VOL. 48.
at Poo' Mown%
By-and-3y,
There's a little mischief-maker
That is stealing half our bliss,
Sketching pictures in a dreamland
That are never seen in this;
Dashing from our lips the pleasure
Of the present, while we sigh,
Von may know this mischief maker,
For 1113 name is "By-and-By."
Ile is sitting by our hearthstone,
With his ay, bewitching glance.
Whispering of the coming morrow
As the social hours advance
Loitering 'mid our calm reflections
Hiding forms of beauty nigh—
He's a smooth deceitful fellow,
This enchanter, "By-and-By."
You may know him by his vvinchinT,
By his careless sportive air ;
By his sly, obtrusive presence,
That is straying everywhere ;
By the trophies that he gathers
Where his sombre victims lie;
For a bold, determined fellow
Is this conqueror, "By-and-By.-
When the calls of duty haunt us.
And the present seems to he
All the time that ever mortals
Snatch front dark eternity,
Then a fairy hand seems painting,
Pictures on a distant sky ;
For a cunning little artist
Es the fairy, "By-and-By."
“By-and-By” the wind is singing;
"By-and-By" the heart rep;ies;
But the Phantom just before us,
Ere we grasp it, ever flies.
List not to the idle charmer,
Scorn the very specious lie ;
Only in the fancy liveth
This deceiver, "By-and-By."
Subscribe for the JOURNAL now, and do not
wait for "By-and-13y." It is only two dollars
a year.
Morg-aditr.
A Lesser. for I.l'ife.
M Y fan and gloves, Bell ! Quick ! Mr.
Crompton is swatting, and I wish to get
away before Harry comes."
And Laura Grantham took a parting
glance at herself in the pier glass, as she
turned impatiently toward her cousin, Who
was assisting her in dressing.
Her eyes glowed with feverish bright
ness, and her manner was excited and
nervous.
"But, Laura dear, I wish you would
take my advice, even now, and stay at home.
You know Harry does not like Nr. Cromp
ton, and your going eut with him may be
the cause of a serious quarrel."
"Not another word, Bell. I am deei
deo. lam not married yet, and even if I
were, my husband should not dictate to
me. He has not been here for three days
past, nor sent an excuse, even. I will
show him that I can be as independent as
he."
"He may be ill, Laura. Yon know him
well enough to be sure that he has some
good reason for not calling."
"Let him make it appear, then. If he
comes, tell him I have gone to the Opera
with Mr. Crompton."
And she swept from the room, down the
broad.stairs, into the parlor, where her ex
pected escort was awaiting her.
As she entered, she started on seeing
another besides the one she had expected
to meet—a tall handsome young man,
who
stood by ono of the heavily curtained win
dows, nervously drumming upon the pane.
His face was pale and grave, but his eyes
brightened as she came into the room, and
he stepped forward, with outstretched
hand, which she carelessly took and drop
.. ..
"Yon will excuse me for making you
wait so long, Mr. Crompton. I fear we
shall be late."
Then turning to her affianced lover, for
i t was no other—she said coldly :
"I am sorry to be deprived of your com
pany, Mr. Masterson, but I have an en
gagement with Mr. Crompton. You can
certainly amuse yourself as well this even
ing as yon did the last, or the one before.
Good evening !"
And putting her hand upon the arm
of her escort, without another word or
look, left the room.
Harry Masterson stood fixed to the spot,
till ho heard the door close and the car
riage wheels rumbling upon the pavement.
"And this is the woman who is—who
was to have been my wife !" ho exclaimed,
bitterly—"whom I believe in so thorough
ly and utterly! When we parted, a week
ago. in this very room, 1 believed there
was no power on earth that could destroy
oar faith and trust in each other, and now
I find her on intimate terms with the man
I hate most in the world, and treating me
as if I were a stranger, instead of her be
trothed husband. 1 will know the mean
in..'of this 1"
Meanwhile, Laura was being whirled
rapidly through the crowded streets seated
by the man she cared least for in this world.
She was in a bitter mood, and though Mr.
Crompton exerted his powers of conversa
tion to the utmost, she was silent, or an
swered his questions in monosyllables.
Her thoughts were busy with the one
she had just left, and by whom she was
bound by every tie than that of marriage.
She remembered, with a pang, his devo
tion, his self-forgetfulness, when her com
flirt or pleasure was in question, and the
thousand wa,ys in which his affection for
her had been manifested. She thought of
him standing there as she had left him,
alone in the room where their vows were
first pledged, and where they had built so
many happy plans for the future. She
remembered the stinging wotds she had
uttered, and would have given worlds to
have recalled them; but it was too late.
She felt that, though they might be for
given, they could never be forgotten—
that whatever might be the result, that
night would lie like a black shadow across
her life.
Could she have known that, f'or the last
three days, Harry Masterson had been
watching by the bedside of a dying sister,
and that a note of explanation was at that
very moment lying where it had lain for
many hours, unseen and unopened, under
the litter of her dressing table, a deeper
bitterness would have taken possession of
her soul.
She sat through the performance like
one in a trance. The sweet notes of the
prima donna fell upon her ears unheeded,
and the more than polite attentions of Mr.
Crompton were hardly noticed. She was
learning the lesson she had been so anx
ious to teach.
"We shall meet again," she whispered
to herself, "and he will forgive me. Ile
may not come to-morrow, nor the next day,
nor the nest; but he will come. We shall
meet again."
Hovimany have hugged the same cum
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fort, "we shall meet again. to their souls,
and how many times that meeting has
never come.
That night Laura Grantham did not
sleep. She loved Harry Masterson with
all the strength of which her soul was
capable, and she felt that in very wanton
ness she had struck a blow at his heart
which might kill forever the affection so
lately existing there. She would have
given worlds could she have recalled her
words and deeds of that evening. The
more she reflected upon them, the more in
excusable they seemed; and as she turned
upon her sleepless pillow, she shed tears of I
bitter regret and self-reproach.
The next day passed, and the next, but
Harry Masterson did not come, nor did he
send any message. Vainly the long day
through did Laura watch for his coming,
with a heart that grew heavier as the hours
went by.
On the evening of the third day a sum
mons brought her from her room to the
parlor. Her eyes were red from weeping,
but she bathed them hurriedly, and ar-
Iranged her disordered hair with trembling
hands.
"At last !" she said to herself, "at last
He shall forgive me. It was only a little
quarrel. He must forget it."
She opened the door. Seated carelessly,
in an easy chair by the grate, was, not
Harry, but Mr. Crompton, who arose to
meet her as she entered.
"Yon are looking ill, Miss Grantham,"
he said.
"I have not been well for several days,"
she answered, keeping back the tears with
a strong effort. The disappointment was a
bitter one.
"I met Mr. Masterson this afternoon,
with a lady upon his arm," continued Mr.
Crompton. "I fear, Miss Grantham, you
have been cruel. We poor fellows are al
ways the victims of your sex."
A sharp pang of jealousy, not unmin
glad with self reproach, entered Laura's
heart.
"Mr. Masterson is nothing to me,"
she
said coldly. "If chooses to call himself
a victim, or you to consider him one, I
I have no objection to urge."
I It was evident that the subject was not
a pleasant one, and Mr. Crompton felt that
he had gone too far. In vain he strove to
retrieve his ground, and after a few min
utes' forced conversation, rose to take his
leave. At that moment the door opened,
and Harry Masterson was announced.
The face of Laura Grantham, a moment
before so pale, reddened to the temples.
Mingled shame, pride and mortification
filled her heart. She felt that the pres
ence of Mr. Crompton, at that moment,
made the barrier betwixt herself and her
lover more difficult to pass. She had longed ,
to meet Harry alone, but he had found her
with the man he had hated as his rival.
She felt angry with herself, and angry
that Harry should have come so inoppor
tunely.
As Mr. Crompton passed out of the
door, Harry advanced. He was dressed in
black, and his final was very pale.
"Laura—Miss Grantham—why do I
find that man always here ?" he asked.
"I am not aware that yon have any right
to dictate my choice of friends, she an
swered hotly.
Harry bowed, but with an effort choked
down the answer that rose to his lips. At
last, after a pause, he said :
"I have no desire to recriminate. My
heart is too sore for that. What we have
been to each other I need not recall. Once
you were dearer to me than life itself.
But one short week afr o, I believed there
was no power short of death that would
sander the tie between us. I have learned
better. You have awakened me from a
dream, which I thought realized. Oh,
Laura! could you not have chosen another
time to strike the blow ? Now, of all times,
I need sympathy and comfort, aid it is de
nied me."
Laura longed to throw herself into his
arms, but pride fbrbid.
"You speak as if the blame were wholly
mine "she answered. "Have I nothing to
complain of?"
"I do not complain," said Harry. "I
do not blame. You have told me I have
no right."
"Have you not slighted me ?" she con
tinued. "Have you not spent your even
ings in the company of others, when I sat
expecting ycin, without even a word of
apology 1"
"Laura," interrupted Harry, hastily,
"can you reproach me for that? I sent you
a message. Remember where those even
ings, and days even, were spent."
He glanced at his black clothing as he
spoke, but Laura's eyes did not follow his.
"That does not matter. You have a right
to choose your company. Ido not ask to
know who it is, or where you seek it. It
does not concern me.
She spoke bitterly and defiantly.
"You teach me my duty," said Harry.
"I came to-day hoping that our misunder
standing was one which could be explained,
and that we might again be to each other
what we were before. Your words show
me how impossible that is. God forgive
you, Laura—you have shadowed my whole
life. We may never meet again, but you
will some time know how l have loved
you:"
The door closed and he was gone !
For an hour Laura sat as if in a stupor.
She repeated his last words over and over
without seeming to feel or understand
them. Then, in the silence of her room,
her pent-up feelings burst forth, and with
aching heart and feverish lips, she bewailed
the foolish pride that had lost her the one
great treasure of her life.
. The next day Mr. Crompton called, and
the next, but she would not leave her room.
On the third day, when his barouche stop
ped at the door, and his card was sent up,
with a respectful invitation to join a party
of friends, for a turn in the park, she hesi
tated. .
"I shall die here I" she said to herself.
"Harry will never visit this house again,
and if I go into company I may meet
him. If it were only any one else but Mr.
Crompton !"
And she sent down word that the invi
tation was accepted.
"We have only a few squares to go to
join the rest of the party," sain Mr. Cromp
ton, as lie handed her into the carriage
and took the reins.
The horses were of high mettle and
sprang immediately forward as the servant
let go his bold of the bit, nearly tearing
the reins from Mr. Crompton's grasp.
With an exclamation of anger be struck
them a. heavy blow with the whip. In
spite of his endeavors they broke into a
run, and dashed with fearful rapidity to
ward Broadway. Vainly he tried to turn
their course into one of the side streets.
Vainly did the by-standers attempt to stop
them by shouts and cries. On they
plunged and there seemed to be no possi
ble means of escape from death for the oc
cupants of the carriage, when amen sprang
suddenly from the excited (Told, and, with
a desperate grasp caught the nearest horse.
by the head.
The affrighted animal reared wildly and
then dashed forward again, dragging the
rescuer beneath their feet. The neat mo
ment there was a wild cry, a crash, and
the crowd rushed into the street. The
horses had fallen. Mr. Crompton had
been thrown from the carriage, but Laura,
who had clung to her seat, sat with tightly
closed lips and a face like marble.
The horses were rapidly disengaged
from the carriage and a bleeding form was
carefully raised from under their feet and
borne to the nearest physician's. As Mr.
Crompton caught sight of it he shuddered.
"Don't let ker see it. for God's sake !"
he whispered.
. .
She had seen it. Even in her terror
she bad felt who it was that strived to save
her. .
"I must go to him," she said. as they
lifted her from the carriage.
Nothing would dissuade her, and they
led her in, amid the wondering and pitying
looks of the crowd, which could only guess
at the secret of her grief.
Stretched upon a sofa in dreadful white
ness, crushed, mangled and bloody, lay all
that was mortal of Barry Masterson. There
was a smell of camphor in the room, and
the dootor, who had been kneeling over the
body, rose and gravely shook his head
when she entered.
"There is no hope," he said. "his heart
has stopped beating."
Laura yearned to fling herself upon the
corpse, and pour into the dead ears the
wurds she had refused the living; but cold
and curious eyes were upon her, and she
shut up within her heart the feelings that
strove for utterance,
"I knew him," said an elderly gentlen:an
who was among the by-standers. "He was
a noble fellow. Hardly a week ago he
buried his only sister, and besides that he
has lately bad some trouble which made
him careless of life."
The words fell upon Laura's heart with
crushing weight. In them she read the
true story of that neglect with which she
had so cruelly charged him, who was now
past answering. She had left home with
a breaking heart—now it was broken!
When she again crossed the threshhold
of her home it was to bid the world a fare
well for many months. A weary illness
followed. The leaves &fled, withered and
fell. Winter came and went, and the
balmy airs of spring crept in at the open
windows of her chamber, bringing life and
strength. Then the color came back slowly
to her cheek, and the light to her eyes—a
strange wondering light—not the old light
of intelligence; that had gone out forever.
Alta,aiug
Gov. Hartranft's Inaugural Address.
Gentlemen of the Senate and House of
Representatires, and Fellow Citizens :
Permit me, through you, to tender my
heartfelt thanks to the people of this Com
monwealth for their partiality in selecting
me as their Chief Magistrate.
In obedience to law I have appeared
before you to pledge my fidelity to the
Constitution. Its obligations and the re
sponsibilities it imposes are, I hope, fully
realized. In the administration of public
affairs, it is my earnest prayer that I may
be guided by Divine wisdom, and that all
my actions may reflect the people's will.
My predecessor presented, in his annual
message, his recommendations, and much
valuable information, so fully and so well,
that it appears unnecessary to enter into
details. My views are in accord with the
general policy of the State administration
for the past few years, although I. believe
some changes might be for the public good,
and to these I shall briefly allude. Hav
ing been closely connected with the finan
ces of the State since 1866, I speak know
ingly when I say that the revenues have
been faithfully collected ; extravagant ap
propriations have been avoided; taxation
has been equalized by the repeal of the I
most burdensome taxes ; and, by strict
economy and good management, the public
debt has been largely reduced. The poli
cy of paying off the entire indebtedness
of the State is, I believe, fully indorsed by
the tax-payers, and it shall be my aim to
adhere to that policy. The public debt,
however, decreasing while the revenues
are increasing, it occurs to me that a fur
ther reduction of the latter should be made
during the current session of the Legisla
ture. The increase in the value of our
real estate and the products of our manu
factories, the steady development of our
resources, and the expansion of our rail
way system, are rapidly enriching our peo
ple. If we measure the aggregate of our
wealth and its growth upon the basis of
the late census, we can readily understand
how a lic , l,ter tax imposed upon the pre
sent taxed property will meet all our ne
cessities in the future, provide an ample
fund for the liquidation of our debt, and
give a decided impulse to the useful enter
prises thus relieved. I sincerely trust,
however, that in any attempt to lessen the
burdens of taxation, the Legislature will
exercise a wise discretion and properly dis
criminate in favor of our industrial inter
ests.
In every part of this Commonwealth are
found rick deposits of minerals. To make
them available and productive should be
our earnest aim, and shall receive a large
share of my attention. It can alone be
done by the intelligent employment of la
bor and capital. This is an object of im
mense interest, and can best be subserved
by first providing the highest possible
knowledge of the character and location of
the most valuable minerals. Labor can
be made inviting, by making
it remunera
tive. Its profits must depend largely upon
the measure of protection accorded by Con
gress to our home industries, a question
which may safely be committed to our
Representatives i n the National Legisla
ture.
Capital is the water for the wheel, and
should be abundant, and the rates of inter
est should be easy for active and whole
some enterprise, and whatever legislation
will best serve this end should receive;
en
eral support. Money will always seek the
highest rates, the security being the same,
and for that reason it sow gravitates to
neighboring States, where the legal rates
are higher than our owu. If we cannot
remove our restrictions and make money
as free as any other commodity, at least,
let us permit the same rate as allowed by
other States and thereby retain it within
our borders.
It will be my pleasure, as it is my duty,
to have a watchful care over the sehool
system of our State. No part of our gov
ernmental policy should command the em
ployment of more wisdom than that which
is to promote the instruction of our youth.
It is a source of pride and satisfaction that
our people contribute so freely to an ob-
HUNTINGDON, PA., WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 29, 1873.
ject so worthy as our schools, and the re
port of the Superintendent of Common
Schools must convince every reader of the
happy results accruing from the judicious
management of our educational system.
But while the doors of our schools are
opened wide to every one, it is sack° think
'that there are 75,000 children in the
State, who do not, whether prevented by
the necessities of their parents, or other
wise, attend and receive the blessed privi
leges of these schools. This is a matter of
grave import, and exacts of us all, people
and Legislature alike, earnest and thought
ful consideration.
In this connection, let me say a word in
regard to.a subject that has often engaged
my thoughts, and to which I invoke the at
tention of our law makers. No part of our
system of education has secured so univer
sal commendation as that which is embra
ced in the circle of instruction of those who
were made orphans by the casualties of war.
The helpless condition of these little ones
touchingly appealed to the hearts of our
people, and the response was the establish
ment of the orphans' schools that are now the
pride of our State. But iu rescuing ,
these children from destitution and pro
viding for their education until they have
attained the age of sixteen years, have we
filled the measure of our duty to them ?
Thrown out into the world to do battle
with life's trials at au age particularly
dangerous to youth, does not common
humanity require that the State should
maintain its guardianship of these children
until their habits are somewhatsettled, and
they have acquired the ability to earn their
own livehood ? The establishment of in
dustrial schools wherein useful trades may
be taught, seems to promise the easiest and
best solution of this problem.
It is highly important that in times of
insurrection and riot there should be at
command a good and efficient force of mil
itia to assist the civil power to protect
property and maintain its authority. To
create such a force it seems absolutely ne
cessary that the State must extend its aid
in a more substantial way to those who en
list in her service. The fines for the non
perfornianee of militia duty are obnoxious
to many of our best citizens, and yield at
best .but a slender revenue, and that, too,
on a wrong basis, for property and not the
individual be taxed. The military
should be well distributed throughout the
State, and the number of companies limit
ed, and within the limit, to make them
efficient, every company accepted, when
found to be up to the proper standard of
number, drill and discipline, should receive
directly from the public treasury at least
$5OO per annum.
INSUIMNCE.
The fire and life insurance companies
are making an effort to secure uniform
legislation iu all the States, and the States
having a large home interest in insurance,
have been the first to adopt that prinoiple.
To impose heavy fees and taxes upon in
surance companies incorporated in other
States, and doing business in this, reads
upon the home companies, by reason of
the reciprocal laws of those States. If it
is deemed desirable to protect and foster
the home insurance interest, already too
long neglected, let uniform laws be enacted.
To me, it seems this interest is of sufficient
importance to warrant the temporary loss
of a portion of the revenue now received
from foreign companies. The revenues
from own companies will increase by rea
son
of their enlarged business, and we will
thus be compensated for such temporary
loss.
CENTENNIAL
The necessity for immediate action on
the part of our people to insure the suc
cess of the Centennial exhibition must be
realized by every thinking man. Its fail
ure will be to our lastine , ' shame—its suc
cess must redound td the honorand perma
nent benefit of the Commonwealth. Lo
cated in our metropolis which is fast mo
ving to the front of the manufacturing
cities of the world, affording an opportu
nity to display the products and resources
of our State, and opening to foreicr ° uers
new channels of information as to our
character and enterprises, it certainly is
the imperative duty of every citizen who
loves his State to lend his countenance and
support to this great exhibition. The dig
nity and good name of the Commonwealth
are at stake. Let us not forfeit these by a
lack of public spirit, or by mistaken econ
omy. Any proper plan the Legislature
may see fit to adopt to aid the National un
dertaking shall receive the hearty concur
rence of the executive.
CONSTITUTIONAL REFORM.
The subject of constitutional reform is
now occupying a large share of public at
tention. Opinions are various as to its
propriety or necessity as the views of men
are conservative or progressive. There is
now, however, in session in Philadelphia a
convention of respectable and honorable
gentlemen, fresh from the people and au
thorised by them to revise the constitution.
To these gentlemen we confidently refer
these questions of constitutional reform in
the belief that out of their combined in
tegrity and wisdom will spring such mea
sures as will best conduce to our safety,
happiness and prosperity.
SPECIAL LEGISLATION
There is one paramount and growing
evil, however, to which, by my oath as
your Executive, and my sense of duty as
a citizen, I am constrained to ask your se
rious attention. I allude to special legis
lation or the abuse of legislative power, to
further particular local and private ends
to the exclusion of public business. I can
not condemn this evil in language too
strong, and it seems but the part of com
mon sense, that some positive restriction
be put upon legislation that will confine
it to the public objects and make its en
actments uniform and general'.
PARDONING POWER.
There is another subject to which I may
be permitted to advert, because it concerns
one of my most important functions. I
refer to the pardoning power. Tho exer
cise of this power rests exclusively within
the discretion and conscience of the Ex
ecutive; and when we consider the impor
tunities of the friends of a condemned
man, and their natural inclination to use
every influence to obtain a pardon, it must
be conceded that this power is a trying
and dangerous one with which to invest
any individual. Any provision that would
relieve the conscience and divide the re
sponsibility of the exercise of this power,
must surely commend itself to the good
sense of our people.
SINKING FUND.
There is a popular demand, too, that
the Sinking Fund, containing bonds that
represent the proceeds of the sale of public
works, and which are applicable alone to
the payment of the public debt, shall be
kept sacred to the purpose to which it was
dedicated, and that the safeguards of this
fund shall be made so strong as to protect
it from every encroachment, however in
geniously planned or powerfully supported.
To this demand the Constitutional Conven
tion will doubtless respond, and for myself,
I may be permitted to say, that no legisla
tion impairing the security of this fund,
or changing its character, can ever receive
my sanction.
In view of the prospect that the Legis
lature will, after this session, be divested
of its power to legislate for special objects,
a popular apprehension is prevailing that
interested parties will push their schemes
at this juncture and make extraordinary
efforts to control legislation. I deem it
my duty to impress upon the Legislature
the necessity of examining with more than
ordinary care every measure submitted for
their consideration.
BOARD OF PUBLIC CHARITIES,
Too much praise cannot be recorded to
the honorable and humane gentlemenNyho
constitute the Board of Public Charities
for their valuable services, gratuitously be
stowed, in supervising the manifold and
important public trusts the State has con
fided to their care. I take great pleasure
in inviting 'the attention of the Legislature
to the suggestions and work of this excel
lent board, and shall unite in any plan that
will help these gentlemen to accomplish
their beneficient designs.
We have great cause for thankfulness,
my fellow-citizens, when we contemplate
the happy and prosperous condition of
our country. Recuperating rapidly from
the ravages and waste of our great civil
r war, she is moving forward to a new era
of progress and development. And in
this march to a higher destiny in which all
the States are united,Pennsylvania should
have a place in the van, a position to which
she is entitled by the intelligence and
character of her citizens, the magnitude
of her resources, the extent of her indus
trial interests, and the grand record of her
patriotism. To maintain this position for
our proud old Commonwealth, will be the
the constant endeavor of your Executive,
and to strengthen his arm and enlarge his
understanding, he asks the support and
counsel of al! good citizens, and humbly
implores the aid and guidance of Him who
is the Supreme Ruler.
Tit-Bits Taken on the Fly.
Truth—Liar's purgatory. •
Cold muffins—Ragamuffins.
A water pitcher—A fire engine.
A woman's fitness comes by fits.
Keep the mind on a healthy trot.
Time is a ship which never anchors.
The fear of ill exceeds the ill we fear.
Were man but content, he were perfect.
Scorn at first makes after love the more.
The world is still deceived by ornament.
An imaginary quantity—A lady's age.
Happiness is always a home-made article.
A melodious attendant—A page of mu
sic.
Persons given to abstraction—Pickpock•
Firm language—Conversation between
partners.
Something that doesn't mind pinching
—Snuff.
Prayer is a rope that rings a hell in
heaven.
Vested interest—Money ia the waistcoat
pocket.
That grief is most sineere which shuns
observation.
To talk without thinking is to shoot
without alining.
A good rale—Back your friends, and
face your enemies.
A liar is tolerated when he tells what
we wish to believe.
The want of leisure is often only the
want of inclination.
Nothing but may be better, and every
better might be best.
Bigotry murders religion to frighten
fools with her ghost.
Idleness is weariness, and the straight
road leading to ennui.
• In every art the most difficult thing to
preserve is natural grace.
A man who was never troubled with his
mother-in-law—Adam.
The soft dews of tears water and ripen
the blossom of repentance.
He who is not loved, is alone every
where, and with every one.
To-mcrrow is the day on which idle men
work and fools reform.
The light of duty, when fully clear,
casts no shadow of hesitation.
People seldom learn economy, till they
have little left to exercise it on.
Those who are honest, "as the best poli
cy," are half-way to being rogues.
Like a great many thieves, "Time steals
on," and cannot be arrested.
Hold the gifts of Fortune so as to be
ever ready to yield them back to her.
Girls don't give the mitten now, be
cause—they don't know how to knit.
Time advances like the slowest tide, but
retreats like the swiftest current.
Moss—the beard of time which ripens
on the stern old rocks and aged trees.
What is fame but one loud, spontaneous
blast from a myriad penny trumpet ?
A duelist vindicates his pretensions to
live like a gentleman by dying like a dog.
The grave, the solemn chamber of initi
ation into the great secret of eternity.
Some young ladies must be given to
dreamy speculations, they build such cas
tles in the (h)air.
THE ruin of most men dates from some
vacant hour. Occupation is the armor of
the soul. There is a satirical poem in
which the devil is represented as fishing
for men, and fitting his bait to taste and
business of his prey; but the idler, he said
gave him no trouble, he bit the naked hook.
Simkins, havinc , '
wedded and settled
down, accumulated a slight scar over his
eyebrow, the muse of which it is unneces
sary to state, but an inquisitive acquaint
ance asked him whether it was a mark of
the chicken-pox. "Worse than that," re
plied Simkins. "It's• a mai'k of the hen
peck."
"Be cheerful," says the man who is easy
in his circumstances, missing no loved. face
at the table, nor by the hearth. But does
he ever consider how hard it may be to be
cheerful when the heart aches, and the
cupboard is empty, and there are little
fresh graves in the church-yard, and friends
are few and indifferent, and even God, for
the time being, seems to have forgotten
us, so desolate is our lot? How difficult
for one man to understand another in such
different circumstances ! How easy to say
"Be Cheerful !" How hard he would find
it to practice, were he stripped of all life's
brightness !
Not to be Fooled,
In Philadelphia there lives a doctor so
lean and attenuated that the sobriquet of
"Old Bones" is far front being a MISUO
men
This doctor has a student, and that stu
dent is trying his best to become a doctor.
He attends to the office while the doctor
attends to the out-door patients. Among
other fixtures of the office is a weird skele
ton, so hullg and adjusted-that it will walk
out of a cupboard where it is kept; and by
manipulating it rightly, it can be made to
go through several grotesque antics.
One day while the student sat pouring
over some medical work, the street door
opened and a youthful peddler, with a
basket of knicknacks, presented himself'.
When told that nothing in his line was
wanted, the little rascal began to "talk
back" in a most impudent manner, and
was finally ordered to leave the office.
This he refused to do; thinking to
scare him, the student pulled a string, and
open flew the door where the skeleton was
hidden, and that emblem of death sprang
out at the boy, who, frightened half out of
his wits, dropped his basket and scampered
out of the office, taking up a position on
the' opposite side of the street to await,
further events.
Just then the doctor, "Qld Bones,"
came into his study, and learning the cause
of the uproar, he went to the door and
motioned the boy to come and get his
wares. "No you don't," he called out, "I
know you, if you have got your clothes on."
A Quaker Printer's Proverbs,
Never send thou an article for publica
tion without giving the editor thy name,
for thy name oftentimes secures publication
to worthless articles.
Thou ehouldst not rap at the door of a
printing office, for he that answereth the
rap sneereth in his sleeves, and loseth time.
. _
Neither do thou loaf about, ask ques
tions, or knock down type, or the boys will
love thee like they do shade trees=when
thou leaveth.
Thou shouldst never read the copy on
the printer's case, or the sharp or hooked
container thereof; er he may knock thee
down.
Never inquire thou of the editor for the
news, for behold it is his business at the
appointed time to give it to thee without
asking.
It is not right that thou shonldst ask
him who is the author of an article, for it
is his duty to keep such things unto him
self.
When thon dost enter his office, take
heed unto thyself that thou dost not look
at what may be laying open and concerneth
thee not, for that is not meet in the sight
of good breeding.
Neither examine the proof-sheet, for it
is not ready to meet thine eye, that thou
mayest understand.
Prefer thine own town paper to any
other, and subscribe for it immediately.
Pay for it in advance, and it shall be
well with thee and thine.
Labor Conquers all Things.
It is a well-established truth that labor
conquers all things Everything that we
do has to have a certain amount of labor
expended on it to bring it to a state of
perfection. However difficult it may ap
pear, however impossible it may seem to be,
remember if you attack it with energy, and
labor with all your might, your labors will
be crowned with success. Inventive man,
by the aid and application of labor, wins
for himself a name that will always be hon
ored, respected and remembered by his
fellow-citizens. It has been truly said that
no excellence is obtained without labor.
Few persons conversant with the world
have failed to discover that in the race of
life, men of moderate means and attain
ments frequently outstrip competitors en
dowed equally with the smiles of fortune
and the gifts of genius. Difference of tal
ent will not solve it, for that difference is
often found in favor of the disappointed
candidate. How often do we see issuing
from the walls of the same college, nay,
sometimes from the bosom of the same
family, two young men, one of whom shall
be admitted to genius of a high order, the
other scarcely above mediocrity; yet you
may see the one sinking and perishing
in poverty, obscurity and wretchedness,
while, on the other hand, you shall observe
the latter toiling up the hill of life, gain
ing steadfast footing at every step, and
mounting at last to distinction, an orna
ment to society and a blessing to his coun
try.
No Time for Swearing.
"Catch ice using a protline word in the
' presence of ladies," said a talkative strip
ling with a shade of down on his upper lip.
"There's a time for all things."
No sir, there isn't a time for all things.
No law, human or divine, ever set apart a
time for swearing. A profane expression
is a sin and an abomination, utter it where
you will. As for ladies, yes, I'll grant
you it is well to be and act our best in
their presence. We cannot be too true,
too pure, too honorable, if we want to stand
upright before a good woman or a good
girl—yes, while I'm about it, I'll add nor
before a little mite of a girl baby, with her
soul fresh from heaven. I know only of
one other before whom we ought to be just
as particular, if not more so. When he is
not around, my boys, you can safely do
just about as you please. But when you
are in his presence—and to my thinking
we aro all there, or thereabouts, pretty
much all the time—have a care Don't
offend the deepest rove, the whitest purity,
the grandest honor of all.—Uncle Tinz.
THEY tell a story about a man who put
the saddle hind-part foremost upon his
hiorse, while in a condition of dizziness su
perinduced by firewater. Just as he was
about to mount, a German friend came up
and told him to hold on a minute, because
the saddle was on wrong and wanted re
fixing. The horseman gazed for a moment
at the intruder, as if in deep thought, and
then said:
"You let that saddle alone. How in
the thunder do you know which way I
am going?"
And the gentleman from Germany pass
ed' on.
BE patient with men who make mis
takes. The best men step aside without
meaning to. A kind, strong word then is
the help and blessing that they need. As
long as the deliberate choices are not turn
ed downward toward the evil, and the mo
tive is not colored with a bad purpose, the
man is essentially on the good ground of
hope, and is open to the dew and light of
love. Help that man.
egurational.
Education, and the Science and Art
of Teaching.--No. 4.
The possession of any gift or talent, in
volves obligation. Heavy, indeed, then, is
the burden under which those rest to whom
is entrusted the power for good or for evil
which lies in a trained intellect. It is
man's highest attainment. Its influences
are circumscribed neither by time nor
country. Its use can only be legitimate
when made subservient to the honor of its
divine Giver, and promotive of the good
of mankind. More credit and distinction
will flow from the manner in which so sa
cred a trust is used, than from the mere
possession of it. In nothing should we so
study the example of oar blessed Lord, as
in determining the purpose of our lives,
and the grand objects to which we conse
crate our powers. To do good is the only
true end of our being, and to do good is
the highest aim, the only proper use, of
educated mind.
The man of thorough culture, should
not be a man of selfish impulses. The ig
norant and uneducated may be pitied for
the narrowness of their sympathies and the
selfishness of their feelings, but the more
favored sons of study and discipline, merit
severest condemnation when personal en
joyment limits their desires or efforts.—
Gifts and opportunities are bestowed for
use, for the good of others. We may not
neglect them, nor bury them. Money is
not the only thing over which men are
miserly. To withhold the beauty and de
light which fill the soul of the thoughtful
and the gifted, is to be traitor to the trust
confided to us. All nature is generous,
reflecting the image of its Maker, refresh
ing the spirit and rejoicing the soul of
every beholder. Let every scholar imitate.
We dare not denounce thedesire for re
putation, for personal fame, without some
qualification. It may become excessive and
offensive, but may mingle very properly
with other less selfish motives. When to
acquire the good opinion of others, we
strive to do them good, to impart the les
sons we have received, we use aright our
treasures of truth and knowledge. When
simply to gain their applause, we prostitute
our powers to ignoble ends, to defend vice
or decry virtue, we degrade ourselves and
debaso our learning. Personal considera
tions cannot be entirely excluded, but
should not be paramount or controlling.
The attainment of fortune is another,
though oft necessary, yet an inferior, end
of education. Very few, indeed, are born
to hereditary case and affluence, so as to
be exempt from all care or concern for a
livelihood or for the maintenance of a fam
ily. With such the work of life in the
battle for bread, and whatever may be the
department of labor entered, it must yield
the supply for daily wants and for the ne
cessities of old age. Whilst temporal ne
cessity and personal comforts cannot be
entirely ignored, they form but a seconda
ry consideration in the aims and results of
those prosecuting a course of liberal study.
There are other purposes to which edu
cated intellect has been directed, of a to
tally unworthy and purely ignoble charac
ter, which are so manifestly a perversion
and a prostitution that, whilst we weep to
remember that
"Eien the light which led astray,
Was light from Heaven,"
we feel no obligation to folllw it into the
sties of profligacy, and kennelrof impurity,
and haunts of dishonesty, and halls of in
fidelity, and resorts of low wit and coarse
profanity, to which it leads. Because the
power and resources of the vile and of the
dishonest, are multiplied and intensified by
the advantages of culture, we admit not
for a moment, that these tendencies to evil
inhere, in any manner or to any degree, to
education as such, but present as the true
solution of the enigma, the very manifest
fact that vice and iniquity will press into
their service every controllable assistant,
and the greater its power, the more eagerly
will its aid be sought. If cultivated in
tellect be feared, because it thus becomes
capable of prodigies of evil, whence shall
we look for a counteractive and correctiv e
energy, but to the results of that same
culture, lifted up by virtue and honor and
faith to that loftier sphere, in which the
true purposes of education are found. Ig
norance, however upright in its intentions,
is no competent match for educated vil
lainy. In self-defence, we must meet
Greek with Greek.
From this rather negative aspect of the
aims and results of intellectual training,
we would indicate more positively our view
of the highest and noblest uses and purpo
ses to which it may be applied in future
number'.
ELOCUTION,
In the list of great orators the brightest
name is that of Demosthenes. Did he be
come the golden - tongued orator because
"it was born in him," and he "could not
help it ?" On the contrary, is not every
school-boy familiar with the story of his
heroic efforts, and incessant toil, to qualify
himself for a public speaker ; of his extra
ordinary expedients. and unwearied en
deavors in overcoming the many natural
impediments with which he was afflicted ?
A man who only possesses persistence in a
high degree often gets dubbed a genius at
last. If we inquire into the condition of
elocutionary culture contemporary with the
early education of Demosthenes, we shall
find that the schools of Athens furnished
three distinct classes of instructors for the
voice: one to superintend practice in
pitch; another to conduct exercises in
force ; and a third to regulate vocal melody
and inflection.
A good, strong, clear voice, owing to
our prevalent deficiency in education, is a
thing so rare that we are apt to regard it
as an original endowment of the constitu
tion; a grace not lying within the scope of
acquisition; a charm, the absence of which,
like that of personal beauty, implies no
fault. That this idea is not entirely cor
rect, all who have had the advantage - of
vocal drill and culture will testify. Mr.
Murdock, the actor and elocutionist, tells
us that by an appropriate vocal training,
he gained, within the space of some
months, to such an extent in power and
depth of voice, as to add to its previous
range a whole °eta*. Whitfield made a
naturally weak voice wonderful for strength
and volume, by persistent vocal drill. Pr.
Franklin found by computation upon a
certain occasion, that he (Whitfield) might
be well heard by over thirty thousand
auditors. Practice gave to the utterance
of Garrick so extraordinary an energy,
that even his under key was distinctly
audible to ten thousand people. Strength
of voice is of paramount importance to the
speaker, and it is an element which is very
susceptible of cultivation.
I had a young man in my school last
summer without the first natural qualifica-
tion for a good reader or speaker, and as
utterly devoid of any ambition to become
NO. 5.
either as he was destitute of ability. His
position when reading was outlandish ; his
lungs weak, and articulation bad; yet, by
continual exercise, I have strengthened his
voice and lungs, and rendered his tones
clear; with patient teaching, by precept
and example, and persistent drill, I have
so far corrected his natural awkwardness
and diffidence in declamation, that his po
sition is now comparatively graceful and
easy; I have taught him to make his ges
tures much more timely and appropriate;
by a systematic vocal training I have ren
dered his enunciation clearer and more dis
tinct; in short, by a thorough course of
elocutionary instruction, persistently fol-.
lowed up, you can so benefit and improve
the boy, that whenever called upon in af
ter life to speak in public, he will do so
with comparative success—with credit to
himself and to his teacher. Jesox.
(To be continued.)
around the tirtoidt.
Don't Let Mother Do It.
Daughter, don't let mother do it!
Do not let her slave and toil
While you sit, a useless idler,
Fearing your soft hands to soil.
Don't you see the heavy burdens,
Daily she is wont to bear,
Bring the lines upon her forehead—
Sprinkle silver in her hair?
Daughter, dou' let mother do it !
Do not let her bake and broil
Through the long, bright summer hours,
Share with her the heavy toil.
See, her eye has lost its brightness,
Faded from the cheek the glow,
And the step that ones was buoyant
Now is feeble, weak and slow.
Daughter, don't let mother do in
She has cared for you so long,
Is it right the weak and feeble
Should ha toiling for the strong ?
Waken from your listless langor,
Seek her side to cheer and bless,
And your grief will be less bitter
When the sods above her press.
Daughter, don't let mother do it :
You will never, never know
What were home without a mother
Tiff that mother lieth low—
Low beneath the budding daises,
Free from earthly care or pain—
To the home so sad withont her,
Never to return again.
A Beautiful Incident.
In the Herald of Gospel Liberty Rev.
James Maple tells the following beautiful
incident in evidence that there will be re
cognition after death.
Southey, in his ode on the portrait of
Bishop Heber, suggests that many of his
admirers,
gaze
Upon
it:
reverentialre
his effigy love,
Till they shall grow familiar with its limo,
And know him — when they see his face in heaven.
There is, no doubt, truth in this beau
tiful thought. A writer says : "A little
girl in the family of my acquaintance, a
lovely and precious child, lost her mother
at an age too early to fix the lovedfeatures
in her remembrance. She was beautiful ;
and as the bud of her heart unfolded, it
seemed as if won by that mother's prayers
to turn instinctively heavenward. The
sweet, conscientious and prayer-lovingehild
was the idol of the bereaved family ; but
she faded away early. She would lie upon
the lap of a friend, who took a mother's
kind care of her, and winding one wasted
arm about her neck, would say, "Now
tell me about mamma." And when the
oft-told tale had been repeated, she would
ask, softly, "Take me into the parlor ; I
want to see my mamma!" The request
was never refused ; and the affectionate
sick child would lie for hours gazing on
her mother's portrait. But
"Pale and wan she grew, and weakly,
Bearing all her pains so meekly,
That to them she grew dearer
As the trial hour drew nearer."
That hour came at last, and the weeping
neighbors assembled to see the little child
die ' The dew of death was already on
1 1 the * flower as its life-sun was going down.
The little chest heaved faintly—spasmodi
cally. "Do you know me, darling ?" sob
bed close in her ear the voice that was
dearest; but it awoke no answer. All at
once a brightness, as it from the upper
world burst over the child's colorless coun
tenance. The eyelids flashed open andthe
lir parted ; the wan, curdling hands flew
up in the little one's last impulsive effort,
as she looked piercingly into the far above.
"Mother !" she cried, with transport and
surprise in her love, and passed with that
breath to her mother's hossom.
No doubt she saw her mother, who had
come to conduct her up to heaven, and
knew her through the means of the picture
upon which she had so long and fondly
looked. Thus, perhaps, we will meet and
recognize persons in heaven.
The idea that we shall meet and recog
nise our children in heaven, scatters the
gloom that hangs around the grave, robs
death of its terrors, and enable us to give
them up with the cheerfulness of hope. If
we were to meet with them only as stran
gers in heaven, it would rob that bright
world of one of its brightest charms, and
cast a dark shadow over our souls. This
sannot be ; it is at war with our nature,
and the spirit of our holy religion.
Kind Words.
"Buy a box, please, sir ?" The speaker
was a little match girl, who, on a sum
mer's afternoon, stood in the entrance of
one of the large London railway stations.
She was trying to find customers among
the gentlemen who were hurrying along
to catch the trains that would take them
from busy, smoky London to their pleasant
homes. Most of them never saw the little
girl, or, if they did, took no notice of her.
At length one gentleman, at the sound of
the plaintive voice, •'Buy a box, please,
sir ?" stopped a moment. "No, I don't
want any," he said, and was passing on,
when the hungry look of the child arrested
him, and he remembered a bag of biscuits,
which his little daughter had given him
that morning for a luncheon, but which he
had been too busy to eat. So he took them
out of his pocket, and gave them to her,
saying, "Here, darling, here are some bis
cuits for you." She took them without a
word of thanks, which rather surprised the
gentleman as he turned to go ; but looking
back, he saw her standing with the bis
cuits still in her hand, her eyes full of
tears, and he heard her say to herself, "He
called me darling, he did :"
Don't you think that my friend went
home to his own darlings with a happier
heart for the kind word he had spoken to
that child ? Perhaps it was the only one
she had heard for many a day.
It is hardly praise to say that a man ha.-
"an entire absence of self-consciousness:*
If soma folks could see how they behave
they might be as much shocked as their
friends are by their action.