THE LANCASTER EtEIUMRENCER, PUBLISHED EVERY WEDNESDAY DY G. SMITH 6 - , CO IT. C:.*;311T17 TERMS—Tyco Dollars per annum. payable In all oases In advance. 'DIE LANCASTER DAILY INTELLIGENCER is rtlbn9llod every evening, Sunday excepted, at •15 per annum In advance. OFFICE Vitt' r,,W Ftir COlt NE S Q1.7.1RE. Voettp. GRAY HAIRS. Like the first flakes of snow On some cloud-reaching hill While the valley below Is blossoming still, Though the silvery sheen 'Mid the raven locks play, . . . Still the heart may be green While the templex are gray I.lke the leaves that wo first In their faded dress see, With the green Interspersed t if the still fruitful tree; Though we gray hairs among, The dark tresses behold, Yet the heart May he young When the heal has grown old Like the first starry gleams On the hrow of the night, While the western slcy hewn.: Wit h its warm, mellow light ; Though the ringlets may show /fere mut there a white threw! Vet the heart may still glow Underneath a gray head. Though the frosts of long years The life currents enfold, Tilt ille thin form appears As Impassive and (arid AS 1110 long, frozen night At the pole, still the head Never yet was SU St illlo That tit, heart war guile dead. ftlisiellancous. The Carrier Pigeon .1 Legend of the Rhino• In the day.; of old, known by the gen eral term, the middle ages, there dwelt at Sonnenberg a nobleman railed the MWMK= and strength of limb went, he was, a line specimen of the ancient I.rnnan Al the time of illy legend he Nvas pacing the ilt•elivity of years; nevertheless, ho possessed remarkable strength and activity for a inall of his :lige. The was, however, clear henileil anti su-eu,shil ill his ealeuht- M=lM==l proofs of the favor of his sc wertagn, (lid not fail to exact from those around him the respect due to his age, wealth and station. Ile had within his castle of sminen berg an inestimable treasure —a priceless jewel ; this was his only daughter, Odellia. Ilaughty and im perious:is was his manner to most per sons around him, he was uniformly kind and gentle when in her presence; in deed, his rough voice was even tuneful when addre,sing the bright creature who called him father. But the love of the old Baron had in it a certain amount of seltislines,; hr Wati proud of his daughter, and if he disdained to look be yond himself Mr honor, gratification and comfort, lii• MOllll so pleasing and so influential a portion of that sell in the beaut,ins ()della, that in lavish ing upon her the most unbounded afli v •-' tion and evell deference, he fell into common delusion, and never doubted but he was enriehing her with indul- goneei4 ho was in reality hosioNving upon himself. It was not at all likely that a would hee his own error so lung as the tide of lire earrital along the interests of Loth in the same channel. An obshiele, however, shut into the stream, and the..eeforth thediciilcd currentswrcnvh ed 11“111111'1% came a fierce denouncer—an exacting domestic tyrant. At \Viesbaden there resided a (a r tily by the name of .11er herger. Every • member m' this house the imperious Baron deemed his mortal , enemy. An ancient, feud, which had been bequeathed from sire to son, ex isted between the Altenichlts 0101 the Herbergers. l'nhappily Mr my heroine, as years went on, it inereased rather than diminished. IMella fondly hoped to heal up the breach between the two houses. She had exchanged vows of unfailing constancy with Franke licr berger' a scion of a race who was so de tested by her rare ;I. The lovers held secret meetings, and for a long time the Ilaron was in utter ignorance of his daughter's fatal attachment. It would ' have been less painful, perhaps, to him if he halt heart the confes , i(in from her own lips; !Me, however, had willed it I otherwise. There re- , ided within the castle of Sonnenberg a certain person named bert, who was kinsman to the grim Baron. lie was a cringing, fawning, paltry, mischievous knave, who 11:11.1 on very many occasions pestered his cousin (Melia with his attentions. He professed to he her friend, and sought to be her confidant and adviser. It happened most unfortunately that the Baron's daughter believed in thin sincerity of (tilitert, albeit she hail no very high opinion of his intellect. She ultimately Mund out to her cost that he was as crafty and cunningns a serpent. Between the Rarer and (filbert there was a sort of friendship, and this the latter thought the safest cover for his machinations. Ile aspired to the hand of his cousin, and made up his mind to remove all impediments that might stand in the way of his obtaining his When matters \very sullit•iently ripe for his purpose, he maile the Itaron avimainted with the filet of the score( meetings lietlveen I idella and l'ranke Ilerberger. The l'iaint of Sonnenberg, was so ash amiled al the intelligenee that he at once boldly declared it to Ilea base slander, and, in addition to this, lie gave Hilbert so smart a the side of the head as to send him reeling several parrs. " Insolent traducer !" exclaimed the wrathful Ilarim ; " Bost though (hire to malign iny datighter with thy shunter its tongue'?" " I have done: will say no more," nb served Hilbert, rubbing the side of his fare. "Anti front this hour I swear— " Peace!" interrupted his cempenion. " I do net care to her your silly resolves! Peace, I say.' .. "1 am silent," returned the other, as smiling by a look of humility all all pearatea, of passive sulairls , don to the will of hi, superior. " I have hero somewhat hasty—your pardon," said the honor, in an altered "'fell Gilbert, since you have broached till's business—tell tot , all thou I:nowest, without reserve." "You rail at rte, :001 (lame, if I speak the truth. It would be far \viser for the to renlain silent," acid the wily de pendent. "Nay, nay, I will le patient. Out with It. Let me k now Ihe Ivorst. I \VaS \\Tong in being angered with thee; for, after all, I (I() not think it likely you still de eeive rte. Therefere—" " Yott may satisfy yetit , elf upon the subjeet this Very night." "AI) tell ire how, ;41140 Not far lance, on t W iesbaden road, stands it. .lerome's Cross before which pions pilgrims are apt to say their orison.•. ('one al yourself in the thick cluster of trees near to the spot. 1k there to-night, between eight and nine, and then say if I am a slanderer." "Enough ; I will do as you desire," exclaiuu•d the it who thereupon drew from the pocket of his doublet a well tilled purse, which he slid into the hand of his kinsman, saying, "'There is something to recompense thee for that hard knock I gave." Gilbert accepted the gift with a grim smile of satisf a rlion. Then the two parted. At the specified time, the Baron eon coaled himself in the dark maws of fo liage near St..leronle's Cross. The truth of Gilbert's statement was soon but too manifest. To his di.snun• and horror lie beheld his daughter—his darling Odella —in close converse with a scion of a raec whom he so detested. Smothering his rising wrath as !test as he could, Baron von Altentlehlt lia,tened hack to Son nenberg,. After this he was no longer the doting, indulgent parent. He showered upon his daughter a perfect torrent of angry epithets, and bade her think no more of Franke ITerberger. Odella at once boldly declared that she could not consent to do this ; vt•here upon the wrathful Baron stretched his power to its fullest extent, and made her a close prisoner within her own suite of apartments. A watch was set upon tier movements, and to pass without the wall of Sonnenberg. she found an titter impossibility. Never for a moment suspecting the treacherous part (filbert had been play ing, she sought his advice and freely made known to him all her sorrows and trials. The apartments devoted to Odella's special use were fitted up with the most sumptuous magnificence. Their occupant owned and cherished a number of pets. She had an aviary Which contained some of the rarest and most beautiful birds that wealth could purchase, and at the top of one of the towers she kept the best specimens of the various breeds of pigeons. It has been said that "love laughs at lock smiths," but Odella found that the bolts and bars of Sonnenberg formed an insur mountable barrier to her egress from the walls of the old castle. Ttx Xart : /./ tiOteit -s•*4li4.-/elt?,ct VOLUME 71 °della, for the first time in her life, was thwarted by her father in a matter on which the happiness of her life de pended. She was peremptorily ordered to think no more of Franke Herberger at a time when she could think of but little else. She had some consolation in the wretched position in which she found herself. On several occasions she managed to have one of her carrier pigeons together with a note conveyed secretly to her lover, who each time re turned her an answer, written on thin tissue paper, which. he adroitly bound around one-of the bird's legs. Franke Herberger bid her not give way to des pair, us, sooner or later, he would find the means of propitiating the angry Baron, whom he declared Would eventu ally relent. Odella knew too much of her father's indomitable will, d his deep seated hatred, to ever dr its altering his resolve. Days passed over in sad and wear n notony with the Baron's dau vainly strove to catch 0110 fa a• hope through the clouds th I over her head. During this time Gilbert was not idle. Well used to dissumulute, he pre- tented to sympathize with his cousin, while he was doing - all in his poWer to widen the breach between her father and voting Herberger. The folldming brie! dialogue between the dependent and his superior will prove how assidu ously the former poured the poison into the ears of the credulous Baron. "I tell you, sir," observed, Gilbert, in a low mysterious tone, "that, despite your watchful guardianship she contin ues to receive letters from Weisbaden ; by whom these are penned, you may readily guess." "Is she SO utterly twit to asense of her own duty ! " ejaculated his companion. "But uo, it val uu tln. It is impo,si ble." "I am loth to pain you, whieh,'eertes, I shall if I speak the truth, which, for many reasons, it were best to conceal." "Nub• what thou knowest without more ado," said the Baron with all im patient stamp of the foot. "Hi nee you desire it, I must perforce obey. 'lime carrier pigeons, your daugh ter's pets, are adroitly used as a medium of communication between the lovers." " I'll have them destroyed !" thun dered forth time Btu•on, in a paroxysm of cage. "'They shall lie destroyed at once.,' " Be patient fora while; watch and w:dt. Assure yourself that this is the case, and do not rest content with my Lure word." " I'll never rest content while one of the brood lives." Mlll== and :utxirtt•, strove to persuade his kins man to wait leniently, and not give way , to anger. lie knew quite enough of the 11:u•on's nature to feel assured no words of his could turn him from his purpose. 'While the two were walking together in close converse, a carrier pigeon flew over their heads. Dost see yonder bird?" OhrierVCO Gilbert, plaeing his hand on the arm of his companion. Baron von Altenfeldt raised his cross bow, took steady aim—he was noted as one oldie best marksmen of his days— and the pigeon fell within a few paces of his destroyer. The latter grew pale with rage upon discovering a piece of paper wound around one of the legs of the bird. On this paper was written the following: " I shall be in the trysting-place, St. Jerome's Pens, to-night at nine. I dare not hope to see you, but if you can con trive to scull to line or even a word, by trusty messenger, you need not be tokt what happiness it would afford to one whose whole thoughts are devoted to Hastily thrusting the missive in his doublet, the infuriated father gave ut terance to many bitter invectives, and said, with vengeful looks, "He shall not tie kept waiting, Gilbert. The dull pined fool dreams not of the honor that awaits him." " would'st thou do!" inquired the other. "Meet hint; meet this audacious scion, of an odious and detested race." "Oh, sir be cautious; let not your choler get the huller of your calmer judgment." " Peace! \\lien I need advice I shall seek it from my discreet kinsman," ob served the Baron, in a tone of irony. Long before the appointed hour, the Baron, on that eventful and fatal eve ning, concealed himself as before in the mass of foliage near St. Jerome's Cross. He had never proved himself to be a patient man at the best of times, and it is therefore the more remarkable that he should have contrived to remain pas sive for nearly one whole hour. Young Herberger, unconscious of the surprise that awaited him, leisurely took his way along the road. As he neared the tryst ing place, he sighed, and furtively ! glance at the cross, before which lie paused for a few brief seconds. A howl, I such as an animal of prey. might give I . 1 when it is about to pounce on its victim, was the first notice the miserable lover received from the dangerous proximity of the infuriated Baron, who, with hasty strides, approached the young man. „ The Baron von Altenfeldt !" said Franke Herberger,remun•ingatonce his plumed hat. "This meeting is, indeed, unexpected, turd—" " I waste not words upon knaves or fools! If thou art not a coward to hoot, draw, and defend thyself." "My Lord Baron, why this excess of wrath *.'" exclaimed Franke. " You do Ime wrong by making use of such (pi ' diets." " Prove thy words! I will hold no parley with you!" shouted Altenfeldt, waving IIbOVO his head his heavy sword, which every moment seemed about to descend upon his mortal foe. " I repeat again, you do me wrong," said the young man calmly. "Though art a craven, like the rest of the Herlferger's !" cried the Count of Sonnenberg,, with a haughty curl of his lip. A conflict with the father of his be loved, Franke endeavored to avoid, it being about the last thing he would think of entering upon ; but his wrath ful adversary was not to be propitiated by fair words. He madly attacked his daughter's suitor, and the latter was forced from sheer necessity to ward off the blows as best he could that were so mercilessly showered upon him. Not withstanding the violenceof the Baron's attack, Franke did not attempt to act on the aggressive, but contented himself with keeping his angry assailant at bay. At length, however, by a vigorous effort, the Baron struck the weapon from the hand of Herberger, whom he then caught by - the throat, that lie might make sure of fulfilling his fell purpose. Poor Franke felt the point of the Baron's sword against his chest. Ire closed his eves, believing his last hour had come. Much to his astonishment, he found the hand on his throat relax its grasp— heard a deep groan ; and, on the next instant, beheld the Baron von Altenfeldt stretched at his feet, bathed in his blood. Before loin stood the tall and silent form of Gilbert. " What hast thou done?" murmured Franke, to whom the events of the last few moments seemed more like the dis jointed fragments of some hideous night mare than a living reality. "Saved your life!" said Gilbert. "I lad I b3en a second latter, you would have saeri need." " Wretch !" ejaculated Harberger. " Monster have you slain your protector, and kinsman !" " Is it thus you thank me for saving you from the vengeance of an infuriated madman ?" " Mother of Mercy, but this was hor rible!" ejaculated Franke, passing his hand rapidly over his brow. "So hor rible that it almost surpasses belief I" " You are right there, my friend," observed his companion. " Say what thou mnyest, this noble's death will be laid at your door." "At mine?" "Aye, even so. There are no witnesses beside our two selves." " What demon was it that prompted you to commit so heinous a crime?" "None ; I have stood your friend in the hour of need. Why, think you? For the sake of my cousin Odella. Had you fallen instead of your adversary, she would noetave long survived. For her sake I have made his sacrifice, and yet you do not thank me." Herberger was stupefied with aston ishment. He had always held the speaker in utter contempt, whom he regarded as a paltry, shuttling knave. The blow dealt by Gilbert had been aimed with such deadly intent that his weapon passed through the heart of the ill-fated Baron von Altenfeldt. "Heaven be merciful to us!" exclaim ed Franke, shuddering. "Infamous assassin! thou host slain thy protector and kinsman !" " This is not the time for reproaches," answered Gilbert. "Be thankful that you have escaped. If you stay here all will be lost. They will charge you with murder!" " But I am innocent !" "No matter for that. His death will be laid at your door. Away at once, while there is yet time!" " I scorn to fly like a criminal or an assassin I" "Fool!" ejaculated the other. "Your obstinacy will mar all, and bring your head to the block. Do you not compre hend that a storm will burst forth, upon the dead body of the Baron being discov ered? My kinsman was in favor with the Emperor. An inquiry will be at once set on foot, which will be fatal to you." "But I am innocent," reiterated Franke. " That is of little import; appearances are against you. Do not hesitate. For my cousin's sake, I conjure you to seek safety in flight." Herberger was loth to follow the ad vice of his guilty companion, who, cun ning and crafty by nature, did not fail to make use of every specious argument he was master of to serve his purpose, until, at length, he succeeded in per suading Franke to seek safety in flight. The latter returned to Wiesbaden, and made his father acquainted with the fatal issue of the conflict. As the bitter feud between the houses of Herbergers and Alien feldts was but too well known, and would, doubtless, be brought for ward as a _proof of Franke's guilt, his father wisely determined upon sending Isim away. Consequently the young man was constrained to be at hide and seek for several successive weeks 'Phi: , afforded ample opportunity for Gil bert to tell his own story. He boldly declared that the Baron had been slain in ass unfair light by young Herberger. This version of the tale gained universal credence. The Emperor issued orders for the arrest of the fugitive. A reward was of - R.red to any one who might be instrumental in bringing him to jus tice. For many' months, however, Franke succeeded in eluding the vigi lance of his enemies. At length, how ever, his whereabouts was discovered. He was arrested, and put on his trial, the chief witness aginst him being the guilty Hilbert, who positively swore that he saw the sword of Herber ger pass through the body of the ill fated Baron. In the days of which we are writing, justice was not very impar tial ; and the scales she is supposed to carry were not at all times evenly bal anced, Poor Franke was found guilty upon the charges upon which he had been arraigned ; and although there never was at any time any pretense that the case Was either murder or homicide, he was condemned to death. While these events had been taken place, poor °della was subject to a species of persecution which was odious and well-nigh insupportable ; her con sist Gilbert pestered her wills attentions, and declared that the Baron, her father, had expressed a wish that he should be her husband and protector. But, despite his machinations, the guilty wretch was not destined to triumph sir reap any benefit front Isis iniquity. A short time before the day appointed for the execution of Franke Herberger, a new light was thrown upon the matter. A Jew peddler came forward and deposed to the fact that he was traveling over the mountains with his wares,on the night of [lse murder, and that he distinctly saw Gilbert slay the Baron von Altenfeldt. An inquiry was set on foot by order of the Emperor, and the Jew gave so cir cumstantial an account of the events on the night, as to induce a free pardon being granted to Franke Herberger, to gether with an order for the arrest of Gil bert. Two daysafter this, the bodyof the last named was found floating on the surface of the Ehine, the guilty mats having, in a fit of despair, thrown him self from the rocks. It will perhaps be needless to say that Franke and °della were married ; and, for many years after ward, it was asserted that the form of the old Baron was to be seen after night fall, hovering round St. Jerome's Cross. "Died Poor." " It a sad funeral to me," said the speaker; "the saddest I have Mien ed for many years." " That of lidmonson ?" " Yes." . . "Poor—poor as poverty. His life was one long struggle with the world, and at every disadvantage. Fortune mock ed him all the while with golden prom ises that were destined never to know ; fulfillment." " Yet he was patient and enduring, remarked one of the company. "Patient as a Christian—enduring, as a martyr," was answered. " Poor man Ile was worthy of a better fate. He ought to have succeeded, forhe deserved success." "Did he not succeed?' questioned the one who had spoken on his patience and endurance. No, sir. He died poor, just as I have stated. Nothing that lie put his hand to ever succeeded. A strange fatality seemed to attend every enterprise." " I waswith him in his last moments," said the other, "and thought he died rich." "No, lie has left nothing behind," was replied. " The heirs will have no concern as to the administration of his estate." " He left a good name," said one, "and that is something," " And a legacy of noble deeds that were done in the name of humanity," remarked another. "And precious examples," said a i third. Lessons of patience in suffering ; of • hope in adversity ; of heavenly Conti (hence when no sunbeams fell upon his bewildering path," was the testimony of another. " And high truth-, manly courage, heroic fortitude." "Then he died rich," was the em phatic declaration. "Richer than the millionaire who went to his long home on the same day, miserable in all but gold. A sad funeral, did you sac ;No, my dear friend, it was a triumphal pro cession! sot the burial of a human clot!, hut the ceremonies attendant on the translation of an angel. Did not succeed! - Why, his whole life was a series of successes. In every conflict he come oil' the victor, and now the victor's crown is on his brow. Any grasping, soulless, selfish man, with a moderate share of brains, may gather in money, and learn the art of keeping it, but not one in a hundred can conquer bravely in the battle of life, as Ekhnonson has conquered, and step forth from the ranks of men a Christian hero. No, no; he did not die poor, but rich—rich in neigh body love, and rich in celestial affec lions. And his heirs have an interest in the administration of his affairs. A large property has been left,and let them see to it that they do not lose precious things through false estiluates and igno rant depreciations." " You have a new way of estimating the wealth of man," said the one who had first expressed sympathy for the deceased. "Is it not the right way?" was an swered. "There are higher things to gain in this world than wealth that per ishes. Riches of princely value ever reward the true merchant, who trades for wisdom, buying it with the silver of truth and the gold of love. He dies rich who can take his treasure with him to the new land whero he is to abide for ever, and lie who 11144 to leave all behind on which he has placed his affections, dies poor indeed. Our friend Edmon son died richer than a Girard or an Astor; his monument is built of good deeds and noble examples. It wili abide forever." The loss by the fire at Huntingdon, Mass., on Monday, which destroyed the Hampshire Woollen Mills and Hunt ingdon Marseilles factory, is stated to be $222,500 Georgia planters want hands to till their lands. Many of the negroes have died ; very many have flocked to the railroads now building; the towns have absorbed a good share; some have hired or bought lands and gone to work on their own account, and the women, as a general rule, have wholly deserted the fields. Dr. Armot says that on board a ship sailing one hundred miles off the coast of Brazil, at a particular place, the sound of bells was distinctly heard. It was afterward ascertained that the bells of the city of San Salvador were ringing at the time, the sound whereof, favored by a gentle wind, had traveled over one hundred miles of smooth water, and, striking the widespread sails of the ship had been brought to a focus and render ed preceptible. LANCASTER, PA., WEDNESDAY MORNING, FEBRUARY 23, 1870 The Guillotine. There is a common question, which we hope few of our readers may have to consider from a practical point of view, as the pleasantest mode of being execu ted. Is hanging, or beheading, or poi- j soning, the least disagreeable? How long a time should elapse between the sentence and the infliction of the pen alty? When the time comes, would we rather suffer before breakfast, orat mid- day, in public or in private? The good old plan was to get as much amusement out of a prisoner as possible ; he was soon relieved from suspense, that the public impatience might not have time to cool; he made a long procession through the streets at the hour when his friends could attend with the great est convenience; he had full liberty to makt , a dying speech for the amusement of a numerous audience; andsometirnes it was found so hard to part from the pleasing object that his body washung in chains to; afford an instructive spec tacle-after his death. The French man ' aged to extract some additional satisfac ' tion from the proceeding by using slow ! methods for the infliction of death; and a case is recorded where a wretched criminal survived for twenty-two hours on the wheel. In short our thick-skin ned aneestors;thoroughly enjoyed the whole proceeding, and regarded it as a i kind of dramatic entertainment, corn ! Wiling, as the advertisements express it, instruction with amusement. We have grown so tender-hearted or so sqeamish nowadays that we try to keep ! the whole affair as much as possible in the dark. If capital punishment isstill 1 necessity, we seek to withdraw it in every way from public attention. The present system would reach its ultimate perfec tion if a plan were adopted which we have sometimes heard advocated, and criminals were entirely withdrawn from public notice on the instant of their eon demnation. After sentence had been pronounced, and the doors of the Court hail closed upon them, they would never again be visible to human eyes, except to the two or three persons intrusted with the uty of ushering them out of I the world. The mystery which would rest over all the details of their fate would perhaps be more impressive than the most elaborate display, and even criminals might feel a greater horror at sinking, as it were, suddenly into utter darkness than once more appearing Ito play a conspicuous part before the I eves of their fellow-creatures. 'This pitch of perfection has not yet been attained ; and M. Maximo Du Camp gives a curious account, in the last number of the Revue des Deux Mondrs, of the mode in which they do these things in France. We will en deavor to give a short summary of his paper by way of illustrating the present stage of the art of execution. We will first consider the treatment of the crimi nal during the last days of his life. Di rectly after his condemnation he is stripped naked, every fragment of his clothing being carefully removed for fear of his anticipating the action of the ' law. He is then dressed in the usual prison costume, with the exception of a ! handkerchief and a cravat, which might ' be convenient for suicidal purposes. Finally, he is put into a strait-waistcoat, Which makes Lim totally incapable of using deadly instruments, even if he wished it, or of helping himself in any Way. He is constantly in , presence of a guard, and of a fel- • low-prisoner ready to act as a spy. The criminal thus treated is, as we are not surprised to hoar generally reduced to a state of profound depression. He gen erally refuses, at first, even to give the necessary.powers for the appeal admit ted by French law, and almost invaria bly gives way afterwards by the advice of his counsel and the directors of the prison. Meanwhile he is allowed to amuse himself according to his fancy, so far as that expression is applicable to a man in a condemend cell, confined with a strait-waistcoat, and with no company but a spy and his jailers. The period of suspense generally breaks down the courage of the most brutal criminals. They listen to the exhorta tions of a venerable priest whose duty it is to attend upon such cases. Theyoften try to read, and, according to M. Du Camp, the favorite author of these un happy wretches is Fenimore Cooper.— , The reason suggested by him is that Cooper leads them into a world of ! adventure, far removed from Euro- ! pean law, were killing is consid ered to be a creditable occupation.— We have some doubts as to the sound ness of this hypothesis the literary taste of murderers is not likely, as a rule, to be highly cultivated ; and we should imagine that Cooper is probably sug gested by the priest or the prison a.u thorities as a tolerably amusing novel ist, who has not a single passage which could do any human being any harm even if he was in the immediate expec tation of death. However, we are not surprised to hear that murderers gener ally fail to become absorbed in the ad ventures of the Leather Stocking and his companions. The guardians, we are told, are kind enough to try to dis tract their attention; but the poor wretch whose day of execution is not fixed, is I naturally a prey to nervous irritation, trembles when any one enters his room, ' and is often haunted by an imaginary sounds like the knocking of a hammer. This, it is said, frequently amounts to physical suffering. The position must be unpleasant enough under all circum stances, but the uncertainty as to the day of execution seems to add an un necessary pang. If the court decides against the appeal, a memorial is sent to the Emperor; and, should he see no reason for commuting the penalty, orders are at once sent to the various officials concerned to proceed instantly to execution. And here we must say a few words upon the guillotine itself, whose invent- ; or, by the way, did not (as has often 1 been asserted) die by his own creation, • but expired peaceably in 1814, at the age of seventy-three. M. Du Camp dwells elabOrately upon all the details of the machinery, which require more careful adaptation and more skilful management 1 than we had imagined. It is by no means so simple a thing as it seems at first sight to cut MIR human head with 1 accuracy and despatch. The efficiency of the machine, for example, depends entirely on a modification supplied by a Dr. Louis, who made the edge of the knife oblique instead of horizontal and who,like other improvers, nearly got the whole credit of the invention, which for some time was called a Louisine. We need not speak of other refinements; but it is unpleasant to discover that a good deal depends upon the skill and coolness of the executioner,—more, it would appear, than in the case of the English hangman. He has with one hand to hold - down the criminal, who sometimes struggles, and generally gets ; out of the proper attitude ; he then has to turn the proper screws, and after ! wards by a single pressure of the hand to send the body down an inclined plane Ito the basket. Two assistants hold the sufferer by the head and keep down his legs; and, as M. Du Camp remarks, unless they perform their duty a simul lancite irreprochable, the gravest incon veniences might result. It appears, however, that this has never been the case of late years, owing, as we presume 1 to the qualifications of the chief per former. He is not only a man of colossal strength, and clad in black garments of elaborate neatness; but he is an in ventor, and has conferred many advan tages on the condemned by ameliorations in his instrument. He is so sensitive that lie is generally ill for days after an execution ; and M. Du Camp complains that considering his qualihcations, he is miserably paid. He receives only four thousand francs a year, besides au allowance of nine thousand francs for supplying the necessary materials. He has the charge, it seems, of seven de partments; but, considering that there have only been fifty-seven executions in Paris in the last forty years, we do not see that the salary is so bad. It is, however, rather difficult to discover any satisfactory mode of determining the value of such services. Adam Smith has passage on this subject which is not ultOgether without some grim fun in it : "The most detestable of all employ ments, that of public executioner, is, in proportion to the quantity of work done, better paid than any common trade whatever." We must now return to the criminal. The authorities enter his room in the early morning, taking infinite precau tions not to disturb his sleep by turning the key abruptly. They then rouse him to tell him that the hour is come. From the time of waking him to the moment of his execution takes half an hour. This includes his interview with the priest, a rather prolonged ceremony of taking off and putting on his strait waistcoat, cutting his hair and conduct- Ing him through various passages ; and M. Du Camp suggests that by certain easy simplifications it might be reduced to half the time ; so that a man might be asleep as the hour struck and be with out his head at the quarter. That part of the proceedings, however, which takes place within view of the public is expeditious enough. The trying mo ment is that at which the guillotine, which is painted a dull red color, first becomes visible, and it is then that the criminal tries, often in vain, to brace himself with a view to dying game and leaving a creditable name among his companions. Characteristically, too, it is in these moments that they try to re call the snot, carefully prepared before hand, with which they are to take leave of the world. " Adieu, enfants de la France," was the exclamation of one Avinain, " n'avouez jamais; c'est ce qui m's perdu!" Another man at this moment asked the name of an assistant who had been kind to him, in order that he might preserve it in his memory.— But the scaffold is close to the prison ; and according to an accurate observation in one instance, only fourteen seconds elapsed between the time at which the prisoner put his foot on the scaffold and that at which his head fell into the basket. The scene may be hideous enough, but it is commendably short. The logical neatness of the French organization seems rather to fail in this instance. The execution is public, but the greatest care is taken that as few people as possible shall see it. The time is not known, except to the few enthu siasts who watch till they see the scaffold erected on the night before the event. Great care is taken to treat the criminal kindly, especially in the rather doubtful matter of getting the business over as soon as he is out of bed ; yet he has all the misery of suspense, and, moreover, of suspense in a strait-waistcoat. So few criminals manage to kill themselves under oue system, and it is so very little loss to the world when they do, that one might have thought that this regulation might be relaxed, for it certainly seems to be an unneces sary aggravation of torture. If the execution were in private, as is now the case in England, as well as in the greater part of America and Germany, the prisoner might have the melancholy satisfaction of knowing beforehand how long he was to live. The interests, however, of the prisoner are of compara tively little importance. Nobody can look forward to the guillotine without considerable reluctance, and whether the days are a little more or a little less un pleasant is not of very naterial conse quence. But it is a more curious ques tion whether this growing disgust at the publicity of executions does not foishad- OW the entire abolition of capital pun ishment. Traupmann has probably done a good deal to preserve the vitality of the guillotine, but the number of persons guillotined steadily declines; in the five years ending in 1860 there were twice as many as in the five years ending in ISSS, and it is almost necessary to murder a whole family in cold blood to get rid of " extenuating circumstance." We cannot bear to have a deed performed in public which a few generations ago was considered to be a highly moral and entertaining specta cle. May we not become so sensitive in a generation or two more as not to bear its being done in private? The French are so tender to the criminal that they only give him half an hour of certain anticipation of death, and M. Du Camp tries to show that the time might be reduced to half. 'the next step would be to cutoff his head befor4e is awake ; and when that consummation is reached, perhaps it may be thought improper to put an end to him at all. It is not much over a hundred years since Dampens was slowly tortured to death by the most revolting process at the Greve, and a highly polished English gentleman went over to Paris expreSsly to see it done. We now take pains to reduce every extra minute of expectation for a far more execrable villain, and try to cheat anybody brutal enough to desire to see his death of the anticipated treat. Shall we become too tender-hetixtect•irto kill anybody, or will punishment lie-In flicted in so inoffensive a manner that we shall gradually become reconciled to it?—a question too intricate to be dis cussed at the present moment. I Am Alone In the World." The following touching incident is extracted from the eloquent appeal for the Richmond Male Orphan Asylum' delivered on its 22.11,1 anniversary, by Major Styles : One of the batteries of our old banal lion was composed chiefly of Irishmen from a southern city—gallant fellows, but wild and reckless. The captaincy becoming vacant, a backwoods Georgia preacher, named C., was sent to com mand them. The menat first hal f amused half insulted, soon learned to idolize as well as fear their preacher captain, who proved to be all in all, such a man as one seldom sees, a combination of Praise-God-Barebones and Sir Philip Sydney, and with a dash of Homily Vicars about him. He had all the stern grit of the Puritan, With much of the chivalry of the cavalier and the zeal of the Apostle. There was at that time but one other Christian in his battery, a gunner named Allen Moore, also, a backwoods Georgian, and a noble, enthusiastic man and soldier. The only other living member of Moore's family was with him, a boy of not more than twelve or thirteen years, and the devo tion of the elder brother to the younger was as tender as a mother's. The little fellow was a strange, sad, prematurely old child, who seldom talked, and never smiled. He used to wear a red zouave fez that ill-befitted that peculiar, sallow, pallid complexion of the Pineywoods Georgian ; but he was a perfect hero in a fight. 'T was at Cold Harbor in 'lit We had been all day shelling a working party of the enemy, and about sunset, as adjutant of the battalion, I was visiting the batteries, to arrange the guns for night firing. As I approached C.'s posi tion, the sharp shooting had almost ceased, and down the line I could see the figures of the cannoneers standing out boldly against the sky. Moore at the trail, adjusting his piece for the night's work His gunnery had been su perb during the evening, and his blood was up. I descended into a little valley and lost sight of the group,but heard C.'s stern voice: "Set down, Moore, your gun is well enough ; the sharpshooting isn't over yet.—Get down." I rose the hill, "One moment, Captain, my trail's a hair's breadth too much to the right;" and the gunner bent eagerly 'over the handspike. A sharp report—that un mistakable crash of the bullet against the skull, and all was over.—'Twas the last rifle shot of the line that night. The rushing together of the detachment obstructed my view; but as I came up, the sergent stepped aside and said, "Look there, adjutant." Moore had fallen over on the trail, the blood gush ing front his wound all over Isis face. His little brother was at Isis side instant ly. No wildness, or tumult of grief. He knelt on the earth, and lifting Moore's head on his knees, wiped the blood from his forehead with the cuff of his own tattered shirt sleeve, and kissed the pale face again and again, but very quietly. Moore was evidently dead, and none of us cared to disturb the child. Presently he arose—quietly still, tearless still— gazed down on the dead brother, then around at us, and breathing the saddest sigh d ever heard, said just these words : "Well, I am alone in the world."—The preacher captain instantly sprang for ward, and placing his hand on the poor boy's shoulder, said solemnly but cheerfully, "No, my child, you are not alone, for the Bible says, "when my father and mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me up, and Allen was both father and mother to you ; besides, I'm going to take you up, too; you shall sleep under my blankets to-night." There was not a dry eye in the group; and when months afterwards, the whole battal lion gathered on a quiet Sabbath eve ning on the banks of the Appomattox, to witness a baptism, and C. at the water's edge, tenderly handed thischild to the officiating minister, and receiving him again when the ceremony was over, threw a blanket about the little shivering form, carried him into the bushes, changed his clothing, and then reappeared, carrying the bundle of wet clothes, and lie and the child Walked away hand in hand to camp—then there were more tears, manly, nobly, purify ing tears; and I heardthesurgeant say, " Faith ! the captain has fulfilled his pledge to that boy." The Philadelphia Water Works, dur ing the month 9,f January, pumped up into the different city reservoirs, 823,- 501,060 gallons of water. It required 1,361,79.5 lbs of coal to do the work. A Sermon Preached in St. Paul's Reformed Church Lancaster, Pa., Sunday, February 13, IS7O, by Rev. Edwin IL Nevin. Pastor. Ye have said: It is vain to serve God; and what profit is it that we have kept His ordi nance, and that we have walked mournfully before the Lord .—Malachi, An interest of a peculiar kind attach es to the times and writings of Malachi, j as he was the last of the prophets under 1 the Old Testament dispensation. In regard to the prophet himself, his book gives us no information, either as to , who he was, or at what precise period 1 he lived. From other sources it has been !ascertained that the time of his appear ance on the stage of Israelitish history, is nearly, if not altogether coincident with the period of Nehemiah's second visit to Jerusalem, or about the 434th year before Christ. The }look of Mala chi is called a burden, meaning that it is chiefly of an admonitory and threat ening character. Its direct and imme diate object is to expose the corruption which had by this time risen to a great height in the lend. The grand root of this corruption was a spiritof self right eousness which grounded its claim to God's favor and blessing on the obedi ence to his ordinances and command ] meats. 'Under the dominion of this spirit they seemed to believe that all the difficulties and embarrassments with ! which they were surrounded, were rath er to be attributed to God's mismanage ment than to their own sin and folly. They conceived themselves, in short, to be treated with grievous injustice, con sidering how well they had been dis charging their own part, and how much they were warranted to expect at the hands of God. And it is especially with a view to beat down this towering, Pharisaical spirit,—to silence its mur muring dissatisfaction with the Divine dealings i to show the injustice as well as folly of its hard thoughts of God, that the Prophet enters into the expostula tion with them, which makes up the substance of this book. Among the ac cusations specified is that contained in the text : ' Ye have said it is vain to serve God and what profit is it that we have kept his ordinance; and that we have walked mournfully before the Lord." In order to see whether there is any justice in the complaint of these heart less and hypocritical Jews, I shall direct your attention : I. To the nature and course of prac tical piety. In order to the existence of real, practical piety, the heart must be thoroughly renewed by the spirit of God. The heart of stone must be made the heart of flesh. The love of sin must be destroyed, and the love of God must be enthroned within it. There can be no true holiness apart from the princi ple of supreme love to God. Till this is implanted in the soul, we are under the dominion of supreme selfishness. This true and supreme love to God is the strongest and tenderest, and most invincible of all love. It is not, however, a mere emotion or pas sion, but a principle. It is not a mere matter of the sensibility but of the will. It is not the mere genial warmth of a soul of softer mould, but the steady and, in some cases, stern resolve of a mind that lays hold of the strength of God and says, "I will serve thee even unto death." Our text gives us a three-fold view of practical piety: 1. It is to serve God. The revelation of God to the soul by the power of the Spirit enables it to see that God only ought to be worshipped and that God only ought to be served. Until this revelation takes place, the soul is held in bondage by the power of Satan, or self, or the world. These, separately or collectively, exert a commanding influ ence over it. The Spirit of God, in the renewal of our natures, cures the heart of these debasing and hurtful delusions, and impels it to give its affections and service to the Living God. To serve God is to recognize God's right over us— God's claim upon us—and to consecrate ourselves unreservedly to his glory. This service is founded in a knowledge of God's will—a love to his laws—and a sincere and earnest desire to please him in all his demands. Religion consists in doing just what God has enjoined, and nothing more. All imprescribed services, however imposing in appear ance,—however mortifying to the flesh —however commanded by men or by ecclesiastical authority; instead of being good works or bad ones—all that macs of ceremony with which some have ' overlaid the simplicity that is in Christ, is a wicked invasion of the authority of God, and a corruption of his religion, and meets with no other reception from Him, than the hypocritical formalism of the Jews, in reference to which he said: " Who bath required this at your hands?" To command what God has not commanded, and thus add to his laws, is a reflection upon His wisdom and goodness, and an usurpation of His rights. If it be good and right and proper to be done, why did he neglect to enjoin it. If it is bad who so wicked as , to prescribe it? Is it not setting up an other authority than His to enjoin what He has not enjoined? Upon this absurd notion of our doing something more than what God has commanded and than what it is our duty to do, the ridic ulous doctrine of supererogation and in is founded. By serving God, ac cording to his will:and in such a way as i shall be acceptable to him,we understand the discharge of all the great duties of Christian morals—all thatwe owe to God according to the prescriptions of the moral law and the Christian economy; together with all that we owe to our neighbor, according to the second table of the law—and all that we owe to our selves in the way of self-government of our appetites and propensities. Justice, truth, chastity, mercy, social and domes tic virtue—these are the virtues, the ex-il cellence of which is acknowledged by ' all nations; the necessity of which, to the well-being of society, has been ad mitted by moralists of every country and every age; and to the neglect or practice of which historians have traced the prosperity or the decline of nations. The practice of these constitutes the ser vice which God commands. I. It is to observe the ordinances of God. By these we mean the institutions of Divine authority relating to the wor ship of God. God left no part of his house to be built by His followers, the members of His kingdom. He himself built and furnished the whole, and left to His subjects a complete and finished kingdom. He gave it a written consti tution, under which it exists ; He gave it a complete system of doctrine, which the church must proclaim ; He insti tuted a government which the church must administer, and a worship which the church must observe. Every office bearer in this kingdom is appointed by Him, whether Apostle, or Prophet, or Evangelist, or Pastor, or Teacher, or Elder, or Deacon. Every sacrament to be administered in this kingdom must stand in virtue of His kingly command. Every act of worship or government must be performed in the manner pointed out by the King. Absolutely nothing is left to the invention of man. In the nature of the case, therefore, our Great High Priest, who has offered up a sacrifice once for all, will not sprinkle with His atoning blood, and present to the Everlasting Father, the prayers and oblations of His people, unless they be such as He has prescribed, and unless they be presented in the manner direct ed riy him. When Hoses received the oracles of God, prescribing the worship of the Lord, lie was commanded : "See that thou make all things after the pattern shown thee in the mount," and the heaviest curses of the law are denounced against him who shall add to or take from the prescribed worship of the king dom. Under the ancient dispensation, the worshipwasritualisticandsensuous, but still appointed of God, a shadow of good things to come. Under this the present dispensation, the worship is simple and spiritual; " the hour is now come, when neither in this mountain, nor yet at Jerusalem, shall the Father be worship ped." "God is a spirit, and they who worship Him must worship Him in spirit and in truth ;" for he desireth a spiritual worship. Baptisin and the Lord's Supper, Reading and Expound ing the Scriptures, Prayer and Praise! how beautiful and simple, and yet sub lime are these ordinances of God's ap pointment in connexion with the Sab bath and the Sanctuary." These are abundantly sufficient, with the blessing of God, to transfer new life into the soul and embosom it in the future Paradise prepared for its reception. The expres sive character of the terms "weak and beggarly elements," which Paul applies to the rites of Judaism, shows how ab horrent to his mind was a relapse of the members (Tithe Christian Church to that state of bondage to the senses, under , now true, solid, lasting peace between which the Jewish Church had been held I the man and his God. He now looks on The time of reformation was Come; and his God as his friend. As such he trusts the meats and drinks, and divers wash- Him and hopes inHim. He regards the ings, and carnal ordinances of the law of promises of His word as his own. In Ceremonies were forever to pass away. temptation he expects a victory,—in The human mind was, by the religion perils a refuge,—in weakness, strength, of the Gospel, to be emancipated from its , —in affliction ,comfort,—in death, safety, shackles, and purged from its grossness —in eternity, heaven,—and in heaven, and darkness. It was to come forth in- God—the presence of God, the enjoy to light and liberty, and to enter on an went of God, the very likeness of God. endless career of moral and intellectual 3. ft is supremely glorious in its re improvement. A new and living way sults. Who can understand—who can of access was opened to God, who is the measure—who can conceive of the re- Father of lights, that by daily inter- sultsof true,evangelical, living, earnest, course with him, the soul might become consistent piety? The hope of the pious assimilated to his image, and be prepar- is the creation of God. Its basis is the cd for the beatific enjoyment of his pros- promise of infinite truth. Christian enee. hope is, therefore, not the child of fie 3. The third feature of practical piety, don or folly, but the child of faith. Her as unfolded in the text, is, that it Father is in Heaven and there she desires prompts those in whom it dwells "to to seek Him. It rises up like a bird of walk mournfully before the Lord." The lofty wing above the region of storms, true effect of evangelical piety when it to soar into a sky serene and sunny. It has been established in the heart is to does not live upon food which perishes, produce joy—joy unspeakable and full nor rest itself upon what is destructible of glory, but there are causes which con- but feeds on the bread of Heaven anti tinue to operate, while the soul is in the reposes on the rock of ages. Man, body, that tend to produce sonic meas- guided by this, weaves around him a tire of sadness and mourning. We all downy shroud:when earthly good ceases, know that even the brightest moments and when he turns to the tomb, lies experienced in our homes suggest, by a covered with hope. His faith assures curious law of the mind, the darkest.— him that when he dies he shall live Often when we have listened to that again. And what a life! A life crown sweetest musk by the fire-side—the glad ed with intelligence, and purity, and voices of happy children—we have felt beauty,—a life sweeping where the light in our own minds the solemn and of no sun or constellation pours,—a life mournful presentiment of a day when without age, yet increasing—old, yet these bright faces shall be pale, and fresh—like the cherubhn's wheel, these restless heads shall be fevered on a shining circle in the chariot of the pillow, anti these sweet sounds shall the Almighty,—a life, an eternal life, be hushed, tied that home which now on a flt of fire, serene anti joy rings with their accents, shall be lonely, ous, beatific and tearless, flowing from desolate and sad. But we soon, again, the Divine presence, and on which recover ourselves, and recollect, when is written from everlasting to everlasting. this home shall pass away like the fabric This is but an imperfect representation of a vision, there is another beyond the of the result of true piety, and yet how start, the meeting-place of long-lost and glorious is it! much-loved ones, where friend shall 111. There were some in the time of meet friend, and the mother shall em- Malachi, who felt that the service of brace the child she lost in infancy, and God was a burden anti did not pay. the father the son, anti the son the They said, "It is vain to serve (toil, and father; anti the circles that had been what protlt is it that we have kept His broken on earth shall be completed in ordinance:'" These were the formal glory ; and ties snapped asunder here Jews who thus spike, and doubtless shall be reunited, anti all things shall be they expressed their genuine convie made new. tions. There are no doubt ninny of the As sunshine and shadow sweep over present day who are of the sonic way of the earth, so joy and mourning are nun- thinking. gled together in the experience of the I. Among thiff number are those Christian. Indeed his whole life is a whose hearts have never been renewed glorious paradox. He is " sorrowful,yet by the Spirit of God. Such persons as always rejoicing, having nothing and sume the name of the pious and imitate yet possessing all things. The Chris- their forms anti speech, saying " Lord ! tiara mourns: Lord"' but this is not enough. The 1. Because of the sin that yet clings to Kingdom of Heaven is within, and the his soul. Although the power of sin has (treat Master has assured us that we been broken in the soul of the believer, must be born again. Such persons, of yet he is still far removed front perke- course, have no relish for the service of tion. He desires it; he longs for it; he Christ, and therefore consider It bur aims at it, he would be holy even as God densome. They may continue in it for is holy; but " sin dwelleth is me," is the a while, but sooner or later they are apt confession which bitter experience to abandon it as a dull and profitless wrings from his heart. Knowing at the business. sante time that sin is the great enemy of 2. Among this number are the self- God and of his own well-being, Ids heart righteous. When a man is brought to is filled with mourning because of its ex- feel that he is a sinner, lie as naturally istence within him, and he earnestly turns to his own strength to effect a cries, " who shall deliver me from the change and to bring himself up to the body of this death'." standard of the law as he turns to his 2. He mourns because of the sins that own works in, a compensation for his he sees around him in the world. Jere- sins, or as a ground of. confidence tow miah, when he looked around him, ex- ards Gott His efforts, therefore, are di claimed, "0, that my head were waters rected to subdue the power of sin and to and mine eyes a fountain of tears, that excite religious feelings in Ids heart. I might weep day and night for the slain He endeavors to mortify pride—to sub of the daughter of nty people." And due the influence of the body—anti to the Psalmist David said, " Rivers of wean himself from the world. At the waters run down mine eyes,because they same time he tries to force; himself into keep not Thy law." No living Christian a right state of mind, to make himself whose heart is in true sympathy with believe, repent, love and exercise all the that of Christ's, can read the calendars christian graces of meekness, humility, of the courts of justice, or the records of brotherly kindness and charity ; that is, our prisons and penitentiaries, without he tries to make himself religious. He poignant sorrow. No one can witness does everything in his own strength the terrible ravages of intemperance and and to save himself. This whole effort licentiousness which are visible every is necessarily tiresome and exhaustive, where, without being deeply affected. and sooner or later makes the person No one can hear of the awful slaughter cry out, "It is vain to serve God, and of battle-tields, and sacked villages, and what profit is it that I have kept His blazing homesteads, or of all the ills and ordinance." The self-righteousuess of sufferings that flesh is heir to, without such a person is even worse for him than intense grief. his sins. His sins might bring him to 3. He mourns frequently because of Christ, if he felt them ; but his self the little progress that true Christianity righteousness is the very blind of Satan has made in the world. When he counts over his soul. It keeps him front seeing the population of the world, lie is struck either his sins or Ins Suvioor. with the awful and appalling fact, that 3. Among this number maybe classed scarcely a twentieth part of it seems to half-hearted christians, so called, who profess anything like pure Christianity, try to unite the service of the world and anti the Christian cannot but blame of God. The christian is not to be con himself that he has not been more formed to this world, but to be trans prayerful, anti earnest, and active formed by the renewing of his mind. in multiplying the triumphs of the He is to live by faith in Christ, glorious gospel. When he sees mil- and devote himself, in heart and lions of Hindoos deeply demoralized, life, to His service. It must be His without God, without Christ, without meat and drink to do the will of hope; millions of Chinese, sunk in the his Heavenly Father and he must depths of the most wretched supersti- count all things but loss for the excel tion ; millions of Romish idolaters, with lency of the knowledge of Jesus Christ, more light, but scarcely more grace than our Lord. Notwithstanding this clear they; and when we add tothese millions teaching in regard to the nature and of Protestants, who have but the name claims of Christianity, there are many of Christians and nothing, more, the who practically say Lord we will give genuine C Christian cannot but mourn thee one-half of our {karts and the world that so little has been done toward the the other half. In a short time the conversion of the world. world is apt to monopolize two-thirds if 11. We will consider in the second not the whole, anti all that is left to God place the advantages connected with is the mere, empty, heartless profession. real, living, consistent, practical piety. When this is true of any persons, even 1. It is morally elevating and dignify- the outward profession becomes burden ing. "In the original scheme of exist- some and oppressive and they naturally core," says a profound thinker, "it was exclaim, "It is vain to serve (toil and planned that man should be complete, what profit is there that we have kept anti, as it were, infinite in God, by rea- His ordinance." son of his continual participation of -Mistaken, deluded traveller to the bar God. And this is the true norrnal state of God, let me assure you it is not In vain of man. In which normal state lie was to serve God! One hour in Heaven— to ben continually inspired creature,con. scions always of God as of himself, actuated by the divine character, exalt ed by the divine beatitude. This, ac cordingly, is the true idea of the fall. It is not that man fell away from certain notions, or laws ; but it is that he fell away from the personal inhabita tion of God, lost inspiration, and so became a dark, enslaved crea ture—alienated from the life of God. When he is truly yielded up again to the inspiration of God; when he is truly born of the Spirit, then he is so far re stored to the normal state from which he fell ; made conscious again of God ; knowing God as revealed in his inmost life, by a knowledge that is immediate; filled with joy and peace ; fortified in strength, and guided by the motions of eternal wisdom." Hence man begins a new life of service truly ennobling and honorable. What a grandeur and dignity does this devotedness to God's service throw over every member of man's body and every faculty of his soul! How is the heart dignified by being made the throne where God reigns—and the understanding, by be ing made the palace where the King of Kings resides—and the memory, by be ing made the storehouse where all the loving-kindnesses of a gracious God are treasured up—and the imagina tion, by being made a chariot of fire to convey the spirit up to heaven and give it a glimpse of all the glories there. And how is the body dignified by being made the temple of the Holy Ghost, and all its members,by being made instruments of righteous ness, are consecrated to the service of the blessed God !—the eyes, by being made the inlets through which the glories of His power, as displayed in creation, and the riches of His grace, as revealed in his word, are conveyed to the soul and kindle devout love and adoration there ; and the ears, by being made a channel for receiving the sweet sounds of His message of redeeming love;—and the tongue, by being made an eloquent pleader in His cause and a chanter of His praise;—and the hands,by being en gaged in deeds of divine benevolence, and offices of Christian charity ;—and the feet, by being engaged on errands of mercy, and enabling the believer, like his Divine master, to go about doing good!" O,how efficiently,and complete ly and sublimely, does the service of God thus exalt and dignify the whole man—body, soul andspirit—and render all alike instrumental in promoting the glory of God in the highest, and on earth the happiness of man. 2. It is pre-eminently peaceful in its influences. In his natural state, while under the dominion of selfishness and sin, there is no peace possible to man. " There is no peace, saith my God, to the wicked." " The wicked are like the troubled sea when it cannot rest." When the peace of God is experienced it is the result of a change in man's state and character; it is the effect of a reconcili ation between him and Heaven. Its foundation is laid in that transaction which takes place between. God and the soul—when the soul feels itself guilty, and polluted, and desolate, and casts Itself, in all its wickedness, on the free mercy of the Lord. The hour of its birth is the hour when a man sees his baseness, when he feels his misery and madness, and cries aloud with all the energy of a breaking heart, " God be merciful to me a sinner!" In that hour the Lord has mercy on him and disposes him to embrace the offer of pardon through a crucified Saviour; and then all his transgressions and sins are buried in the depths of the sea and an act of oblivion has cancelled them. There is NUMBER 8 one hour with the redeemed—one hour amid the crowns and palms and robes and hallelujahs of the great multitude around the throne of the Eternal, would scatter to the winds and hush such com plaints, forever. A Crack In the Hog Trough The following from a recent number of the Prairie Farmer, is equal to Frank lin's story of the whistle : A few days ago a friend sent word to me that every day he gave nearly twen ty pails of buttermilk to a lot of 'shoats,' and they scarcely improve at all.— Thinks I, this is a breed of hogs worth seeing. They must be of the sheet-iron kind. So I called on him, heard him repeat the mournful story, and visited the sty, in order to get a better view of the miraculous swine. I went into the pen, and on close examination, found a crack in the trough, through which most of the contents ran off under the floor. Thinks I, here is the type of the failures of our agricultural brethren. When I see a farmer omitting all im provements because of a little cost, sell ing all his farm stock to buy bank, railroad or mortgage stock, robbing his land, while in reality he is also robbing himself and his heir, thinks I, my friend you have a crack in your hog trough. When I see a farmer buying guano, but wasting ashes and hen manure, try ing all sorts of experiments except in telligent hard work and economy, get ting the choicest of seed regardless of cultivation, growing the variety of fruit called Sour Tart Seedlings, and then sweetening with sugar, pound for pound, keeping the front fields rich, while the back lots are growing up with thistles, briars and alders; contributing to the Choctaw Indian fund, and never giving a cent to any agricultural society ; such a man, I will give a written guarantee, has a crack in his hog trough, and in his head also. When I see a farmer allowing loose boards all over his yard, fences down, hinges otr the gate, manure in the barn yard, I come to the conclusion that he has a large crack in his hog trough. When I see a farmer spending his time travelin[,• in his carriage, when he has to sell all his corn to pay hired help, and his hogs are so lean that they have to lean against the fence to squeal, I rather lean to the conclusion that somebody that stays at home will have a lien on the farm, and that some day the bottom will come entirely out of his hog trough. A Clever Mt We were speaking to a friend the other day, respecting the merits of a celebra ted " American traggen," when we had occasion to comflieht on the rant of the stage—the land mouthing, the out rageous gesture, the furious rolling of eyes, the strides, swords that rattle in the hilt, and all the " pomp and circum stance" of the modern drama. Fancy this style carried into real life. On being introduced to a lady, you would say, throwing yourself into a splendid atti tude—" Most gracious madam, nn my knees I greet you," impressively plac ing_your right hand on your heart. To a debtor who would not pay— " Fraudulent knave! payest me not? By yonder sun that blazeth in the zenith, thou wilt I sue, and thou shalt see thy name flaming the streets on posters huge!" At dinner—" Now, by my soul, this kraut is royal. Were I Jubiter, kraut should grace each banquet. What ho! waiter, bring hither more kraut! To your wife—" Madam, beware thou dost excite me not, else, being hot with wrath, I do myself some harm. A needle BATE OF ADVEETIOLN4 Stratums Atrairrummarrs, 312 a year per sclera of 3en Una ; ea per year for each addi tional square. REAL ESTATE ADVERTISIVO, 10 cents aline for the first, and 0 cents for each subsequent In. Insertion. o F.NERAL ADVERTISING, 7 cents a lino for tho ant, and 4 cent% for each subNequent lneer• tion, SPEciAr. NOTICFS Inserted In Locnl Columns 15 cents per line•. SPECIAL Norte., preceding Marriages and deaths, 10 cents per line for first insertion, and 5 cents for every subsequent Insertion. LCcAL AND OTITED. NoTinns— Executors' notices 2 zio Administrators' notice 2 MI Assignees' notices . 250 Auditors' notices 2 ni Other " Notices," ten lines, or less, three thugs here—a button on my shirt—and see it instantly performed. Do it, nor leave the task for me." Toyourbutcher—"'Thou ensanguined destroyer of bovines, send me some mut ton chops and some beef, and mark you! let it be tenderer than love, and sweeter than the bees' rare bunion. I would dine to-day." To a friend—" Excuses rash intrusion on your grace, but last thou in thy box a portion of that plant ranked by the botanist among the genus nicotania? " or, " Most noble friend, wilt thou par take with me sonic strong libation? Thou lookest dull to-day ; 'twill cheer thy sinking heart." Reply—" 0 noble soul ! alas! alas, not all the wine of Bac chanalian routs could ease this sorrow here—here !here !—) Left breast struck several times) 0 what a fool and arrant knave am I—the very sport of fortune!" The bankrupt—" Ruined! ruined! Now by the gods that raised this thunder o'er my head, I'll jump this life to darkness, and thus escape all future Ills ! " This is scarcely more ridiculous than three-quarters of the stage nonsense. TO Let—Enquire Within The lady flounced out in a rage. Two yourg . damsels and a spinster aunt fol lowed, and after a lengthy Inspection of the premises, came to a state council in the parlor. I like the house very much," said the spinster aunt solemnly, " and with a few alterations, I will engage it for my brother's fain i ly." " Very good, ma'am," said Nahum, rubbing his hands, and scenting a spee dy termination to his trials. " Name 'em." " The door handles must all be gilded and I should like the house newly pa pered in velvet and re-painted, and the partition between the parlors taken down and re-placed by an arch, and an extension din ing room build:on behind, and a new style of range in the kitchen, and a dumb waiter put in, and new bronze chandeliers throughout, and an other furnace In the sub-cellar, and— " Hold on ma'am just hold on one minute," said Nahum, feebly grasping for breath. " Wouldn't you like the old house carted away, and a new one put in its place? I think it would be rather less trouble than to make the trifling alterations you suggest?" " Sir!" said the spinster, loftily. ' I don't think we can agree, ma'am.' " Very well—very well—conic, girls." With print dignity the lady marshal led her two charges out, muttering something about the "extortionate ideas of landlords now-a-days." While Nahum, wildly rumpling his iron-grey hair with both hands, solilo quized : " Well, if Job had been alive, and had n house to let, there never would have been any book of Job written. There oes that everlasting bell again! I'll haul it out by the roots, if this thing goes on much longer. I'll tear down the bill, and put up the place atauction." Another lady, but quite different from the other—a slender little cast-down lady, with a head that drooped like a Illy of the valley, and a dress of brown silk, that had been mended, and turned, anti re-trimmed, and even Nahum Briggs, man anti bachelor though he was, could see how shabby it was. Yet she was pretty, with big blue eyes and shining brown hair, and cheeks tinged with a fair, fleeting color, where the vehtety roses of youtti had once bloomed in vivid carmine. / . .1 a golden-haired little lassie clung t , ,,..1er dress, like the tiny lily buds tott:olooming chime of flower bells. As Nahum Briggs stood looking at her, there conic back to him the sun shiny days of youth ; a field of blooming clover crimsoned the June light like waves of blood, and a blue-eyed girl leaning over the fence with her bright hair barred with level sunset gold, and lie knew that he was standing faco to face with Barbara Wylie, the girl ho had quarreled with years and years ago, and whose blue eyes had kept him an old bachelor all his life long. " This house is to be let, I believe I" she asked timidly, with a little quiver In her mouth. " I believe it is, Barbara Wylie." She looked up, starting with a sudden flush of recognition. And then Barbara turned very pale, anti began to weep, with the little gold en-haired girl clinging to her sktrts, and wailing— ! 11at i n11 , 1 a /V , l 1/111111111—what's the mat ter mamma:"' now," said Barbara, remo- lutely brushing away the tears. " If you please, Mr. Briggs, T will look at the house ; I am a widow now, and very poor, and I think of keeping a boarding-house to earn my daily bread. I hope the rent Is not very high?" "We'll talk about the rent after wards," said Naham, fiercely swallow ing down a big lump in his throat that threatened to choke him. "Come here, little girl, and kiss me; I used to know your mamma when she wasn't much bigger than you are." Barbara with her blue eyes still droop ing, went all over the house, without finding a word of fault, and Naham Briggs walked at her side, wondering If it was really fifteen years since the Juno sunshine lay so brightly on the clover field. "I think the house is beautiful," said meek Barbara. " Will you rent it to me, Nahum? " Well, yen," said Nahum thought fully. " I'll let you have my house, if you want it Barbara." " With the privilege of keeping a few boarders ?" " No, ma'am !" Barbara stopped and looked wistfully at him. " But I don't think you understand how very poor I am, Mr. Briggs." " Yes I do." " And that I cannot afford to take the house, without the privilege of board ers." " I tell you what, Barbara," said Mr. Briggs dictatorily, " I'll give you the privilege of keeping just one boarder, and him you have to keep all your life long, if you once take him." "I don't think I quite understand you, Nahum Briggs," said Barbara, but she blushed very becomingly, and we are rather inclined to think that she told a naughty little fib. " What do you say to me for a boarder, Barbara?" said the old bachelor, taking both the widow's hands in his. " Bar bara, we were young fools once, but that is no reason why we should be old fools now. I like you just as well as ever I did, and I'll do my best to be a good husband to you,. and a good father to your little girl, f you'll be my wife." Barbara blushed again, and hesitated, but Nahum was not to he eluded thus. " Shall I take down the sign ' To pet,' Barbara?" " Yes," she murmured, almost under her breath. So Nahum went deliberately out, and coolly tore down the bill, to the great astonishment and disappointment of a party of rabid house hunters, who were just ascending the steps. " And when shall we be married, Barbara?" he next demanded. . . " In the summer, perhaps," said Mm. Barbara shyly. "To-morrow," said Nahum decisively and "to-morrow" it was. " Upon my word, Barbara," said Na hum, on the first day of .lay, as he watched his wife's blooming face behind the coffee urn, "you can't think how much jollier it is with you for a house keeper than that hag, I\ irs. Parley." Barbara only laughed, and said "he was a dear, good old stupid." So the probabilities are that neither Mr. Nahum Briggs nor his brown stone house will be In market again or "To Let—Enquire Within." The PreSident Appointing His Own Father a Postmaster• From the Courier-Journal The reappointment of old Jesse It. Grant to be Postmaster of Covington for four years longer is ono of those little things which is not easy to account for. Old Jesse does not need the office and the office does not need old Jesse. Ito is a weak, querulous old man, incapable because ho is weak, and unpopular because he is querulous. Aside from having no claim upon tho Post Office Department and no capacity to boa Postmaster, ho is the father ot the President of the United States. There Is an obvious impropriety, not undiluted with ascertain absurdity, in his holding a little village place of this sort. If he is not above it, as very likely ho Is not, his off spring should be above it. Old Jessee Is sev enty yea rsofage,and an awful old chatterbos and tattler. He has a competency. Never very wise, he has been growing in folly ever since his son began to grow In fortune. Why should he be Postmaster of Coving ton t Ho ought to be pickled and preserv ed and stowed away in one of the glass eases at the White ROLM, the Patent Office, or the Smithsonian Institution.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers