VOL. VIII.
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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
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f
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NO:i3:` i