WEEo
, 2' 0 VT .41. Bn) .&. 8
WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 26, 1846
[For the Bradford Reporter.}
• Solitude.
El=
Swat Solitude, thy influence is soothing, 'tis
soft as sunset on the sea or music's parting chime;
f, calm as Cynthia's fair, pale face, when smilingsweet-
I down.
.Im.l pure as childhood's lisping prayer in life's bright
.u , m) morn
.te.3lg upon the youthful soul, as soft as summer's breeze,
When wantoning in wilful mirth among the flow'mg
As not from some clear silver bell steals on the even
ing air,
So moves thy power, oh ! Solitude, and leaves its impress
IE3
Thy influence is softening to minds oppressed with grief,
And oft as if with magic power, 'twill bring a quick relief
When Rape's expiring thimble o'er and wafted far away;
)",,r c*cn Despair, with blackening gloom can throw one
fitful ray •
Act°. life's dreary, mournful path—like desert sands
without
ii ee fertile spot on which to breathe a ling'ring, dying
rho K 4
411azonr, as Beath's cold hand path seized the cords of
Ghastly and triumphant smile, to see the victim's
Thu. , when despair, with blackening touch, stalks o'er
;he troubled mind, ' '
tail with the chains from sorrow's stroke, their care
worn quits bind—
When life looks gloomy, all its gifts, once prized, are
thrown away,
\!lsoine fell demon reigns where once fair hP.ppinegs
held
hen Ilea,on's torch is grinnnerint, dim, and scarre
of I: 2 ht a, !ure the wanderer, to a bright, though distant
~ p 1 when we calmly 'break the cords that bird us to the
odd,
fniuis. to kindred, loved ones all, are flora us rudrly
I=
we w,mld glldly woo some power to hold free
;i4ibility. to sorrow and deApsir,
o ,etchedre,s overthrown, that we could hoil
NM
1 .iu 1:o.; 4rasc in ocean's wave, or aught that can do
f. , then, oh! solitude, thy power, is known and ft. It
MEM
to.rh n pleasinz on the heart, as some wild Curs
tt 1114 h ter land:, and beings fair, in rezion. far away t
1:.,1r. lieu 'tic past, the 'thoughts ni!
MEMO
L entrancing roll:tole, thotert eyer free to Hess
lk , An, %andel-nig child of earth, with thy own pure
MEM
A>iiu•Hlver wave,wben leaping free into the eveningnir,
up a star in tts embrace, and held it trembling
Like lingering rays front Phoebus's light on some fair
ummer day
h , e ,, lden hues dissoh.e in night, its richnes dies away,
!lilt !etnee, a glory, all divine, impressed upon the sky.
some pure spirit from the cloud, had lookedon earth
I=
, me fair barque at evening hour upon the laughing
12111
)..•d [4.41, benilin 4. from the sky their tresses softly lave.
limn the stream, then, fling them up in Cynthia's
!we:lnez face
‘, the morns them with a smile and newly added grace,
•.'ke levers farewell, pareng sigh, when breathed on
MEE
to !rno., own dewy nectar bright, is voftly, sweetly sirt,
M':en the lastfarewell notes are sung upon the %add guitar
rth., !eaves a shadowy spell of sweet enchantment
thus It 1 , , that Solitude will eaw the weary heart
ll ca witching influence ell its eierti—'twill heal the
wounded part
'.lke sunlight streaming o er the sea, in one unbroken ray;
Thu, solitude will shed a gleam across the darkest way.
1 ' , rut Pi
flo - NT GET ANGRY.—It may be difficult to
p cool physically, at all times, in mid-sum
mer, hut mentally we can always be cool and
, 011erted, if we have a proper control over our
;alsionh.. To get angry, is one of the weakest
;:lin g s a person can do. A mad man or woman
ercr wretched. Look at such- an one; and he
tt.trnt•d! A kind of mental hydrophobia is rag
ing within. Vengeance gleams from l the eve;
Lured sits upon the brow; malignity scowls
Lpon the cotrntenance; and the hands are ready
tq execute the will of the demon influence at
tt brk.
lovely woman in a passion, is converted
on o a' hideous object. A man becomes embued
utth the spirit of a fiend. All know this. Yet
there are persons that make no attempt to con
'nil their anger, but actually, let it increase upon
Such are to be pitied as well as censured :
Pitied for their weakness, condemned for their
rgliness.
Of all habits that of flying into a p assion at
"Pry trivial matter, is'one nf the worst. Every
Person should. guard azainst the faint approach
auger: o f should school into subjection the mon
ster ready to work within hint. If it isnot done,
'Thltappiness must abide in the circle influenced
him, and never can remove nntil the habit is
overcome.
What a pity, that when the earth beneath and
the heaven above us are so beautiful, and gen
tleness is so lovely, that any of God's cteatures
do utmost to mar this beauty and lovolinessl
Yet so it is, and will be, as long as men or
vomen will'allow passion to supplant the rule
gentleness within them.
PIE MADFORD .REPORTER
The Printer Boy and the Ambassador.
Genius in its glory—genius on its eagle
wings—genius soaring away there in the skies !
This is a sight we often see ! But genius in its
work-shop—genius in its cell—genius digging .
away in the (lark mines of poverty—toil in the
brain and toil in the heart--this is an every-day
(act—yet, a sight that we do not often see !
Let us for a moment look at the strange con
trast between intellect, standing there, in .lhe
sunlight of fame, with the shouts of millions,
ringing in its ears—and intelect, down there.
in cold and night-crouching, in the work-shop
or the garret ; neglected—unpited—and alone !
And shall we leave these two pictures, with
out looking at the deep moral they inculcate ?
Without the slightest disrespect to the pro
fessions called learned, I stand here to-night.
to confess that the great truth of Franklin's life
is the sanctity of toil.
Yes, that your true nobleman of God's crea
tion, is not your lawyer, digging away among
musty parchments. not even your white cravat
ted divine—but this man, who, clad in the
coarse garments of toil, comes out from the
work-shop, and stands with the noon-day sun
pun his brow, not ashamed to-show himself°
; MECHANIC
f ' Let us for a moment behold two pictures,
illustrating the great facts—intellect in its rags,
and intellect in its glory.
The first picture has not much in it strike
your lancy—here are no dim Cathedral aisles,
grand with fretted nrch and towering with pil
lars—here are no scenes of nature, in her sub
limity, when deep lakes, bosomed in colossal
cliffs, break on your eve—or yet, of nature's
repose, ti lien quiet dells, musical with die lull
of waterfalls, breaking through the pable
steal gently in dream-glimpses upon your
soul I No I here is but a picture of plain, rude
toil—yes, hot, tired, dusty toil !
The morning sunshine is stealing through
the dim panes of an old window—yes, stealing
and struggling through those dun panes. into.
the 'lark recesses of yonder room. It is a
strange old room—the walls cracked in an hun
dred places. are hurls- with cobwebs—the floor,
dark as ink, is stained with dismal black
bliitchesand all around, are scattered the evi
dences of - some plain workman's craft—heaps
of piper, little pieces of antimony were scatter
ed over the floorand, there, right in the light
of the morning sun. beside that window, stands
a young man of some twenty years—quite a
boy—lits coat thrown aside. his faded garments
covered with patches, while his right hand
arasps several of those small bits of antimony.
by this is but a dull picture—a plain, sober,
every-day fact. Yet look again upon that boy
stain:nig there. in the full : light of the morning
stm—thcre is meaning in that massive brow,
shaded by locks. ol dark brown hair—there is
1f1e1 , 1111. , in that fall grey-eye now diboing and
burning as that young man stands there alone
—alone in that old room.,
But what is this grim monster on which the
young man leans ? This thing cif uncouth
shape, built of massy iron, full of springs and
screws, and bolts—tell us the name of this
strange, uncouth monster. on which that young
man leans ? 11h ! that grim old monster, is a
terrible thing—a horrid phantom for dishonest
priests or traitor kings ! Yes, that uncouth
shape, every now and then, speaks out words
that shake the world—that is a Printing Press !
And the young man. standing there in a rude
garb, with the warm sunshine streaming ever
Isis hold Mow—that young man standing there
alone. neglected—unknown—is a printer boy
yes. an earnest son of toil : thinking, deep thot's
there its that old room, with its dusty floor. and
lIF cobweb-hung walls ? Those thoughts will
one day shake the world !
Now let I.IA look uroot the other picture:—
A h ! here is a scene full of toeht and music
andlomaace! We stand in a magnificent gar
den, musical with waterfalls, and yonder, far
through thetl'e arcades of towering trees,'a mas
sive palace breaks up into the deep azure of
night ! Let us approach that palace i Nwith its
thousand windows fla.hing with lights—hark !
how the music of a full hand comes stealing
along dos garthin—minoling with the hum of
fountains—gathering in one horst up into the
dark concave of heaven ! Let us enter this pa
lace.! Up wide stairways where heavy car
pets give no echo to the footfall—up wide stair
ways—through long corridors, adorned with
statues—into this splendid saloon ! Yes, a
splendid saloon—yon 'chandelier, flinging a
shower of light over this array of noble lords
and beautiful women—on every side the flash
of jewels—Lice glitter embroidery—the soft,
mild gleam of pearls. rising" into light, with
the pulsation of fair bosoms—A ! this is in•
deed a splendid scene? And yonder—far
through the crowd of nobility and beauty—yon
der, under folds of purple tapestry. dotted with
gold, stands the throne, and-on that throne the
king ! That king, these courtiers, noble lords
and proud dames, are all awaiting a strange
spectacle I .—the'appearance of an ambassador
from an unknown republic far over the waters.
They= are all anxious to look upon this strange
man—whose fame goes before him ! Hark !
to those whispers—it is even said this strange
ambassador of an unknown republic. has called
down the lightnings from God's eternal sky !
No doubt this ambassador will be something
very uncouth. yet it still must he plain that be
will try to veil his uncouthness in a splendid
court dress ! The king, the courtiers, are all
on tip-toe of expectation !—W by does not this
magician from the New World—this Chainer
of thunderbolts—appear?
Suddenly there is a murmur—the tinselfed
crown part on either side—look ! he comes :
the magician. the ambassador! He comes
walking through that lane, whose walls are
beautiful women ; is he decked out in a court
dress ? Is he abashed by the presence of the
king? Ah, no ! Look there—how the king
starts with surprise. as that plain man , comes
forward ! That plain man. with the bold brow.
the curling, locks behind his ears, and such
PUBLISHED EVERY WEDNESDAY, AT TOWANDA, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA., BY E. 0. & H. P. GOODRICH.
A Legend of the Revolution
Eli GEORGE LIPPARD
" REGARDLESS OF DENUNCIATION FRIES ANT QUARTER."
odious home made blue stockings upon hie
limbs.
Look there. and in that magician, that chain
er of the lighting—behold the printer boy of
the dusty room stout-hearted, true-souled,
common-sense BENJAMIN FRANKLIN !
Ah ! my friends, there is a world of mean
ing in these. pictures ! They speak to your
hearts now—they. will speak to the heart of
universal man forever.
HERE, the unknown printer boy. standing
at his labor, neglected. unknown ; clad in a
patched garb, with the laborer's sweat upon
his brow—THERE, the MAN whom nations
are proud to claim as their own, standing as
the .dmbassader• of a free people—standing, as
(I PROPHET OF TILE RIGHTS OF MAN—unswpl,
unabashed, in the PRESENCE OF ROYALTV AND
GOLD
kmßenJam hi Franklin, in his brown coat and
blue stockings, mocking to shame the pomp of
these courtiers—the glittering robes of yonder
king !—Saturday Courier.
TIIE STRIPED PIG BEAT.—lets York. at a
recent election, it is known has, in many of the
towns, decided against the sale of spiritous li
quor. But this does not stop the use of liquor
—tt is still drunk, and the only effect of the
law and the vote of the towns thus far, has been
3 tax on the ingenuity of the venders how to
avoid the liability. A similar law in Massachu
setts, some years ago, brought into existence
the celebrated • sniped pig.' a ring of whose tail
produced a ready response to the applicant's
thirst. The • critter,' however, has been used
up, and though adapted to the leading trait of
the people with whom it had its origin, it is
found wholly unsuited to the phlegmatic Dutch
of New York, v‘ ho are influenced less from cu
riosity than sympathy—hence the substitution
of the • charity box ' for the striped pig.' A
friend who has just returned from the interior of
the State• where no license prevails, relates
sonic amusing shifts to gratify the thirsty souls,
whose supply of nectar the law has cut off. lo
one tavern. the landlord has caused a box to be
put up in his bar room. on which are painted In
bold letters, 'Jro the u•idou• and orphan fund
(f the village of ' The thirsty travel
ler who should be so foolish as to ask for a glass
of liquor is promptly refused, for the law for
bids the use of it—but puintim , to the box, the
chatitable landlord says, if you contribute six
pence I don't mind treating.' Very few are so
dumb as not to understand this hint• and fewer
still are so uncharitable as to refuse their mite to
such an excellent fund. The sixpence is con
tributed, and the landlord keeps his word and
treats.
In another place, a landlord refuses to sell any
liquor, hot he demands of the (traveler a six
pence for hacking his horse under a shed ; the
liquor of course being !gratuitous—others sell
nothing, hut the extracts of sarsaparilla, lemon.
or the lemon, or the like—at least the labels all
saw so, arrl as the law does not allow one to go
bi hind the labels, 'they drive a thriving, business.
• The • striped pig' is quite a poor animal rifler
this, and HO 4.11 e would think of giving sixpence
for a sight of one, when, with the same sum, he
can contribute to an excellent charity fund, and
get a treat in the bargain.—Dollar .Vewspapei.
KEEP A SECRET.—Anything revealed in Con
fidence should he kept secret. There is no
greater breach of good manners and Christian
faith, than to reveal that which has been placed
in the secrecy of your own bo s om. What if
the friend who once trusted in you, and told
you the secrets of his heart, has become your
enemy ? You are still bound to keep your
word inviolate, and preserve locked in your
heart the secrets confidentially made known to
you. A man of principle will never betray
even an enemy. Ile holds it a Christian duty
never to reveal what in good faith was placed
in his keeping. While the Albanians were at
war with Plultp. Kunz of Macedon, they in
tercepted a letter that the Kmg had written to
his wife, Otympta. It was returned Unopen
ed, that it might not he read in public—their
laws forbidding them to reveal a secret.
Among the Egyptian", it was a crimMal of
fence to divulge a secret. A priest, who had
been forind guilty of this offence, 'was ordered
to leave the country.
ilave you a secret reprcred in your bosoms?
Reveal it not for the wi.rld, Aco nil di r; friend
may tell you a hundred things, which, if. whis
pered abroad, would bring him into contempt
and ridicule, and injure his character through
life. No one is so upright that he may not
have committed some ungentlemanly act, or
soma. impure ?offence, which may have been
secretly confided to another. The fault may
have been •perporated years ago, before the
individual's character was formed, and before
he had a wife and children. Would it not be
a profanation of the most sacred duties, in a fit
of anger, or out of malice or revenge, to di
vuloe a secret like this? A man's enemies
would not care whether it was the fault of his
thoughtless youth or his maturer years..so long
as they could make a handle of it to his injury,
and thus effect their purpose. Be careful, then.
never under any consideration whatever. to re
peat what has been whispered to you in the
confidence of friendship. A betrayer of secrets
is fit only for the boiety of the low and the vile.
—Sat Courier.
GRAMMAR IN THE BACK WOODS.—CInAS in
Grammar may come on the Poor.—Now, John
commence, •• Ail the world is in debt." Parse
world."
" World is a general noun. common metre,
objective case. and governed by Miller."
" Very well. Sam parse debt."
" Debt is a common noun, oppressive mood,
and dreadful case."
" 'Flail do. Read the nest sentence."
•• !toys and girls must have their play."
•• Phillips, parse bovs."
•` Boys ant a particular noun, single number,
uncertain mood ; laughable:case, and agrees with
girls."
The next." .
Buys is musical noun, inferior number, con
junctive mood and belongs to the girls, with
which it agrees."
" School is dismissed."
Mount llor—Aaron's Tomb.
The following inklings of a traveller" are
from a correspondent of the Messenger and
Wreath :
Taking our interpreter and four other Arabs
with us we commenced our toilsome walk.—
Passing over rocky eminences, and
. throngh
several precipitous ravines , obstructed much
with. mountain wreck, we at length descended
onlan extended slope, which brought Mount
Ilor directly to our view on the left. From
this slope we turned north, crossed a steep and
difficult ravine, and commenced our ascent of
Mount llor ou its south side. Our way led
over beds of sharp, cutting flint stones. When
about half way up, we struck a path which had
been constructed by the Arabs, for the benefit
of Mohammedan pilgrims, who visit Aaron's
tomb in great numbers, to offer sacrifices.—
This path at length brought us to a small space
of table rock, above which the remaining part
of Mount Hor presented an almost perpendicu
lar front. From this point our guides conduc
ted us round to the north side ofthe mountain.
Here was an altar on which Mohammedan pil
grims always sacrifice a sheep, before they
ascend to the tomb. A small hollow in a table
rock near by, is called Aaron's basin. Pass
ing a little further east we came to an arch
covering a pool in which there was some clear
water. Here Mohammedans perform ablution
before ascending further. This stands at the
foot of a narrow steep defile. From this pool
we found the remaining ascent about five
hundred feet. steep and laborious ; part of
which has rude steris, ft. ruled of stones placed
together.
On the top, which is an area of about sixty
feet square, is a low stone building of about
thirty feet on a side, and surmounted by
dome. This is called Aaron's tomb. The
entrance.is near the north-west corner; anti a
a few feet from the door, inside, is a tomb-stone,
in form similar to the oblong slabs seen in our
church yards. but larger and higher. The top
is larger than the bottom, and over it was plac
ed a pall of faded red cotton in shreds .and
p itches. The pall bore marks of blood, and
near it was a stone altar, on which sacrifices
were offered. The stone was blackened with
smoke, and stains of blood, with fragments of
fuel, were still around it. A few ostrich eggs
and sea-shells were suspended in different pla
ces. and with this exception the room was per
fectly bare.
We found in the north-east corner of the
building a flight of stone stairs. descending to
a vault bt low. We requested our Arabs to
furnish some kind of light, to enable us to ex
plore this lower apartment, as all below was
dark. They seemed loth to do it, considering,
as I inferred. that the place was too holy fur
us to enter. We were, however, nut to he put
off, and finally succeeded in getting together a
few small dry twigs. which were set on lire by
means of powder and flint, to make a kind of
torch. With this we descended into a grotto.
hewn into the rock, of A l ma eight feet wide.
twenty long, and seven and a half high. At
the west end of this grotto, as near as we could
judge, directly under the tomb with the pall
above, were two small iron gates. closing to
gether in the centre. They shut directly
against a small niche, which is cnnsidered by
Mohammedans the real place of Aaron's grave.
Our light was now nearly burnt out..and was
thrown upon the gronnd. An Arab threw up
on it a quantity of small brti.h, winch imme
diately kindled into a furious blaze, and were
soon the place became suffocating. We rushed
for . the stairs, but the Arabs were all huddled
upon them, and seemed bound there as with
a strange spell ; for it was not till we had
stormed and scolded some little time, that we
'could get them started, so as to let us pass up.
Indeed, we came near suffocating. Here clos
ed our inspection of Aaron's tomb.
A partundar account of Aaron's death may
be found in the ttOth chapter of Numbers.—
' hat this is the true Mount Ilia of the Scrip
tures, I believe is not disputed by any traveler
I who has visited it. Its peculiar adaptation to
the display of such an event, in the sight of
all the congregation," is conspicuous to the
observer.
The top of Mount Hor overlooks everything
around it for many miles ; and hence the view
from this eminence Is spacious and grand. To
the south-west we 'could see part of ihe gull' of
Akabah r directly north lay the Dead Sea,
spread out to our view nearly its entire. length
and west of it rose the dark mountains of Ju
dea. The valleys of Arabah and El Ghor lay
stretched not far below us. with hare moun
tains towering beyond while the east and
south presented but one sea of dark mountain
summits, rearing their massive peaks in battle
with the winds and clouds of heaven. All pre
sented one uniform scene of wild and lonell ,
desolation..
jr.. closed a sermon on
kissing with the following quaint advice ;
•• I want you my yout g sinners to kiss and
get married ; and then devote your time to mor
ality and money making. Then let your homes
he well provided with such comforts and neces
saries as piety, pickles, pots and kettles, brush
es. brooms. benevolence, bread. chat ity, cheese,
faith. flour, affections, cider. sincerity, vinegar,
virtue, wine and, wisdom. Ilave these already
in hand, and happiness will be with von. Do
not drink anything Intoxicating—eat moderately
—go about business after breakfast—lounge a
little after dinner, chat after tea. and kiss after
quarreling ; then all the joy, the peace and the
bliss the earth can afford shall he yours, until
the grive closet over -you, and your spirits are
borne to a brighter and a happier world."
A NOVEL EXCESE.—In the haute of the Resa
ca de la Palma in a hand-to-skirmish, a soldier
in our army, a quaint Irishman, pierced a Mexi
can with his baronet and imusediately after fired
the contents of his musket.
•• What was that for ?" said the officer in
command of the squad, in a tone signifying his
disapproval of the act.
•• Oh ! said the soldier, much puzzled for an
answer, •• what was it for ?—whv, to make a
hole to get my bayonet out of to be sure."
The Ihnband's Payer
I=l
Oh, Father ! Thou in whom I live,
And trust for life immortal,
When time my farewell shall receive,
At Death's dark portal;
Soaree of all blessing, unto Thee
I bring my fond petitions,
Yet to thy will my spirit be
In low submission.
Thou, n thy goalness, hest filled up
Life's chalice all with sweetness,
And one bright treasure to my cup
Imparts completeness ;
That treasure is the peerless love
Of her who ever ehareth
Each pleasure that my heart may'move,
Each pain it beareth.
For her, oh Father ! I will pray,
Thy son's great merit pleading,
Who sitteth on thy Throne always,
There interceding ;
Guard thou my darling by thy power,
Thine own strong - arm surround be;;
Bid thy kind Angels every hour
Keep watch around her.
Afar from her I sadly roam,
Among the stranger;
And sometimes with sweet tho'ts of home
Come fears of danger !
Then,when my heart has sunk, and Fear
Laid her dark hand upon me,
From sorrow, and almost despair, -
Thy lore has won me.
I know I cannot shield her
From sickness or from sorrow;
I know that o'er her some dread storm
May break to-morrow ;
And I may feel no pang the while,
May smile while she doth languish;
Some trifle may my heart beguile,
Amid.her anguish.
Oh, Father ! let me ever feel
In thee a sweet reliance,
And to each boding thought of ill
I'll bid defiance :
Bless thou my treasure ! with thy care
Vouchsafe her thy protection ;
And I will never mote despair,
Or feel dejection.
Oh ! bless her at the morning's dawn,
And at the day's declining;
And when the silent hours steal on,
Night's shadows twining ;
Bless her, oh Father ! when she kneels
Beside the dear home altar,
And bless her when her spirit feels
Its courage faltei.
Bless her when on her youthful cheek
The red rose tints are blooming :
And bless her when her frame is weak,
Her bright eyes gloaming,
In every duty of her life,
In every kindly mission;
Oh ! make her lot with blessing rife—
A sweet fruition !
How TO 13E MISERABLE.— S it at the Window
and look over the way to your neighbor's ex
cellent mansion, which he has recently built
and p•tid for, and sigh out, •. 0, that I was. a
rich man !”
Get angry with your neighbor, and think you
have not a friend, in the world. Shed a tear or,
two and take a walk in the burial ground, con
tinually saying to yourself, “•when shall Ibe
buried here ?" ,
Sign a note for a friend, and never forget your
kindness ; and every hour in the day., whisper
to yourself, " I wonder if he will pay that
note !"
'Think every body means to cheat you.—
Closely examine every bill you take, and doubt
its being genuine, till you have put the owner to
a great des! of trouble. Believe svery shilling
passed to you is but a sixpence (Tossed, and ex
press your doubts about your getting rid of it if
you should take it.
Put confident.* in nobody and believe' every
man you trade with to be a rogue. .
Never accomodate if you can possiblt help it.
Never visit the sick or afficted, and never give a
farthing to assist the poor.
Buy as cheap as you can and screw down to
the lowest mill. Grind the faces and the hearts
of the unfortunate.
Brood over your misfortunes ; your lack, of
talents, and believe at no distant day you will
come to want. Let the workhouse be ever in
your mind, with all the horrors of distress and
poverty.
Then you will he miserable to your heart's
rontent,(if we may so speak,) sick at heart and•
at variance with all the world. Nothing will
cheer or encourage you ; nothing will throw n
gleam of sunshine nr a ray of warmth into your
heart. All will be a , . dark and cheerless as the
grave.
Too TRUE.- A dark feature in the present
age, said the late Dr. Channing, is the spirit of
collision, contention 'and discord which breaks
forth in religion, politics, and private affairs—a
result and necessary issue of the selfishness
which prompts the endless activity of life. Tile
mighty forces which are at this moment acting
in society are not and cannot he governed by
love. They are discordant. Life.lias now lit
tle music in it. It is pot only on the field of
battle that men fight. They fight on the ex
change. Business is war, is conflict of skill,
management too often of fraud. Christians for
saking their one Lord, gathering under various
standards to gain victory for their sects. Poli
tics is war, breaking people into fierce unscru
pulous parties, which forgettheir country in con
flict for office and power. The age Deeds noth
ing more - than peace-makers : men of serene,
commanding virtue, to preach in life and word.
the gospel of humane brotherhood, to allay the
fires of jealousy.
WO'lM3'll'.lll gao
The Dlarriage Eagagement.
Perhaps nothing of a temporal character is
calculated to cause more happiness and at the
same tone more anxiety, than a solemn pro
mise to he the bosom Companion of another.—
Alas! that so many engagements are made in
haste and repented of at leisure—and it is as
tonishing that, WIL'I many, it is an affair of
importance only as it respects a settlement in
life, and often proposals are made and•aceepted
int rely for want of better offers.
But they who art thus deserve to he severe
ly censured, for it is trifling with all that is
sacred and valuable in the feelings and affec
tions !—it is reducing all that is high and noble
to mere show ?—it is sacrificing love, - the ho
liest feelings of our nature to the base firompt
in4s of our vanity !
Next to the marriage ceremony, nothing
ought to compare with it in importance, or
cause more thought and reflection ; for happi
ness as often depends on tine step as it doestin
actual union; and if inquiry be made respect
ing the cause of unhappiness in many families,
it will be found that confidence was lost previ
ous trimarriage, and once lost, years could not
replace it ; yet a tender regard for the feelings
01 the other, and a fear that separation niisht
cause years of sorrow and misery. the union
was consummated only because of the engage-
Mein.
No engagement should he made from "love
at first sight "—nor should any promise be
given an long 38 there is one doubt respecting
the character or disposition ; and it should ever
be remembered that riches cannot make home
happy, liar is beauty sufficient to preserve un
diminished love and affection.
It is indispensable that there he the utmost
confidence in each other—that the attachment
be formed. not from mere self-interest, not from
the prom ptings of passion, or desire only 3 but
after intimate acquaintance, and much thought
and deliberation. If more care were exercised
in this mallet., there would be less unhappiness
in married life—more cultivation of the affec
tions and disposition, and a proper estimate
would always be placed on accidental or out
ward circumstances.
The Spring time of life
Ths impnrt3ce of a right education of youth
has been often and strongly urged by both ethic
and political writers: but it appears to make too
little impresion upon the generality of mankind.
No parent but wishes his children to he respect.
ed arid worthy members of the community.—
%% hen they cling around his knees and divert
him with their innocent prattle, he cannot be
indifferent to their future welfare and prosperity
but while he labors assiduously to save them
from want, and to provide for them the-neces
saries of life, he to often neglects the more im
portant duty of training the mind In principles
of morality and religion, ree:ulating . the passions.
and forming habits of sobriety and moderation.
Youth is very properly called, the -spring-time
of life and the morning of our days. 'fhe me
taphor holds good in many respects. In the
spring, we plant that fruit which; we hope to
reap in autumn, and unless we cOmmence our
labors in the morning, we shall spend the day
without profit. 'And as the fairest morning may
soon be enveloped in clouds as the most flourish
ing blossoms of spring may be nipt by the frosts.
so the most flittering prospect of youth are often
disappointed, and ho who commenced his career
of life, with affluence and honor, is lost to his
friends and to society ere he has numbered half
his days. Can any amount of property so well
secure his respectability and happiness, as habits
already acquired, of industry, frugality, and tem
perance ? The paths of virtue and vice are
both before him, and will the entreaties of all
his friends and connexions influence his choice
so surely as a sacred sense of religious and moral
obligation ? It is often said, that a parent knows
not whether he is bringing up children to be the
comfort and stay, of his declining years, or to
bring his grey hairs with sorrow to the grave ;
but this observation has not a foundation in truth.
Nine tenths of the crimes and outrages which are
daily rommited by wirkedmen, are the result of
a neglected education in their younger day.—
t parents pay proper attention to this impor
tant subject. and train tip their children in the
way they should go. and thay will have a fund
of happiness in themselves which is beyond the
reach of misfortune.
HOW TO .6 CLEAR" A CLIENT...4i is the
custom in criminal courts in New York City,
to assign counsel to such prisoners as have no
one to defend them. On one occasion, a man
accused of theft having no one to defend him,
the Judge said to a wag of a lawyer who was
present,
•• Mr. , please withdraw the prisoner,
confer with him. and give to him such counsel
as may he hest for his interest."
The lawyer and his client withdrew, and
in half an hour the. former returned into court
alone.
•• Where is the prisoner ?" asked the Court
-He h s gone," replied the hopeful limb.
• You told me to give him the beet advice I
could for his interest, and as he said he was
guilt•, I thought the best advice I could give
him
,WAS to gut : muf run. which he took stooge.
He isin Jersey, your honor, by this time."
THE HEALTH OF THE TROOPIL-A lettei from
Barita. Mexico. dated 26t4 nit., saye, the officers
and men of the regular service are generally en
joying tolerable health. The volunteers are suf
fering =to a great extent with the dysentery and
fever. brought on by their own carelessness ;
their officers are not capable of taking care of
them, or even , themselvcs. Gen. Taylor has
ordered to he erected at Point Isabel, a. general
hospital. capable of accommodating 2000 mew.
The water at that point and at the Brazos is bad.
hut a suflitient quantity of rain water-can be had
for the sick only. It is reported that the. vol.
tinteers between Nlav's ramp and Matamoros.
are dying off with the yellow fever. It has not
made its appearance at Barita yet, or on the RIO
Grande.
HOPE.-A a.mtitoent expressed in ti.e wag.
of a dog's tail; when he is waiting for a bone.