Clearfield Republican. (Clearfield, Pa.) 1851-1937, July 28, 1854, Image 1
. . _ ' <o CleflrfielftjMpiE'gpttbticaii IUI A WEEKLY PAPER: PUBLISHED IN CLEARFIELD, BY D. VV. MOORE AND CLARK WILSON; DEVOTED TO POLITICS, LITERATURE, AGRICULTURE, MORALITY, AND FOREIGN AND DOMESTIC INTELLIGENCE Terms* —% 100 a year in advance, %125 if paid within three months, %160 if paid within six months, % I 75, if paid within nine months, and if not paid until the expiration of the year 00 will be charged VOLUME 5. fetrt blit dl}. (rhy Jlway, Away with theyilridal Veil. nv MAKV J. KKKVKH. Away, away with tin* bridal veil, And tiie orange garland fair, Tor the smooth young brow is edit and palo That we doMincd tlu-se lo weur. And the nlomlor form is still and low Which wo thought should be litis night Arrayed in those robes of spotless snow, And docked with those jewcli bright. We’ll wrap her form in the winding sheet And a rose-bud white shall rest AM' her own pure life an emblem swed) », On her cold and pulseless breast. ! era! LUgft rcr: and »OV* Her sunny looks wo will leave as free A* they wore in bv-gone days, When .she tossed them back, in girlish glee, From her fair and smiling face. <t. then nway with the bridal veil, And the orange gurland fair, For ihc smooth young brow is cold ami pale That we destined these to wear. And ihe crimson lip and the eye uf blue No longer of hive may speak. And gone is the trembling wild-r«*«e hu<s That pla\ed on her trembling cheek. Dr, his npo, r i/a ’I lie angel-bands in the world above Hn\e welcomed a sister home. \nd bright is she in that lund of love Where the ill of uarth ne’er come. Away, away with the flashing petit", And the bridal robes nf while. For her brow is gilt with a diudem, And her robes are like the light. Hot there ia one who will see her n*M, In lu r silent beauty there, Wiih speechless in his aching b'en-*l And a look of mute despair. SM» pdr ino, twt torn Ho will come with a joyful heart, to claim jlia'loxely and youthful bride ; Ho will go again, but not as ho nunc, \\ ith a soul of joy and piide. lie will go with a weary, weary heait, To m'»urn fur the treasure fled. To bear in his breast grief's poinetl dart And nidi that he, 100, were dead. (>h joy. for the young bride, pure and bright With the angel legions blest, Kct wh tor him on whot>c s«*ul the blight ■ * (if a mourner's grief doth rest. Pr*<m tJleujmn's Fictoiiul. THE HUSBAND’S PRESENT pies lore, lolc irg- (Ir “The Beginning of n New Year." It was a bitter cold night on the 2-lihof It, comber. The snowy deep upon the fro zen earth, and the bright moon, riding half wav up the bright heavens lent a crystu- Imc lustre to the seine, in lhe high road, a short distance from u quiet, reposing village, stood the form of a human being. Ills garments were scant and tattered, by In r insufficient to keep out the biting frosts ; his frame shook and trembled like the ice bound houghs of a weeping v. illnw that grew near him, and his lace, ns Ihe moon beams now danced upon it, exhibited ail the fearful footprints of the demon Intem perance. Poor, wretched, debased he look ed—and such in trutli he was.. **his tyke febf feay west Before him, at tho end ofa neatly fenc ed und trelliscd enclosure, slood a small cottage. It was elegant in its simple neat ness, und just such an one as the humble lover of true comfort nml joy would seek for a borne. Tho tears rolled down the bloated cheeks ol the poor inebrinto, as bo gazed upon the cottage ; and at length as he clasped his hands in agony, he mur mured : •km! (ting With fcJCV !Pa. i ihfr itab piQol it in “O, Thou fond home of my happiest days, thou lookest like a heaven ol the pus!. Beneath ihy mof I was married to lhe idol of my soul, and within thy walls (dud gave me two blessed children. 'I hen peace and plenty were mine—and lovcand joy. My wile—God bless her gentle soul, was happy then ; and my may heaven protect them laughed und played in glcesomc pleasure. Gladness smiled upon us then, und every hour was n sea son of bliss. But I lost thee ns the fool loose! h his own salvation! Six years have passed since the demon that I look to my heart, drove us from our sheltering roof. — And those six years! O, what misery, what agony, what sorrow, and what deg radation, have they brought to me anil my poor family! Home.- health, wealth,peace, joy and friends are gone—all gone ! O, thou falnl cup—no I will not blame thee— it was I—l who did it! Year ufter yeur, 1 tampered with thy deadly sting, when I knew that destruction lurked in thy smiles. But, but,” and the poor man raised his eyes to heaven as he spoke, “there is room on earth for another man, a?id I will be that man /” Within the only aparlinont of a miser able and almost broken down hovel, sat a woman and two children, a boy and girl. The cold wind found its entrance through a hundred crevices ns its biting gusts swept through the room, tho mother nnd her children crouched nearer to the few em bers that still mouldered on tho hearth.— The only furniture was four poor stools, n rickety table, and a scantily covered bed ; while in one corner, nearest to the fire place-was a heap of straw and tattered blankets, which Berved as a resting place for tho brother nnd sister. Part of a (al low candlo was burning upon tho table, nnd by its dim light one might have seen that wretched mother’s countenance ; it was pale and wari, and wet with tears.— The races children'wore both buri ed in hev lap, and they seemed to sleep peacefully under her prayerful guardian- At length-the sound of footsteps op<ui tho snow crust struck upon tho mother’s eurvand hastily urousing her children, she hurried them to their lowly coubh, and (unit rhcro Htate T No 10 to! <l>‘ ■'! 1:1 ! MU* itfcs F Mbs m p oHce, if;; ihe»4 gh*> f-l# hardly had they crouched beneath the thin blankets, when the door wns opened, and 'the man whom we have ulrcndv seen be neath that pretty collnge entered" the place. With a trembling, fearful look, the wife gazed into her husband’s face, and seemed ready to crouch back from his approach, when the mark of a tear-drop upon his cheek caught his eye. Gould it tic, tho’t sire, that that pearly drop was in trutli a tear! No, perhaps a snow flake hud fallen there and melted. Once or twice, Thotnns Wilkins seem ed upon the point of speaking some words to his wife, hut at length he turned away, and silently undressed himself; and soon nfter his wearied limbs had touched the bed he wus asleep. Long and earnestly dill Mrs. Wilkins gaze upon the features of her husband, af ter lie had lallen asleep. There was some tiling strange in his manner, something unaeeonntable. Surely lie had not been drinking, for his countenance lind none of | that vacant, wild, demoniac look, that usu ally rested there. His features were rath -1 er sad and thoughtful than otherwise ; and 10, heavens ! is it possible? a smile play ed about his mouth, and a sound, ns of prayer, issued from his lips while yet he slept! A faint hope, like the misty vapor of approaching morn, flitted before the heart broken wife. But she could not grasp it,' 1 she had no foundation for it, and with nj deep groan she felt the phantom pass.— She went to her children and drew thej clothes closely about them ; then she knelt bv their side, and after imprinting on their elu eks a mother’s kiss, and uttering a fer vent prayer in their behalf she sought the repose of n pillow. Long ere the morning dawned Thomas Wilkins a rose’from his bed, diessed him self, nod left the. house. 11 is poor wife awoke just as lie was going out, and she would have called to him, hut she dare not. She would have told him that she had no fuel, no bread, nor anything with which to warm and feed the children ; hut he was gone, and she sank hack upon her pillow and wept. The light of morning came at le'ngth, hut Mrs. Wilkins Had not risen from her bed, nor had her children crawled out from their resting place. A sound offool steps wns heard from without accompanied by a noise ns though a little sled was be ing dragged through tin'snow. The door opt nrd and her husband entered. He laid on the table a large wbeaten loaf, a small parcel, and a paper bundle ; then from his pocket lie look another papier parcel, and again he turned low aids the door. When lie next entered, lie bore in his arm a load of wood ; and llireo limes did he go out and return with a load of the same descrip tion. Then lie bent over the fire place, and soon a blazing fire snapped and spar kled on the hearth. As soon as this was accomplished, Thomas Wilkins bent over his children and kts c ed them ; then he went to the bedside of his w ile, and while some powerful emotion stirred up his soul and made his chest heave, ho murmured: “Kiss me, Lizzie.” i 4 ov\4i'illt Jiturunl. ’lJightlv that wife wound her arms nbout the neck of tier husband, and as though the love of venrs wns centered in that one kiss, she pressed it upon her lips. “1 hore—no more,” ho uttered ns he gently laid the arm of his wife from his neck, “these things 1 have brought arc lor you and our children and ns he spoke he loft the house. Mrs. Wilkins arose from the bed, and tremblingly examined the articles upon the table. She found the loaf, and in the pail she found milk ; one of the papers contained two smaller bundles, one of ten, nnd one of sugnr, while in the remaining parcel she found a nice lump of butler. “O," murmured the poor wile nnd moth er, ns she gazed upon the food thus spread before her, “from whence come these Cun it be that Thomas has stolen them 7 No, he never did that. And then that look ! that kiss ! those kind, sweet words I O, my poor, poor heart, raise not a hope that mny only fall nnd crush thee !” “Mother,” at this moment spoke her son, who raised himself upon his elbow, “has father gone 7” “Yes, Charles.” ' “O, tell me, mother, did he not come and kiss me nnd little Abbv this morning 7” “Yes, yes, he did!” cried the mother, as she flew to the side of tho boy nnd wound her arms nbout him.' That mother could not speak, she could only press her children more fondly to her bosom, pnd Weep n mother’s tears up on/ them. Was Lizzie Wilkins happy as she sat her children down to that mprning’s meal 7 At least a ray of sunshine wns struggling to gpin entrance tp her bosom. 'fpwurds the middle of tho afternoon, a retired sea-captain of somawealth, sat in his comfortable parlor, engaged , in rend ing, when one of his servants informed him that some one was at the door, and wished to 6ee him. “Tell hirri income in, then*” returned Mr. Walter. ■ i . . . ' “But it’s the miserable Wilkins, sir.’fi “Never mind,” said ibO captain, after, a momout’s hesitation, “show |iim in.’i Poor CLEARFIELD, FRIDAY, JULY 28, 1854. fellow,” he continued a Her the servant had | As Thomas Wilkins once more entered gone; “I wonder whnt lie wants. In truth, the street, his step wns light and easy. A 1 pity him.” j bright light of joyousness shone in evory With a trembling and downcast look, feature; and as he wended his way home- Thos. Wilkins entered Captain Walker’s word, ho felt in every avenue of his’soul parlor. thnt ho was q man ! “Ah, Wilkins,” said the Captain, “wlmt The gloomy shades that ushered in the lms brought you here 1 ” night of the thirty-first of September, had The man twine attempted to speak, but i fallen over the snow-clad earth. Within his heart fuiled him. >the miserable dwelling of Mrs. Wilkins “Do you como for charity ?” j “No sir,” quietly returned Wilkins, while his eyes gleamed with a proud light. 1 “Then sit down, and out with it, said Walker, in a blunt and kind tone. I “Captain Walker,’’commenced the poor | man as he took the proflbred seat, “I have como to ask if you still own that little cot tngc beyond the hill.” “I do.” “Is it occupied 1" “No.” “Is it engaged V' “No,” returned (lie captain, regarding! his visitor with uncommon interest. “But why do vou nsk V “Captain Wulker,” said Wilkins, in a firm and manly lone, even though his eyes glistened and his lips quivered, “I have lieen poor and degraded, deeply steeped in the dregs of poverty and disgrace. Every i thing that made life valuable I have almost lost. My w ife and children have sufTered, and O! Cod only knows how keenly I I have long wandered in the path of sin.— One nfter another the tender cords of friendship that used to bind me to the world have snapped asunder ; my name has be come a bv-word, and upon the earth I have been a foul blot. But, sir, from hence forth lam u man ! Up from the depths of | its long grave, 1 have dragged forth my heart, and love still has its home therein. I have sworn to touch the futal cup no more ; and while in my heart there is life, ! my wife ond my children shall suffer no j more for the sins they never committed. , I have seen my old employer at the ma chine shop, and he has given me a situa tion, ond is anxious that 1 should come back ; and, sir, he has been kind enongh j to give me an order in advance for neces sary articles of clothing, food and furni ture. To morrow morning I commence ' wotk.” “And you came to see if you could ob tain your collage back again to live in ?” said Cupt. Walker, as Wilkins hesitated. “Yes, sir, to see if 1 could hire it of you,” returned the poor man. “Wilkins, how much can you mako at your business?” bluntly asked the old Captain without seeming to heed the re quest. “My employer is going to pul me on job work sir, and as soon as I get my hand in, I can easily make from twelve to four teen dollars a week.” “And how much will it take to support vnurlnmily?” “As soon os I gel cleared up, 1 can ea sily get along with five or six dollars a week.” “Then you might he able to save about four hundred dollars a year!” “1 mean.todo that, sir.” A few moments Captain Wulker gazed into the face of his visitor, and then asked : “Have yon pledged yourself yet?” “Beioro Goil and in mv heart I havo ; hut one of my errands here was to get you to write me n plodge",'nnd have it made to tny wile and children.’ 1 Captain Wulkcr sat down to his table and wrote ont the required pledge, and then in a trembling but bold hand, Thom as W ilkins signed it. “Wilkins,” snid the old man, as ho took his visitor by the hand, “I have watched well your countenance and weighed your words. I know you speak the truth. — When I bought that cottage from your creditors six years ago, I paid them one thousand dollars for it, It has not been harmed, and is ns good ns it was then.— Mosh of the time I have received good rent for it. Now, sir, you shall have it for just what I paid for it, and each month you shall pay me such a sum as you can com fortably spare until it is all pnid. I will nsk you for no rent, nor for a cent of in terest. You shall have a deed of the es tate, and in return I will take but n simple note and mortgage, upon which you can have your own time.” Thomas Wilkins tried to thank the old man for his kindness, but ho only saok back into his chair and wept like u child; and whilo ha yet sat with bis face buried in.his hands, the old man slipped from the room. And when ho returned, ho bore in his hands a neatly covered basket. “Come, come,” the Captain exclaimed, “cheer up, my friend. Hero are some bits for your wife and children—take them home; and believe me, Wilkins, if you feel hulf as happy in recoiving my favor as 1 do in bestowing it, you are happy in deed.” God will bless you for this, sir,” ex claimed the kindness stricken man ; “und when 1 betray you* confidence may I die ort the instant.” “Slick to yriur pledge, Wilkins, arid 1 will lake care of the. Test,” said the old captain, as his friend, took tbo basket, "If you have time to-morrow, cail on the, and I will arrange thd.papers. there was more of com fort than we found when we first visited lier ; but yet nothing had been added to the furniturcofthe place. For the last six days her husband hnd come homo every morning, and during that time she know that ho had not drank any intoxicating beverage, for already had his face begun to assume tiio stamp of its former mnnhood, and every word he had spoken hnd been kind and affectionate. — To his children he brought new shoes nnd warm cdothing, and to herself he had given such things, as she stood in imme diate need of; but yet, with all this he had been taciturn nnd thoughtful, showing a dislike of all questions, and only speaking such words as were necessary. Tlie poor, devoting, loving wife began to hope. And whv should she not? I’or six years her husband had not been thus hel'ore. One week ago sho dreaded his approach but now she found herself wailing lor him wilh all I ho anxiety of former years. Should all this be broken ? Should this charm be swept nwn\ ! Fight o’clock came, and so did nine and ten, and yet her husband came not. “Mother,” said little Charles, just us tho clock struck ten, seeming to have been 'awakened from a dreary slumber, “is not this the last night of the year?” ! “Yes, my son.” “And tlo you know what 1-have hern dreaming, dear mother? I dreamed that ’ lather had brought us ijcw New Year’s presents, just the same as he used to. Rut ho won’t, will he! lie's too poor now!” j “No, my dcur boy, wc shall have no ! other present than food ; and even fir that , wc must thank doar father. There, lay vour head in mv lap agnin.” ■ The hoy laid his curly head once more in his mother's lap, and with tearful eyes she gazed upon his innocent form, j The clock struck eleven. The poor wife was yet oil her tireless, sleepless watch! Rut hardly had the sound of the last stroke died away, ere the snow crust gave back the sound of a foot-liill, and in n moment more her husband entered. — With u trembling fear sho raised her eyes to his face, and u w ild thrill of joy went to her heart as she saw that nil was open and bold—only those manly featurcs look ed more joyous, more manly than ever. “Lizzie,” said he, in mild kind accents “I am late to night, but business detuined me and now I lmvc a fuvor to ask of lltec.” “Name it, dear Thomas, and you shall not ask it a second lime," ciieil the wile, as she laid Iter hand confidingly upon her husband’s a mi. “And will you ask me no questions ?" continued Wilkills. “No I will not.” “Then,” continued the husband, as lie bent ever nnd imprinted n kiss upon Ins wife's brow, “I want you to dicss our children fur n walk, nnd you shall aceoin- puny us. Thu night is calm and tranquil nnc.l lho snow is well trodden. All !no questions I. Remember your promise!” Lizzie Wilkins knew not wlmt this all meant, nor did she think to care ; for any thing that could please her husband she would have dono with pleasure, even tho’ it hud wrenched hor very heart-strings.— In n short time the children were ready ; then Mrs. Wilkins put on such articles of dress as she could command, and soon they were in the road. Tho moon shone bright, the stars peeped down upon the earth and they seemed to smile upon the travellers from out their twinkling eyes of light. Silently Wilkins led the way, and silently his wife und children followed. — Several times the wifo looked up into her husbands countenance, but Irom the strange expression that rusted thcro she could make out nothing that would satisfy her curiosity. At length a slight turn in the road brot’ them suddenly upon the pretty white cot tage, where, years before tlioy bud been so happy. They approached tho spot. The snow in tho front yard had been shovelled away, and a path led to the piazza. Wilkins opened the gate—his, wife, trembling fol lowed, but whoroforeshe knew not. Then her husbund opened the door, and in the entry they were met by the smiling coun tenance of Captain Walker, whoybahered them into tho parlor, where a warm lire glowed in tho grate, and whero.evcryihing looked comfortable. Mrs. Wilkins turn ed her gaze upon her husband. Sutely, in that greeting bctweervtlic poor rpan and tho rich there was none of that constraint which tld hr been expected. The ,iich woui .Javc beci. ;xpi met rnthor ns friends nnd neighbors.— VVhnt could it mean 1 Hark 1 tho clock strikes twelvo ! Tho old year hde .gd>oo, and a new, a bright I winged cycle is about to commence its [ flight over the earth. “ Lizzie, t/iis is your husband's present \for the New Year," The wife took the paper and opened it. She realized its contents at a glance; but she cuuld not rend it word for word, for tho streaming tears of a wild frantic joy would not let her. With a quick, nervous movement, sho placed the priceless pledge next her bosom, and then, with a low mur mer, like the low whispering of some hea ven-bound angel, she fell into her hus band’s arms. “Look up, look up, my own dear wile,” uttered the redeemed man, “look up and smile upon your husband ; and you, too, my dear children, gather about your fath er ; for n husband and lather henceforth I will ever be. Look up, my wife. 'I here ! Now, Lizzie, feel proud with me, for wc stand within our own house! \ es, this cottage is once more our own ; and noth ing but the hand of dentil sliull again Hike us hence. Our good, kind friend here will expluin it all. O, Lizzie, if there is happiness on earth, it shall hencelerili be ours. Let the past be forgotten, and with this, the dawning ofa new year, let us commence to live in the future.”' Gently the husband and wile sank upon their knees, clnspcd in cacli other’s arms; and clinging joyfully to them, knelt their conscious, happy children. A player from the husband’s lips wended its way to the throne of grace, und with the tears trick ling down his aged face, old Captain Wal ker responded a hcailicit “Amen. ’ * v • ‘ Five venrs have passed since that hap py moment. Thomas \\ ilkins has clear ed his pretty cottage from all encumbrance and a happier or more respected family do not exist. And Lizzie—that gentle, confiding wife —us she takes that simple paper from the drawer, and gazes again und again upon the mtijie pledge it beurs, weeps ;e° r s of joy anew. Were all the wealth of the Indies poured out in one glittering, blinding pile nt her feet, and all the honors of the world added thereto, she would, not, fur the whule countless sum, givo in exchange one s.ngle word from that pledge winch constituted her llcs nanp’s Pkesknt. IS IT PAINFUL TO DIE! According to mv observation, tlie mere nctofdying is seldom, in nny sense of the word, a very painful process. It is true that some persons die in a slate of bodily torture, ns in tnlnnus ; but the drunkard, dying of. deliiium tremens, is haunted by terrific visions; rind that ihe vichm u! that most horrible of all diseases, hydrophobia, in addition to those peculiar bodily suller ings from which the diseuse has derived its name, may be in a stutc of terror Iron) the supposed presence ol frightful c'jcols, which ure presented to him us reulities, even to the last, i’ut these, and some other instances which 1 might adduce, ure exceptions to the general rule—which is, that both mental and bodily sullering ter minate long be In re ihe scene is finally clo sed. Then, as to the actual learol douth, it seems to me that the Auilior of our ex istence, Ibr the most part, gives it to us when it is intended that wo should live, and takes it away from us when it is in tended we should die. Those who have been long lormeiiti J by bodily pam are gene rail v as anxious lo die as they ever were to live. So it often is with those whose life has hei n proirncted to an ex treme old age, beyond the usual period of mortality, even when they labor under no ueluul disease. l'si/chulcgieul Inquiries. Kf.f.f Him 1> mv.v,—All keep him down. What business Ins ;i poor man to nttempt to rise, without u ntimc —without friends, without honorable blood in h s veins? We have known him ever since he wpS a boy —we knew his father before him, and he was but a mechanic ; and what merit can there be in the young strippling ? Such is the cry of the world when a man of ster ling character attempts to break away from the cords of poverty and ignnrence and rise to a position of truth and honor. The multitude arc excited by envy : they cannot endure to be outstripped by those who grew up with them or their children side by side, and hence the opposition a man encounters in his native place. Des pite of their feelings, many noble minds have arisen from obscurity, while others have failed. Let it not be so with you voung man. Persevere, mount up and startle the world. Extravagance. —There is not a coun try in the world where the people arc be coming so extravagant in the mode of liv ing and dressing ns in the United Slates. It is one of the worst signs of the times. — The habits of the mushroom aristocracy are really disgusting. llow ludicrous it looks to see buys sporting diamonds by Iho thousand dollars worth at a lime, whose fathers were accustomed to wheel bar rows, and whose children are pretty cer tain to bo in the work-houso. And girls— silly, simpering things, weighed down with jewelsand bracelets —whose mothers broke their bucks ut iho wash-tubs, scouring floors and picking oultum. The reul, sub stantial aristocracy never indulge in such fopperies and follies. oO"Keep n low sail at the commence ment of life; you may rise with honor, you cap not recede without shame. NUMBER 25. ‘■the i w.i. laniiei." The fellow who calls himself “Tho An gel Gabriel,” and who disturbs by his low blackguardism the pence of the cities in this country, should be sent back to his own country with a leuther medal, and a tin trumpet. We give a synopsis of his history. His real name is M’Sirish, n Scotchman. Hut he goes by the name of Orr or Horr. His futher was a servant in the house of the Mnrquis of Hunt)y. The angel Gabriel, so colled, was born on tho 3d of September, 1809. He was first a weaver —then an itinerant vagabond—cir cus rider, or vnultcr, nnd was considered good at it. Ho ran away from the com pany, then playing at New Castle —went to Liverpool, eloped with a rum shop kee pers daughter. Went to Wales, became a local Methodist preacher. He ran nw'ay from SlnngufT'el, the place of his sojourn, stealing a Pewter tankard, belonging to the church, nnd leaving sundry dcbl9 un paid, as a remembrance of his honesty nnd religion 1 Went to Jamaica as a cook on board nfn vessel. There’took to prench ing—in mod Ilnbtisl. Then turned dan cing master, taught (heart. Then turned Mormon, hollowed Joe Smith to Illinois. He then in turn became check taker at a circus, —nn assistant in a menagerie—a temperance lecturer—a tin pedlar —and editor of a native paper in Philadelphia. — lie then went to New York—bought n trumpet, commenced tho angel Gabriel line of business, since which ho has lied, blasphemed, humbugged, nnd created more riots than has nny other foreign vagabond for the last fifteen years. He now repre sents himself to he the leader of the ‘know nothing party.’ Thu Love ok Pleasing. —lt may safe ly be taken for granted, that every one likes to please ; there are hardly excep tions enough to prove the rule. Whatev er subtle guises this love of pleasing may put on—however it may borrow rough ness or carelessness, or egotism, or sar casm, as its mask—there it is snug in Ihe bottom of each Si mon StyJrtes, shivering under the night dews, to Jenny Lind flying from adoring lion-hunters, und Pio Nono piously tap ping his gold snuffbox, and saying he is only a poor piiest; The little boy who has committed his piece with much lubor of brain, much screwing of body, and anx ious jesticular tuition,utterly refuses to say it when the time comes. Why? Not because he docs not wish lo please, but be cause his intense desire to do so has sud denly ussumed a new form, that of fear ; which, like other passions, is very unreas-' unable. The same cause will make a young lady, who has bestowod much tho’t on a new ball-dress, declure at the last moment, that she does not wont to go ! A doubt has suddenly assailed her os to the success of her costume. The dress is surely beuutiful, but will it muke her so ? No vigor of personal vanity preserves us from these swoons of self-esteom; and they are terrible while they last. What wonder, thin, that the thought of a per petual syncope of that kind should make* us behave unwiselv sometimes? Heavy Damages Claimed. —The Bui timore Argus of a late date, says:—ln the Superior Court of this city some of the pnrties injured on the Baltimore and Sus (|uehanna Railroad by the collision on the 4th of July, as well as those who have lost friends from the same cause, have alrea dy commenced entering suits against the Cotnpnnv for damnges. Mr. MalcCm, counsel for Madison Jeflbrs, who was hi I-/ ly injured himself, and had his son killed? at his side, has entered two suits, dama ges being luid at $30,000 in each case. — Mr. King, counsel for Mrs. Johnson, who lost a member of her family, has entored a suit in the name of the Slate of Mary land, use of Fliz.ibeth, Sarah Elizabeth, and Joseph 11. Johnson, against the com pany, damnges being laid at $20,000. Sisti;ri.v Affection. —At u protracted meeting held not a thousand miles from Balston Spa, an ancient sister in thechurch arose and relieved herself ns follows: “I sec young ladies here that seem to loye gew-gnws, furbelows, ribbons and laces, more than their I loved them oneo and adorned my hat with French ar tificial flowers, bright colored ribbons, and sky blue trimmings; but I found thoy we/e dragging mo down to hell, and I look them off and gnve them to my sister!” (/Cy’Courage in attacking difficulties, pa tient concentration of attention, perseve rance through failures, —these are charac teristics which after life specially requires ; nnd these are characteristics which this system of making tho mind work for its food specially produces. (Ly’The sorrows of n pure heart are but the May frosts, which precede the warm summer duy, but the sorrows of a corrupt soul are its Autumn frosts, which foretell the cold dreary winter. houses in Carlisle, Pa., were forcibly entered on tho night of the 21st instunt by burglars and thieyos. fr3"ln Alabama the corn and wh.a. crops are unusually good, and tho samp inay be said of tho cotton crop.