VOL. 47
The Huntingdon Journal.
J. R. DURBORROW,
Office on the Corner of Bath and Washington streets,
Tae HUNTINGDON JOURNAL is published every
Wednesday, by J. R. Dvaaoanow and J. A. NASH,
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Professional Cards.
BF. GEHRETT, M. D., ECLECL
•TIC PHYCICIAN AND SURGEON, hav
ing returned from Clearfield county and perma
nently located in Shirleysburg, offers his profes
sional services to the people of that place and sur
rounding country. apr.3-1572.
TIE. F. 0. ALLEMAN can be con
suited at his office, at all hours, Mapleton,
Pa. [march6,72.
CALDWELL, Attorney -at -Law,
D•No. 111, 3d street. Office formerly occupied
by Messrs. Woods & Williamson. [apl2,'7l.
DR. J. C. FLEMMING respectfully
offers his professional services to the citizens
of Huntingdon and vicinity. Office N 0.743 Wash
ingtpn Street. may 24.
DR. A. B. BRUMBAUGH, offers his
professiongl services to the community.
Office, No. 523 Washington street, one door east
of the Catholic Parsonage. [jan.4,7l.
EJ. GREENE, Dentist. Office re
• moved to Leister's new building, Hill street
Froltingdon. (jan.4,'7l.
Cl_ L. ROBB, Dentist, office in S. T.
‘..4
• Brtwn's new building, No. 520, Hill St.,
Huntingdon, Pa. [apl2,'7l.
-p q - GLAZIER, Notary Public, corner
. A • of Washington and Smith streets, Hun
tingdon, Pa. [jan.l2'7l.
A C. MADDEN, Attorney-at-Law
I RAD Office, No. Hill street. Huntingdon,
Pa. [ap.19,71.
SYLVANUS BLAIR, Attorney-at-
U' • Law, Huntingdon, Pa. Office, Hill street,
hree doors went of Smith. [jan.4'7l.
T R. PATTON, Druggist and Apoth
r, • scary, opposite the Exchange Hotel, Hun
ingdon, Pa. Prescriptions accurately compounded.
Pure Liquors for Medicinal purposes. [n0r.23,'70.
JHALL MUSSER, Attorney-at-Law,
. No. 319 Hill at., Huntingdon, Pa. [jan.4,'7l.
R. DURBORROW, Attorney-at
• Law, Huntingdon, Pa., will practice in the
several Courts of Huntingdon county. Particular
attention given to the settlement of estates of dece
dents.
Office in he JounsAL Building. [feb.l,7l
j W. MATTERN, Attorney-at-Law
r."
• and General Claim Agent, Huntingdon, Pa.,
Soldier? claims against the Government for back
pay, bounty, widows' and invalid pensions attend
ed to with great care and promptness.
Office on Hill street. [jan.4,'7l.
ALLEN LOVELL, Attorney-at
. • Law, Huntingdon, Pa. Special attention
given to COLLECTIONS of all kinds; to the settle
ment of Estates, &c.; and all other Legal Business
prosecuted with fidelity and dispatch.
IMO— Office in room lately occupied by R. Milton
Speer, Esq. fjan.4,'7l.
MILES ZENTMYER, Attorney-at-
Law, Huntingdon, Pa., will attendpromptly
to all legal business. Office in Cunningham's new
building. [jan.4,'7l.
IL ALLISON KILLER.
MILLER & BUCHANAN,
DENTISTS,
No. 228 Hill Street,
HUNTINGDON, NA.
April 5, '7l-Iy.
la M. & M. S. -LYTLE, Attorneys
-A- • at-Law, Huntingdon, Pa., will attend to
all kinds of legal business entrusted to their care.
Office on the south side of Hill street, fourth door
west of Smith. Dan. 4,11.
A. ORBISON, Attorney-at-Law,
• Office, 321 Hill street, Huntingdon, Pa.
[may3l,'7l.
JOHN SCOTT. S. T. BROWN. J. N. BAILEY
QOM', BROWN & BAILEY, At
torneys-at-Law, Huntingdon, Pa. Pensions,
and all claims of soldiers and soldiers' heirs against
the Government will be promptly prosecuted.
Office on Hill street. fjan.4,'7l.
rri W. MYTON, Attorney-at-Law, Hun
-a- • tingdon, Ps. Office with J. Sewell Stewart,
Esq. [jan.4,'7l.
-WILLIAM A. FLEMING, Attorney
at-Law, Huntingdon, Pa. Special attention
given to collections, and all other Isgal business
attended to with care and promptness. Office, No.
229, Hill street. [apl9,'7l.
Miscellaneous.
CIO TO THE JOURNAL OFFICE
•-- 1 4 For all kinds of printing.
ECHANGE HOTEL, Huntingdon,
Pa. JOHN S. MILLER, Proprietor.
January 4, 1871.
NEAR THE RAILROAD DEPOT,
COR. WAYNE and JUNIATA STREETT
UNITED STATES HOTEL,
lIOLLIDAYSBURG, PA.
M'CLAIN a CO., PROPRIETORS.
L EWISTOWN BOILER WORKS.
GEORGE PAWLING & CO., Manufac
urers of Locomotive and Stationary Boilers, Tanks,
Pipes, Filling-Barrows for Furnaces, and Sheet
Iron Work of every description. Works on Logan
street, Lewistown, Pa.
All orders prorr,tly attended to. Repairing
done et ihort notioe. [Apr 5,'71,1y.•
A R. •
R. BECK, Fashionable Barber
• and Hairdresser, Hill street, opposite the
Franklin House. All kinds of Tonics and Pomades
kept on hand and for sale. [apl9,'7l—em
FOUNDRY FOR SALE on line of
Railroad, in one of the best agricultural re
gions in Pennsylvania. For information inquire
J. A. POLLOCK,
Huntingdon, Pa.
mehl3,l2—tf.]
The Huntingdon Journal.
United States Laws
[OFFICIAL.]
LAWS
J. A. NASH,
OF THE
UNITED STATES
PASSED AT THE
FIRST SESSION OF THE FORTY-SECOND
CONGRESS.
[GENERAL NATunE—No. 38.]
AN ACT to amened an net entitled "An act to au
thorize protection to be given to citizens of the
United States who may discover deposits of
. .
•
guano," opproved August 18, 1856.
Be it enacted by the Senate and House of Rep
resentatives of the United States of America in Con
gress assembled, That the provisions of the of Con
gress approved August eighteenth, eighteen hund
red and fifty-six, entitled "An act to authorize
protection to be given to citizens of the United
States who may discover deposits of guano," be,
and the same are hereby, extended to the widow,
heirs, executors, or administrators of such discov
ers,where such discoverer shall have died before.
perfecting proof of discovery or fully complying
with the provisions of said net approved as afore
said, after complying with the requirement° or the
act of Congress of August eighteenth, eighteen
hundred and sixty-five : Provided, That nothing
herein contained shall be held to impair any rights
of discovery or any assignment by a discoverer
heretofore recognized by the Government of the
United States.
271 S 36
601 65
65 SO
so' 100
Sec. 2. That section three of an act approved
July twenty-eighth, eighteen hundred and sixty
six, entitled "An act to protect the revenue, and
for other purposes," amendatory of the act afore
said approved August eighteenth, eighteen hund
red and fifty-six, be, and the same is hereby,
amended by striking out the word "five," when
ever the same occurs, and inserting in lieu thereof
the word "ten,"
Approved, April 2, 1872.
[GENERAL NATURE—No. 79.]
AN ACT to enable honorably discharged soldiers
and sailors, their widows and orphan children,
to acquire homesteads on the publiclands of the
United States.
Be it enacted by the Senate and House of Repre
sentatives of the United Slates of America in Con
geese assembled, That every private soldier and of
ficer who has served in the army of the United
States during the recent rebellion for ninety days,
or more, and who was honorably discharged, and
has remained loyal to the government, includinf
the troops mustered into the service of the United
States by virture of the third section of an act
entitled "An act making appropriations for com
pleting the defense's of Washington, and for other
purposes," approved February thirteenth, eighteen
hundred and sixty-two, and every seaman, marine,
and officer who has served in the navy of the
United States, or in the marine corps, during the
rebellion, for ninety days, and who was honorably
discharged, and has remained loyal to the govern
ment, shall, on compliance with the provisions of
an act entitled "An act to secure homesteads to ac
tual settlers on the public domain," and the acts
amendatory thereof, as hereinafter modified, be
entitled to enter upon and receive patents for a
quantity of public lands (not mineral) not exceed
ing one hundred and sixty acres, or one quarter
section, to be taken in compact form according to
legal subdivisions, including the alternatereserved
sections of public lands along the line of any rail
road er other public work, not otherwise reserved
or appropriated, and other lands subject to entry
under the homestead laws of the United States :
Provided, That said homestead settler shall be al
lowed six months after locating his homestead
within which to commence his settlement and im
provement : And provided ales, That the time
which the homestead settler shall have served in
the army, navy, or marine corps aforesaid, shall
be deducted from the time heretofore required to
perfect title, or if discharged on account of wounds I
received, or disability incurred in the lino of duty,
then the term of enlistment shall be deducted from
the time heretofore required to perfect title, with
out reference to the length, of time he may have I
served; Provided however, That no patent shall
issue to any homestead settler who has not resided
upon ' improved, and cultivated his said home
stead for a period of at least one year after he
shall commene his improvnients as aforesaid.
"" "
Sec. 2. That any person entitled under the pro
visions of the foregoing section to enter a home
stead, who may have heretofore entered under the
homestead laws a quantity of land less than one
hundred and sixty acres, shall be permitted to
enter under the provisions of this act so much
land as, when added to the quantity previously
entered, shall not exceed one hundred and sixty
acres.
Sec. 3. That in case of the death of any person
who would be entitled to a homestead under the
provisions of the first section of this act, his
widow, if unmarried, or in ease of her death or
marriage, then his minor orphan children, by a
guardian duly appointed and officially accredited
at the Department of the Interior, shall be enti
tled to all the benefits enumerated in this act, sub
ject to all the provisions as to settlement and im—
provements therein contained . Provided, That if
such person died during his term of enlistment,
the whole term of his enlistment shall be deducted
from the time heretofore required to perfect the
title.
Sec. 4. That where a party at the date of his
entry of a tract of land under the homestead laws,
or subsequent thereto, was actually enlisted an d
employed in the army or navy of the United
States, his sevices therein shay, in the adminis
tration of said homestead law, be construed to be
equivalent, to all intents and purposes, to a resi
dence for the same length of time upon the tract
so entered Provided: That if his entry has been
cancelled by reason of his absence from said tract
while in the military or navel service of the
United States, and such tract has not been dis
posed of, his entry shall be restored and confirmed:
And provided further, That if such tract has been
disposed of, said party may enter another tract
subject to entry under said laws ; and his right to
a patent therefor shall be determined by the proofs
touching his residence and cultivation of the first
tract, and his absence therefrom in such service.
Sec. 5. That any soldier, sailor, marine officer,
or other person coming within the provisions of
this act may, as well as by an agent or in person,
enter upon said homestead Provided, That said
claimant in person shall, within the time prescri
bed, commence settlement and improvments on the
same, and thereafter fulfil all the requirmente of
this act.
Sec. 6. That the Commissioner of the General
Land Office shall hero authority to make all need
ful rules and regulations to carry into effect the
provisions of this act.
Approved, April 4, 1872.
[GENERAL NATURE—No. 40.]
AN ACT to amend the thirty-second section of an
act entitled "An act to reduce internal taxes,
and for other purposes, " approved July four
teenth, eighteen hundrd and seventy.
Be it enacted by the Senate and House of Repre
sentatives of the United States of America in Con
gress assembled, That section thirty-two of an act
entitled "An act to reduce internal taxes, and for
other purposes," approved July fourteenth, eigh
teen hundred and seventy, be, and the same is
hereby, amended to read as follows : SECTION 32.
And be it further enacted, That merchandise trans
ported under the provisions of this act shall be
conveyed in cars, vessels, or vehicles, securely
fastened with locks or seals, under the exclusive
control of the officers of customs; and inspectors
shall be stationed at proper points along the desig
nated routes, or upon any car, vessel, vehicle, or
train, at the discretion of the said Secretary, and
at the expense of the said companies respectively.
And such merchandise shall not be unladen or
transhipped between the ports of first arrival and
final destination, unless authorised by the regula
tion of the Secretary of the Treasury, in cases
which may arise from a difference in the gague of
railroads, or from accidents, or from legal inter
vention or from low water, ice, or other unavoida
ble obstruction to navigation; but in no case shall
there be permitted any breaking of the original
packages of such merchandise.
Approved. April 5, 1872.
[GENERAL NATURE—No. 41.]
AN ACT defining the rights of part owners of yes
sale in certain cases.
Be it enacted by the Senate and House of Rep
resentatives of the United States of America in Con
gress assembled, That any person or person■ or
body corporate having more than one-half owner
ship of any vessel shall have the same power to
remove a captain, who is also part owner of such
vessel, as such majority owners now have to re
move a captain not an owner: Provided, That this
act shall nut apply where there is a valid written
agreement subsisting, by virtue of which such cap
tain would be entitled to possession, nor in any
where a captain has possession as part owner, ob
tained before the passage of this act.
Approved, April 9, 1872.
Mahls-tf
[GENEreeL NATURE—No.42.]
AN ACT to change the time for holding the spring
term of the United States circuit and district
courts at Harrisonburgh, Virginia.
Be it enacted by the Senate and House of Rep
rcsentatioes of the United States of America in con
gress assembled, That instead of the time now
provided for in the act approved February first,
eighteen hundred and seventy-two, "to change the
times for holding circuit and district courts of the
United State, for western district of Virginia," for
holding the spring term at Harrisonburg, in that
State, said courts shall be held thereat on the
Tuesday after the first Monday in May in each
year.
Approved, April 13, 1872.
iht go' Amu.
The Herald of Summer.
I hear a gush of melody, I seen Ilimh of green,
So I know the Summer's coming, with the glory °locomen;
For Spring, her welcome herald, has proclaimed it tar and
.
Since the throne of Winter toppled, and the stern old des
pot died.
Spring has spread o'er moor and mountain a carpet for her
feet.
Silber daiser, golden klug-cup, purple orchls, cowslip
.---• •
sweet; -- _. _ _
Bade the trees unfold a canopy of undulating shade,
Where anemone and violet their woodland home hare made.
Pale narcissus and faint daffodil whisper ofber by tin
well,
Where ferns bend o'er the primrose lest she thesecret tell ;
But hyacinth and harebell ring the tidings boldly out,
For the breue to catch the wheel, and answer with a
shout.
The busy brooklets, listening, have turned the thethe to
g,
And sing it to the sedges as they gently glide along i
The mountain streams, no longer dumb, join in thojoyous
lay,
And, leaping o'er their rocky bounds, laugh out lu .spark
ling spray.
Glad buttelflies are fluttering, likt banners in the air,
Rice flowers hold up their nectarits and offer incense rare,
The toiling bee hums cheerily, tlu gnats dance in the urn.
The very frogs croak gleefully 0.1 Springtide life begun.
No need the tardy cuckoo's note to gossip of the Spring,
Whilst other warblers' tuneful throats bane prophetic
ring ;
And orchards white with cherry-snow, through which
blooms apple-blush,
Bring dreams of summer fruitage to the birdllngs in the
bush.
Springishere t and Summer's coming, with a roronal of
For the ekylark, like a courtier, Lae winged hid upward
The first to meet Queen Slimmer in her golden car of state
And salute her with his anthem close to her palace gate.
Ehe #torg-Zeiltr.
BESIDE THE SEA.
"Break, break, break,
At the foot of thy crags, oh sea!
And I would that my heart could utter
The thoughts that arise in me!"
The lines, as Richard Lorimer read in
the low musical tones that reveal the poet's
appreciation of genius, were fitted to de
scribe the scene before him and the feel
ings that at that. moment filled his heart.
It was one of those rarely picturesque spots
to be found on the coast of Yorkshire.—
Afar off, the grand old ocean, stretching
into a boundless expanse suggestive of ter
ror and sublimity, seemed wooing him with
the ceaseless murmur of its sparkling
waves. As he lay carelessly dreaming on
the beach, over the page before him, a
murmur almost as soft as that of the waves
fell on his ear. He turned slowly, and
met the gaze of a young girl, who seemed
almost a fairy in form and feature.
"Ah, Amy, my little one; I thought
you had forgotten me. Where have you
been hiding all this long time ?" he asked,
looking up with something like animation
in his listless manner.
A blush, delicate as a sea-shell, passed
over her face as she replied, looking away
to hide her emotion. "I have been nur
sing grandpa;
he has been ill, you know.
But, Captain Lorimer, I suppose you have
not missed me very much."
The words were softly uttered; but
Richard Lorimer saw in the depths of the
blue eyes a new expression, and it sent a
thrill of pleasure, perhaps of triumph,
-- through - his ht - fart. - He wet:Ml - not for - the
world have told his secret to his comrades
at the London Club; how they would have
jeered at this fancy for a fisherman's grand
child ! He—a miracle of fastidiousness—
world-weary man of thirty—a slave of a
child of fifteen, utterly ignorant of the
conventionalities of society 1 Ah, Amy
Lee, little did she in her simplicity think
of these things, as she sat there that bright
spring morning, picking now and then a
tiny shell from the rock, or looking shyly
and at long intervals at the gentleman who
sat beside her. She knew nothing of the
world and its mockery of hope and phan
toms of pleasure; all her life was centered
in the spot where, from her earliest child
hood, she had grown up with no compan
ionship save that of her grandfather, and
the inhabitants of the humble fishing vil
lage.
Yet a happier child never lived than
Amy, until a new, strange trouble came
into her heart. True,
in years she was
almost a child; but her life had been
thrown so much upon her own resources,
that a woman's heart and a woman's deep
power of loving lay dormant in the child's
breast, long before the voice and the smile
of Richard Lorimer had awakened them
to life.
With the intuitive pity that woman ever
feels for the suffering, there bad at last
grown a deeper feeling, since she had been
his almost constant companion during the
few weeks that he bad spent beneath her
grandfather's roof. Often, when he talked
to her of the world and of his home, there
would come a bitter feeling of regret that
she was different from it all; and yet in
her very simplicity lay the charm that at
tracted him. Lorimer had lived much
among the gay and frivolous throngs that
made up the beau monde; its hollow hearts
and unmeaning frivolities had wearied him.
He had been so long the prey of manceuv
ering mothers, that it was a delightful
change to find in this simple-hearted Amy
the loveliness of face and character that
he had so vainly sought. An illness that
bad nearly proved fatal, and left him al
most a wreck of his former self, had indu
ced him to try the seaside.
The Yorkshire fishing village was the
chosen spot; and though not finding liter
ally "the elixir of the life" in its fine bra
cing air, his languid spirits were fast revi
ving. Perhaps another cause had as great
an effect, for no pima donna ever charmed
him with her operatic arias as did the
bird-like notes of Amy, as they daily float
ed up to the window from the path that
led to the seaside.
There they sat—these two so unlike,
the man of the world and the child of na
ture—and, very probably had old Lee wit
nessed the scene, he would have wished
Amy far away; but he was engaged with
the fishing tackle, and so they were left
alone. Lorimer read and talked to her,
and Amy felt as if life had a new interest.
She had known almost nothing of books;
and now her eager manner betrayed how
delighted she would be to possess the
means of culture. Long sojourns in other
lands had made him familiar with the
scenes portrayed so vividly by Rogers; and
as the blue eyes of Amy wandered over
the waves, au long the only music she had
cared to hear, a longing for something be
yond them came into her heart. Italy,
land of romance, where love and passion
made up a woman's life.
Poor Amy, that day was the beginning
of a new existence, and beside the moaning
sea, she bade farewell forever to child
hood's simple dreams and fancies. From
that hour, in which she listened to the
passionate words of Richard Lorimer, she
was a changed being. Long hours she
would sit upon the spot gazing far out
upon the sea; and from having been a busy
little companion of her grandfather, Amy
Lee had become a dreamer. Often the old
man would find her there and chide her
HUNTINGDON, PA., MAY 15, 1872.
for her neglect of him ; but the pleading
look and kiss of the old childish affection
told what words did not utter.
"My little Amy cares no longer for her
old grandfather; that handsome stranger,
Lorimer, has stolen the heart of my dar
ling."
Lorimer had gone; but his parting words
were eloquent with affection. How well
she remembered them!
"God bless my darling Amy, and keep
her safe until we meet again."
A tiny ring and a minature were the
only mementoes of the past; yet hope ever
whispered of a future of happiness.
Our story changes from the seaside to
London. In one of the mansions in Port
land square two gentlemen sat apparently
engaged in animated conversation. Upon
the table was placed wine and luxuries of
bachelorhood; and everything denoted
the wealth and taste of the occupants. The
face of one of the friends was rather
thoughtful in expression, although a smile
frequently passed over it; for few could
resist the mirth-provoking spirit of Charles
Moulton.
"Well, Lorimer," he was saying, "you
are too capricions. Before you went to
Yorkshire you were the life of every party
of pleasure ; now I can scarcely ißduce
you to join me in a promenade in the
park; one would think you were the
secret adorer of an ocean mermaid. Come,
old fellow, you must go with me to-night,
you know Ristori plays in 'Mary Stuart."
"No, Moulton," said Lorimer, "I am
not going."
"Not going! Well I advise you to read
'Les Miserable,s,' you are so dull ;" and
with a gay "Au revoir," Moulton took his
leave.
"Moulton is right," Lorimer presently
exclaimed ; "I am wretched in spirits. I
will go to see Ristori; her weird . charms
can drive away a legion of blue devils ;"
and humming a favorite opera air he left
the room.
That night Richard Lorimer was the
life, as Moulton expressed it, of a party,
near the stage, and in the varied fascina
tions of the great enchantress, and in the
voluptuous swell of the grand orchestra,
he forgot the past; and though sometimes
the soft echo. of the distant murmuring
waves seemed to mingle with the music,
and a voice of melody fondly chide him,
he strove to banish memory in the fascin
ating conversation and brilliant beauty of
the lady sitting in the box beside him.
She was a beauty, this fair Lucille Wal
ton ; and he had become hopelessly en
thralled by her arta and siren loveliness.
Lucille was the type of womanhood—alas !
for the innate purity of her sex, so com
"mon—a schemer for wealth, position in
society, and inordinately vain. She did
not love Richard Lorimer. Her shallow,
selfish nature was not capable of the feel.
ing; but his distinguished air, intellectual
character, and great wealth, made him a
fitting subject for her ambitions projects.
To-night she was exerting all her influence
over him, and we know what that means,
when we speak of a beautiful and fascin
ating woman. _ _ _
Poor, poor Amy—if now and then her
image and the memories of the olden time
came up, he sought to banish them by
excitement, and she was remembered only
in the quiet hours and idle reveries of a
bachelor's life. When he escorted the
beautiful Miss Walton to her home that
night, it was as her accepted lover, and an
early day was fixed for their marria o ,, e.
We will pass over that period, and intro
duce our readers into the abode of Captain
and Mrs. Lorimer. Everything that
wealth could purchase was scattered around;
but discontent, repining, and mutual in
difference destroyed every hope of domes
tic happiness. Lorimer was wearied with
the changeful mood of his haughty impe
rious wife. Life had become a perfect
burden ; and, as he no longer cared for
gaiety and wordly pleasures, which were
the only pleasures his wife cared for, he
was very often left solitary in his elegant
house—home it could not be called.
Although Lucille enjoyed excellent
health, she was pleased to imagine that
a sea voyage to Scotland was absolutely
necessary; and glad of the least change
from the life they led Lorimer consented
to accompany her. The stormy March
winds foreboded evil; but as the captain
of the Aberdeen steamer feared neither
tempest or danger, the passengers felt
comparatively safe. The sky, blue and
serene, spoke of peace ; and, as he sat
upon the deck, Lorimer spent many hours
in dreaming of other days. Where was
she now, his little Amy? Two years must
have brought many, changes; his heart
smote him when he remembered her deep,
pure affection. Surely he would have been
a happier man had he obeyed the voice of
his own heart. A sigh escaped his lips,
as he heard the fretful voice of Lucille
calling him. But he was pledged to her,
and though he almost hated her, he de
termined to do his duty toward her as a
devoted husband.
On the second day of the voyage, dark,
murky clouds hovered gloomily over the
steamer, and the shrill cries of the sea
gulls betokened, as the old sailors said, an
approaching storm. The captain anxiously
scanned the horizon, and all felt deep
anxiety. That was a terrible night, long
to be remembered, on the coast of York
shire. The gallant ship struggled with
the waves, but they dashed relentlessly
over her,and morning found her a total
wreck—all but three of the passengers had
found waves beneath the ocean.
In a cottage not far from the shore lay
one of the sufferers. He had been insen
sible from the moment they had laid him
there, and a few incoherent sentences
showed his mind to be wandering. An old
man and a young girl watched beside him;
but he did not notice either. The old
fisherman left the room, and the young
girl was left alone. Her face was almost
as pale as the one upon the pillow, and
her soft blue eyes filled with tears as they
rested upon it. Sometimes when his gaze
turned upon her, she would take his hand
and murmur, almost lovingly, "Richard,
dear Richard !"
Once he seemed to recognize her, and
said, in so low a tone that she bent her
head down to catch the words, "The wave,
the wave ! there it is it not fear
fnl And she loved them so, poor Amy!"
Sweet Amy Lee! with a woman's trust
ing devotion she had loved on, though
anguish and the misery of hope deferred
had almost broken her heart. What hap
piness it was to sit beside him through the
long hours, and watch for one glance of
recognition.
At last she was rewarded. Richard
Lorimer looked into her eyes, with the old
love beaming in his own. Amy turned
away to hide her thankful, happy tears.
"What is it? How came I here, Amy ?"
he said ; but she put her finger to her lip
and bade him be quiet. The next morn-
ing he seemed to comprehend his situa
tion, and the memory of his late sufferings
and of his wife came upon him.
Lucille had been cast ashore quite dead;
her body was found with others, and buried
in the churchyard of the little hamlet.
When Lorimer recovered sufficiently to
walk there, he led Amy to the grave; and
beside the dead he told the story of his
married life.
But he could not speak of the trouble
and misery his dead wife had caused him;
and, as Amy softly uttered a prayer for
her, he joined reverently in the words for
pardon and mercy of Him who knoweth
the human heart and its weakness.
"God forgive us all, dear Richard," said
Amy ; "we all need his pity."
The days go by like one long summer
dream, where, far from the treacherous
waves, Richard Lorimer has found the joy
—the deep, unutterable bliss of perfect
love. Amy is what his most ardent hopes
could have pictured—a woman possessing
the most finished musical and literary at
tainments; bat her heart no longer yearns
for the sea. She often whispers, softly,
"Richard, I never wish to see them again,
those smiling, deceitful waves."
fading for the
The Cold-Water Boy
Behold a table, with boiled turkey and
ham, with vegetables nicely cooked, and
gravies rich and juicy. There sits a fath
er at its head and the mother opposite,
and guests are seated on either side; there
is no lack of good humor and merry jest to
give spice to conversation.
There are children, too; a boy of ten
and a little girl of eight. They listen in
telligently and attentively to the remarks
of parents and guests; and look up into the
faces of one another with interest. Be
hold ! decanters are brought in, glasses
are filled, and one and another sip the
sparkling wine.
"Excellent!" exclaimed oue, smacking
his lips. "Fine !" echoed another.
"Shall I drink wine with you, my lad ?"
asked one of the gentlemen, bowing to the
boy.
•'ls not your glass filled, William ?" ask
ed the father. "John, fill William's glass,"
turning to the servant. Slowly did Wil
liam turn up his glass to receive the rosy
liquor.
"Drink with the gentleman, my dear,"
whispered the mother, encouragingly.
The boy blushed and cast down his eyes,
but be obeyed not. Was he frightened ?
Was he diffident
"My son did you not hear Mr. Black
address you?', said the father quickly and
sternly. "Drink wine with him William."
Accustomed to obey his father's slight
est wish, the boy's lip quivered, but he
obeyed not.
In a moment, raising his eyes and look
ing his father full in the face, he said,
manfully, •'Father I am a soleier in the
Cold-water Army, and I can't drink wine."
"Brave boy !" exclaimed one of the
goalemen, setting down his glass.
"The Cold-water Army must conquer if
every soldier stands his ground as well,"
said another, regarding William with great
respect.
4 We will excuse you my son," said the
father, in a softened voice, and though
they sat long at the table, his glass was
not again raised to his lips. There it stood
untasted and full.
Stand firm, my boys; let no one beat
you from your ground. Be up and doing.
Intemperance is stealing about, seeking
whom it may devour. Break his weapons,
destroy his engines, give him no quarter.
Let your motto be, "COLD-WATER ! COLD
WATER !"—Larlie's Repository.
About Kid Gloves,
It is not generally known,
or does not
appear to be known, even by those who
wear kids almost exclusively, that the
durability and set of these articles depend
very much upon how they are put on the
first time. Two pairs may be taken from
one box,
of exactly the same cut and qual
ity, and by giving different treatment when
first putting the hands into them, one pair
will be made to set much better, and to
wear doubly, or nearly that length of time,
longer than the other.
When purchasing gloves people are
usually in too much of a hurry; they care
lessly put them on, and let them go in that
way, thinking to do the work mere com
pletely at another time. When this is the
case a person is sure to meet with disap
pointment, for as the glove is made to
fit the hand the first time it is worn, so it
will ever after, and no amount of effort
will make a satisfactory change. Never
allow a stretcher to be used, for the gloves
will not be likely to fit as well for it. All
the expansion should be made by the
hands; if the kids are so small as to re
quire the aid •of a stretcher, they should
not be purchased, as they will prove too
small for durability, comfort, or beauty.
When selecting gloves, choose those with
fingers to correspond with your own in
length; take time to put them on, work
ing in the fingers first, until the ends meet
ends; then put in the thumb and smooth
them down until they are made to fit nice
ly. A glove that sets well will usually
wear well; at least will wear better than
one of the same kind that does not fit well.
When the ends of the fingers do not come
down right, or when they are so long as to
form wrinkles upon the sides of the fin
gers they will chafe out easily; where the
stretcher has to be used to make the fin
gers large enough, the body part will be
so small as to cramp the hand so that it
cannot be shut without bursting the seam
of the kid. Some recommend putting new
kid gloves in a damp cloth before they are
put on, and allowing them to remain until
moistened. With this treatment they can
be put on much easier than otherwise, and
will fit very nicely until they get dry, but
on the second wearing there will be an un
natural harshness about them, wrinkling
in spots, and they will not set so perfectly
as at first.
SADNESS.—There is a mysterious feeling
that frequently passes a cloud over the
spirit. It comes upon the soul in the busy
bustle of life, in the social circle, in the
calm and silent retreat of solitude. Its
power is alike supreme over the weak and
the iron hearted. At one time it. is caus
ed by a single thought across the mind.
Again, a sound will be booming across the
ocean of memory and solemn as the death
knell, overshadowing all the bright hopes
and sunny feelings of the heart. Who
can describe it, and yet who has not felt
its bewildering influence ? Still it is a de
licious sort osorrow, and, like a cloud
dimming the sunshine of the river, al
though casting a momemtary shade of
gloom, it enchances the beauty of return
ing brightness.
Simon Short's Sorrow.
Shrewd Simon Short sewed shoes. Sev
enteen summers, speeding storms, spread
ing sunshine, successively saw Simon's
small shabby shop still standing staunch,
saw Simon's selfsame squeaking sign still
swinging, silently specifying: "Simon
Short Smithfield's sole surviving shoe
maker, shoes sewed, soled snperfinely."
Simon's spray, sedulous spouse, Sally Short,
sewed shirts, stitched sheets, stuffed sofas.
Simon's six stout sturdy sons—Seth, Sam
uel, Stephen, Saul, Silas, Shadrach—sold
sundries. Sober Seth sold starch, sugar,
spices; simple Sam sold saddles, stirrups,
screws; sagacious Stephen sold silver sal
vers; selfish Shadrach sold salves, shoe
strings, soap, saws, skates; slack Silas sold
Sall,Sort's stuffed sofas.
Some seven summers since Simon's sec
ond son Samuel saw Sophia Sofronia
Spriggs, somewhere. Sweet, sensible,
smart Sofronia Spriggs. Sam soon showed
strange symptoms. Sam seldom stayed
storing, selling saddles. Sam sighed sor
rowfully, sought Sophia Sofronia's society,
sung several serenades slyly. Simon
stormed, scolded severely, said Sam seem
ed so silly singing such shameful, sense
less songs. "Strange Sam should slight
such splendid sales. Strutting spendthrift !
Shattered-brain simpleton !"
"Softly, softly, sire," said Sally. "Sam's
smitten : Sam's spied some sweetheart."
"Sentimental school-boy !" snarled Si
mon.
"Smitten ! stop such stuff." Simon sent
Sally's snuff-box spinning, seized Sally's
scissors, smashed Sally's spectacles, scat
tering several spools. "Sneaking scoun
drel ! Sam's shocking silliness shall sur
cease." Scowling Simon stopped speak
ing, starting swiftly shopward ; Sally sigh
ed sadly. Summoning Sam, she spoke
sweet sympathy. "Sam," said she, "sire
seems singularly snappy; so, sonny, stop
smoking, stop spending specie superfluous
ly, stop sprucing so, stop singing serenades,
stop short; sell saddles sensible; see So
phia Sofronia Spriggs soon ; she's spright
ly, she's stable—so solicit, sue, secure So
phia Sofronia speedily, Sam."
"So soon ? so soon ?" said Sam, stand
ing stock still.
"So soon, surely," said Sally, smilingly.
"Specially since sire shows such spirits."
So Sam, somewhat scared, sauntered
slowly, shaking stupendously. Sam solilo
quizes: "Sophia Sofronia Spriggs—Spriggs
—Short—Sophia Sofronia Short--Samuel
Short's spouse—sounds splendid ! Suppose
she should say, she shan't—she shan't !"
Soon Sam spied Sophia starching shirts;
she saluted Sam smilingly. Sam stam
mered shockingly :
"Spl-spl-splendid summer season, So
phia.
"Somewhat sultry," suggested Sophia.
"Sar sartain, Sophia," said Sam. (Si
lence seventeen seconds).
"Selling saddles still, Sam ?"
"Sar-sartain," said Sam, starting sud
denly.
"Season's somewhat sudorific," said
Sam, stealthily, staunching streaming
sweat, shaking sensibly.
"Saran," smiling significantly. "Sip
some sweet sherbert, Sam." (Silence sixty
seconds).
"Sire shot sixty snipe, Saturday," said
Sophia.
"Sixty ? sho I" said Sam. (Silence sev
enty-seven seconds).
"See sister Susan's sunflowers," said
Sophia, socially, silencing such stiff si
lence.
Sophia's sprightly sauciness stimulated
Sam strangely; so Sam suddenly spoke
sentimentally : "Sophia, Susan's sunflow
ers seem saying, 'Samuel Short, Sofronia
Spriggs, stroll serenely, seek some seques
tered spot, some sylvan shade. Sparkling
spring shall silence secret sighings, super
angelic sylphs shall' "—Sophia snickered ;
so Sam stopped.
"Sophia," said Sam solemnly.
"Sam," said Sophia.
"Sophia, stop smiling. Sam Short's
sincere. Sam's seeking some sweet spouse,
Sophia."
Sophia stood silent.
"Speck, Sophia, speak ! Suoh suspense
speculates sorrow."
"Seek sire, Sam, seek sire."
So Sam sought sire Spriggs; sire Spriggs
said sartin.
A Fashionable Lady.
The Richmond Enquirer publishes the
followinr , ' recipe to make a woman of the
period : Take ninety pounds of flesh and
bones—but chiefly bones—wash clean,
bore holes in the ears and cut off the small
toes; bend the back to conform to the
Grecian bend, the Boston dip, the kano.a•
roo droop, the Saratoga slope, or the
bull
frog break, as the taste inclines; then add
three yards of linen, one hundred yards of
ruffles, and seventy-five yards of edging,
eighteen yards of dimity, one pair silk
cotton hose with patent hip attachments,
one pair of false calves, six yards flannel,
embroidered ; one pair balmoral boots with
heels three inches high, four pounds of
whalebones in strips, seventeen hundred
and sixty yards of steel wire, three.quar
tors of a mile of tape, ten pounds of raw
cotton or two wire hemispheres, one wire
basket to bold a bushel, four copies of a
New York paper (triple sheet), one hun
dred and fifty yards of silk or other dress
goods, five hundred yards of point lace,
fourteen hundred yards of fringe and other
trimmings, twelve gross of buttons, one
box pearl powder, one saucer of carmine
and an old hare's foot, one bushel of false
hair frizzled and fretted a la maniaque,
one bundle of Japanese switches, with rats,
mice, and other varmints; one peck of
hairpins, one lace handkerchief, nine inches
square, with patent holder, perfumed with
otter of roses, or sprinkled with nine drops
of the "Blessed Baby" or "West End."
Stuff the head with fashionable novels,
ball tickets, play.bills and wedding cards,
some scandal, a great deal of lost time, and
and a very little sage ; add a half arain of
common sense, three scruples of religion,
and a modicum of modesty. Season with
vanity and affectation and folly. Garnish
with ear-rings, finger-rings, breast-pins,
chains, bracelets, feathers, and flowers to
suit the taste. Pearls and diamonds may
be thrown in if you have them; if not,
paste and pinchbeck from the dollar store
will do.
Whirl all around in a fashionable circle,
and stew by gaslight for six hours.
Great care should be taken that the
thing is not overdone.
If it does not rise sufficiently, add more
copies of a New York paper.
This dish is highly ornamental, and will
do to put at the head of our table on
grand occasions, but is not suitable for
every day use at home, being very expen
sive and indigestible. It sometimes gives
men the healtburn, and causes them to
break, and is certain death to children.
A Simple Remedy for Dandruff.
The following, from an article in the
American Journal of Pharmacy, written
by Jno. L. Davis, is of interest to those
who are troubled with dandruff in the hair:
"There are doubtless few persons, es
pecially among gentlemen, wjio do not suf
fer from the inconvenience of dandruff.
Physicians seem to consider it not of suffi
cient importance to engage their attention,
and the poor victims are left either to
practice their virtue of endurance, or for
a cure, to try some of the many nostrums
advertiseed in the public prints.
The intolerable itching which frequent
ly accompanies the troublesome complaint
is not the only unpleasant feature, as to
persona t or auy pretentious to neatness the
appearance of the white scales on the coat
collar and shoulders is very objectionable.
The writer during a number of years, af
ter the different alcoholic solutions of castor
oil and many other preparations without
permanent benest, and as a last resort,
was led to adopt the plan of cleansing the
scalp with borax and carbonate of potassa.
This proved effectual, but after a persist
ent treatment of some months the hair be
came sensibly thinner, and perhaps wolud
have soon disappeared altogether. The be
lief that dandruff arises from a disease of
the skin, although physicians do not seem
to agree on this point, and the knowledge
that the use of sulphur is frequently at
tended with very happy results in such
diseases, induced me to try it in my own
case. A preparation of one ounce of flow
er of sulphur and one quart of water was
made. The clear liquid was poured off,
after the mixture had been repearedly ag
itated during the intervals of a few hours,
and the head was saturated with this ev
ery morning.
In a few weeks every trace of dandruff
had disappeared, the hair became soft and
glossy, and now, after a discontinuance of
the treatment for eighteen months, there
is no indication of the return of the disease
I do not pretend to explain the modus
operandi of the treatment, for it is well
known that sublimated sulphur is almost
or wholly insoluble, and the liquid used
was destitute of taste, color or smell. The
effect speaks for itself. Other persons to
whom it has been recommended have had
the same results, and I communicate the
result of my experiments in the belief that
it may be valuable and acceptable to many
who have suffered in the same manner as
myself."
Disinherited
A man of wealth and high position had
a son so profligate that he banished him
from his house, and in his exasperation at
his evil conduct at last disinherited . him.
Years rolled on, and the cast-off youth was
sick and dying of want in a distant city.
Again and again were messages sent to
the father begging for help, but they were
laid aside unanswered. He would hold no
communication with a disinherited son,
nor would he allow the sad-hearted mother,
who still yearned with a mothers love over
her first born, to send him any relief.
Far other treatment did the Prodigal
son receive from the father he had so sin
ned against. Far differently does our
Heavenly Father deal with his erring
children.
A child cannot fall so low, that a father,
may in effect, sever the tie that binds
them together. Nothing but death can
separate a parent from a child. No depth
of crime can justify the father in casting
off his son. He may find it needful to
separate him from his household, that his
evil influence may not poison the rest, but
his tenderest love and pity should go out
after him still. His prayers should be
doubled, earnest and agonizing for his sin
ful one.
A son had by his conduct brought his
father's head in sorrow to the grave.
Quite hardened he looked on the pale face
in the coffin without a tear. At the edge
of the grave he alone stood unmoved,
while sobs and tears gave token of sadness
of all the rest of the mourning group.
The family were at last called together to
hear the will read. In it occurred the
name of this undutiful child. As he lis
tened, his hard heart softened, and his
eyes filled with tears. He said to one be
side him, did not think my father
would have thought of me so kindly in
his will.'
A father's love to the last, brought con
trition to the stony heart.
Follow your wayward child with double
prayers and efforts, and you will doubtless
yet see him standing with you on the
heavenly shores.
SEWING MACHINE SALES FOR 1871.
Occasionally a whole covey or flock of facts
spring suddenly to the view of the public
and draw universal attention. As very
few sportsmen ever enjoy the good fortune
to fetch down a whole flock at a shot, it
rarely falls to the lot of any business marks
man to bring to the ground so great a
swarm of "gamey" realities. But occa
sionally there is a business establishment
which uses a long-range gun that both
spreads and concentrates in discharge.—
The Singer Manufacturing Company is
one of these extraordinary calibres. To
the point of our illustration : The bird in
this case is the Singer Sewing Machine;
whole number brought to market in 1871,
181,260, being in a word fifty-two thous
and more than was bagged by any other
company. If, therefore, the number of
sales be any criterion of the merits of the
different machines, it cannot be denied
that the Singer, owing to the popularity
of what is known as their "New Family"
machine, far surpasses all others, for the
fact is shown by sworn returns of the com
panies, which returns are made under the
licenses granted them by the owners of the
sewing machine patents.—New Yorker.
DECAYED TEETH.-A good stopper for
decayed teeth is the tincture of benzoin
(friars' balsam.) Gold and other hard
stopping last only a short while; the de
cay of the teeth is not arrested by them,
and they presently fall out. The alcohol
of the tincture of benzoin evaporates, and
leaves a gum which excludes the air from
the tooth. In the case of tender teeth,
susceptible to dampness, fogs and cold air,
the tincture is very effective. It hardens
and strengthens the teeth and gums, and
will preserve from toothache. It should
be applied at least once a day; but twice
a day is preferable. After a fortnight,
more or less, it may be discontinued. The
best way of applying is this : Take a piece
wool, the size of a large pea, fasten it in
the nib of a steel pen with a holder, dip
the wool into the tincture, and put it into
the cavity of the tooth ; after which dip it
again and apply to the whole of the tooth
and to the gum adjacent. The yellow color
which the benzoin imparts to the tooth is
easily removed with brush and water.
NO. 20.
ake (-ottu
Silence a Household Grace
Words spoken in season are excellent, but
there are times when silence is better than the
gift of tongues—little domestic disputes, in
which not even the soft answer is so good as
no answer at aIL There is no moving in mud
dy water in the right direction ; you must let
it settle—that is all. Disputes with ignorant
and passionate people are best • managed in
this way ; for what answer can you make to
ignorance and passion ? Solomon says: "An
swer a fool according to his folly." That
might do very well for a king, but, if it was a
general maxim in this day, society would be
in a state of Chronicwarfare. And indisputes
with this kind of people you are sure, if you
are just, honorable and truthful, to come off
second-best, for they will descend to language,
to deception and to contemptible meanness
which would never enter a pure and noble
mind; consequently you are helpless against
it, for the weapons are not in your armory.
Then there is another case In which silence
is a crowning household grace—times when a
wife must know how to hold her peace, "even
from good." Early in the morning, when the
load of all the day lies on the husband's
shoulders, even in a kind and cheerful man is
apt to be thoughtful and quiet. Then the
wife ought to respect his preoccupation,
without feeling slighted by it. The children's
outfit for the summer's trip may be on her
mind. but it won't be wise to speak of them.
Neither are words of endearment quite advisa
ble. There is a time for everything, and they
will hardly "fit the mood." Let him drink
his coffee and leave his home in peace, and as
the burden of the day lifts he will remember
you. Picking his teeth after a comfortable
lunch, be will be very apt to say to himself,
with a start : "There I I promised Nelly $lOO
to get the boys' spring suits, and fix herself
up a little ; and I declare I forgot it this morn
ing. She's a good little thing, and never said
a word about it." A kind of self reproach
very much in your favor will be likely to
haunt him all the afternoon, and I think your
day's silent patience will ray you good interest
every day.
And them come—alas 1 too often—times
when the evening does not lift the weight of
care, and goes home from his toil as heavy
laden as he went to it. Then a quiet dinner,
and the sofa in the shaded, silent parlor is
the imperative demand of the anxious heart
and the burdened brain. Now, to compel him
to "talk over" silly trifles, or to discuss plans
whose carrying out seems to him almost im
possible while the gravest interests hang on
the slenderest hopes, is a kind of slow tor
tare which none but an unreasoning or selfish
wife will inflcit.
And, again, if you cannot "keep the door of
your lips," go not into the house of mourning.
The common words of courtesy are a mock
ery, the weary platitudes of resignation an
impertinence. If you have nothing better to
offer, the visit of condolence will be "more
honored in the breach than in the observance."
The voiceless sympathy of Job's three friends
was accepted ; their tirades of comfort and
advice were worse than useless. _ _
I have left the hardest trials of this grace
until the last—silenee under misapprehension
and injustice, when prudence, or gratitude,
or the good of others issues the order. Nev
ertheless, the well-disciplined soldier in life's
battle will obey without doubt or disputation,
feeling confidence in that justice which will
eventually bring out "the righteous as the
light, and their judgment as the noonday."
0 Silence I the eldest of things, "the lan
guage of Old Night," the primitive discourse,
place the finger on our impatient lips, and
help us to remember that in all the strife of
life "he that refraineth his lips is wise."—Se
lected.
Little by Little,
It is given to but few women to leave a re
cord of brilliant deeds behind them. Hest of
ns pass our lives in doing little things which
seem by themselves insignificant; but in their
sum total may rival the achievements of those
whose names are written on the scroll of fame.
As the coral insect builds, so do we, unseen,
unmarked, save by the eye that embraces in
its sweep all things, both great and small.
Yet He who said of the widow that cast in
"two mites," she has given more than all they
who of their abundance offered willingly,
even He may pronounce upon us His approv
ing benediction.
As the year comes to its close and we re
call the months and weeks and daysthat make
up the annual round, how little in the lives of
many of us seems worthy of mark Yet the
Recording Angel has placed on his book, in
letters of light, each word in kindness spoken,
each loving look, and every unselfish act.
Have we borne with patience the petty trials
of daily life, the petulance of children, the
baffling of reasonable expectation, the misap
prehensions of friends, the deferring of hope
—that pen has placed it to our account ; have
we performed all the "minute and unseen"
duties of our station, remembering thr.t the
gods see everywhere—that, too, is in the faith
ful record ; have we striven to make our souls
all beautiful within, to weed out of our hearts
envy, pride and selfishness, and cultivate
therein the virtues that ennoble domestic life
—the page glows with celestial luster where
such worthy efforts are engrossed.
Some, in darkness and silence, have sat pa
tiently waiting for spmmons from the higher
powers to do the work they felt strong and
able to do, but it came not. Let such remem
ber that the state of the great Arbiter is
kingly.
"Thousands at his bidding speed."
"They also servo who only stand and wait."
Those of ns who in the narrow round of do
mestic life minister to the little wants of little
bodies and childish minds may remember that
in seclusion we may be nursing Samuels, cra
dling a baby Hercules, rearing a Romulus
whose exploits shall ring through a hemis
phere. In cabins, on prairie slopes, in se
questered valleys, at the foothills of the Sier
ras, on the bleak sides of mountains, the class
of virtues are in training that thirty years
from now will govern the continent. Hands
that are feeble can bend the saplings ; a score
of years fly over it, and it can defy the thews
of an elephant.
Tam—Beneath inc flows the Rhine, and,
like the stream of time, it flows amid the ruins
of the past. I see myself therein, and know
that lam old. Thou, too, shalt be old. Be
wise in season. Like the stream of thy life
runs the stream beneath us. Down from the
distant Alps, out into the wideworld, it bursts
away, like a youth from the house of his fath
er. Broad-breasted and strong, and with
earnest endeavor, like manhood, it makes it
self a way through these difficult mountain
passes. And at length, in old age, it falters,
and its steps are weary and slow, and it sinks
into the sand, and through its grave passes
into the great ocean, which is its eternity.
Thus shall it be with the.—Longfellow.
To Tan GIIAVE,-What a mightyprocession
is marching toward the grave during each
year. At the usual estimate, during a year, more
than 33,000,000 of the world's population go
down to the earth again. Place them in long
array, and they will give a moving column of
more than thirteen hundred to every mile of
the globe's circumference I Only think of it;
ponder and look upon these astounding com
putations I What a spectacle as they move
on—tramp, tramp tramp, tramp,—forward I
Upon this stupendous dead march !
--r
i
Is a letter to his son, n 1811, John Quincy
Adams says : "I have for many years made
it a practice to read through the Bible once a
year. My custom is to read four or five chap
ters every morning, immediately after rising
from my bed. It employs about an hour of
my time, and seems to me the most suitable
manner of beginning the day. In what light
soccer we regard the Bible, whether with re
ference to revelation, to history, or to morali
ty, it is an invaluable and inexhaustible mine
of knowledge and virtue."
A WORTHY Quaker wrote thus : "I expectto
pass through this world but onoe ; if, there
fore, there can be any kindness I can show or
any good thing I can do to any fellow human
being, let me do it now. Let me not defer or
neglect it, for I shall not pass this way again."
Tar greater the difficulty the more glory in
surmounting it.