VOL. 41.
The Huntingdon Journal
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FARM, GARDEN AK3 HOUSEHOLD,
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Alleu's (It. L. & L. F.) New American Farm Book $2 50
Alien's (L. F.) American Cattle..
Allen's (R. L.) American Farm Book l5O
Allen's (L. F.) Rural architecture 1 50
Allen's (R. L.) Diseases of Domestic Animals 1 00
American Bird Fancier Ri
American Gentleman's Stable Guide* 1 00
American B). CUM rist 3O
Ameba A Weeds and Useful Plants 1 75
Atsrootra Country and Sul urban 'louses. .....
Atweswi's Modern American gomesteads* - 3 50
,esker's Practical and Scientific Fruit Cultures...._ 2 50
Itarbe-'s Crac:k Shuts
Btary'....ruit Garden
Belie Carpentry Made Ea.5y*......... ..... ............. 500
Bement's Rabbit Fancier
Bicknell's Village Builder and Supplement. 1 Vol* l2 01)
Bickue Supplenie-t. to Village Builder* 6OO
Bogardt: field Corer, and Trap Shooting* 2 IN)
B ,nmer's Method of .eking Manures 25
Boussingault's Rural Econom, ................ .........- 1 60
Brackett's Farm ralk-* papor, «nets.; c10th.... 75
Break's New Book of Flower.: 1
and Seed-Gro -jag.
Broom-Dorn .
and Broonis. paper, &Yds.; cloth 75
Brown's Tax;dermlat's 31 final"' ... ....... . ....... ...... 100
Brcckner's Atriericen Manures- . • 150
Buchanan's Cultur f the Grape and ‘Vira making* 75
Baer. Cider-Maker's Manual*.
Buist's Flower-Garden Directo.y
Buist 3 fall' ''y "it ...on Gardena .
Burrs' American I cure! and Sportiog Field* 4 00
Burnham's The China Fowl* 1 00
Barn's Architecturz.: Drawing Books ...- 1 00
Barns' Illustrated DraN ing gook*
Burns' Ornrmental Drawing Book* 1 00
Burr's Vegetables of Americas 3 00
Caldwell's Agricultnntl Clic , heal Analysis 2 (k)
Canary Sint.. Paper 50 et. Cloth 75
Chorltah's Grape-tiro' - er's Guido 75
Cleveland's Landscape Achiteoo , re* 1 50
Ch,a's Diseasee of Sheer 1 25
Colkett's Arnerir or Garaene- . 75
Cole's American fruit Book 75
Ainerican Veterinar.,tri
Cooked and Cooking Food fur Domestic Animals 20
Cooper's Game Fowls* 6 00
Corbett's Poultry Yard and Market.ps.. sOrts., cloth 75
c_,roff's Progressive American Architecture..
Cummings' Architectural Details lO 00
Cummings & Miller's Architecture. lO 00
Cupper's Universal Stair-Builder 3 60
Dadd's Modern Horse Doctor, 12 mo 1 60
Dadd's America' Cattle Dc:tor, 12 mo 1 50
I►add's American Cattle Doctor, Bvo, cloths 2 5o
Deist's American Reformed Horse Bouk,Bvo, cloth* 2 60
Dada's Muck Manual 1 25
Darwin's Variations of Animals S.; Plants. 2 voh
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Detail Cottage and Constructive A 7CiliteCtUTC . lO 00
De Voe's Market Assistant. 2 50
Dinka, Mayhew, and Hutchison, on the Dog
DOWlllnes Lanthcape Gardening
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Eastwood on Cr, nts.rry
Eggleston's Circuit Eider*
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Eggleston's Hooider School-Master...
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C.
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Elliott's Hand Book for Fruit Growers* Pa., 60c. ; clo 1
Elliott's Hand-Rook of Practical Landscape Gar-
(toning. e I 50
Elliott's Lawn and Shade Trees* 1 50
Eliott's ."extern Frnit-Grower's Guide I 50
Eveleth's School House Architecture. 6 00
Every Horse Owner's Cyclopiedia........ ............. - 375
Field's Pear Culture . . '. . _ 125
Flax Guipure. [Seven Prize Ls'
saysby practical grow -
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Flint (Charles L.) on Grasses. 2 50
Flint's Mitch Cows and Dairy Farming. 2 450
Frank Forester's American Game in its Season. 3 00
Frank Forester's Field Sports, 8 co., 2 TOIB. ...... ...... 600
Frank Forester s Fish and Fishing, Bvo., 100 Engl... 3 50
Frank Forester's Horse of America, 8 vo., 2 v 015..... 10 00
Frank Forester's Manual for Young Sportsmen, 8 vo, 300
French's Farm Drainage
Fuller's Foreet-Tree Cultnrist . 1 50
Fuller's Grape Cultnrist 1 50
Fuller's Illustrated Strawberry Cultnrist 2O
Fuller's Small Fruit Culturist 1 5 )
Fulton's Poach Culture
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Gregory on Onion paper.. 30
Gregory on Squash. paper.. 30
Guano!' on Mulch Cows 75
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Gun, Rod, and Saddle*
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Ilarney's Barns, Out-Building«, and 6 00
Harris's Insects Injurious to Vegetation... Plain $4 ;
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Harris on the Pig 1 .50
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A SPI
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Ely Vases' colutr.
Sorrow and Joy.
A HUNGARIAN' SONG.
Tell me what is sorrow ? It is a garden-bed.
And what is joy ? It is a little rose,
Which in that garden grows
I plucked it in my youth so royal re 3,
To weave it in a garland for my head ;
It pricked my hand, I let it drop again,
And now I look and long for it in vain.
Tell me what is sorrow ? It is an endless sea.
And what is joy? It is a little pearl,
Round which the waters whirl:
I dived deep down—they gave it up to me,
To keep it where my costly jewels be;
It dazzled me, I let it fail again,
And now I look and long for it in vain.
Tell me what is so.row ? It is a gloomy cage.
And what is joy? It is a little bird,
Whose song therein is beard :
Opening the door—for I was never sage--
I took it from its perch ; with sudden r„,ge
It bit me; bit, I let it go again,
An now I look and long for it ,n vain.
Tell me when my sort- - shall end, ended be?
And when return the joy that long since fled ?
Not till the garden-bed
Restores the rose; n , ". till the endless sea
Restores the pearl ; mot till the gloomy cage
Restores the bird ; not—poor old man—till age,
Which sorrow is itself, is youth again—
And so I look and long for 't in vain!
—Appleton's Monthly.
(ic
THE FATAL QUARREL.
"But I say you shall not !"
"And I sayl will !"
The speakers were husband and wife
The former leaned on the rig_ tel-piece,
frowned angrily, looking down at the latter
as he spoke. The wife, still sittin: by
the tea-table, for that meal had just eeen
finished, did not glance up as she answered,
but went on talking to her lap dog terms
of fond endearment, and feeding it with
sugar.
Yes; they were husband and wife.—
Seven years before, Carrie Layton, just
18, freshly freed from the trammels of
boarding-school, half launched forth into
society, with a head full of romantic ideas
of love and marriage. There she had met
Harry Aylmer. To her he seemed almost
a god—so far superior to all others, that
very speedily she found herself thinking
more of him than of any other admirer,
and listened with beating pulses to his
manly tones. lie was verging toward his
30th year, and was already somewhat
world worn, for, being wealthy, he had not
been confined to the dull routine of a busi
ness life, but had roamed the world at
large, traveling to all lands, tasting every
cup of pleasure ; but he was still very
handsome, and his manners in society were
perfect. Men had envied him—women
had loved him—and this man had grown
weary of it all.
But, under the proud, cold smile was
hidden a warm heart, somewhat crusted
over with selfishness, it is true, but it was
there. And, when he met Caroline Lay
ton' he felt he had encountered his fate.
To him there was something irresistable
in her bright freshness and beauty, and in
the winning gayety of her artless manners.
Then the polished marble of her fair skin ;
the golden curls that fell around her
shoulders ; the bright blue eyes, full of
light—these all possessed rare attractions
for this man, whose heart had been so long
untouched. Day after day had found him
at her side, putting forth every effort to
make himself agreeable. So after a few
brief months they were married, and went
forth to tread life's journey together.—
They traveled awhile; and the young bride,
delighted with the new scenes opened up
before her, was hardly conscious of the
fact that his will, not her wish, guided
and controlled all their movements. It
was very sweet to obey one whom she loved
so fondly. At last they settled in a house
of their own, replete with every luxury—
and life began in earnest.
Now came the crisis. From early child
hood, Harry Aylmer had shown himself
possessed of an iron will, stern and un
yielding. Carrie, too, had a will of her
own. For the first few months of mar
riage it was very pleasant for her to have
him will for her—and gracefully she
yielded; but at length the reins were drawn
too tight, the intense selfishness of the
husband became apparent even to Carrie
—and there began to grow up a spirit of
rebellion on her part, a desire to judge for
herself sometimes, and to ant accordingly.
Matters grew from bad to worse. This
opposition of wills, occurring only at long
intervals at first, became frequent at last;
both regretting it in cooler moments, yet
neither confessing it tothe other; he think
ing she ought to trust his judgment en
tirely, she carrying over in her heart a
sense of injustice done her.
Those pleasant little courtesies which
serve to keep love burning brightly on the
domestic altar were, by degrees, utterly
neglected, and the lamp of love grew dim.
After a lapse of some three years, how
ever, a beautiful babe lay on its mother's
bosom • a bright, wee flower with its amber
rings Of hair, its pure, white skin, and
heavenly blue eyes—a very miniature
the mother who bore it. Reconciliation
ensued, not spoken, but tacitly agreed
upon. Husband and wife seemed drawn
together by the little golden link, and
while the little angel gladdened their home
happiness remained.
But a bitter time came, which should
have served to unite those severed hearts
more closely. The child sickened and
died. When the stricken parents bowed
over their dead, each mentally resolved to
be all in all to each other, that no shadow
should come between them, but the lips
spoke not the resolve made in their own
strength—pride kept them silent. rse--'
As the months passed on, the old spirit
revived in each ; and now after a few years
of wedded life, behold the pair whom "God
had joined together" in almost constant
enmity—each heart hardened and cold,
never a loving word or caress, only silence
and upbraiding.
So matters stood at the time our story
opened. The handsome root"' with its rich
furniture, looked very inviting. Nothing
was lacking that taste could desire, or
wealth supply. But the light from the
fire fell upon the fair face of the wife,
where discontent lay like a shadow, while
the red lip curled in apparent contempt or
indifference. A heavy frown darkened
the husband's brow ; the firm set of the
lips, and the curve of the dilated nostril,
showed his excessive anger.
Mr. and Mrs. Aylmer had been asked
to an evening party, and both are expected
to go. But the husband had come home
out of humor, which he proceeded to vent
on his wife, concluding by saying he should
' , net go to the party Mrs. Aylmer, vexed
at his manner even more than at his words,
had replied tartly that she should go with
out him.
w
R
tY
CT
CD
"The i nv itation has been accepted ; we
HUNTINGDON, I , FRIDAY, JULY 13, 1877.
have no good reason for staying away, and
I, for one, intend to go."
"Bat I say you shall not :" said the
husband, pushing his chair angrily back
from the table, standing up, taking a turn
across the floor, and then going to the
mantel-piece where he stood as we have
described, looking gloomily down on his
wife.
"And I say I will !" was the retort, as
the speaker turned away from the table,
but retained her Felt, and began to fondle
her lap-dog.
This was too much for the hu'band.—
The cool indifference cut him to the heart.
With a smothered oath be flung himself
out of the room put on his hat in the ball
and went off to his club.
When the outer door was heard bang
inn after him, Mrs. Aylmer rose from her
chair, an angry light in her eye.
"I only half meant it," she said ; "but
now I will go. If he had only asked me
to remain, kindly; if he had said he was
even ill or tired ; if he had smiled on me,
I would have stayed at home but I will
not be ordered !"
Never had she dressed with more care.
Never had she looked more beautiful than
when she entered her carriage to go to the
b.ll.
Aftjr a couple of hours the husband
came home, but by this time his anger
was over, and he felt rather ashamed of
himself. His rage returned, however,
when he found that Mrs. Aylmer had
really gone, for he had persuaded himself
that, after all, she would remain.
"How dire she defy me thus ?" he cried,
ang:ily.
But, after awhile, came calmer thoughts.
His mind began to wander over the past
years. He dreamed of the bright maiden
he had wooed so perseveringly, and who
came to him in all her young beauty. The
stern face softened as the sweet vision
came up before him. He thought of the
golden head that had nestled on his breast,
of the blue eyes that had brightened at
his approach, of the warm kisses that had
melted away the ice that had crusted
around his heart. He remembered how
submissive she bad been until he had
driven her to rebellion by his exacting
selfishness. Then came to him the memory
of their child, and of the happy hours they
had spent watobinc , °
its unfolding beauties.
His heart yearned for the mother of his
babe. Memory, with her busy fingers, had
unlocked the chambers of his heart, and
her softening influence was doing its work.
He began to see at last how be had
wronged and injured the wife be should
have cherished. He sprang from his seat
and walked rapidly to and fro.
"This shall be so no longer !" he cried.
"I will beg her forgiveness; I will win
back my darling's love. She shalt lie on
my heart, as in the olden time."
The hour grow late, and he began to
wonder why she did not return. Opening
the door, he looked into the deserted street.
A strange dread stole over him, for nearer
and nearer came the sound of wheels driven
rapidly. Hastening down, as the carriage
reached the door, he was confronted by a
man who sprang odt, exclaiming breath
lessly, "Mr. Aylmer, if' you would see your
wife alive, come with me !" And, forcing
the terror-stricken husband into the ve
hicle, they were hurried away.
Returning from the party, Caroline
Aylmer sat alone in her carriage, not
thinking of the gay scene she bad left,
but of her unhappy married life. She was
taking to herself much blame that she had
not been more submissive and more for
bearing, and wondering if it were too late
to undo the evil. Tender thoughts of the
husband, once so dear, were stealing into
her heart. Suddenly there came a sound
of men running; the cry or "fire !" the
whirr of the engine; the rear and plunge
of horses ; the ineffectual efforts of the
driver to control them ; then she was thrown
violently forward, and all was darkness.
When the repentant husband reached
the side of his wife, death had sealed her
eyes. Some one had lifted her fair form
and borne it into the nearest house ; but
medical aid was useless—the vital spark
had fled. The injury was internal, and not
a blemish broke the pure white surface of
her marble face.
Caroline Aylmer had never looked love
lier than now, when she lay there in her
gala robes. Her dress of pale blue silk,
with its frost-work of lace and pearls, only
made more pallid the rounded form, lately
so full of life and health. She had passed
away without pain, and very placid was
the sweet face, fast growing cold in death.
Words cannot picture that strong man's
agony. He flung himself beside the body,
and his voice grew hoarse with pleading
for ono more look, one single word of for
giveness. Alas ! none came.
17,..ars afterward, a grave was dug by
stranger hands in a far-distant land. None
there knew that the lonely, broken-hearted
man, whose last resting place it was, when
alive, had borne the name of Harry Ayl
mer, and had spent his days ever since that
terrible night, in vain remorse for that
fatal quarrel.
*did fflisteliaq.
The Mum , ' of the Soul.
John B Gough, in a lecture, said he
in a church ina strange city once, and
the sexton showed into the same pew
another person whose looks impressed Mr.
Gough unfavorably. The stranger bad a•
face like mottled soap ; his face twitched
as if a sheet of lightning had run all over
it, and every now and then his lips would
twist and give utterance to a strange spas
modic sound. I get as far away from him
as I could. Presently the hymn was
given out, and the congregation rose to
sing:
Just as I am, without one plea,
But that thy blood was shed for me.
I saw the man knew the hymn, and said
to myself: "He can't be so disagreeable,
after all." I got nearer. lie would sing.
It was awful ; positively awful. I never
heard anything like it. And occasionally
he would make that strange noise with his
lips. Then he'd commence again and sing
faster to catch up with the other singers,
and perhaps he'd run ahead, They came
to the first line, and while the organist
was performing the interlude : "Would
you be kind enough to give me the first
line of the next verse ?" I did so :
' — "Just as I am ; poor, wretched, blind—
"That's it," said he, "I am blind—God
help me"—and the tears came running
down his face and the tear lids quivering,
"and I am wretched—and I am paralytic."
And then he tried to sing :
Just as I am; poor, wretched, blind.
At that moment it seemed to me that I
never heard a Beethoven symphony in my
life with so much music in it as in that
hymn sung by that poor man whom Chris
tianity had made happy in his lot.
Ethel's Talisman.
Ethel was sitting at her open window,
absorbed in earnest thought. Without
was a picture fair enough to steal the
senses of a far more earnest thinker than
this young girl. Perhaps the scene did
give a happy turn to her thoughts, as the
glory of the setting sun overspread the
landscape with its mellow yellow light;
for her eyes rested with seeming delight
on this and the clouds and the river be
yond.
But not for these things was she con
sciously thinking. Tier Bible was lying
before her on the window sill. Site had
closed it a moment before, and now was
the hour of prayer ; but still sh't sat there
dreaming.
It was Ethel's custom to spend the sun
set hour of each day in prayer and the
quiet study of the Scriptures. She was
trying with all her strength to live a new
and better life. A new life it was indeed
—this one she had been living for the past
year—but was it a better one? She some
times thought it could not be, for there
was a continued warfare going on within;
and she was sometimes sorely discouraged,
when she thought of how often she had
dishonored the blessed name of Him to
whom but one short year ago she had con
secrated her heart and lite with such joy
and fervor. To say that after the first
long look within, to see how matters stood
between herself and her God, the wicked.
ness of her heart amazed and frightened
her—to say that her great weakness, in
her earnest endeavors to live to His glory,',
troubled her beyond measure—will not
surprise any young girl who has tried,
with singleness of purpose, to serve the
King of Kings. She was thinking of this
as she sat by window that autumn af
ternoon, wondering what she could do to
keep herself ever conscious of the fact that
she was a witness for Jesus in this world.
And, as she thought, a simple verse from
the Old Testament—a verse that had been
running in her thoughts for many days—
came again to her mind :
"The King's daughter is all glorious
within."
Ah ! when Ethel's soul was bewildered
with unholy thoughts, what a refuge this
glorious Scripture was to her ! She hardly
knew what it meant, yet she would make
it prophetic of herself—she, by God's
grace, would become "all glorious within."
Was she not the King's daughter ! Had
she not been raised to that glory by the
cleansing blood of Christ ? Yes, she would
believe in the wonderful love of the Son of
God, and rejoice that, by llis power, she
might at last come to be "all glorious" and
beautiful within. She would open wide
the chamber of her soul to the rays of the
Sun of Righteousness—she would daily
seek to be baptized in the fountain of ce
lestial wisdom.
Around Ethel's neck was clasped a lock
et, with which she was unconsciously toy•
ing. Suddenly a bright light overspread
her face, and, springing up, she ran to the
table, opened her writing desk, and taking
a piece of pure white paper, cut out a small
.eirele. Then she tonic off the locket and
opened it. On one side was the picture of
a dear friend; on the other side there was
only a piece of glass. Ethel took out the
glass, and cutting the paper exactly to fit
the space, she wrote on it :
"The King's daughter is all glorious
within."
Once more she clasped the locket around
her neck, and from that time forth the or
nament was worn as a reminder of her
high calling. Many times in the midst of
company, has that locket told her to be
ware. Many times when irritated, has she
unconsciously grasped the golden toy, and
with the grasp has come an instant calming
of the soul. Only a simple locket, yet a
mighty reminder—golden talisman that
never lost its force; for, although a grown
woman now Ethel still keeps her secret and
wears the locl:et.
If all young girls beginning the Chris
tian life would make the Holy Bible their
daily study, as they make other books a
study,strength and wisdom will surely come
to them and help to make them, as daught
ers of our Heavenly King, glorious, all glo
rious and beautiful within.
Capturing Wild Horses.
The Denver Tribune says : The Tribune
yesterday published a short notice of the
capture of wild horses in Northern Colo
rado. The Larimer Couuty Express has
a longer notice, and as the article is an in-
teresiing one we publish the facts. Sheriff
Coon, W. F. Scribner. W. P. Morgan,
Thomas Earnest and Steve and Charlie
George were the parties interested, and
they were out last week/ They went some
twenty-five miles northeast of Fort Collins,
and a fevr.miles east of Pierce Station, on
the Denver and Pacific railroad. Here they
made their headquarters for the campaign.
Within two miles of camp they never failed
to find a band of wild horses. Many a long
chase they had; but they finally succeeded
in capturing ten head. Two of these, how
ever have the brand of Mr. McClellan of
Greeley.
A great many animals were seen. Some
of them were very valuable ones, and were
fleet of foot. Three had attracted the at
tention and challenged the admiration of
the entire party. One was a black mare,
large, well proportioded and beautiful, and
they run her over forty miles but couldn't
catch her. With this fine mare was a colt,
which seemed to be a full blooded Norman.
These two are certainly valuable stock—if
they could be captured. The other horse
was a dark stallion, that would not weigh
much over three hundred pounds. His
mane reached down to his knees, and his
foretop to his nostrils, and resembles a
Shetland pony. He is said to be a beauty.
One wild band was seen which seemed to
be composed entirely of large American
stock, and undoubtedly contained many
valuable animals.
These horses are as wild as antelope,
and the strategy used to get near the latter
has to be employed with the former. The
hunter must conceal himself behind his
horse until he gets as near the herd as pos
sible, when, quickly mounting, he mast
dash into the herd like lightning, cutting
it in two and starting a portion o it in the
direction of the camp. No time must be
lost, or the wild animals will all escape.
His companions, however, will assist in
the mad ride back to camp, which is an
attempt to drive the game into corral. If
successful, then the work of roping the
animals is commenced, and a right lively
little job it generally proves to be.
The wildest of the horses were tied to
the weakest, and thus all were driven to
town without much trouble. The same
parties have in contemplation another hunt
ere long.
NEVER relato your misfortunes to an
other, and never grieve over what you
cannot prevent.
Harry's Faith,
RUTII HUDSON
A little boy, about ten or twelve years
old, whom we will call Harry Foster, had
an infidel father. His mother had once
been a Christian, but, under the influence
of her unbelieving husband, had grown
careless. So Harry was not sent to Sun
day-school, but was allowed to run about
Sunday afternoon s whektver he chose, to
seek his own companions and pleasures.
One day attracted by the singing in a
small Sunday-school, *he entered it, and
was put in the class of an earnest Christian
teacher, and now for the first time was un
der Christian influences.
flarry enjoyed his visit so much that
the next Sunday he went again. He soon
became a regular member. He not only
listened to the words of his teacher, but
tried to obey them. Harry had no idea
that his parents would object to his going
to Sunday-school as they had never before
troubled themselves about his actions.
But one day I►is father, through some
source, found out that harry had been
going to Sunday school. Mr. Foster came
home and said to his wife :
"How's this ? I hear Harry has been
going to Sunday-school for sane months
past.
Mrs. Foster replied that she knew no
thing of the matter. IVhen harry came
in his father said to him, "Harry do you
go to Sunday-school.
"Yes sir replied llarry.
"Well," said his father, "hereAßer you
will remain at home in your own room
Sunday afternoon, tbr I don't want any of
this nonsense about Sunday-school and
church."
harry thought a great deal about the
matter before Sunday came, and could not
decide what to do. Ile hated to give up
his Sunday-school, and yet he hated to
disobey his father. On Sunday, after din
ner, his father told him to go to his room
and stay there until he was called to
supper. Harry did so, but it was a long,
long afternoon to him. The next Sunday
he was again sent to his room. But liar
ry had been thinking. Things were get
ting rather serious, he thought. lie knew
it was right for him to go t - ) Sunday
school where he only learned how to be
good, and he could not understand why
his father should not want hip► to go.
But Harry had learned during the short
time he had been at Sunday-school, that
it' he was ever in any trouble and needed
help, that he could pray to God who
promised that if we ask in faith, he will
answer our prayer.
So harry thought he would lay the
matter before God and ask him to set
things. straight. He knelt down and be
gan. He wasn't particular to talk in a
whisper, but spoke as though he were talk
ing to some one near him in the room.
His father and mother were in the sit
ting room, down stairs, and thought they
heard Harry talking to some one.
"That boy has some of his friends up in
his room with him. Will you go and see
what they're about ?" said Mr. Foster to
his wife. Mrs. Foster went to the foot of
the stairs and listened. Yes sure enough,
Harry was talking to some one. She
crept up the stairs softly, and when she
got to the head of the stairs she stopped
again to listen. And this is what she
heard.
"0 God, bless inaunna ; teach her to
love you and to love the Sunday•schvol and
church."
Like a flash of lightning her memory
carried her back to the days when She had
talked with God with the same faith that
Harry had, and, .bursting into tears, she
opened the door, and putting her arms
around Harry prayed with him for partn.
Mr. Foster hearing the unusual sounds
upstairs, and his wife did not return to
the room, went himself to see what was
the matter. He came to the door and
there he found Harry and his mother pray •
inn for him. Harry was asking God to
bless his dear father and to teach him to
love Him and the Church. The father's
hard heart was melted and touched by his
child's simple faith and loving obodicnce
to his commands, and his mind was filled
with serious thoughts. He could not get
rid of them.
So the next Sunday, not only Harry
but also his father and mother went to
Sunday-school. Their home became a
Christian home, and all three were bound
closer together by their love for Christ.
You see what a little boy was enabled
to do. Let 'your faith in God be SQ strong
that its influence may be felt by others
about yoa,
Night in the Moon.
At last, however, night sets in. Crate
fully it comes after the sun has gathered '
up his smiting beam and gone down to
his rest. All at once we are plunged into
comparative obscurity, for again, there is
no twilight to stay the steps of departing
day. At one stride comes the dark. But
looking up into the sky, we behold a vast .
orb, which pours down a milder and more
beneficent splendor than the great lord of
the system. It is such a moon as we ter-.
restials cannot boast; fur it is not less than
thirteen times as large and luminous as
our own. There it hanaihin the firmanent
without apparent change of place, as if
"fixed in its everlasting seat," but not
without change of surface ; fur this great
globe is a painted panorama, and turning
round majestically on its axis, presents its
oceans and continents in grand succession.
As Europe and Africa, locking the Medi
terranean in their embrace, roll away to
the right, the stormy Atlantic offers its wa
ters to view ; then the two Americas, with
their huge forests and vast prairies, pass
under inspection. Then the grand basin
of the Pacific, lit up island fires, meets the
gazer's eye and this glides over the scene
the eastern rim of Asia and the upper por
tions of Australia sail into sight. The In
dian ocean, and afterward the Arabian sea,
spread themselves out in their subdued
splendor, and thus in four-and-twenty
hours, "the great rotundity we tread"
turns its pictured countenance to the moon
and grandly repays the listening lunarians
by repeating, to the best of its ability, the
story of its birth. Nor is the sky less
marvelous in another respect ; fur the ab
sence of any atmospheric diffusion of light
permits the constellations to shine out
which is never paralleled on earth. They
glitter like diamond points set in a firma
ment of ebony. Stars and clusters which
we never see by the naked eye flock into
view, and crowd the lunar heavens.—Brit
ish Quarterly.
WE are so far from being good accord
ing to the laws of God, that we cannot be
so according to our own. Human wisdom
never yet arrived at the duty that it had
itself prescribed.
Strong Big Ben of California.
BENDING THE CROWBAR THAT WAS MADE
ESPECIALLY TO DEFY HIS STRENGTH.
From the New York Sun, 2d.]
r John W. Sutton, a '49er, lectured be-
Jere the Manhattan Liberal Club, last
evening, about California when in the
delirium of the gold fever. Among the
uncouth miners about him, he said, were
"Big Ben" and "Little Dick," mates.
"Big Ben" was far above any man in the
mining region in stature, burly, and of
wonderful strength, his favorite pastime
being bending crowbars. "Little Dick"
was a curiosity for the stalwart miners, on
account of his smallness; and a meaner
soul was never in a man weighing SO
pounds. "Little Dick" was quarrelsome,
but cowardly, and "Big Ben" had to do
the hitting for him. So, although inoffen
sive and kindly naturally, "Big ben" got
the reputation of a desperado.
In the mining boulders too heavy to be
handled by a few men were often encoun
tered. and when they were, the proprietors
of adjacent claims were invited to assist in
removing them. "Big Ben" was never
forgotten, and he did the work of half a
dozen sturdy men. But after the boulder
had been moved nearly far enough, he
commonly thrust the crowbar well under
the boulder, and, pressing his shoulder
against the crowbar, bent it nearly double..
Finally Jim Cook, the blacksmith, vowed
that lie would weld a crowbar that "Big
Ben" could not bend. He got up a pon
derous bar of cast steel from 'Frisco, and
welded it into a crowbar that, sure enough,
"Big Ben" could not bend. The latter
remembered this, his first defeat, to his
dying moment.
There came from the States to recuper
ate, the Doctor's wife and tiny daughter,
"Birdie." She became very fund of "Big
Ben," and he worshipped her. Though
he was panning or cradling with a glimmer
of the yellow specks at the bottom bright
ening his eyes he would go when "Birdie"
said, "Come Ben, I want some flowers, or
pretty stones." For years afterward the
miners used to say, between the puffs of
their evening pipes, that "Big Ben" never
"weakened" but once. It was in front of
a saloon. "Little Dick" was the aggressor,
and pistols and bowie-knives gleamed.
"Birdie" said "Come Ben, with me," and
catching her up in his arms, "Big Ben"
walked away.
The wining camp was by the side of the
bed of a dried up stream. Across its high
banks a single fallen tree extended,the only
connection between the camp and the
flowery slope beyond the river. One ,
af
ternoon, as suddenly streams in that region'
do return to their beds, a mighty flood
poured down the bed. The miners saw
"Birdie" gathering flowers on the oppo
site slope. "Big Ben" returning with
"Little Dick," saw her peril. He shouted,
"Dick go across and get the child, and I'll
hold the bridge." Ile put his crowbar
into a crevice beneath the tree, and braced
his massive shoulders against it. "Little
Dick" darted across the tree, about which
the waters were rising fast, snatched up
"Birdie," and ran ; and as he darted across
it and sprang to. the shore, the tree whirled
down the current,. and "Big Ben" fell
prostrate. Bloody • foam was on his lips.
He had ruptured a blood vessel. "Birdie's"
mother wiped away the foam, and, looking
up, "Big Ben" whispered, "I saved "Bir
die," and bent the bar," and died. He
had bent the crowbar that Jim Cook had
forged to overtax his strength.
Does It Mean You ?
A man who prided himself on his mor
ality, and expected to be saved by it was
constantly saying : "I am doing pret
ty well, on the whole. I sometimes get
mad and swear, but then I am perfectly
honest. I work on Sunday when lam
particularly busy, but I give a good deal
Co the poor, and I never was drunk in my
life." This man hired a canny Scotchman
to build a fence around his pasture lot.
lie gave him very particular directions.
In the evening when the Scotchman came
in from work, the man said "Well Jock,
is the fence built, and is it tight and
strong ?" "I canna just say it is all tight
and strong," Jock replied, "but it's a good
average fence, anyhow. If some parts are
a little weak, other pats are extra strong.
I don't know but I may have left a little
gap here and there, a yard or so wide;
but then I made up for it by doubling the
number of rails on each side of the gap.
I dare say that the cattle will find it a
good fence, on the whole, and will like it
though I canna just say that it is perfect
in every part." "What !" cried the man,
not seeing the point ; "do you tell me that
you built a fence around my lot with weak
places and gaps in it ? Why, you might
as well have built no fence at all ! If there
is one opening, or place where an opening
can be made, the cattle will be sure to
find it, and will go through. Don't you
know, man, that a fence must be perfect,
or it is worthless ?" "I used to think so,"
said the dry Scotchman , "but hear you
talk so much about averaging matters with
the Lord it seemed to me that we might
try it with the cattle. If an average fence
will not do for them,l am afraid an average
character will not do in the day of judg
ment."
Preservation of Books
Books and papers, as they are now print.
ed, are very short lived, and the chances
are that no existing print will be preserved
a thousand years, if matters take their or
dinary course. We are indebted to the
Scientific American fur pointing out this
danger. This journal, concerned less our
remote posterity, five, ten, or fiftythonsand
years, hence should not retain any literary
record of these days, suggested a short
time ago that an effort should be made to
put into imperishable form works of mod •
ern civilization, and store them away in a
secure place for future ages. In answer
to this appeal of the inventive powers, a
correspondent of the Sctentific American
proposes this plan : Varnish on both aides
the printed sheets to be preserved, and
then, by the application of heat and press
ure, mould them into solid blocks. This
done, the blocks might be placed in earthen
vessels, and covered with melted copal
(which is proved to have great durability )
Thus the ideas of the present age might
be fossilized, and lay away in their integ
' rity for the entertainment and delight of
ages to conic. It is proposed to bury
these embalmed and precious words under
public buildings. There is one objection
to this plan. • No body of men could pos
sibly be made to agree on what books it
would be desirable to preserve and what
merited oblivion.°
BY annihilating the desires you annihi
late the mind. Every man without pas
sions has within him no principle of ac
tion, nor motive to act.
Quaint Old Gibraltar.
THE TOWN AND FORTRESS—THE WONDER
OF MODERN 3fILITATY SCIENCE—StH
TERRANEAN GALLERIES.
From Harper's Magazine for June.]
The scenes in the lovely bay ancrin 'the
narrow zigzag ; streets of the little town are
4
'
bustling and full of life. The bay its dot
ted with ships and boats of many kinds,
anchored in the shadow of the rock. Ga.
the quays of the town you recognize the `
reason of the saying that Gibraltar is au,
epitome of the three continents. awe,
besides English and Scottish soldiers, who
are met on every hand in the vicinity of
the rock, are to be seen swarthy and hand
some Moors from opposite I;arbary . ,,..with
their snow-white turbans, flowing ro'&;','
bare leather-colored legs, and loose slippers
down at the heel; Jews from over the'
strait, in gaudy embroidered eegtutnek:
with broad vari colored sashes wound
their waists, and baggy white trows , ,ers;,
Spanish smugglers, in tight lit tie coats
and breeches, fastened down the sides with
silver buttons; pretty dark eyed women of
Geno, arrayed in scarlet cloaks and hoods,
the latter trimmed with broad black velvet -
Spanish beauties, with long lashes 'aW4
languishing eyes, wearing their sweepitit
black lase veils and graceful mantillas ;
Highland soldiers in plaid and wittin ;
a race of acclimated English, bronzed a. 1,1
semi Spanish in feature, the natives of
Gibraltar, upon whom the Spanish have
bestowed the rather uncomplimentary c• r tt
thet of "Rock Scorpions " Out
sea stretch the varione "Ineles." the mass
conspicuous being the old and new -n,olee 4 ,
while at th; nothern end of the tewn / i r y
the towers, battlements and crumblin : r wads
of the old Moorish castle—:lL impti , itt.;
relic of the days of Moslem aleeloinitoy.
Le the distance, among the hills aiyi
groves, peeps out the ancient little to,tirtif
San Roque—a curious place, and well writ,.
thy a visit.. Everywhere about a,t
on the rock you are reminded of tlictxt
that Gibraltar is, first of all, a ,fites.s.
Soldiers and guards, deploying, lounitt,
or on post, present themselves ' at 0 . ‘ 1 4K
turn ; high up on the cliffs the diminichdil
figures of sentinels are seen pacing to Drill
fro ; in the pleasure gardens the mist a
ticeable persons aro the officers, str6liioe
and taking their ease; the tattotesf drusle.
the roar of cannon. at stated bums dr
opening and closing of the great gates thlt.
separate the fortress from the totint,' ?11l
impress one with the trilitary attract/be iii*
the rock, as you glance up toward the Wit
ling cliffs, and s,:e, yawning from iunomor
able port-holes, and above long 4.bn;.who:
battlements, and from many au embrasure
and turret, the cannon which - gtiairfhe
entrance to the Mediterranean ; `art 4145.
curious to behold the marvel:it of the fort
ress in their details, you cross the Ohm
bridge, go under the low arched gatets4s,
pass the parade and Alameda, ascend l A irit
irregular streets which creep in . steps sip
the sides ut' the crags, leave bellied the
quaint old Moorish castle, and at lakrifild
yourself literally entering the rock thEhttigh
an iron gateway. The first glanceirkfroftls
the immense labors which have bee)] Ailwit
to perfect by art the defeuces wit 4. which
nature has endowed Gibraltar. One.spes
before hint a series of
_galleries, inritlels
and excavations, conducting apmently
into a blank - of Cimmerian darkness. Here,
far _above the beach, are due' out' *rig
tunnels at the very edge of the headrung
cliff; and as you pass along them, glided
by the light of torches, you observe pyre.
holesat intervals of fifteen or twenty feet,
with brass ordnance peeping out menacing
ly from every one. Ascending constantly.
you find that there is tier after tier or
these tunnels. There, if nesessity should
arise, the gunners might stand and pour
their deadly fire upon fleet or cohort, per
fectly shielded by the massive and solid
roek which the missile, however destruct
ive, could not more than feebly indent, The
Winador Galleries, which are excavations
wholly within the rock, form a continuous
subterranean passage of two thonsantifect
in length, twelve feet high and twplve
wide, and this passage ascends by the same
zigzag course which is seen in the greet
roads that wind over the Alps, till it-gives
au outlet near the summit. •
Indications of Longevity. ;
, 4
HuMand, public lecturer at .Teria, 'who
published a work on longevity in the' last
century, thus describes the sort of tniati
who has the best prospects or long life:
He has a well proportmoed stature, with
out, however, being too tall. He is rat her
of the middle size, and sotnewhat..thick
set. His complexion is not too florid—at
any rate, too much ruddiness in youth is
seldom a sign or longevity. Mir ap
proaches rather to the fair than to the
black. His skin is strong, but nOt rough.
His head is not too big. lie • hsoitlarge
veins at the extremities, and his.shnulders
are rather round than flat. [Li rack is
not too long, his belly does net 'project,
and his hands are large, but not to 6 deeply
cleft. His foot is rather thick that)
and his legs are firm and round. P r e
also a broad chest and strong voief ft and
the faculty of retaining; his breath' ler a
long time without difficulty. In ;mineral,
there is a complete harmony in, all his
parts. llis senses are good,
yip,
not too
delicate. His pulse is slow and - i'tagular.
His appetite is good and his digestion easy.
He has not too much thirst, whiall.,;is al
ways a sign of rapid self consumption.—
His passions never become too violent or
destructive. If he gives Way Co tiller, he
experiences a glow of warmth 4 ititli6ut an
overflowing of the gall. He liketsemploy
ment, particularly calm niedititt a iou and
agreeable speculations; is au op!.,iiyist, a
friend to Nature, and domestic „felicity,
has no thirst after either honors Or . iiches,
and banishes all thought of to-niot‘rhw.
The Oriole. 1„ 0
The oriole, which has acquirttrtlie rep.
station of being a mournful bird, is thus
spoken of by an observer of a dokuesticated
specimen : "An old bird which-should
happen to be trapped would probably quit
singing on being deprived or liberty, hat
one caught young and fed from the human
hand will make the most delightful and
tractable pet, and happiest when surrounded
by people, will sing marvellously sweet
notes and trills. We know one of this
sort that, when liberated from ifs cage,
will go to the hand of its owner, assist in
threading a needle or ripping a seam,
nestle on her shoulder, stand on her hand,
bathe in a bowl of water, and whop it has
had its liberty of the premises to its heart's
content, it will go back to its cage and
sing its merry tune. It will outfrait, cake,
bread and milk, potatoes and sugar, lean
meat, nuts and eggs, and is especielly fond
of house flies and small angle-worms and
insects, and will catch anything tossed to
it, just as a smart dog will a cradter. Talk
about that bird being mournful
NO. 27.