VOL. VIII. . . TEM . PEOPLE'i 33IIRNAL iuntacßED EVERY THURSDAY monstso. Terms—ln Advance One espy per annum, $l.OO -Mega subscribers, 12.5 TERMS OF ADVERTISING. )ttitiare, of 12 lines or less, 1 insertion, $0,50 . " " , " 3 insertions, 1,50 " every subsequent insertion, 25 Rale and figure work, per sq., 3 insertions, 3,00 Every subsequent insertion, 50 1 .eolomn,!one year, 25,00 I column, six months, 15,00 Admiaistra . tors' or Executors' Notices, 2,00 Ellerin Sales, per tract, - 1,50 Professional Cards not exceeding eight lines started for $5,00 per annum. a- AU letters on business, to secure at tention, should be addressed (post paid) to the Publisher. TB VEMiI,3 OF THE IMEIZANCY I have a niece who has been for fif teen years the wife of an itinerant preacher. My wife and brought her up, and just as we began to congratu late ourselves upon her worth and af fection for us, and flattering ourselves that in her care our old age was pro vided fur, she became acquainted with a ygung minister and very soon felt it her duty to transfer her allegiance from us to him, . At first we grjambled considerably, not that she was going to be married though that was affliction enough. but because of the dismal prospect before the simple child herself: We deter mined, however, that while we did not oppose her choice we would not he remiss in appropriate warnings, and she should at least go into the rot with her eyes open. We drew a picture •f th• hard work and little pay. that awaited her, of the empty cellar and pantry that pertain to a pais(olau,e, and that everybody believes in ex- cep:. traveling agents and strap female lectureasei I remember ti at my wife wept over the piteous thi,tituii..m of the unborn I.ttle itinerants. wb,i, trim i , eernecl to exp..-ct woulti htt I , enimiiulating the ut the villages and tt.w:J:: empty ii.,tiingers in nand, and melt ing tn,:•:ly heal ts i,y theit d:znand. for z:i;initned Well, it %va , ail of no usr. The call of duty wa, not to be di:reilaided. so Mary mar: ied the minister, and alter Fri ovi clin..; a; .zood an t,: fit :1., we could aTord, we cli:3rnissed her with our bles sing. She bus visited us as often as twice iN a year ever :31:;ci.-. She here nciw with a regintent ~f native Amet wn , .pei:lcallirg giandpapa instead if It happened iast evening that I was fur the third time fini:liing the jouinal of "Shady Side, or Lite in a Country Parsonage," ono ul the mo;t affecting, books that I ever found. The theme suits me. Even while I nwell with righteous indignation, l am tickled by an under current of thnugbt which as- cures me that my own ideas of affliction ate gammon. The • very troublt.s that 1 prophesied for our niece, Mary Ann, are so vividly Portrayed, that I am often half delu-; ded with the idea that I wrote the work myself. 1V el, last evening, as I tinted the sad cunclusia of the narrative, 1 could not help stealing an occasional glance ,of Pity at Maay Ann, who sat in the corner of tue wide window seat, watch ing, the wild antics of her buys, si ho were:turn btu% about in the snow out side. She - was sinuing in a low voice a simple sung that I had lured years ago, accompanying herself on an -old guitar that I mid given her on her fif teenth birthday. :The witch 1. What. business had a woman of such trials as hen to sing that happy butig. I began to wonder as I watched her. The bright hopeful expression of countenance that had charmed us in hsr childhued, was there still, nut dim med in the least. "A mystery!" - 1 exclaimed. She looked around in astonishment. ••Were reading aloud, uncle.". **No. I win thinking. 1-lere is the IIIII: . -PHEr . :-: - -:;''PLE',g':JOURNAL pargon'A family in the "Shady Side' shrouded in darkness and sorrow,— tiles e .you sit; all smiles and sun shine." She laughed gaily, for sbe knows my hobby. "Which of the two is preferable, do you think?" " That is not the question I don't understand it, have you no trials, Idol lyr "None deserving the name. I have many blessings." . • " Yes. Very likely. But these CongregatiOnalisti pay their pastors higher salaries than your pi eachers receive, and your pecuniary troubles must he more numerous of course.— Are they not?" "We have a little perplexity• some times; not more, I think, however. than.other people. Perplexity is not confined to. our calling—it is. rather one of the common ills that flesh is heir to." " But you will admit that there. are trials peculiar to pastors and their families I" . , "Yes, just as there are to other pro fessions. Your tri'aN are distinct from . ours, but they exist as really, as if, be t inga model farmer, you were a poa cher. The merchant around the cor ner has his trials. The lawyer over the way is The doctor_ only prospers when other folks are tried.— No douht the little tailor down the road is tried into scraps." "A fiddlestick!" said I. "And so you've learned to preach. But I really want tu know if any of the provoking things detailed In this book* have ever occurred to you. I-lave you found un mean people in all your wailder- 11%,1" "It would be etrat;ge if I had not. Every community has its mischief ;uaker; its meddler and tattler. There is hardly a ueighborhoud without its professed plain dealer and speaker, widch plain speaking, is often hut an other name for impudence. The- mil- Lai not vet come, 1. believe- But sujiliosethat occasion illy, a j et sun cruises our path, %yin) by his ig-. insults us, (Jr by his coarseness - Is us, %rhy should we saddle “cieties with his insulating ; 4 11 ,1 We know that the majw ity ate good and ti tie. and that contents us." ate a ztrahtge retiotter, "But nut a singular one. I thiuk you w1:1 tied very few whole-souled ittherauts who stop to croak and uinhic by the way. Those who sit (lowa and ivax eloqueut upon the hard ships ul their tut, or upon the inshili cie..cy:ot their salary to support the aristocratic tat told habit that their plulessiunal leisure has enabled them to form, must nut be taken- for ain - pies /Auer clergy'. They are few in number, and were it not 10r their ut ter inability to earn their living out of p u stin ate, we might hope d to be freed from their influence. ut be lieve we, uncle, the majutity are cheer fully engaged in the glorious .work to which they believe God has called them. They rely upon his promises, and upun the ready aid and warm sympathy ut the people to whom they preach.• It you could look in upon au Annual etile'rence you wuuid put think the preachers greatly di.bheart cued by their prospects. A .happier looking bet of telluArs cannot be tuned." • "IT3. have really learned to preach, .M.dfly." . . I hare learned to thank God for his wereles. 1 have learned taut when tt.e sun autues it 15 not belt to tlearca tuu CluJeii ;Or the shadow. 1 nave ltar,ied that an &Amdaht ineume eau nut make a happy home if the element of content be *eking." This was nut exactly the . frame of mind that 1 desired to see her in because I wanted to . hear her fked lffll "You hare had to work hard, Mary dear," I said. "Moro so than the majority of wo . , 'men, do you think uncle 1 Harder than if I had Married a carpenter or DEVOTED TO THE PRINCIPLES OF DEMOCRACY, AND THE DISSEMINATION OF MORALITY, LITERATURE, AND NEWS COUDERSPORT, POTTER COUNTY, PA., APRIL 17, 1856. a Blacksmith? Harder thad a farmer's wife?" Just then my wife, who was paring apples at a side table, looked up and smiled. "When I am tempted .to repine," Continued Mary, "I cast my eye over a mental list of female parishione There . are very few -among them whOSe•lot in life is as easy as mine; very few with such opportunities for mental culture, There is no reason why they should toil,.and I . sit still." "But the movings, Mary; the fre quent, everlasting movings!" I began to be pinched for arguments; but now thought she had got considerable of a stump in her way 7 "Other people move. Five large loads of household goods paqsed - here yesterday. it is the American fash ion to move often. But we have an advantage that the generality of peo ple cannot have. If they deSira.SOcie ty they have (if strangers,) to wait till they can work their way into notice, while-my buOatid's profeision secures for us at once an hcinorahie position. Stili it is true that our frequent changes cause a great deal of anxiety, fatigue and expense. But th'e - evils ate small in comparison to the great gaud se cured. and patience remedies a great deal. I see u 9 use of fretting," said Mary. 1 was trying to bring from some re mote corner of my mind a new and different statement of the whole case, when Mary suddenly exclaimed,"You must hear my boys sing, uncle. Here Gerry, Arthur. George, Davig, come ancl wing fur grandpapa!" What .could 'do but "hut up," and listen?. •file "Shady Side." DINNER AT THE OLD HOMESTEAD This is said to be a pretty bard old ; and some say-. this is a pretty. hard old winter. Pe . ri:ap:; it's so, but • i let one uncle( the plea ot ur good l o oks, or friendship, or very ien.m kable talkativeness, be bidden to an tiutizf re-union .dinner at the 'Old isarin Homestead: and he witl believe. there is one brignt green sp• , t in it A pleasant, pi : of:table, glori ous time is that, VI heii''tlie old folks gather the children. and the citildreu's wives, aid the children's husbands., and the children's children, and the chil dren's cousins (we like to have them included) around the old table, in one of those kindly re-unions which come only once a year, and yet last one a lung lifetime. The old Lest has been perhaps Well nigh forsaken, fur many a mouth, or many a year. The Vine, the sweet brier, aid the ruse, hare long since clambered up over windows where little heads used to pop Out and giggle at the blast. Tne shrub which little hands planted a c rd watered, and which little hearts wished WdS " a great tree, high as the house," has outstripped that little wisher's aspirations, and now interlocks its bruai arms with other branches prutectiugly high over the place where they were burn. Tile old walls and the old buildings are all as they were then, only like their.tenants older and grayer grown. The old . well-sweep 'swings and squeaks ; the old gate rattles and slams; the old dug and cat hark and purr no longer, but their successors LIU ; the fire blazes.up cheerfully iu the same old curlier; the parlor walls are just as homelike and cozy, and just mum" as when the their"guts did sparkin ;"• the kitchen and' paotiy ate just as savory of pod things as then ;'. the old aria chair". is more rickety, but invites you just • as hospitably to rock . yuer cares away ; :he old cluck has perhaps " ticked out" and a younger, more amuitious 'one rattles ahead with a faster click iu its place; but the old -hearis at homi, thank God, still beat on with that same, siea:dy, parental old of. balla century or murel MIMS But the - winter is long and passes heavily. Ti3e old folks 'Want - to seo the children again, at home. - And so the dinner at the old, homestead is prepared. The children, and cousins, and friends come in load after load, mulled in big coats and shawls and cloaks and tippets and hoods with many a giagle and red • nose, till the old homestead is almost full—it never ia•quite full. The warm greeting, the merry laugh, the lively jest and kindly smile, pass round and round, till heavy eyes 'sparkle, and sober lips •laugh in. gladness.. ' But , the dinner is. ready. " Come, children, rightalong, sit down there, and there, and there," till the table is fulL---liaw joyous if without a vacant seat.. And such a lively time is. there ; and such a dinner 3 The tur 7 key and the chickens and the pork and the beef; the potatoes; the onion's, the beets, the turnips; and a garden full of other vegetables; the good, new, cherry-red " rye and ingen" bread, and wheat bread and biscuits and cake Of all kinds,' white - and delicious as that at the weddings -; the butter and cheese " as is butter and cheese.;" the smoking c.effee and tea and clear cold water from that" moss covered buck et that hangs in the well ;" the- pre setves, the sauce, the tarts, the jell, the cream, the pickle, the apples, the peaches and the Lord "only knows what else, whichcrowd one to spliti 7 fication and forgetfulness—how 'deli ciously tempting they pile up—and how they pile (ley/Ft ! -Surely; the cooks did justice to that diniter_ and the eaters ditto. Surely, big full hearts give it, and big, empty stomachs re cei.:e it ! Of all dinners, give us a dinner at the - Oid Farm Homestead. Of hi' unions, give us a re-union under the old moss grown roof and around that old . .titne-in.inored, hospitable board. The old lady watches your. every movement and want as kindly and as lovingly as when your •Ilai,ds were iu She •is pleased when you arc plua.sed, and burrow fu I yu - u are :zael; aow 1 welcomes . )vu as ki2 sympo.:Mli.es your surrl.l,ys us truly, utid d:ops as bitter tears cut• thuse o wilo ale tcl: or dead, as WW2II she first sang your kik:t hy or taught your iulantlips to pray. The old geLtieman watches your Corn ing with a kindling eye ; lie knows what is best. for you and' provides it, as of old ; he listens to your manhood's story and compares it and ..ycu with what you . were when such and such a thing was done on the farm ;. he gives you the same good counsel with the same Stout, Panatellal spirit as when he sent you fortii.to du and dare.in lice's broad'hattle. • Forget not tk Old • Folks, at the . 1 o.d Farm Homestead, in your eager chase alter pleasure, gold and fame. Love them truly., treat - them kindly, visit them often, and take the children, fur you can *do it, only a few years longer. Let old age and youth—the Past and the Fut'ur'e mingle together . 1 .vezy often, forit stirs up all the good there is in us and . rnake the heart bet ter, ,Those gray hairs are sway marks to the down hill of life whither we all ate tending. What we ad _for them, we du fin- ourselves in advance. Have a kindly care, then, :fur those who sheltered you in infaky and sent you out in life . with honor, virtue and a good name. They have dune more for you than you can dU fur them ; there foie what little thou doest, do quickly. 'Why in creation wasn't that Wile of ours cousin to every body I—then we should be! ' Wish she was! Wouldn't it be so nice'? * From the Ohio Columbian LETTER TO LITTLE FOLKS. BY A NEW CONTRIBUTOR. _ MY DEAR LITTLE FOLKS :—f feel a little in the spirit awl iting to yon to day, and I ahvays do feel in this spirit when ttie th . ought of a child comes in-. to my head. I well remember when I was a child myself, and wherever in all the wild world there's a little child, I know that there is just such a little mortal as. I used to be, and my heart is dram right out. • Nlliett . I hear of a child that has a loTing, petting father and mother, and love by the quaritity to make it comfortable and happy, I say, that's -all right—just exactly as it should be, I'm glad—from my heart I'm glad. When I hear of a poor little thing that iS . having a kind of a sad, misera ble time in this - world—when I hear of dear little girl or noble little boy that isn't treated right, I feel like taking the sufferer under my wing, and giving it a shelter for life. Some people think that there is no happiness like being a child—that chil dren never bave any trial S—that suf- feting never touches us until we nre grown- up. But I think they are very much mis taken. The trials of childhood—the griefs of youth aro very furious sr m times They talk as if a body hadn't any trials unless something sudden end terrible happens. If my friend, whom I love very -mach, dies, they call that a trial. If my father starts for Europe, and on his way across the ocean is blown up by a bursting buil er, or falls overboard and is drowned, that's a trial, and one of the kind that get into newspapers. If my mother is burned to death by a fluid lamp, or my brother is killed' by a railroad accident, .that's called a. If the cholera or the small pox spreads through the country,and friends lose their friends, that's a trial chatting beneath that lofty palm, per. haps telling of their loves and troulele., each seeking the .other's sympath:.- , Beyond, a group of" fellalts," in their oriental robes, fluttering in the brassie which urges our .bark along, are lead ing with--care a patient camel. who turns his long neck to give . our white sails a •passsing look as he meekly - kneels to receive his heavy burden. that bow the spirit. ' • I Beneath, descending by a' winding 1 know all ab,)ut it, fur though I've ( path, ..a stately Arab girl steps dovi..4 laughed, .and . danced; and sung, and 1 the bank with a well poised jar upon& been as happy as anybody ever was in Iher head, of an antique form, to bear this wood, yet the little crosses—tire I away the waters of the flowing Nilr, little trials made my heart heavy, and I wherewith to temper - her homely my cheek pale, and my spirit so very I meal. Accosted by our boatmen, sb.i _ sad and still, that I wanted to hide my- 1 returns a witty repartee, which sande .... self away, and be alone with God. - our rude crew off into a hearty laugh.._ --.. May be some of you wi)l whisper to- making the shore echo . with thie'r • yourselves,. - " Why, - l've felt just so, ! boistrious merriment, . Fronathewhi:• but "didn't know that grown up people minaret of an adjoining_ mosque a ever did." , "' mue'zzein" is calling faithful to their AL, children, they do ! A heart is 1 daily prayers, unheeded by ti. crowsi a heart, whether it's in a little frame i of villagers, chatting upon the beat or a large - frame; and when trials I beneath the waving palm. Scene. touch it, then it quivers—then it feels. I such as these are' constantly shifting And do you ever wonder w 4 trials i before our - eyes, as we glide rapid I come ? Do you ever %vender why the.; along before a florringlareeze, presets:: . pure. merry laugh,. as it comes huh- 1 ing at every turn something' excitit.g. bling up. and ringing out, is checked Land to me, always interesting.: . suddenly, until it dies away into a sad On•the twelfth, we approached the - still heart ? Do you ever wonder why great desert. I . ascended the dee • it is that little griefs - come upon you, j and gazed on the boundless sea .4' and steal your laugh and fun, and send scorching sand, with mingled awe awl' • you away, alone, to cry I admirat#un. How barre and desolc-r I used to wonder, but I don't any What heaved billows of s thing sand • more. Children, there is a proud spit- thrown up from the . burn g sea by '' it in us, that needs to be humbled—an 1 the death riding. o'erwhelming crp.u • unbending spirit, that must be taught I soon, the sand combatting in its mi te, bow; before we can be fitted for the I ward march the passage of the very - skies—an angry spirit, that must be l Nile itself, precipitating the movi-.g .. made gentle and quiet—an obstinate I mass into the flood, which still triursi. - spirit, that must be taught submission ; ! pliant bears them onward. until they and trial's, . bitter though they May accumulate into an immense bar 1314 . I seem, are the sweetest - lessons of love. the river" pointbelow, where they di— .• My little friends, let us learn these 1 pute the channel with the passing bei ii, 1 lessOnswell. Let us learn to surer no- Long. long .1 gazed upon . the wvit.i. bly—to endure patiently, and let Us I roue scene, watcbingthe drinntcloi l 'ids • learn to bless our Father in Heaven . swept from its surface by the east., • for everthing—even for the little trials I wind, and borne'aloft until they w,,- • ' of life. : - • • .- • I peered lost in the deep azure of the heavens above: Far awe to the weArt this boundless sea extended,' until the . sandy horizon cut the distant either. nothing interrupting the . extenlesi,, i vision sate . a solitary tomb by ris-,„, er's bank and the apex of Cheo p s . just visible in the distance through.thettt. , certain atmosphere. :Thei_litile bir — di ''. fly-from the inhospitable sherepluiVai among our rigging, 'or : rurt..upcm Alser,: f decks to make a meal, which Use:eta; i.1..,:t ing desert refuses,thom,•frops slur tals,ri, lop crumbs; or catch. a straying :!',t. and so tame ,and.`gentle, -cum cats .it , - :11 sure' enough, these are trials—. terrible trials, grievous - to be borne.— But there are"other trials in life, and they are great trials, too—paly they g.) by the nacre of little Biala. . But, children, it is " the little foxes that spoil the vines," and the little tri als that break the. heart. . . It is the " little droppings that wear away the stones," and the little griefs TRAVELING ON THE NILE Banvard, the 'ingenious panter of "-Banvard:s Panorama of the Mis sissippi,".is now traveling in Egypt The Boston Traveler gives the follow ing extract &am a letter written by him, deStriptive of travelling on the Nile : While standing on the banks, of the Nile this. morning, I observed an . Arab ploughing with a camel and a buffalo, yoked to a .primitive looking wooden plough; rather an odd yoke, as the camel_was nearly twice as tall as the buffalo, but they appeared to CI work very well together. The raves tio camel, the demure buffalo, and the Arab ploughman, with his long blue :oho, and old " tar Bosch" - upon his head, formed a very interesting iutfi picturesque group.. . I have just laid down a book of travels, wherein the author says the country between Cairo and Aleatairia is uninteresting. He must have been very unnbservingand devoid offeeling. or a heart to appreciate the bean:ties tviiich nature, with a lavish band. hair_;. ,spread out on either side of this most nteresting river- 7 -3cenee ever strange and new. It is true the shores of the Nil* are low, and to a passing, un bri serving person, I grant, unintarest. lig : but to an inquisitive mind there is a pleasing life always' new, skl*ays interesting at every turn of the river. I have sat for hourg upon *The deck of our vessel, watching the varying scenes as town, village and grove glid. ed softly by, like the mysterious changes of a moving picture. Eve. now, as I - write • this, from my cabin window, I see, close at hand. one of those numerous villages which deck the banks of the Nile, with its half clad or naked children, laughing and romping upon the border, beneath' the outspreading branches of a fig tree s and calling in childish glee to our par ings boat: while farther on, two well formed Arab girls, in their pictures que costume, which half conceals, bait discloses their stately figures, stats 3 Most take them . in their ftantis.''' II ~~ ~ ~~, f , ,•1 NO:i3:` i
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