-at-
Law, Huntingdon, Pa„ will attend promptly
:gal business. Otboe in eunningbates new
g. fjanA,'7l.
ALLEN LOVELL, Attorney-at-
Law, Htmtingdon, Pa. Special attention
o Cotbacrtom of all kinds to the settle
f Estates, rko.; and all other Legal Rosiness
ited with fidelity and dispatch.
°Mos in room lately occupied by R. Milton
Esq. [jan.4,ll.
W. MYTON, Attorney-at-Law, Hun
tingdon, Pa, Office with J. Sewell Stewart,
Ljaa.4,'7l.
HALL MUSSER, Attorney-at-Law,
Huntingdon, Pa. Office. second floor of
'lt new building, Hill street. [jan.4,'7l.
Dl. & 31. S. LYTLE, Attorneys
at-Law, Huntingdon, Pa., will attend to
Is of legal business entrusted to their care.
3 on the south side of Hill street, fourth doer
'Smith. fjan.4,'7l.
SYLVANUS BLAIR, Attorney-at-
Law, Iluritingdon, Pa. OfSee, Ilill street,
oozy west of Smith. [jau.4ll.
A. POLLOCK, Surveyor and Real
Estate Agent, Huntingdon, Pa., will attend
'eying in all its branches. Will also buy,
rant Perms, Eons- and Real Estate of ev
ad, in any part of the United States. Send
ircular. [jan.4'7l.
L. J. A. DEAVER, having located
at Franklinrille, offere hi. professional err
) the community. Dan. 4,11.
W. MATTERN, Attorney-at-law
and General Claim Agent, Huntingdon, Pa.,
a' claims against the Government for back
minty, widows' and invalid pensions attend
rith great care and promptness.
e on Hill street. Dan. 4,71.
;COTT. S. T. BROWX. J. Y. NAME,.
)TT, BROWN & BAILEY, At
orneys-at-Law, Huntingdon, Pa. Pensions,
slabms of soldiers and soldiers' heirs against
comment will be promptly prosecuted.
on Hill street. [jan.4.'7l.
L D. P. MILLER, Office on Hill
street, in the room formerly occupied by
he M'Culloch, Huntingdon, Pa., would res
ly offer his professional winks' to the cid
' Huntingdon and vicinity. [jan.4,'7l.
R. PATTON, Druggist and Apoth-,
ecary, opposite the Exchange Hotel, lien
s, Ps.. Prescriptions accurately compounded.
Actuors fur Medicinal purposes. [n0r.23.'70.
t. A. B. BRUMBAUGH, offers his
professional serviees to the community.
e on Washington street, one door east of the
io Parsonage. Dan. 4,11.
J. GREENE, -Dentist. (Wee re•
mooed to Leister's now building, Hill street
tgdon. f1un.4,71'.
Miscellaneous.
'BT. KING, Merchant Taylor, 412
Washington street, Ifuntingdon, Ps., a lib
are of patronage respectfully solicited.
1 12, 1871.
AR THE RAILROAD DEPOT,
R. WAYNE and JUNIATA STREETT
UNITED STATES HOTEL,
HOLLIDAYSBURG, PA,
IN t CO., PUOIPRZETORS.
Mahls-tf
CHANGE HOTEL, Huntingdon,
Pa. JOHN S. MILLER, Proprietor.
lacy 4, 1871.
STRAD MEYER, -
Our fae ilities for doing all kinds dr lob
Inventor andManufaeturer of the
RBRATRIP IRON FRAME PIANOS,
Printing a uperior to any other establish
irerooms, No. 722 Arch St., Phila.
meet in the county. Orders by mail
promptly I !led. All letters should be ad
:eired the Prize Medal of the World'e el res t dressed,
lion, London, England. The highest psi:.
tt when and wherever exhibited. r, r Eatab
n 1823.3 March 29—.3ines.
The Huntingdon Journal.
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J. R. DURBORROW C;O
at 1; um' fflower.
Rock Me to Sleep, Mother.
The publication of this beautiful piece hap
pened in 1861, immediately after the breaking
out of the rebellion ; it was seized by the
newspapers of the country as something rare:
No owner appearing for the fugitive, some dis
cussion arose as to its authorship, and five or
six persons in the Northern States laid claim
to it. It was originally published under the
nom de plume of "Florence Percy," and was
set to music by eight different composers, and
thousands upon thousands were sold. It now
turns out that the poetry was written in South
Carolina by Mrs. Elizabeth Akers, widow of
Paul Akers, the sculpture, who, until recent
ly, tas been unable to establish her claims to
its authorship. Untold sums have been real
ized from her "talent," yet this poor widow,
whose verses bare and will please millions,
never received a farthing for its composition.
Justice should be done her :
Backward, turn backward, oh, time in your
flight.
Make me a child again, just for to-night 1
Mother, come back from the ecboless shore,
Take me again to your arms, as of yore;
Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care,
Smooth the few silver threads out of my hair;
Over my slumbers your loving watch keep,
Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep.
Backward, flow back ward, oh, tide of the years,
I am so weary of toil and of tears ;
Toil without recompense—tears all in vain,
Take them—and give me my childhood again I
I have grown weary of dust and decay,
Weary of flinging my soul-wealth away.
Weary of sowing for others to reap,
Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep.
Tired of the hollow, the base, the untrue,
Mother, oh mother, my heart calls for you;
Many a summer the grass has grown green,
Blossomed and faded, our faces between.
Yet, with strong yearning and passionate pain,
Long I to-night for your presence again ;
Come from the silence, so long and so deep,
Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep.
Over my heart in the days that are flown,
No love like mother's love ever has shown,
No other worship abides and endures, •
Faithful, unselfish and patient like yours.
None like a mother can charm away pain,
From the sick soul and the world weary brain;
Slumber's soft calm o'er my heavy lids creep,
Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep.
Come, let your brown 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 sunny-edged shadows once more,
Haply will throng the sweet visions of yore—
Lovingly, softly, its bright billows sweep !
Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep.
Mother, dear mother, the years have been long,
Since I first listened to your lullaby song;
Sing, then, and unto my soul it shall 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,
Never hereafter to wake or to weep,
Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep.
Zemptrante #torg.
THE OLD MAN'S STORY.
A THRILLING SKETCH,
I shall never forget the commencement
of the temperance reformation. I was a
child at the time, some ten years of age.
Our home had every comfbrt, and my
kind parents idolized me, their only child.
Wine was often on the table, and both my
father and mother gave it to me in the
bottom of their morning glass.
One Sunday, at our church, a startling
announcement was made to our people. I
knew nothin ,, of its purport, but there
was much whispering among the men.
The pastor said that on the next evening
there would be a meeting and an address
upon the evils of intemperance in the use
of all alcoholic liquors. He expressed
himself ignorant of the meeting, and could
not say what course it would be best to
pursue in the matter.
The subject of the meeting came up at
our table after service, and I questioned
my father about it with all the curious
earnestness of a child. The whisper and
words which had been dropped in my
hearing, clothed the whole affair in great
mystery to me, and I was all earnestness
to learn the strange thing. My father
merely said it was a scheme to unite the
Church and State.
The night came, and groups of people
gathered on the tavern steps, and I heard
the jest and laugh, and saw drunken men
come reeling out of the bar room.
I urged my father to let me go, but he
at first refused. Finally, thinking that it
would be an innocent gratification of my
curiosity he put on his hat and we passed
the green to the church. I well remem
ber how the people appeared as they came
in, seeming to wonder what kind of an
exhibition was to come off.
In the corner was the tavern keeper
and around him a number of friends. For
an hour the people of the place continued
to come in till there was a fair house full.
All were curiously watching the door, and
apparently wondering what would appear
neat. 'The parson stole in and took his
seat behind the pillar in the gallery, as if
doubtful of the propriety of being in the
church at all.
Two men finally came in and went for
ward to the altar and took their seats.
All eyes were fixed upon them, and a gen
eral stillness prevailed throughout the
church.
The men were unlike in appearance,
one being short, thick-set in his build, and
the other tall and well formed. The
younger had the manner and dress of a
clergyman, a full round face, and a quiet,
good-natured, appearances as he leisurely
looked around upon the audience.
But my childish interest was in the
old man. His broad, deep chest, and un
usual height looked giant-like, as he strode
up the aisle. His hair was white, his
brow deeply scarred with furrows - , and
around his handsome mouth were lines of
calm and touching sadness. His eyes
were black and restless.
PAMPHLETS,
His lips were compressed, and a crimson
flush went and came over his pale cheek.
One arm was off near the elbow, and there
was a wide scar just above the right eye.
The younger finally rose and stated the
object of the meeting, and asked if there
was a clergyman present to say a prayer.
Our pastor kept his seat,' and the speaker
himself made a short address ; at the con
clusion calling upon any one to make re
marks. The pastor arose under the gal
lery, and attacked the position of the
speaker, using the arguments I have of
ten heard since, and concluded by denoun
cing those engaged in the movement as
meddlesome fanatics, who wished to break
up the time-honored usages of good socie
ty, and injure the business of respectable
.men. At the conclusion of his remarks
the tavern keeper and his friends got up a
cheer, and the current of feeling was evi
dently against the strangersand their plan.
HUNTINGDON, . PA., APRIL 26, 1871
While the pastor was speaking, the old
man leaned forward and fixed his dark
eyes upon him as if to catch every word.
As the par or Took his seat the old man
arose, his tall form towering in its symme
try, and his chest heaving as he breathed
through his thin, dilated nostrils. To Mel
at that time, there was something awe
inspiring
in the appearance of the old
man as he stood, his full, dark eyes upon
the audience, his teeth shut hard, and a
silence like that of death throughout the
church.
He bent his gaze upon the tavern keep
er, and that peculiar eye lingered and
kindled for a moment. This scar grew
red upon his forehead, and beneath his ,
heavy brows his eyes glittered and glowed
like a serpent's. The tavern keeper quail
ed before that searching glance, and I felt
a relief when the old man withdrew his
gaze. For a moment he seemed lost in
thought, and then, in a low, tremulous
tone he commenced. There was a depth
in that voice, a thrilling sweetness and
pathos which riveted every heart in the
church, before the first period had been
rounded. My father's attention had be
come fixed upon the eye of the speaker.
with an interest I had never before seen
him exhibit. I can but briefly remember
the substance of what the old man said,
though the scene was as vivid before me
as ever I witnessed.
"My friends, I am a stranger in
your village, and I trust I may call you
my friends. A new star has arisen. and
there is hope in the dark night that hangs
like a pall of gloom over our country."
With a thrilling depth of voice, the
speaker continued :
"Oh, God, thou who looked with com
passion upon the most erring of earth's
frail children, I thank Thee a brazen ser
pent has been lifted up, upon which a
drunkard may look and be healed. That
a beacon has burst out upon the darkness
that surrounds him, which shall give him
back to honor and heaven—the bruised
and weary wanderer."
It is strange what power there is in
some voices. The speaker's voice was
low and measured, but a tear trembled in
every tone, and before I knew why, a tear
dropped on my hand, followed by others
like rain drops. The old man brushed
one from his eyes, and continued :
"Men and Christians ! you have just
heard that lam a fanatic. lam not. As
God knows my own heart, and tears in my
eyes. I have journeyed over a dark and
beaconless ocean, and all of life's brightest
hopes have been wrecked. I am without
friends, kindred or home ! I was not so,
once."
No one could withstand the touching
pathos of the old man. I noticed a tear
on the lid of try father's eye, and no
longer fe,t ashamed of my own.
"No, my friends, it was not once so.
Away over the dark waves which have
wrecked my hopes, there is a blessed light
of happiness and love. I reach again
convulsively for the shrines of the house
hold idols that once were mine no more."
The old man seemed to look away
through vacancy upon some bright vision,
his lips apart, and his finger extended. I
involuntarily turned in the direction where
it pointed, dreading to see some shadow
invoked by its magic moving.
"I once had a mother. With her old
heart crushed with sorrow, she went down
to the grave. I once had a wife—a fair
angel-hearted creature as ever smiled in an
earthly home. Her eyes were as mild as
a summer's sky, and heart as faithful and
true as ever guarded and cherished a hus
band's love. Her blue eye grew dim as
the floods of sorrow washed away its
brightness, and the loving heart wrung
till every fibre was broken. I once had a
noble, beautiful boy, but he was driven out
from the ruins of his home, and my old
heart yearns to know if he is yet living.
I once had a babe, a sweet, tender blossom,
but those hands destroyed it, and it lived'
with One who loveth children."
"Dc not be startled, friends—l am not
a murderer in the common acceptance of
the term. Yet there is light in my eve
ning sky. A spirit mother rejoices over
the return of her prodigal son. The wife
smiles on him who turns back to virtue
and honor. The angel child visits me at
nightfall, and I feel the hallowed touch
of a tiny palm upon my check. ..11y boy,
if he yet lives, would forgive the sorrow
ing old man for the treatment which sent
him out into the world, and the blow
which maimed him for life. God forgave
me the ruin which I brought on me and
mine."
He again wiped a tear from his eyes:
My father watched him with a strange in
tensity, and a countenance unusually pale,
and excited by some strange emotion.
"I was once a lunatic, and madly fol
lowed the malign light which led me to
ruin. I was a fanatic when I sacrificed
my wife, children, happiness and home, to
the accursed demon of the bowl. I once
adored the gentle being whom I wronged
so deeply.
"I was a drunkard. From respectabil
ity and influence I plunged into degrada
tion and poverty. I dragged my family
down with me. For years I saw her
cheek grow pale and her step weary. I
left her alone amid the wrecks of her
home idols and rioted at the tavern. She
never complained, yet she and' her chil
dren often went hungry.
"One New Year's night I returned late
to the hut where charity had given us a
roof. She was still up, shivering over the
coals. I demanded food, but she burst
into tears, and told me there was none. I
fiercely told her to go and get some. She
turned her eyes upon me, the tears fast
rolling down her pale face:
"At this moment the child in the cradle
awoke and set up a famished wail, start
ling the despairing mother like a serpent's
sting.
"We have no food, James—l have bad
none for two days. . I have nothing for
the babe. My once kind husband, must
we starve ?"
That sad, pleading face, and those
streaming eyes, and the feeble wail of the
child maddened me, and I—yes, I struck
her a fierce blow in the face, and she fell
forward on the hearth. The furies of hell
boiled in my bosom, and with deep inten
sity as I felt I had committed a wrong; I
had never struck Mary before, but now
some terrible impulse bore me on, and I
stooped down as well as I could in a drun
ken state and clinched both hands in her
hair.
"God of mercy !" exclaimed my with, as
she looked up in my fiendish countenance.
“you will not kill us, you will not harm
Ville," as - she sprang to the cradle to
grasp him in her embrace. I caught her
again by the hair, and dragged her to the
door, and as I lifted the latch the wind
burst in with a cloud of snow. With a
wild "ha! ha !" I closed the door and
turned the button, her pleading moan
ringing with the blast and the sharpen-
ing cry of the baby. But my work was
not complete. I turned to the little bed
where lay my eldest son, and I snatched
him from his slumbers and against his half
wakened struggles, opened the door and
threw him out. In agony of fear he call
ed by a name I was not fit to bear,
and locked his little fingers in my side
pocket. I could not wrench the frenzied
grasp a Nay and with the coolness of a
devil as I was, I shut the door upon his
arm, and with my knife severed the wrist.
The speaker ceased a moment and bur
ied his him in his hands as if to shut out
some fearful dream, and his chest heaved
like a storm-swept sea. My father had
arisen from his seat and was leaning for
ward, his countenance bloodless and the
large drops standing out upon his brow.
Chills crept back to my heart and I wish
ed I was at home. The old man looked
up, and I never since beheld such mortal
agony pictured upon a human face as there
was on his. He continued :
"It was morning when I woke, and the
storm had ceased, and the cold was in
tense. I first secured a drink of water,
and then I looked in the accustomed place
for Mary. As I missed her, for the first
time a shadowy sense of some horrible
nightmare began to dawn upon my won
dering mind. I thought I had dreamed
a fearful dream, but involuntarily opened
the outside door with a shuddering dread
"As the door opened the snow burst in,
followed by a fall of something across the
threshhold, sc-ttering the cold snow and
striking the floor with a hard, sharp sound.
My blood shot like red hot arrows through
my veins, and I rubbed my eyes to keep
out of the sight. It was—it—Oh, God,
how horrible! it was my own injurei Mary
and her babe, frozen to ice ! The ever
true mother had bowed hers.lf over the
child to shield it, and had wrapped all
her own clothing around it, leaving her
own person stark and bare. She had
placed her hair over the face of the child,
and the sleet had frozen it to the white
cheek. The frost was white in its halt'
opened eyes. and upon its tiny fingers. I
knew not what became of my brave boy."
Again the old man bowed his head and
wept, and all that were in the house wept
with him. In tones of low, heart-broken
pathos, the old man concluded:
"I was arrested, and for long months
raved in delirium. I awoke, was sentenced
to prison for ten years ; but no tortures
could equal those in my own bosom. Oh,
God, no ! lam not a fanatic; I wish to
injure no•one. But while I live, let me
strive to warn others not to enter a path
which has been so dark and fearful a one
to me. I can see my angel mother, wifo
and children beyond the vale of tears
The old man sat down, but a spell as
deep and strange as that wrought by some
wizzard's breath rested upon the audience.
Hearts could have been heard in their
beating, and tears to fall. The old man
then asked the people to sign the pledge.
My father then leaped from his scat and
snatched at it eagerly. I had followed
him, as he hesitated a •moment with his
pen in the ink ; a tear fell from the old
man's eye upon the paper.
Sign it, I would write my name ten
thousand times in blood, if it would bring
back my loved ones."
My father wrote his name, "Mortimer
Hudson "
The old man 10 - oked, wiped his tearful
eyes, and looked again, his countenance al
ternately flushed with red and death-like
paleness.
"It is --no, it cannot be. yet how strange."
muttered the old man. "Pardon me. sir,
but this is the name of my brave boy."
My father trembled and held up his
left arm, from which the hand had been
severed. They looked for a moment in
each other's eyes, both reeled and ex
claimed :
"My own injared boy !" "My dither !"
They fell upon each other, till it seemed
their souls would grow and mingle into
one. There was weeping in that church,
and I turned bewilldered upon the stream
ing eyes around me.
"Let us thank God for this great bless
ing, which has gladdened my guilt-bur
dened soul," exclaimed the old man, and
kneeling down poured out his heart in one
of the most melting prayers I ever heard.
The .spell was broken, and all eagerly
signed the pledge, slowly going to their
homes as if loth to leave the spot. The
old man is dead, but the lesson he taught
the grandchild on his knee, as the eve
ning sun went down without a cloud. will
never be forgotten. His fanaticism has lost
none of its fire in my manhood's heart.
ger the gittle tato:
A Boy's Sermon
Here are a few words of advice and
wisdom from a little fellow, that are worth
remembering. They were reported by an
editor, who says: "We know a little fel
low, not far from five years old, whose
father is a clergyman, and the child some
times amuses himself by playing 'church.'
One Sunday he got his chair, and table,
and books, and commenced his service,
content to have only the partial attention
of the other children who were in the
room. After singing a hymn, the boy bc.i
gan his sermon, his words apparently be
ing suggested in parts by the pictures in
his book, and by what he saw about hiw
in the room. A lady in the family chanced
to overhear him and took verbatim ootes
as follows :
'You must be good. You mustn't be
naughty or wicked. You must be good.
You must go to heaven. You mustn't be
afraid in the dark. You mustn't cry.
You mustn't kill any udder man. You
must be a good boy. You mustn't do any
thing to auy boy when he does something
bad to you. You must come right away
from him. You must just kiss him, and
not look at him any more. You mustn't
go by any naughty boy. You mustn't
whip any horse what isn't running away.
You must be kind to horses. You must
do what your madder tells you. You
mustn't steal raisins. Supposing you are
a baby, you mustn't cry. You must
laugh. You mustn't hit any body. If
you are a boy, you must be elegant. You
mustn't steal flowers in any udder body's
garden. Supposing you know a lady—
Miss Lizzie—you mustn't take any of her
flowers without asking. Babies must never
cry. Men must never be drunken ; and
boys must never be wicked; and dogs
must never bite a man ; and a fish must—
don't kick—a fish don't wal—what does
it do ? .
"And here a little break occurred in
the discourse, in reflecting upon the du•
ties of a fish i so we will end our notes,
which we have given, believing that the
little sermon contains more good lessons
than many which are listened to every
Sunday, and that it will be of some inter
est to mothers of other small preachers."
When Cousin Will was at home for
vacation, the boys always expected plenty
of fun. The last frolic before he went
back to his studies was a long tramp after
hazle nuts.
As they were hurrying along in high
glee, they came upon a discouraged look
ing man and a discouraged looking cart.
The cart was standing full of apples be
fore an orchard. The man was trying to
pull it up hill to his own house.
The boys did not wait to be invited, but
ran to help with a good will. Push,
push!" was the cry.
The man brightened up ; the cart trun
dled along as fast as rheumatism would let
it; and, in five minutes, they all stood
panting at the top of the bill.
"Obliged to ye," said the man ; "you
jest wait a minute," and hurried into the
house, while two or three pink-aproned
children peeped out of the door.
"Now, boys," said Cousin Will, 'this is
a small thing; but I wish we could all
take a motto out of it, and keep it for life.
'Push !'—it is just the word for a grand
clear morning like this; it is just the word
for strong arms and young hearts; it is
just the word for a world that's full of
work as this is."
"If there's anything good doing in any
place where you happen to be, push!
"If there's work going on in the Sunday
school, push ! Don't drag back, I beg of
you. You'll do one or the other.
"Whenever there's a kind thing, a
Christian thing, a happy thing, a pleasant.
thing, whether its your own or not,
whether it's at home or in town, at church
or at school, just help with all your might;
push !"
At that minute the farmer came out
again with a dish of his wife's best dough
nuts and a dish of his own best apples;
and that was the end of the little sermon.
The Bottle of Oil.
Once upon a time there lived an old
gentleman in a large house. He had ser
vants and everything he wanted, yet he
was not happy and when things did not
go as he wished, he was cross. At last his
servants left him. Quite out of temper,
he went to a neighbor with the story of
his distresses.
"It seems to me," said the neighbor,
"it would be well for you to oil yourself'
a little."
"To oil myself!"
"Yes, and I will explain. _some time
ago. one of the doors in my house creaked.
Nobody therefore liked to go in or out by
it. One day I oiled its hinges, and it has
been constantly used by everybody since."
"Then you think I am like your creaking
door," cried the old gentleman_ "How do
you want me to oil myself ?"
"That's an easy matter," said the neigh
bor. "Go home and engage a servant,
and when he does right, praise him. If,
on the contrary, he does something amiss,
do not be cross; oil your voice and words
with oil of love."
The old gentleman went home, and
no harsh or ugly words was &and in his
house afterward. livery family should
have a bottle of this precious oil, for every
family is liable to a creaking hinge in the
shape of a fretful disposition, a cross tem
per, a harsh tone, or a fault finding spirit.
—CMOs Paper.
The Little Bootblack.
Our little bootblack had no home at all,
only the steps of an old house to sleep
under at night, Do yon wonder that he
talked bad grammar, and even swore now
and then ? Almost the only 'useful thing
he had ever learited was: "Shine your
boots, sir ? Shine your boots ?"
One night as he was abcnt to "Lo to
bed"—not in nice, clean bed, with a
mother's sweet kiss on his lips, but in his
queer lodging, place—he heard a sweet
voice in the old house singing : "I want
to be an angel," eet. Some poor little girl
had learned it in a mission-school.
"Heigh° ! what's up Getting pious in
this yer house, I reckon," said he, and
went to sleep with the sweet song ringing
in his ears, and all night it sounded
through his ears, and all night it sounded
through his dreams; so that he saw shiny
wings and beautiful faces ; and all sorts
of bright things got mixed up with his
visions of boots and bread : "That's :d
real purty song," said heirs the morning,
and waited for the little girl, and went
with her to the school, and become a very
bright scholar and good boy, and found a
home with a good mani who kept him un
til he grew up and became a teacher in
the school. So you see, dear children,
what a' little song could do, with God's
blessing.— Young People's Helper.
Lame Jimmy.
A few day ago, I was passing through
a pretty shady street ? where some boys
were playing at base-ball. Among their
number was a little lame fellow,seemingly
about twelve years old—a pale, sickly
looking child, supported on two crutches,
and who eVidently found much difficulty
in walking even with such assistance.
The lame boy wished to join the game ;
for he did not seem to see how much his
infirmity would be in his own way, and
how much it would hinder the progress of
such an active sport as base-ball.
His companion , , good natnredly enough;
tried to persuade him to strand at one side
and let another take his place; arid I was
glad to notice that none of them hinted
that he would be in the way, but that they
all objected for fear he would hurt him
self.
"Why, Jimmy," said one at last, "you
can't run, you know."
"Oh ! hush," said another—the tallest
boy in the—" Never mind, I'll run him
and you can count it for him," and he
took his place by Jimmy's side prepared to
act. "If you were like him," he, said
aside to the other boys, "you wouldn't
want to be told of it all the time."
As I passed on 'I thought to myself that.
there was a true little gentletfian.— Child's
World.
A NOBLE BOy.-A little boy was one
day suddenly stopped by some of his
schoolfellows, and ordered to climb a tree
and rob Widow Benson of her pears. The
boy immediately and indignantly refused,
and was struck a violent blow on the held.
He still cried. "No !" Other blows follow
ed, ha with no better success. In the
midst of his suffering he bravely faced his
persecutors, crying out, .“Do what you like
to me, but you shall never make me
steal :"
FAITH which - Works by fear, only leads
to a selfish, dishonest repentance, if to any.
GIVE not ear to tale-bearers or babblers,
nor be scurrilous in conversation.
gite pm Cult.
All Things Earnest.
Time is earnest
Passing by:
Death is earnest,
Drawing nigh.
Sinner! wilt thou trifling be
Time and death appeal to thee.
Life is earnest:
When 'tis o'er,
Thou returnest
Nevermore.
Soon to meet eternity,
Wilt thou never serious be?
Heaven is earnest :
Sblemnly
Float its voices
Down 'o thee.
0 thou mortal! art thou gay,
Sporting through thine earthly day?
Hell is earnest:
Fiercely roll
Burning billows
Near the soul.
Woe for thee if thou abide
Unredderoed, unsanctißed I
God is earnest:
Kneel and pray
Ere thy season "
Pass away,
Ere be set His judgment throne—
Vengeance ready, mercy gone.
Christ is earnest:
Bids thee "Come,"
Paid thy spirit's
Priceless sum.
Wilt thou spurn thy Saviour's love
Pleading with thee from above?
Oh, be earnest !
Loitering
Thou wilt perish ;
Lingering
Be no longer. Rise and flee ;
Lo, thy Saviour wails for thee I
The Way_ of Salvation
_Plain.
The Bible has had innumerable com
mentators. Some. by their books and ser
mons remind us of him who lighted a can
dle to show the sun ; and others, like the
fog bank through which' the sun shines
shorn of his beams, "darken counsel by
words," and make what is clear, obscure.
By their labors, some have diluted, making
their sermons or commentaries a vehicle
for error, have adulterated the truth of
God, the wine of life. But however this
May be, more • pens have been worn, more
breath spent., more printing presses em
ployed, in explaining the Bible than all
other books whatever ;• so that, were all
the books collected, which have been writ
ten to, throw light on the Scriptures, they
would, not excepting that of Alexandria,
which it took many weeks to reduce to
asheS-Lforth the largest library the world
ever saw. Are'we to infer from this that
the way of life is obscure ? By no means.
All that 'is necessary to'know, in 'order to
be saved, it is easy to know, "The wayfar
ing then, though fools, shall not err there
in," says the prophet; and without dis
paraging the labors of pious and able di
vines to explore the mysteries and shed
light on the ohseurities of the sacred vol
ume, the simple Bible, blessed by God, has
proved to unlettered thousands a safe and
sufficient 'guide. Whatever genius and
arduous study it' may require to rise to a'
place in the temple of fame, many an hum
ble 'Christian, hardly able to spell his way
though the Word of God, has reached One
in the temple of heaven. Thousands so
deficient to talent or energy as never to
have been able to make their way in this
world have found their way to a better
one ; nor are there wanting interesting
and well attested cases of imbeciles who,
through destitute,of capacity for ordinary,
have known Him, whom to know is life
eterfial—so plain the way through child-,
like faith in ehrist—so easy as well to the
unsteady gait of simpletons as to the tot
tering Ibot of childhood, as to verify the
words, "The warfaring men, though fools,
shall not err therein." With this simple
answer to the .-reat, "What shall 'I do to
be saved ?" ~'Believe on' the Lord Jesus
Christ, and thou shalt be saved," none need
be excluded from heaven because of igno
rance ; as with virtue in Christ's blood to
cleanse the chief of sinners, none need be
excluded because of sin. It need no
learnin g to learn this way. What has the
church seen ? God ordaining strength out
of the mouth of babes and sucklings; gray
haired men learning wiSdom at the feet of
childhood; the deathbeds of the humble
poor; like the very gates of heaven, the
child learning the way to life on his moth
er's knee; the thief learning it on his cly- ,
ing cross ; the mantle of prophets falling
On plowmen • heaven revealing its glories
to humble shepherds; rude fisherman of
Galilee called to the apostleship : grace
polishing the roughest . men_; roaming sav
ages lamed by the voice and sitting at the
feet of Jesus, clothed and in their right
Mind.* Simple faith in Ilim is all that is
required'; such confidences as the little
Child, lying in its mother's arms, hanging
on her neck, looking up in her face, repose
in the power of a mother's arm, and the
tenderness of a mother's heart.—Dr.
Guthrie. •
•
• 'Renewed Day by Day.
Paul says: "The first man Adam was
made a living soul, the last Adam was made
x quickening spirit." What is the differ
ence between "x living sour' and a "quick
ening spirit?" Let us try an illustration
Take a glass of water from a cold spring,
and for a moment, it is just as good as the
water in the spring ; but it immediately
begins to lose its freshness, growing flat,
and less palatable, till in process of time 'it
becomes entirely odious. This deteriorat
ing process commences the moment it is
&ken from the spring, and begins a sell=
crate existence. I' is good at the begin
ning, and yet its state is one that must end
in staleness. That-may represent the first
Adam—a "living..soul. ' There is life in
such a soul, but it is-life under such con
ditions, and with such certainty of termin
ation as in the case of the water we have
described, which was separated from its
sources. Its infancy is pure, but with a
purity that cannot last.
Place another glass now in a situation
where it will be constantly receiving from
the spring, and the glass of water will be
always fresh. Though for a single draught
you would not notice any particular differ
ence between the water in the one case and
the other the moment it was dropped from
the spring, yet the state of the water in
the two vessels is very different. The wa
ter that is constantly renewed from the
spring, represents the "quickening spirit?'
There is in that soul something more than
mere life that runs itself out into habits, it
is renewed life, quickening life, like the
spring that is ever running.
Paul gives us that idea when he says,
"Though our outward man perish, yet our
inward man is renewed day by day." There
is a blessed promise in Isaiah to the same
NO. 17.
effect : "Evelli the yontli shall'faint and be
weary, and the young man shall utterly
fall ; but they that wait - on the - Lord shall
renew their strength ; they- shall . *n
with wings as eagles; they shall rult v and
not be weary; they shall walk and not
faint."--.1. H. Noyes, in Oneida Circttler.
Help to SeveSouls:
Christian brother ! Christian sister I
Have you not a relative who is out of Christ
Have you nCiFin acquaintance v — 7E5 is un
converted? Doubtless you have. Are you
doing your duty towards that one? He or
she, as the case.may be, is possessed of an
immortal soul that must spend an eternity
in bliss or in misery. Ample protision
has been made for the salvation of that
soul. Are you willing that it should be .
lost ? Surely every Christian who reads this
has sufficient influence, upon some one to
induce him or her to turn to the Lord. A
soul is too valuable to go to perdition. No
effort to save it is too great. Will yon not
do your duty. and plead - with your uncon
verted friends ? If there is . joy in heaven
over the repentance of a single sinner, will
that not richly repay you for your labor of
love ? But a far richer reward will' you
have, if in the better land a dear one shall
point to you as . the instrument, in.4}oci's
hands, of bringing him or her to the Sa
viour. On the other hand 3 .what a terrible
account you will have to render if, through
neglect to perform your duty a sent is lost ?
Dear Christian reader, think of the conse
quences attending a failure todo right4and
the happy results of doing right..
pang for evergbridg,-
A Touching hicident :
There is one touching incidetti , ef. the
life of William Wirt. In his-younger days
he was a victim to that *Blom for intoxi
cating drinks which seems peculiar/li , the
bane of our profession. Affianced to a
beautiful and accomplished young woman,
he had made and broken.repeated. pledges
of amendments, and, she, after patiently
and kindly enduring his disgraceful habit,
had at length dismissed him, deeming him
incorrigible. Their next meeting, after
his dismissal, was in a public street. of the
city of Richmond. William - Wirt lay
drunk and- asleep_ on the..sidewalk, on a
hot Summer clay, the pEtileaan yojak,
ing down on his uneoiereAlfead, and`trer
flies crawling over his 'Swollen features.
As the -young lady approached inlier walk,
her attention was attracted by. the ; specta
cle, strange to her eyes . but alas ! fin. com
mon to others who knew the victim; as to
attract little remark. She did not at first
recoginize the sleeper, and was atria- to
hasten:on, when she was led by rate of
those impulses which form the turning.
points in human lives, to scrutinize his
features. What was her emotion when
she recogniied in him her discarded/over !
She drew forth her handkerchief and
carefully spread it over his face, and hur
ried away. When Wirt came to himself,
he found the handkerchief, and in. one
corner the initials of the beloved name.
With a heart almost breaking with grief'
and remorse, he made a new vow of refor
mation. He kept that vow, and married
the owner of that handkerchief.,. Well
might he preserve the handkerchief; as he
did, all his life, guarding it with the jeal
ous care with which Othello kept the
Egyptian charmer's gift, and "making it
a darling ike his precious eye."
Somethini Abon, Yourself.
Supposing your age bi fifteen or thereabouts,
I can figure you up to a dot. You have 160
bones and 500 muscles ; your blood weighs
25 pounds; your heart is five- inches in length'
and three inches in diameter; it beats 70 times
per minute, 4,200 times per hour, 100,800 per
day, and 36,722,200 per year At each beat a
little over two ounces of blood are thrown out
of it; and each day it throws out and dis,
charges about seven tons of that wonderful
fluid.
~iFourhiugs'irAZoctitnitranknap, quftion,
air, and you inliskeT4;ooongalloni per day.
The aggregate surface of the air cells of your
lungs, supposing them to be spread out,•ex
ceeds 20,000 sqare *hes.. The weigo of
your brain is three pounds; when you ate 4t
man it will weigh eight ounces toore.'.,Yerar
nerves exceed 10,000,000 in number. '
Your skin is composed of three layers, and
varies from one-fourth to one eight of aninch ,
in thickness. The area of your skin is about
1,2000 square inches, and your are.subject to
an atmospheric pressure to the sq'tiate inch:
Each square inch of your skin contains 3,500
sweating tubes, or prespiratory pores, each of
which maybe likened' to a little drain tile one
fourth of an inch long, making an aggyegatt
length of the entire surface of your body, of
201,165 feet or a little ditch for the' &linage
of the bOdy almost-forty miles long. I .
After a lapse of more thin twenty years
of general unprogress sivenessand poverty,
the dull city of St. jolin's 'was. aroused by
a report that gladdened every-.heart' and
sent a thrill of ereitment over the • whole
island. A steamship, the Nimrokbelong
ing to Job Brothers & Co. was said to be
in the bay, awaitingWitid enough to bear
her into the harbor of St John's, as her
boilers were:unavailable, the bunkers being
literally stuffed with sealskins. On her
arrival we learned that her precious cargo
was 28;000 seals-the largest number Ober
knoWn to have been captitred.
There are seven colored churches in
New York, whose wealth in the aggregate
amounts to $590,000. These are all Pro
testant churches, and owned exclusively
by the colored peoplo—so boasts a New
York journal. There are seventeen colored
congregations •in Philadelphia. As the
Catholic Church has always reflued to
notice the question 'of color, arguing .that.
it is a distinction of skin and not of soul,
there are, we believe, none of its, church"p
distinctively colored._
The following is the latest programme
issued for the observance of wedding
anniversaries, viz : First anniversary iron ;
fifth anniversary, wooden';. tenth anni
versary, tin; fifteenth anniversary, erys.
tal; twentieth anniversary, chins.; twen
ty-fifth anniversary, silver; , tbiftieLla
anniversary, cotton;
thirty-fifth .aaniver
sary, linen; fortieth anniversary, woolen;
forty-fifth anniversary, silk; fiftieth anni
versary, golden; setiventytfth annivesary,
dimond.
Commodore John S. Chauncy, who died
at Brooklyn on Monday, ranked fifth on
the list of retired commodores ofthe - Invii.
He was born in New York, and appointed
from the same State January 1, 1414,, and
and was promoted in regular order r being
commissioned as commodore Ju1y16,.1t362,
and retired inilB64, in accordanciVith the
act of Congress passed that year.
_
We notice that a resolution has - passed
the House or Representatives declaiiiik
that the true principle of Revenue Reform
is the abolition of the Internal Revenue
system and the repeal of the stomnp duties
except in certain cases.
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