{~ .
,A-v<
MEMCAR VOLtJRXEEK.
{ga£
iianED EVEBT TIItIKSDAY MbttSlNQ BY
B. Bratton.
. terms.’
nttPTios. —Ono Dollar andTifty Cents,
advance i Two Dollars it paid within tlio
,nd Two Dollars and Fifty Cents, if not
tliln (lie year. These terms will bo rig
lorcd to in every instance. No sub
m discontinued until all arrearages are
dess at the option of the Editor.
iunsßMENTS—Accompanied by the cash,
exceeding one square, will bo inserted
ics for Ono Dollar, and twenty-five cents
additional insertion. p Thosoofagreat
fh in proportion.
'bintino —Such as Hand-bills, Posting
imphlots, Blanks, Labels, &c.,&c.,oxo
itli accuracy and at the shortest notice.
|fartfoal.
I’M tVITU YOB ONCE AGAIN.
r'S^k
•V . BY GEORGE P, MORRIS
Rr',<
~J'm with you once again, my friends
: , No more my footsteps roam :
it began my journey ends,
? Amid the scenes ot homo :
other'clime lias shies so blue,
; 'Or streams so broad and clear,
And .where arc hearts so warm and tmo
As those that meet mo hero ?
lON
w?, Since last, with spirits wild and free,
• ' ' I pressed my native strand, ,
R' I’ve wandered many miles at sea,
And many miles on land;
\ I s ve seen fair regions pi Hie earth
With rude commotions torn,
fSpSt: Which' taught me bow to priifo the worth
jUp Of that where I was born,
fee- '•
HI?
In oilier countries where I heard
The language of my own, '
How fondly each familiar word
Awoke an answering tone I
But when our woodland’songs were sung
fe Upon a foreign mart,
W The vows that faltered oh the tongue I
I? ,: With rapture filled my heart I
My native land! I turn to you,
With blessings and with prayer,-
Where man is brave and woman true
And free as mountain air.
Long may our flag in triumph wave.
Against the world combined.
And friends a welcome —foes a grave,
IVithio our borders And.
GENTLE WORDS,
A young rose in the summer time.
Is beautiful to me,
And glorious the many stars
; —That glimmer oh the sea.
Tint gentle words and loving hearts,.
And hands to clasp my own,
Are better than the brightest flowers,
Or stars that ever shone!
m
Tti® sun may warm the grass:to'life,
. The dew,‘the drooping flower,
And eves gro.w’bright and watch the light
• -Oi'auUmin’s,opening hour.
But words that breathe of tenderness, ,
And smiles we know are true,
Arc wanner than the summer time.
And brighter than the dew.
Hi
rm.
It is not mixklf theworld can give,
. With all its subtle art,
i*** .And gold otgems arc not the things
JiSiyj' To satisfy the4jS£vt* ‘
v«r- - But, oh, if those round
' The alter and the hcarthT^* 5 *
•> i;' Have gentle words and loving smile,
uv : How beautiful is oarthl
( , *■
3111ortIlorous.
THE QUIET HOME.
K-. “ What dear, quiet little things Mrs. Bird's
R children are!” said a'lady to her friend. “I
P;called So see Mrs. Bird to day, and found her
Sr in the nursery with her two boys and her two
i girls, about the ages of mine. It would have
g done your heart good to see how sweetly they
it behaved. Perfect little gentlemen and ladies
p they were. I felt really discouraged. Mine !
why they are wild asses’ colts in comparison.”
;4'■ ♦* There’s a great difference in children,” re-
S illied the friend. . “ I know some little boys and
Sjgirls that Mrs. Bird would not find so easily
' subdued.”
I could hardly, credit -my own eyes; but,
k l . «8 they say, seeing is believing,” resumed the
rst speaker. “For more than half an hour I
it and talked with Mrs. Bird, in the nursery,
ithout once being disturbed by noise or any
the unpleasant interruptions incident to the
[presence of the children.”
What were they doing ?” asked the other,
siila some surprise. ■
'iti,.*-‘‘That was most remarkable ol all. Mrs.
«-jßird has four children. Willy is the oldest
just in, his tenth year. Meeta is seveii, Agnes
.■ fiye, and the baby, as they call Andrew, nearly
four. .Just the.ages for tboughtlcs mischief*
'• making, troublesome noisy romps. But they
y. Were still as mice in a cheese. She had them
all doing something. Willy she had taught va-
Slrious kinds of netting and ornamental necdle
g-jiwork. ~ It was a wonderful resource for the
spehild, she said, keeping his thoughts and fin-
Kgers busy, apd both out .of mischief. She
a handsome anti macassar, in crochet.
ijlwhich he had just finished. I’m sure that I
®cbuldn’t have done it better. I could not help
Pjafpoking upon the delicately formed, sweet-faced
£jjoy, as he sat earnestly engaged at his work—
>■ he was embroidering a pair of slippers in Btr
: ;,-}ih wool for his father—and contrasting with
him my Tom,-a great, rude, coarse .boy, with
ijirty, rough hapds, that are always in better.
Condition for grasping a wheelbarrow than ply
y lnga needle. And thecomparisori, lean assure
you, was not made without a sigh.”
?S ; “Did the boy look happy?” inquired the
k.cfriend.
: ji" “ Perfectly so. He wanted no amusement
. 'besides his book's and Ins needle work. You
drive him into the street, his mother
Srfiaid,”
yy “Dear little fellow! What a comfort to
4 have such a child !”
|y “ Isn’t it ? It really did me good to look in
vito his sweet, pure face, girlish and delicate.”
“ I should like to understand Mrs. Bird’s
- ißyatcm, for there must ho art in the case. All
kl’childrcn arc born romps.” ‘ ;
I begin early,” she said to mo, ‘and repress
;t'w rudcness.and disorder. It is the mihd that
(.jjMefns in children as well as in men. You
; ■ mast give this the right direction. Mere noise
yoking I never permitted. Boys, it is said,
a hammer and pound instinctively. I
fliPink, inf most cases, they pound because a
|fflplmmcf is given to them. Try them with the
Ksmveet face and fragile form of a baby doll, and
will rarely see an inclination to pound. I
mcnced with.the doll, not the hammer; and
see the result. Willy is gentle as a girk—
lever throws the house into disorder—never
:es discordant noise—never quarrels with or
es his younger brother or sisters. So with
rest I began right you see; and upon a
it beginning everything depends. My hus
;f,Sj||nd is a home loving, order-loving, quiet-lov
’>;<.ftSi man ; and I make it my business to see
«homc is all ho desires. ‘How much I cn
ny home, it is so quiet and orderly.’ Bli
the first year of our marriage Mr. Bird of
laid this. I had seen oilier homes. I was
liar with the way in which young children
Jjrero permitted to destroy all comfort in a house
hold by their noise and disorder; and I made
' .pp my mind to have things different, if children
became to our home. And they are different its
S)u can sec. And the children themselves arc
happier. 1, keep them busy at something
out morning till night—busy pppygli not to
rethink of eating all the while. This gnnnandi-
among children is It makes
gluttons of them—developing the animal.
immffln
BY JOHN B. BRATTON.
VOL. 45.
and repressing the intellectual. It is this rav
enous eating that nmkcs'thcm course, rude, and
cruel, like wild beasts.”
“ I believe Mrs. Bird is more than half
right,” \yas remarked upon this. “I have of
ten said that children were permitted to cat
overmuch. Mine would Stull themselves like
Christmas turkeys, from morning till night, if
not restricted.” _ - .
“ Employment such as Mrs. Bird provides
lor her children, is' certainly the best corrector
for this habit of eating.” '
“ How did she get along with baby .Andrew
—the little four-year old you mentioned ? Was
he as orderly and-silcnt as the rest _
lie was pouring over a picture spelling-book
for most of the time that t was there, and af
terwards occupied himself stringing heads. I
declare it was all a wonder to me. Such a
charming family of children I have never seen
elsewhere. What a change there would be for
the better if all mothers understood and prac
ticed on Mrs. Bird’s system.
“Better .for heaven, it may bo,” said the
friend, a little equivocally. ~
“ For heaven 1' I don't just see your mean
ing.” -
“ Such children are most too good to live.”
“Oh!”
“ Mrs. Bird’s qukt home.may be very pleas
ant,, and her system of government very beau
liful-rbut there is danger.”
“Of what?" ■
“ That her children will not live.”
“ Why ? Because they are too good for this
earth, as you have just intimated f”
“ I am-not sure they arc any belter in heart
than some less orderly and more boisterous:
children.. What I mean is, that Mrs. Bird’s
system depresses the animal forccs.loaving the
bodies of her children more liable to disease,
and less able to resist an attack, when it
comes.”
“They are less exposed than other chil
dren.”
“ Perhaps so. But for my part, oh reflec
tion, I would rather take the chances of a less
orderly system of home management.—mine,
for instance, a little modified— noisy, and like a
bedlam, as the house often is.”
It was oh the evening of this very day that
Mr. Bird said to his wife, as if the subject were
suddenly forced upon his observation : ’
“ I don’t think our children have strong con
stitutions. . Willy's face is too delicate for the
face of a boy, and his body too slender. I, ob
serve, also, that his shoulders are depressed.—
Hark!”
Both listened for a few moments.
“ I don't just like that cough,” said Mr.
Bird.
“ A little cold,” remarked his wife. “Willy
got his feet wet to day.”
• “ I never saw children with such indiflerent
appetites,” said Mr. Bird; “hoy don’t cat
•enough to keep pigeons alive.”
“ Most children cal 100 much,” was the re
ply ; ‘.‘and more children arc made sick fiom
over-feeding than abstemiousness.”
“ But there is a golden mean,” said Mr.
Bird.
“To reach which has been my study. DO
.not fear. The children eat quite as much as
good for them.”
.•• There it is again 1 I don’t like that cough
at all.” And Mr. Bird arose and went up to
the room where tho children were sleeping.—'
Willy’s checks were slightly flushed, his skin
was dry and above the natural, heat—and his
respiration just enough obstructed to make it
audible. His father stood for some moments
looking down upon his sleeping boy.
“ 'There’s nothing the matter wnh him.”
Even as Mrs. Bird said this' Willy coughed
-again, and as he coughed he raised his hand to
his throat and moaned as if in suffering.
“ Willy ! Willy 1 dear!" ,
“ I wouldn't disturb him,” said Mrs. Bird.
The father's voice had penetrated his half
awakened sense, and, opening his eyes, he look
ed up with a wondering glance.
“ Are you sick, Willy ?”
The boy coughed again , and more convulsive
ly, pressing his hand on his chest.
“ Docs it hurt you to cough ?”
7 Yes.” ■
MV here?” _ ; .
“ It hurts me right here,” hishandremaining
where he had placed it a moment 'before.
The panting of the child showed that there
was constriction of the lungs.
. V I’m going for the doctor”—Mr. Bird spoke
aside to his wife.
“ I hardly think it necsssary,” objected the
mother.' “It is only some slight disturbance
from cold, and will pass away. This sudden
waking has quickened his heart-beat.”
/Usually Mr. Bird deferred to his wife in all
matters relating to the children, though his
judgment did not coincide with her discipline.
But he was too well satisfied that Willy requir
ed a physician now to hesitate a moment, on
the mothers objection. So he went away in
haste. '
Tito physician was far from treating the case
indifferently. His practised eyefccognized the
symptoms of an acute pneumonia and his treat
ment was such as to fill the hearts of the pa
rents with sudden fear.
If the boy had any constitution”— It was
on the fifth day, and the physician was reply
ing to an anxious inquiry made by the distress
ed mother, all of whose fears were excited. —
“If the boy had any constitution,’l could
speak all the encouragement your heart desires.
But he is not a hot-house plant. All the vital
forces arc but feebly reactive.”
“ His health has always' been good, doctor,”
interposed Mrs. Bird. ■
“ He has never before had any serious sick
ness ; but ho lacks physical stamina,, for all
that.” .• ft,
Theidootbf.s words sent a shuddering chill
to the mother's heart; while a faint cpnviction
dawned upon her.mind.' . t,
. Too surely were the physician’s fears' Tegl-,
ized. At life end of ten,anxious days it. was
apparent to every one that Willy's hours- upou
Iho earth were numbered, Thccliscase preying
upon. a body which had been dirtied pure air
and invigorating sunshine, found scarcely any
thing to oppose its destructive advances. ■ There
was no power of resistance in that delicate
frame. Without even a struggle for life the
Contest ended.
In less Ilian a week after the death of Willy
there came another summons for the dpetor.—
He found the sorrowing parents in alarm again.
■ Little. Andrew, “the baby,” was sick. Sore
throat —fever —stupor.
“ He hasn't been out anywhere,” said Mrs.
Bird, “for two weeks.” Her meaning was,
that Having remained shut up in the house du
ring that period, it was impossible for him to
have contracted any contagious disease.
“It would have been far better if you had
sent him out every day.”
Tito doctor’s words were more an utterance
of Itia own thoughts titan a remark to Mrs. Bird.
Dear little Andrew! Ho Was a slender, ma
tured, beautiful child, who attracted every oyo.
His palo, spiritual taco, almost shadowed by his
broad forehead, gave promise of an intellectual
manhood—if manhood could over bo reached.
,Bnt that was the question which forced, Itself,
ittpon every one but hia unwise parents, who, ip,
securing a quiet household, were providing for
jtho deeper quiet ol death and desolation.
Delicate, orderly, loving, beautiful children
grow ,up in the stimulating atmosphere of their
homo, but without strength for the life battle.
Andrew, “ the baby,” was carried out in less
than a week from the time the doctor sat down
by the bed on which he lay, and placed his fin
gers on the quick wiry pulse that sent a warning
of death to his heart. '
“Our children have no constitutions,” said
Mr. Bird, sadly, ns ho gazed with dim eyes upon
the two delicate blossoms that remained to shed
their fragrance in his quiet homo.
“ They havoalways been healthy,’’answered
the mother, in mournful tones.
“ The doctor says that wb should giro them
more fresh air, and a great deal of out-door ex
ercise.”
“Jane takes them out walking fivory day;
but I don’t see that it does them any good.—
Agnes always comes home tired and fretful j
and Meeta took cold to-day. Neither of them
are as well or as happy after these walks as
when they remain in the house.”
No wonder they weio tired and fretful, or
showed symptoms of cold, after these daily
recreations in the open, air. Holding each a
hand of their attendant, they would walk slowly
as nuns, and orderly ns charity children, in a
procession. There wore no hop, skip, and
jump—no impulsive start or merry romp—but a
strict observance of the last maternal injunction,
“Now walk along like good, quiet children.”
Weariness, after such attempted recreations
in the open air, was an inevitable result, weari
ness, and something worse. The outside air
was different from the air of their homes. It
was colder and more humid. To meet this and
derive a benefit instead of sustaining an injury,
there must bo a quicker circulation and increased
bodily warmth. Mere addition of clothing
would not accomnjjslitho desired object. There
must be quickoiHnovemonts of the body—vig
orous exercise-r-producihg increased vital ac
tion.
'Daily, these half-dead-and-a-alivo walks were
continued, and daily the children caino back
from them wearied and spiritless, and some
times with hot hands and feverish breath.
The mother insisted upon itdhat these daily
Wallis were not good for the children. Mr.
Bird! in. doubt, called upon their doctor, and
submitted the question anew.
“Give them plenty ot fresh air and out-of
door exercise,” was his repealed and very em
phatic injunction. “If you wish to raise your
children,Jet them have a phance to acquire
strength.” ‘
And so the daily goings wore continued
whether the air was dry or damp,'warm or chill
ing. If it was warm, the children came back
wearied; If damp, with symptoms of cold; and
always in some way showing a loss of, instead
of an increased, vital activity. They were too
well trained at five and seven to commit tho in
discretion of a romp in the street, and romping
in the .quiet house they called their borne was a
thing never known or heard of by either of the
little patterns of propriety. 1 As to vocal efforts,
they rarely went boyohd a low, humming “ Uush
a-by-haby,” sung to a waxonjacod doll. No
wild, screaming laughter over desecrated their
house unless Irom the lungs of some badly
trained visiting child, upon whoso strange doings
her own little ones gazed in half stupid wonder.
Narrow chests and weak lungs were the natural
consequence.
As Willy had so died —ere the summer’s
greenness had faded from tho new-made grave*
of thq first depar ted—Meeta next-to him in years
departed. , : ’/
Only Agnes wasfeft to Jhe stricken parents
now. £sbo was pure and whife, and delicate as
u lily. That Moota had been injured by tho
daily walks in tho open air they were fully con
vinced ; and notwithstanding tiro repeated re
monstrances ofthe family physician, they refused
to let the fresh breathings of heaven in upon
their child.
One day—it was a sunny visitant in the early
spring time, ere the violet opens its blue eyes
among the fresh shooting grass—Agnes strayed
front the nursery, and going beyond tlio watch
ful eyes of her mother, gained an openchamber
window, and, climbing upon looked out
upon the budding trees and the emerald carpet
which nature had spread over the' small plat ol
open ground that lay in front of tbo dwelling.—
The window looked .to tho south, and tbo air
canto pressing in from that quarter, bathing .the
child’s brow with a refreshing _ coolness. Slid
laid her slender arras upon the window-sill, and,
resting her face upon Iter arms, looked out, half
dreamily; and with a quiet sense of pleasure.—
When Iter mother found her hall ah hour after
wards she was asleep.
A robust child might have suffered front some
temporary derangement of. the system, conse
quent on checked perspiration; but to ono of
Agnes’, feeble constitution exposure like this
must always lie followed with serious. conse
quences. When Mrs. Bird caught Agnes in her
arms a wild fear throbbed in her heart. Aina!
it was no-idle fear. She soon detected symp
toms top well understood, and sent in baste for
tho doctor.
“ Some, slight derangement,” he said, eva
sively, tp the eager questionings of tho mother.
But his tones were a death-knoll.
Very, very quiet now.is the home of Mr, and
Mrs. Bird, There is no wild disorder of chil
dren there, but a stillness that makes the heart
ache. Mrs. Bird resolved, in tbo beginning, to
have n quiet, orderly homo, and site has l done
her work well. 5
Common Sense Young Indies.
jf young ladies only kncw jt ttey would bo
making themselves far. more attractive in the
eyes of sensible persons of tbo. oilier sex, by
showing that they are pot afraid of performing a
little labor, than by a thaw Irish impression that
they are above work. Young men of brains,
while of course despising, that slavery which
would continually keep the ladies at the wash
stand, or at tbo sowing table, without amuse
ment or relaxation at all, leva to sco a desire in
young ladies to make themselves useful; and in
selecting a wife would vastly prefer such a one.'
It is all a mistaken point that ladies need bo
dressed in furs, silka, and feathers to win the
admiration of young men. Wo know of a half
dozen renowned men who fell in love wHh thcir
wives when dressed in plainest clothing.
At a late ball in Baltimore a gentleman (prob
ably not one of the codfish aristocracy,) having
danced with a young lady whose attractions,
both personal and conversational, scented to
have made an impression upon his sensibilities,
asked to have the pleasure of seeing Iter on the
following evening.
“ Why no sir,” replied the fair one, “I shall
bo engaged to-morrow evening; but I’ll tell you
tyboh you can sec mo.’?
.“I shall bo most happy,” exclaimed tho
stricken swain.
“ Well, on Saturday,” resumed the lady,
“you can see mo at tho foot of Marsh market
soiling cabbage!”
The gentleman went, saw the usefulness of tbo
lady, was still more, enhanced with her, and
they were married shdrtly afterwards.
O’ Gray hairs, like honest friends, are
plucked out and cast aside for telling unpleas
ant truths.
O'” Conscience, be it ever so little 0 worm
while we live, grows suddenly to a serpent on
our death-bed.
O'” The retrospection of past events or mis
fortunes, like shade to a picture,, gives to our
present bliss greater force and brightness.
o(7* It is an easy and vulgar thing to please
the tno.b, and; not a very hard task to astonish
them ; but to benefit and improve them, is a
work fraught with, dicfflulty and teeming with
danger.
“OUR COUNTRY—MAY IT AIiTTATS ;BB RIGIIf—BOT RlOi& 6# 'WRONG, OUR COUNTRY.”
CARLISLE, PA., THURSDAY, SEP 1
In 1849, the principal “banking institution
of the clinnce kind” in San Francisco were ,the
Bella Union. Verandalt, Mine de Oro, Eldofgdo
and Parker House, all situated about the Plaza,
and each employed a band ol music to lesson
the tedious hours of that winter, and to drown
tiie noisy jingling of gold and silver, aind '■the
cursing ejaculations of the gamesters. Many a
sad scene has taken place within these saloons,
that chilled the blood of the beholders, and is
remembered with horror.
As I was once carelessly sauntering through
one of these places my attention was attracted'
towards a person who had. large piles of gold
before him ; the staring , eyeballs, the swollen
veins upon his forehead, the cold sweat in Jus
face and clenched hands, toldof heavy losses ;
mingled exclamations of horror and contempt
would escape him, and he seemed unconscious
of all else going on around him ; his gnzejbcijt
upon the cards as if his life's
stake ; and in this case Ids lasfdofljir Wh|* jilt
within the dealer's bank,when, with thejfren
zy of a maniac, he drew a long ,dii k knifej'and
plunged it up to the hilt in his oWn bodygnml
sank a corpse upon the table. A few rode jeers
followed the act; the body was removed, and
the game went on as though nothing had hap
pened—as though-another viotiinh'ad not been
added to the page of the gambler’s damning
record, or another soul gone to its final
account!
I learned this much of.his history: He star
ted with a large stock of goods, given him by
his father on commission, and the father’s for
tune depended upon a sure return of the money
invested ; but, as usual with young men, he,
in the full liberty of unbridled license, and while
the ship stopped at one of the South American
ports, he engendered the first seeds of “ploy,;"'
but for a while alter his arrival the excitement
of trade, and the energy necessary to accom
plish a successful issue kept his mind busy
■ One day, by appointment, he was to meet a
mercantile friend at this house, and while wait
ing for his friend, he staked a few dollars upon
the turning cards, when the latent disease
sprung into life, and it carried him headlong
over the precipice, and ended in the tragic
manner related.
The Wine de Oro was a gambling saloon sit
uated bn Washington street, opposite the El.
Dorado,,and in ’49 it was the principal resort
of (he disbanded soldiers of the California regi
ments, and also of the soldiers who had been en
gaged in the war with Mexico. Behind one of
the largest monte banks in the room sat a man
who had won for himself honorable mention,
and an officer’s commission was given him for
his bravery at the storming of , Monterey : but
preferring the climate of California, and its
golden prospects to a mot* northern home, IffT
embarked for that country at the close of the
war with Mexico, and upon his' arrival, he
opened a bank for gambling. The emigrants
came in by thousands, and a few nights after
his arrival a, young man entered this saloonr,
seated himself at the bank, amt slaked various
sums upon the cards, until he bad lost nearly
all the money he possessed. Excited with,.'/'?'!;
play and maddened by his losses, he acfC
'the denier ofeneiling; ilie-aeah»p:eplicd!?B-"f'
ly to tho-allegation-jdiho ‘lie- passed; when;-.. 1 .
young man struck rne’acnlcrl'a severe "blow j
his face: ns quick as thought the; report on, ’
pistol followed, and the gambler’s clothing wo//
covered with the young man’s ’blood —he bad
shot him. through the right breast. ! ■
The room was soon cleared of the spectators'
present, the doors closed, and medical' attend-'
ancc called in'aid of the wounded man. The
gambler sat moodily over his bank, running,the
small monte cards through his fingers, and per
haps thinking of the deed just perpetrated .when
the wounded man gave a moan of agony as the
doctor’s probe reached the bottom of his wound.
The doctor inquired what Slate he was from,
and the wounded man replied——
, “From Vermont.” “ .
. The gambler raised his bead, for it had been
a long time since he had seen a person from Ihe
home of his childhood, and Vermont being his
native State, the mere mention of ijs name in
terested him. The doctor next inquired the
t ame of the place where his parents resided, if
he had any. The wounded man replied
‘Montpelier.”
, The gambler sprang to his feet, his limbs
trembled, and his face was as pale as death.for
Montpelier was the home of his youth, and per
haps the wounded man might have been his
playmate in childhood —perhaps his schoolmate
—knew his parents, his brothers and sister,
lie clung convulsively to the table, with the
contending emotions of rapid thought, and the.
weight of the injury he had inflicted, he could,
scarcely keep on his feet. A stimulant was
given to the wounded man, and he was momen
tarily relieved from that weakness the body is
subject to after a severe wound—when the doc
tor inquired if there was any friend in the city
he wished sent for.
“Yes,” he replied, “My wife —she is at the
City Hotel, corner of Clay and Kearney streets.
Tell Iter to hasten, for I am badly hurt.”
A man was sent to bring his wife.
“Doctor,” said the gambler,-“save that man
and there is . my bank, and 310,000 in Bur
goynes—you shall have it all.”
The doctor Telt the pulse of man and probed
the wound ahew. The, gambler watched him
with the greatest anxicly-hntil -his inspection
was finished, when the doctor shook • his. head
in token of impossibility. The gambler sat
down bv the side of the, wounded man and
bathed his head with water, and staunched the
flow of blood from the wound until the arrival
of his wife; she came accompanied by a. few
friends, and as heroic women bear misfortunes,
she bore hers. Not a word Of reproach, her—
words of cheerfulness only came fiom hcr-lips,
as the tears coursed down her cheeks. To- her
inquiry as to the chances of her husband s re
covery, the doctor assured her there was no
hope; that the wound was mortal, and 'hat in
a few hours he would die. She sank down up
on her knees and invoked the blessing of a for
giving God for her dying husband and his mur
derer. The gambler asked the forgiveness, of
the wounded man for the wrong ,ho had com
mitted, and also that of the wife, which was
granted. - . ,
“This,” said he, “is for not obeying tbe-sa
cred injunction of my aged lather and mother
not to gamble. I have faced death, a thousand
times, and still I have escaped the balls of an
enemy which have whistled past my cars ns
thick as hailstones, and the bursting bombs
have exploded at my feet; still I have lived
O God! and for this 1 High above the red tide
of battle I have carried my country’s ensign—
and that won for me a name among men—,
when not one comrade was left to tell
deeds in the battle, I escaped unscathed. Why
was I not killed like the rest? All that was
proud or pleasing to men 1 have had ; and if I
could recall this last act by living upon caiyi*
on, sleeping in a pauper’s grave, and renounc
ing every proud act of my life, I would do it. 1
was born in the same village with that nian •
we havo been classmates together at tho same
school, we were beneath the same roof, and 0
God! he must not die—he is my brother.' 1
And tho gambler sank down in a swoon up
on the door. The wounded man raised himself
upon his elbow, his glassy eyes wondered about
TLe Brothers.
Dolmitm'.
TEMBER 0, 1858.
the room as if in search of some particular per
son. ,
“Mary,” said he, is brother William hero?
I——” and the word choked in his throat, the
gurgling blood stopped bis utterance, and he
sank back a corpse upon his pillow. The wife
knelt again, but it was beside a dead body,and
invoked the mercy of God upon Jus soul, and
forgiveness for the murderer.
The gambler, awoke from his swoon, and
staggered up from the wife andjiaid : • .
“Mary, would if were otherwise ; for I have,
nothing to live lor now ; the dead and dying do
not want anything in this world; take this
certificate of deposit to our aged father, and
tell our parents we are both dead, but—o ! do
not tell how we died !”
Before the woman could reply or any one in
terfere, the report of that pistol sounded again,
and the fratricide had ceased to live.
On the hill near Rincon Point were two
graves a few years ago, enclosed with a white
fence, and one tombstone stood at their head,
witli thc single inscription—“ Brothers.” .
A Providential Rescue.
'' -Gno day, in harvest time, my mother sent mo
into the cellar to letch a pitcher of beer for the
reapers. I’wns about ten years old, and of a
lively temper,'always going with a bop and a
bound rather than walking. On coming into
the dark cellar I .felt a little timid, and to keep
up mj’ courage, sprang and danced about at n
greater rate than usual.
Xow it happened .flint Ilarrach, my native
town, was built over old miney* which' had fal
len in a long time before. All around the place
lie great fragments of stonb.from the abandoned
works, and in many of the houses ate found
hall-opened passages which are sometimes used
as cellars. Our house, likewise, was built over
“a>haft, but this was either not known or not
thought 01. But-while I was capering'about,
and had just seized the pitcher which stood in
the corner, suddenly tho earth opened under
-too, and I was gone, I knew not where. _
I-went down to a groat .depth, and should
have plunged to the very bottom ol tho abyss,
had not a hook, which probably had been used
(or fastening the mining ladder, caught me by
the coat. At the instant of falling, I had ut
tered a fearful shriekilwhich reached the ears
of my mother, who was busy in the kitchen.—
She.camo running down with ii light, arid when
she saw the opening in the ground, and could
(neither find mo.nor hear answer to her call, she
:could not doubt that I had perished.-'
'' My mother has often told me that she was be-
I sido herself with terror, and was near plunging
down after nio. It became so-dark before her
eyes that she could hardly sustain herself upon
Ijer trembling knees. But she thought that pos
sibly I might yet be rescued, brought her to
herself.
She’hastened up stairs and called for help;
but no one hoard her, for all the household were
at work-in the harvcstsfisld. It was not until
she bad run into the,. street tfilit some women
heard...her, and hastened to tho. spot. They
stoqßfeouml wringing their bands and looking
(lowoßlto aperture, but they know not wlrnt
to dor ' '
1 In falling I bad lost my consciousness, and it
r would baye been a happy thing to have rcipjpincd
ei *h"s. until the moment of my deliverance. But
j ,0 myself. I know not
; I ■ /11 * M-E&earth, and ,that the next nio,
fTTfIiK snbsci'ibiw mo-fnfo bottomless abyss.-r-
JL atknjtionurGa to make a sound;, sogreat was
dJyHLVraf';. but. when I heard. voices apd’pitcohs
lamentations above, I begged name for
|ielp).-=At ceased /or a
then burst out more violently than
before, for to know that I whs alive, and yet no
way to help mo, only added to their misery.
There was no luck of counsel. Each one had
something to propose. But it was soon seen
that nothing was to bo effected in this way.—
They tried to let down cords, but they did .not
reach me. Poles were still more useless. In
deed, how. could it have been possible for mo
to hold op .to a cord or a polo long enough to
d.aw me up to that height?
. At length they called in tho aid ol an old mi
i nor, who at once saw what was to be done., —
i His first business was carefully to enlarge the
aperture. lie then set up a windlass beside it,
with a long rope coiled upon it, and to this fas-,
toned a bucket. .The compassionate, neighbors
watched every riiovement with agonizing im
patience, Manyproyed aloud; Ami in those
terrible moments of iconsciousness which how,
and then broke upon my swoon, lor I had
swooned after my fall, my car. caught single
words of hymns and prayers lor the dying which
1 understood too well. .
At length all was ready; and the old miner,
with a light attached to his cap, having first
given warning that perhaps ho might drag mo
down with him in his decent, stepped into the
bucket. Slowly and cautiously was the rope
unwound. I saw the burning light, and it
seemed to mo like a star descending from hca
venfor my help. Above was "the sileneoof
death. Without knowing what I did, I shrank
up as close as possible to the damp wall. The
movement loosened a bit of stone, andl heard
the reverberation ot its fall in tho depth below.
The old man now began to,comfort.,me, saying
that I must keep up a good hcnrt,'for he hoped
Unit with God’s help ho should deliver mo.
Now I saw tlie bucket hovering over my head j
then nearer and nearer; but tho opening was
so narrow that it coidd not pass by me. My
deliverer therefore gave a sign for those at the
top to stop unwinding, lie then ranched down
to me a cord with a noose tied to it. I seized
hold of this, and by raising myself a little,
grasped the edge of the bucket, first by one,
and then bv both hands. At this instant tho
frail threads which had thus far sustained me
gave way. The bucket swayed with my weight,
but I was'already grasped by my old friend.—
lie drew me into tho bucket, and called aloud :
<■ Thank God, there above! I have tho child!
I have tho child 1”
As I sat in the miner’s lap and felt 1 myself
sale, tho first thing that came into my head was
Iho'pitchcr, which in my fall had slipped from
my hand. I began to weep bitterly.
“ Why do you weep, my boy ?” said tho old
man; “ tho danger is all over; we are just at the
<< Ah, the pitcher, tho pitcher!” I sobbed out.
“It was a bran new one, and the very best wo
had.”
Wo wore at tlio brink. 01 ,
motlicr leaned over it, reaching toward me with
yearning arms. The old miner, lifted mo out
to 'bef. With trembling hands she caught mo
and drew mo to her bosom. All the bystanders
shouted for joy. They crowded around, and
each one wished to embrace mo, but my mother
trusted mo not out of her arms. Sho, dear,
good mother! She bad always loved rne dearly j
but from that time I was Iho apple of her eyo.
I have board my mother more than once re
late'that when she heard the words ol the mi
nor— »Thank God, there above! I have the
child 1” a thrill of horror ran through her heart.
Then it seemed to her impossible that it could
bo true i she fell with' her face to the ground,
and could only weep. But when the light re
appeared, and by its weak rays sho could dis
cern her child, and soo that ho was alive, heaven
scorned to open to her in all its glory. Kovjr
did sho forgot Iho blessed moment. My mother
was a very pious woman, and was on this ac
count held in great esteem by all who know her.
Wo laid many trials upon her, but I never saw
her faint-hoarlcd, never hoard her murmur.—
lln all hor sorrows sho acknowledged tbo fatherly
love of-God. But sho often tofd her children
that it was in that day ol agony when I was lost
and again restored, that sho was first fully. es
tablished in her faith, and know what it was to
“Dear me,” exclaimed Mrs. D., ‘‘that is
singular indeed. How stiange ! What can be
the cause of such a disfigurement ?”
v Can’t say,” replied Dubbs, “ but it is a
curiosity worth seeing; to say the least of it.”
“ So I should think,” returned his better
half. “I will go down in the. morning, and
take such delicacies ns the woman needs, and
see the child at the siijtye time.”
Dobbs knew she. would, so he went out to
smoke a cigar,'.and the subject was dropped
for the evening. Next morning, after he went
to his store, the kind hearted woman made lip
a basket of nice things, and talcing the servant
went down to cheer up the mother and
see the singular child. When Dobbs went
home to dinner, his wife looked surprised.—.
Before be had time to scat himself, she said :
“ Have 3 t ou seen cousin John ? lie was here
this morning to pay you the money you lent
him, and as he could not wait for you, and
must leave town again to day, I told him you
would be at the,store at half-past *two.”
“How fortunate,-’ said he; “I need just
that amount to take up a note to morrow^ —
Just'* two, now,'’said Dobbs; looking at his
watch; “I will go down at once, for, fear of
missing him.” ■ . - .
“ Can’t 3*ou have dinner first ?” Said his af
fectionate wife ; “3*ou will be in lime.”
“ No,” said he, v I want that money, and
would not like to miss him, so I'.will’go at
once.”
“By the by,” said the lady, “how came you
to tell me such a ?tory about one side of that
child’s face being while ?”
“ No, no,” said he, ns he put bn his hat,
“you are mistaken. I said one side was
black. , You did not ask about the other side ;
that was black, too. First of April, my dear,
first of April, yon knowi” ' :
. Dobbs departed in hastp, and did not return
home again until tea-time, and then ho looked
disappointed.
“ What is the matter, my dear ?” said Mrs.
D -.
“ Why. I missed cousin John, and I needed
that thousand dollars to take-up a note to-mor
row, and every one is so short I cannot raise
it.”
“ Oh, is that all ?” returned she, “ then it’s
all right. Cousin John paid” me the money,
and said you could send him a receipt by
mail.”
“ But,” asked Dobbs,' “ why couldn’t you
toll me so at dinner time, and not’say he would
be at the store to pay me at half-past two, and
so send me off without my dinner, besides «aus
iing mo so much anxiety for no!hii>„. rr
• - xam sorry -yon have bud so muclinnxiety
and ironlda-tWeLu rned his wife, “ but you are!
misfaken in supposing I told you he would be
at the store at that time.. I said I told him
you.would be there, at half past two, and know
ing you were in want of that money, I knew
you would not fail. First of April, my dear,
first of April, you know!’’
Dobbs,caved in ; bo acknowledged tho corn,
and Mr. and, Mrs. Dobbs enjoyed a pleasant
supper. .
A correspondent of the Pennsylvania Inqui
rer was at Pekin, the capital of China, a short
lime ago, and what ho saw of it, and how it
impressed him, he, thus describes:
“Oh,arriving at the.capital of the Chinese
Empire, we find a city containing about two
millions of people. Such is the estimate, but
doubtless the calculation is made in the usual
spirit of Eastern exaggeration. Be that as it
may, the walls are fourteen miles in circumfer
ence. twenty-eight feet high, twenty-four loot
dhick at the base, and twelve feet at the top.—
There are spacious towers all around, at seventy
feet distance from ccch other, and at the gales
are barrack's for the soldiers, nine stories in
height. The metropolis is divided into two
parts, one inhabited by the Tartars, and the
others by the Chinese. In each there is a street
four miles long and one hundred and twenty
feet wide, and the Eniperpr’s palaces and gar
dens occupy two-thirds of the Tartar city.—
And all tins besides the suburbs, which arc
nearly ns populous as the city proper. ■
“ Pekin is strangely located as a national
capital, it being in a northern corner (lat. .forty
deg.) and only sixteen miles south of the fa
mous Chinese wall, and therefore much exposed
to northern and hostile neighbors. ■ Yet its f„r
tifleations are strong; and until the vast inacln
-nery -of- modern artillery was-invented, the
brother of the sun and moon was perfectly se
cure in his palatial halls, the walls, bastions,
and towers being impregnable in ancient times..
If bravely manned; and defended, the oriental
potentate, robed in imperial purple, might have
exclaimed with Macbeth, -Our castle’s strength
will laugh the siege to scorn V Although the
country about Pekin is sandy and unproduc
tive, yet provisions abound, being brought by
canals from all the great rivers; and also with
its commerce—‘the merchants being paid in
money, as the capttat is the chief recipient of
the revenues of all China. It has ever been re
garded as a very exclusive place, the presence
of no foreigner being permitted within its walls.
But now, the ‘outside barbarians’ are in a fair
way ofoverleaping the sacred boundaries. And
it is probable that this act, together with the
opening of Japan, may prove an important step
toward the inauguration of Christianity among
the millions who ore now benighted, in the
worse than Cimmerian darkness of pagan idol
atry and superstition.”
ink.of tlio clmsra. My
CCr* True worth, like the rose will blush at
Its own sweetness.
0“ That’s but an empty purse that is full of
other folks’ money.
K 7“ Beauty unaccompanied by virtue, is a
flower without perfume.
O” One might ns well be out of the world
as beloved by nobody in it.
ICT-Praise to . generous minds is the germ
and the aliment to emulation.
tCT” Honor, innocence, happiness, lime, and
money lost, are never regained.
[£7* One may have a bad opinion of him who
has no good opinion of any one.
ny He that knows , useful things, and not
he that knows many things, is the wise man.
OC7" As. we must render an account for every
idle word, so must we of our idle silence.
AT §2,00 PER ANNUM.
(rhst in the goodness of God.— From the Ger
man,
Tit for Tati
Dobbs was up and doing April Fool Day. — :
A singular phenomenon was,, to be seen in the
vicinity of Ins place of business. Dobbs went
home from his store tiie list in March,
and while faking his lea, remarked to his wife
that his colored porter had been blessed with an
ifi.crease in his family. ;
“ Why,” said'Mrs. D., “ that makes nine !”
“ Ext clly,” said he; “ but the singularity
about this new comer is, that one half its face
is black.”
Pekin, as seen by an American.
gy Wordly joy is a sunflower, which shuts
when tiie gleam of prosperity is over.
A recent number of Ibo Household Words con-,
fain a sketch of Stephen Girafdj-tho • tdoney
itmkof. It is not correct In air particulars,
yet It embodies many interesting facts, iji tho
history of tho celebrated-banker.. After giving
tho loading events in tho early life of Glnu*d/
the writer proceeds ns follows: -• • - -■■ ■ '• s -
In 1812, Stephen Girard* the one-eyed cabin
boy ot Bordeaux* purchased the banking prem
ises of the old Bank of tho*United Status oyhpM'
charter was not renewed) and started the Girard
• Bank a large private establishment, which not
only conferred advantages on the community
greater than the State institdfion upon which it
was founded, bht, while tho public credit was
shaken the Government finances wore.exhausted
by war, the Girard Bank could command largo
subscriptions of loan, and put itselfin tho posi*
’ tion of the principal creditor of the country.—
In 1814, Gimrtl subscribed the whole'of d largo ’
Government loan from patriotic motives* and
in 1817 ho contributed byots unshaken cfediC
and undiminished funds to bring about fbu re
sumption of specie pay’ments. In 1881 biff
operations wore so extensive, that when tho
country was placed In extreme embarrassment
from (ho scarcity of money by reason of tho
balance of trade being against It# ho was enabled,
by a single transaction with an eminent JBng
lisli flrfn, to (urn the exchanges and cause specie
to flow info thdStates.* . *'-'.j*,;. \
To add to his singular antTneficicnt charac
ter, he was deaf in one car, could only speak
broken Knglish, neVer conversed upon anything •
but business* and wore the same : Old coatj cut
in the French style, fof five years,dogQtliol 4 .;
An old rickety chair, remarkable for its age,,
and marked with (ho initials “ S. G.” drawn
by a faded horse, was used when ho rodcabont
the city. lie ’hal.no sense of hospitality, no.
friend to share his.house or his fable. Ho-was
deferential in appearance, to rank,and family;
violent and-passionate' only to one man—an old
and faithful clerk named Uohergot. His theo
logical Opinions were heretodoxln the oxtrehio, -
and he loved to name his splendid vessels after
Voltaire and KossCau. lie was. devoted to the
improvement of his adopted conntrjt, he was a
determined follower of ostentatious charity. No
man ever applied to him tor a large public grant
in vain, while the starving beggaf was invarla- '
lily sent from his gate., lie steadily rose every .
morning before the lark, and unceasing -labor
was the daily worship .of his life. . .
* Stephen Girard beganhis remarkable tfttdiffg
•career with one object, which he steadily kept
in view alji his .long life—the making of .money
for tho.power it conferred. He was content, nj
starting, with th'p small profits of the retail tra- .
deivwilling tp labor in any .capacity, to fiiako
these-profits secure, lie practiced the most
rigid personal' economy; he resisted ef!l the'
Allurements of pleasure;, ho exacted (he last
farthing that-was due him; and he paid the last
farthing that he.owed, lie look every advan’r : .
tage the jaw allowed hint in resisting a claim i
he used men just as fur as accom
plish his purpose; he paid his servants no merer
than the market price ; when a faithful cashicf
died ho exhibited thenttnost indifference, mak
ing no provision for the'family, and uttering Pdf
sentiment of regiet for his loss. lie would hig
gle for a penny with a huckster in the’ street;
ho would deny the wntchmaft” at his bank f.hct
customary present of a great coat. . ’
Thds he attained his* cighty’-ftce’ond year, in
1830, he had nearly lost flic sfghf Of his one cy.cf/
and used to be seen groping about his hank dfs*
regarding every offer of assistance. . Crossing
one of tho Philadelphia roads ho was knocked
down by a passing wagon, his./ace.was-btyfccdy
and his right ear was nearly cut oft. IlisSano
eye, which before opened slightly, Was not. cm.*
tirely closed; ho gradually wasted away,and
bis health declined,. . On the 2tfth of DeCembeVj
.Stephen Girard expired in the back room oir*k^_
KO. 13.
the third floor of Ins house in Water street,]
Philadelphia, leaving the bulk of his largo for
tune, upwards of a million sterling, to found
charities, amt to benefit the city and Hie coun
try in which lie had acquired iU
He left his monument In tho “ Girard Col
lege,” that marble-roofed palaco for the educa
tion and protection of tho orphan children of
the poor, which stands the moat perfect ijiodcl
of architccthvo in_tho AVorld.high
all llm Imp-Hogs of - Philadelphia, Visible from
every -eminence of the surrounding
Kve/y detail of tho'external' arid internal af--
(rniigciiienl of this; orphan; college was sot forth
.clearly in flic will, showing that the design upon
which ho, had lavished the mass of Ilia wealth
\vas_ not (tie hastily’ d’oVclopcd, fancy, of a few
hours or days,--but was the bbart-clierfsliccf*
silent project of Ms whole life, c
For the preservation of health, exercise' fs of
tho utmost importance. Bcspiration, eircnla
lion, digestion, secretion, and all the botfify
.functions arc assisted by it; causing at.tho
same time clearness of mind and cheerfulness of
heart. The evil results of the want or deficien
cy of exercise arc seen in persons of indolent
life or sedentary habits,. Indigestion, boslivc
nesss, congestion, and a ,multitude of chroma
maladies arc produced, besides the general dc-,
rangement and discomfort of the whole systeni
under which nervous and bypochondriacbal pd-l
licnts sulfer. The.,rbbust health commonly on
joyed by the. working classes, compared with
those engaged in sedentary pursuits, is chiefly
owing»fo their bodily labor. In every period
and occupation of life, exercise is essential to
health, but most of all in thoyouflg.
Nineveh was fifteen miles long, nine wide;
and forty miles round. Its walls were boo
hundred feet high, and broad enough; for three
chariots to be driven abreast.- Babylon com
prised sixty square miles within its walls;
wliiolrwete three hundred feet high ahd seven
ty thick. The city was entered by one hun
dred gates of brass. The temple of Diana,
which was two hundred years in building, was
four hundred feet high. The largest of.the
Egyptian pyramids is four hundred and eighty
feet high, and one side of it is sis hundred and
.sixty-three feet in length ; the base of it covers
eleven acres. ’Thestones of which ills con
structed are nearly thirty feet long, and three
layers are two hundred and eight. The "num
ber of men employed in its motion was threp
hundred and sixty thousand. Tho labyrinth
of Egypt consists of three thousand chambers,
and twelve halls.' The ruins of Thebes in
Egypt are iwcnty-scvcn miles round. It had
one hundred gales. Carthage and Athens
were each Iwenly-flvo miles round.
(X?* Jinny a glorious speculation has failed.for
tho same good reason that the old Texas Uanger
gave when ho Was asked why Ho didn’t buy land
when it was dog'cheap. Ai correspondent tells
tho story i \
“ Well, I did como nigh\onto taking eight
thousand acres onost,” sail old Joe, mourn
fully, “You see, two of the'boys came in oho,
day from an Indian hunt without any shoes, and
oll'ercd me their titles to tho two leagues just
below hero (or a pair of boots.”
“ For a pair ol boots !” I cried out.'
“ Yes, for a pair ol boots ior each league.” -.
« But why, on earth, didn’t you tako it?—
Thoy’d bo worth a hundred thousand..dollars
to-day. Why didn’t yon give them the boots /”
“Jest ’cause I didn’t have the boots to give,’!,
said old Joo, as lie took another chew, of to
bacco, quite as contented us if lie owned twq
leagues ol land.
03?* jt is not work that kills men ; it is worry J
ITork is healthy; you can hardly put more npoti
a man than he can hear. Worry is -rust updn
the blade. It is not the revolution, that des
troys the machinery, bat fho friction. Pear
secretes acids i but lovo and’trust are' 'sweet
juices. ' ■ 1
CyDohba is a strong believer in “guardian
angels.” If it Wore not for them, ho- asks,
tt what would keep people from rolling out of
bod when they are asleep I” ... '
rrs”*lt has been said that a chattering little
soul in a largo body la like a swallow m a barn—- ,
the twitter takes np more room than the bird.
couple of old maids sent a bachelor a
Coquet of tansy and wormwood. Ho thought
the gift considerably sweeter than either ot the
givers. ■ ; : 1,..
07-By doing good with his money, a man,
as it were, stamp* the imago of God upon it,
and makes it pass current for the morchandinp
«A heaven.
Girard, JfifiHloneyJllaker. ;,y'
Importance of Exercise.
Size of Ancient Cities.