OE DOLLAR PER ANNUM INVARIABLY IN ADVANCE.
TOWANDA :
Thursday morning, Jul 11, 1860.
citiuttb . ottni.
WE HAVE BEEN
Cy J. WELLINGTON WELCH
We have been friends together
But we are parted, now`;
I know thou scorn'st me, (or I mark
That scorn upon thy brow.
lhou'A thru-t me rudely from thee,
And olt ill pill I eigh
Wu hare been friend, together,
NVe are not :low --and why
Wv hare bren frier is
In happier iin , inents pa,t,
NN hen all .ticinvil bright and beautiful
.1las! too bi fight to hat.
I'lr no days of joy. and bliss lime fled,
sknd come:, to die
We hare been friend, together,
Poing- no more to be.
j . We have been friends together ,
Thromzli many a weary year ;
tezether we hare langlied in glee,
Together abed the tear.
4riet, ,orrow6 were thine own,
weie the ,tame to thee,
: ANe fr;end, , togetkr,
won. t . LL
iLoe ;:een frier l- together ;
f. t one worl
.1 'l, all tuittif.anitigly, I
, ;:1,11-1. thitic, :tirryti
ail Auur.l oil I 111 t ;
,corn tue If you ‘s ill,
SWeet tO know we hurt. brat frieul+,
ata thy (rut. Maud till.
We lace been friend, together,
Rut we aic .I.e.nied to part ;
but can reid the grief
• \\*':icli rcr,!• ere 1.-hen heart.
P a t, w, future icon,
If aft Ir add ,
h v n,r t•• Li
.1
i ttl lantou s.
THE 11 IFE'S EXPIMIENT.
"\ll, %%liv don't p.m ever dress up?" a .4. te d
;he Thornton, as her mother finished
the child's hair, and tying her clean
WaS a momentary surprise on
Lice ; bat she answered, care
no one cares how I look.'
•ce to s,.r win loot . pretty
Id. The mother did not reply,
.'y she glanced at her slovenly
h. i 1 and worn calico dress and
ME
SEEM
Learilig witoc.s to an inti
with the di,lipuu and F toce
shoe', aii(l
rotill not help remembering, she
:.! appeared that morning with \mem:Jibed
and prepared her husband's breakfast
~ •u he telt home for, the nen:l4ring mar•
wn. " :•;.'ure enough 1 . - mused she, " how
)1 ,lc'" and then Memory poryted bark a
\ , •ars to a neatly -and tastefully-dressed
a, sometimes busy in lice father's house,
un niMglim: With her young companions,
:;ever untidy in her appearance, always
— l l mid blooming ; and this she knew, full
was a picture cif herself, when Charles
fir•t \\ tin her voting\ heart. such
the 'Ante he had taken to his pleasant
ha 1 mature life fulfilled ' 1
- the
• ?
.L; comely in feata7es, graceful in
f,7.u, but few• would call her a handsome or no
woman for, alas I all other
were orcndiadowed by this re
Vet ;:lic luve•d to sec others
at,.l Ii r huu:e and children did not seem
to her, so will kept and tidy did
1 l o ok. As a housekeeper she ex•
I:cr husband was long in .acknowl
,;:ri•e:f the unwelcome fact that he
au incorrigible sloven.
t“. - ) many young wives, she be
;:a% crow negli , zent in regard to her dress,
nrvi ;c cv.:;;c4l her in his own mind, and
`v:Tlit 6'hr, i nut well," or, "she has so
iLiyl lwreeiving no abatement in
l'• kiml altenti.ms, she naturally concluded he
tY lwrfoctly , ati•lied AM her family cares
ant she went less into company, she
-,nne Atli more curele , i of her personal ap
,amare, amt enatenttil herself with seeing
notlnag wa, lacki n g which could coutrib
i.x to the comf(,rt .
4)1 her husband and chil-
-f , n, never F:ippo , ite z that •so trivial a matter
her own apparel could possibly affect their
vpine... All this chain of circumstances
uni!J 'lvzht of passed before her, as
he lat:e prat tltfr at, her side repeated the
lery-- Don't Pa love to see you look
r
fie`, my child, - she answered, and her re
^lve wa taken she would try an experi
"eht, provekwliPther Mr. Thornton was
iii , lifterent on the subject or not. Giv
• S'elhe a picture-hook with which to amuse
slie went to her own morn, mentally
xtlaitned, "at ally rate, l'll never put on this
lgaiu —not even washing-day." She pro
-7'4(1 to liPr clothes press and removed one
reqs after another, some were ragged, others
aded, and out of style, and some unfit to
.ea r , —at length she found one which had
"ng ago been laid uside, as " too light to
ear about ti house." It was a nice French
Nit• rose colored and white, and she remem
'ld had . once been a favorite with her bus
'aud• • P•ie old adage " fashions come round
' l , 'even years," seemed true in this case ; for
tie dress was made in the then prevailing
This is just the thing," she thought, a
haztened to perform her toilette, saying
herself, "I must alter my dark ginghain to
~eav mornings and get' it, all ready before
sarles couaesNhome!: Then she released her
anc dark hair from its imprisoompt in a
•'• tW'St, -. .11.!d carefully brushing
TRW . BRADFORD ..- -REPORTER.
its still glossy waves, she plaited it in the
broad braids which. Merles used so much to
admire in the days of her girlhood.
The unwonted task brought back many re
miniscences Of those long vanished years, and
tears glistened in her eyes as she thought of
the many changes time had wrought in those
she loved, but she murmured, " What bath
sadness Hite the change in ourselves we Had ?"
In that hour she realized how an apparently
trivial fault bad gained the mastery over her,
and imperceptibly had placed a barrier be
tween her and the one she loved on earth.—
True, he.never chided her,—never apparently
noticed her altered appearance,z—but she well
knew he no longer urged her going into socie
ty, nor did be seem to care about receiving his
friends at his owu house, although he 'was a
social man ; and had once felt proud to intro.
duce his young wife to tiis large circle ot ac
quaintances.
Now, they seld)m went out together, ex
cepting to church, and even dressing for that
was generally too much of an effort for Mrs.
Thornton,—she would stay at home "to keep
house," after preparing her little ones to ac
company their father, and the neighbors soon
ceused expEctihg her at public worship or in
their social gatherings—and so, one by one,
they neglected to call on her until but very
few of the number continued to exchange
friendly civilities with her. She bad wonder
ed at this, and felt mortified and ,pained here
tofore ; now she clearly saw it- was he own
fault, the vail was removed from her eyes, and
the mistake of her life was revealed in its true
enormity. Sincerely did she repent of her
l iast error, calmly and seriously resolved on
future and immediate amendment.
Meanwhile her hands Were not idle, and
at length the metamorphosis was complete.—
The bright pink drapery hung gracefully about
her form, imparting an unusual brilliancy to
IteF.complexiou,—her best wrought collar was
fa4tened with a costly brooch, her husband's
wedding gift, which had not seen the light for
many a day. Glancing once more at her mir
ror, to be certain her toilette needed, no more
finkhing touches, she took her sewing, and re
turning to the sitting room.
Little Nellie had wearied of her picture
book and was now playing with the kitten.—
As Mrs. Thornton entered she clapped her
hands in eltldizh delight, exclaimed, "Oh,
Ma, how pretty—pretty !" and running to her
kissed her again and again, then drew her lit
tle chair close to her side, and eagerly watch
ed her as she plied the needle, repairing the
gingham dress.
Just before it was complete Nellie's broth
ers came from school, and pausing at the half
opened door, Willie whispered to Charlie,
" I guess we?ve got company, for motherl all
dressed up." It was with mingled emotions of
ph!a•iire and pain that Mrs. Thornton observ
ed her children were unusually docile and Elbe-
Oient, hastening to perform their I:teens:owed
duties without being even reminded of them.
Children are natural and unaffected lovers of
the beautiful, and their intuitive perceptions
will not often suffer from comparison with the
opinions of mature, worldly wisdom. It. was
with a feeling of admiration that these chil
dren now looked upon their mother, and seem
ed to cpusider it a privilege to do something
for her. It was " let me get the kindlings,"
—" I will make the fire,"—and " may I fill
the tea kettle ?"—instead of, as was sometimes
tlle case, " need I do it ?"—" I. don't want
to,"—" why can't Willie ?'is.,„ ,
Nellie was too , small to render much assist•
ance, but she often turned from her frolic, with
her kitten, to look at her mother, and utter
Form; childish remark expressive of jcy and
lore.
At last the clock struck the hour when Mr.
Thornton was expected, and his wife proceed
ed to lay the table with unusual care, and to
place thereon several choice viands of which
she knew he was particularly fond.
Sleanwhilei let us form the acquaintance of
the absent husband and father, whom we find
in the neighboring town, just completing his
day's traffic. He is a line looking, middle
tv,ed man, with an unmistakable twinkle of
kindly feeling in his eye, and the lines of good
humor plainly traced about his mouth—we
know at a glance, that he is cheerful and indul
gent in his family, and are at once prepossess
ed his favor.
As he is leaving the store, where be- bas
Made his last purchase for the day, he is ac
costed in a familiar manner by a tall gentle
man just entering the door. He recognizes an
old friend, it i nd exclaims, "George Morton is"
it you ?" The greeting is mutually cordial;
they were thends in boyhood and early youth,
but since, Mr. Morton has been practising law
in a distant city, they bare seldom met, and
this is no place to exchange their many ques
tions and answers. Mr. Thornton's fine span
of horses and light ' democrat' are standing
sear by, and it needs but little persuasion to
induce Mr. Morton to accompany his friend to
his home which he has never yet visited. The
conversation is lively and spirited—they recall
the feats of their school days, and the exper
iences of after life, and compare their-present
position in the world, with the golden future
of which they used to dream. Mr. Morton
is a bachelor, and very fastidious in his tastes
—as that class of individuals are prone to be.
The recollection of th!s flashes on Mr. Thorn
ton's mind as they drive along towards their
destination. At once his zeal in the dialogue
abates, and be becomes thoughtful and silent,
and does not urge his team onward, but seems
willing to afford Mr. Morton an opportunity
to admire the beautiful scenery on either band
—the .hills and valleys clad in the fresh ver
dure, of June, while the lofty mountain ranges
look blue and dim in the distance. lie cannot
help wondering if they will find his wife in
the same sorry predicament in which he left
her that morning, and involuntarily shrinks
from introducing so slatternly t personage to
his refined and cultivated friend. But it is
now too late to retract his polite invitation—
they are entering the,. old " homestead"—one
field more and his fertile farm with ito well
kept fences, alipears in view. Yonder is his
neat white house, surrounded with ekOs and
PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY AT TOWANDA, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA., BY E. O'MEARA GOODRICH.
maples. They drive through the large gate
way, the man John comes from the barn to put
np the horses, and Mr. Thornton hurries up
the walk to the piazza, leaving his friend to
follow at his leisure—he must see his wife first,
and if possible hurry her out of sight before
their visitor enters. He rushes into the sit
ting room—words cannot express his amaze
ment--there sits the very image of his lovely
bride, and a self-conscious blush mantles her
cheek as he stoops to kiss her with words of
joyful surprise—" Why Ellen I" He has time
for no more, George Morton has followed him,
and he exclaims—" Ha I Charley, as lover-.
like as ever—hasn't the honey-moon set yet ?"
and then he is duly presented to Mrs. Thorn
ton, who, under the pleasing excitement of the
occasion, appears to far better advantage than
usual. Tea is soon upon the table, and the
gentlemen do ample justice to the tempting re
past spread before them. A happy meal it is
to Charles Thornton, who gazes with admir
ing fondness upon his still beautiful wife.—:
Supper over, Mr. Morton coaxes little Nellie
to sit on his lap, but she soon slides down, and
climbing her father's knee, whispers confiden
tially, " Don't mamma look pretty " He kiss
es her and answers, " Yes, my darling."
The evening passes pleasantly and swiftly
away, and many a half-forgotten smile of their
life-pilgrimage is re-called by some way-mark
which still gleams bright in the distance.—
They both feel younger and better for their
interview, and determine never to become so
like strangers again. Mr. Morton's soliloquy,
as be retires to the cosy apartment appropri
ated to his use is, " Well, this is a happy fam
ily ! What a lucky fellow Charley is—such a
handsome wife and children—and she so good
a housekeeper, too ! Maybe I'll settle down
some day myself "—which pleasing idea that
night mingled with his visions.
The next morning Mr. Thornton watched
his wife's moverneuts= , with some anxiety—he
could not bear to have her destroy the favora
ble impression which ho was certain she had
made on his friend's mind, and yet some irre
sistible impulse forbade his offering any sug
gestion or alluding iu any way to the delicate
subject so long unmentioned between them
But Mrs. Thornton needed no friendly advice
—with true womanly tact she perceived the
advantage she had gained, and was not at all
inclined to relinquish it. The dark gingham
dress, linen collar and snowy apron formed
an appropriate and becoming morning attire
for a housekeeper ; and , the table uffurded the
guest no occasion for altering his opinion in
regard to the skill or affability of his amiable
hostess. Early in the forenoon, Mr. Morton
took leave of his hospitable friends, being call
ed away by pressing affairs of business.
Mr. and Mrs. Thornton returned to their ac
customed avocations, but it was with renewed
energy, and new sense of quiet happiness, no
less deeply felt because unexpressed. A day
or two afterwards Mr. Thornton invited his
wife to accompany him to town, saying he
thought she might like to do some shopping ;
and she with no apparent surprise, but heart
felt pleasure, acceded to the proposal. The
following Sabbath the village gossips had am
ple food for their hungry eyes (to be digested
at the next sewing society) in the appearance
of Mrs. Thornton at church clad in plain but
rich costume, an entire new-outfit, which they
could not deny "made her look ten years
younger."
This was the beginning of the reform, and
it was the dawning of a brighter day for the
husband and wife of our story. True, habits
of such long standing are not conquered in a
week or a month ;
and very often was Mrs.
Thornton tempted to yield to their long-toler
ated sway ; bet she fought valiantly against
their influence, and in time she vanquished
them. An air of taste and elegance, before
unknown, now pervaded their dwelling, and
year after year the links of affection which
united them at a family grew brighter qnd
purer, even radiating the holy light of a Chris
tian home.
Hut it. was not until many years had passed
away, and our little Nellie, now a lovely
maiden, was about to resign her place as a pet
in her father's household, and assume a new
dignity in another's home, that her mother
imparted to her the story of her own early
errors, and earnestly warned her to beware of
that insiduons foe to domestic happiness—dir
rrgard little things—and kissing her daugh
ter with maternal pride and fondness she
thanked her for those simple, childlike words,
which had changed the whole current of her
destiny—" Don't Pa like to see you. look pret
ty I"
[o=- There is a sort of people who, through
some notion of their own superiority of wis•
dom or authority, are so in the habit of iden
tifying their•opinions and prejudices with the
decrees of Heaven, that they cannot but look
upon all who call them in question as wicked
—enemies of God and Incendiaries in society.
They do not doubt that the Almighty thinks
precisely as they do ; and expect that their
views will be received with the deference due
to an infallible relation. These people do not
combat opinions, they cry out against them ;
they do not respond to arguments, they ar•
raign their auttms ; they do not seek to con
vict; and look upon error not as a thing to
be overcome, but to be punished in the person
of its believer.
EFFECTg OF CLEANLINESS.—Somebody has
said, " with what care and attention , do the
feathered race wash themselves, and pat their
plumage in order ! And how perfectly neat,
clean and elegant do they appear Among
the beasts of the field, we find that those
which are the most. cleanly, and generally the
moat gay and cheerful, are distinguished by a
certain air of contentment ; and singing birds
are always remarkable for the neatness of
their plumage. So great is the'effect of clean
liness upon man, that it extends even to*
moral character. Virtue never dwelt long
with filth"; nor do we believe there ever wits
aperson scrupulously attentive to cleanliness
wig. was $ consummate villain."
IiteARDLESS OP DCNUNCLATION nom ANY QUARTER."
The Withered Heart.
I mingle with the gay crowd ; join the fash
ionable circles of society ; engage in the merry
dance ; and they, (the world) think I am
happy. When my laugh rings gaily through
the throng, some one will say, aside, " she is
happy ;" she "knows not a care." Mistaken
world, you are but a poor judge of the human
heart, if yon think that a smiling face, and a
merry laugh, constitute a happy one. There
was a day when I was happy ; but that day's
sun has long since set.' There was a time when
my face might have been a fair index to my
heart ; but that time has passed never to re
turn. There was a time when my heart beat
in warm response to another ; but that is over.
Hope has fled, but the torch-light of memory
still burns brightly. I will not speak of the
blighted loves ; I will not tell of past joys—
enough to know they are gone ;—enough to
know that my heart is slowly but surely with
ering away. Oh I could you but open the
window of my heart, and see the parched • up
fountain within ; could you draw aside the
curtain of my brain, and behold the scorching
fires which are slowly consuming my reason :
could you but know bow earnestly I long to
die methinks you could then see better through
the veil-like covering, which is but the shpdow
of myself ; and which is spread over my inner
being.
I wish even now that the grass was growing
over my grave, that the winds were sighing
my death requiem, and that my soul was happy
in the laud where there are no blighted affec
tions.
But I must wait it ;
will not be long a tmost
before I will be called away ; and then oli,how
thankfully I will lay this weary head upon my
pillow, and crossing my hands over my heart
go to my rest.
Do not weep for me when you see me streteh
ed in the cold embrace of death. Do not
grieve that my days are numbered, onl y think
that lam at rest. And when you have kissed
my lips for the last time, and have taken your
last farewell ; close the little coffin-lid upon my
breast, bear me to some little shady nook, and
lay me beneath the sod ; and when you have
smoothed the clods over me, leave the spot.
Do not put anything to mark the place
where I lie ; but if any one should find my
grave and ask who sleeps beneath, do not tell
them whose grave it is ; do not tell them the
sad tale of my young life ; tell them nothing,
save that it is the grave of one who died of a
withered heart.
Tim nest PRAYER IN CON CRESS.—In
Thatcher's Military Journal, under the date of
December, IM is found a note containing the
identical " first prayer in Congress," made by
the Rev. Jacob Dache, a gentleman of great
eloquence. Here it is—an historical curiosity:
"0, Lord, our heavenly Father, high and
mighty King of kings, and Lords of Lords,
who dolt from thy throne behold all the dwel
lers of the earth, and reignest with power sup
reme and uncontrolled over all the kingdoms,
empires and governments ; look down in mercy
we beseech thee, these American States, who
have fled to thee from the rod of the oppressor
and thrown themselves on thy gracious pro
tection, desiring to be henceforth dependent
only on thee ; to thee they have appealed for
the righteousness of their cause ; to thee do
they now look up for that countenance and
support which thou alone caust give ; take
them, therefore, heavenly Father, under they
nurturing care ; give them wisdom in council,
and valor in the
,field ; defeat the malicious de
signs of our adversaries ; convince them of
the unrighteousness of their cause ; and if they
still persist in their sanguinary purposes, 0 !
let the voice of thine unerring justice,sounding
in their hearts, constrain them to drop the
weapons of war from their unnerved hands in
the day of battle. Be thou present, 0, God
of wisdom, and direct the councils of this hon
orable assembly ; enable them to settle things
on the best and surest foundation that the
scene of blood may be speedily glosed, that
order, harmony and peace may be effectually
restored ; and truth and justice, religion and
piety, prevail and flourish among thy people.
'Preserve the health -of their bodies and the
vigor of their minds ;—shower down on them
and the millions they here represent, such tem
poral blessings as thou seest expedient fur
them iu this world, and crown them with ever
lasting glory in the world to come. All this
we ask in the name and through the merits
of Jesus Christ, the Son our Savior. Amen !"
ALMOST HOLM—This is one of the most joy
ous expressions in the English language. The
heart of the long absent husband, father or
son, not only homeward bound, but almost
arrived, thrills with rapturpus joy as he is on
the point of receiving the embraces and greet
ing of the dear ones at home. So it is with
the aged Christian, as, in the far advance of
his pilgrimage, he feels that he approaches the
boundary line, and will soon cross over the
laud of promise. Many of his best friends
have crossed over before him, and they have
long been beckoning him upward and onward.
They await his arrival with the joyful welcome
of holy ones. And as tokens multiply on either
hand the land of Beulah is near, he feels that
he is almost home. The ripe fruit of a long
Christian life is about to be gathered into a
heavenly garner. Few sights on earth are
more pleasing than aged, faithful Christians
strong in the Lord, almost home. We have
some such among narevered and beloved, whose
faces we love to see in the sanctuary, and
whose prayers bring down blessings upon our
heads. They speak of many friends, most of
whom have, preceded them,but the re•nnion will
soon come. --Blessings be upon the fathers and
mothers in Zion ; and may their mantles fall
on us.
1 lir•. Jones writes tes friend.. and clams
by Imola& "1 stn glad to be able to say that
lay wife is recovering :lowly."
sir To thesi degenerate days character is
weighed with a " cash balance."
I` ,
eburational pepartment.
ter The Pennsylvania State Teacher's As
sociation, will meet at Greensburg, Westmore
land county, on Tuesday the 7th of August.
We hope that several, teachers from this part
of the State will make their arrangements to
attend.
Greensburg is In a pleasant section of the
State, and a trip over the mountains will well
pay the expense. We have assurances that
all the Railroads, in this section of the State,
will sell tickets for half price,—that is, those
wbo go, are to pay for tickets when they go
and the same tickets will be good for the re
turn. So those who wish to see that part of
the State will be enabled to go cheaper now
than at any subsequent time. There are to be
several lecturers of eminence present, among
the rest, Mr. YSOMANS is to give his celebrat
ed lecture on the " Philosophy of a Sunbeam."
This has been received with more favor per
haps than any other scientific lecture that has
ever been delivered in
,this country.
Will the papers in the northern and eastern
portions of the State please to give notice of
this meeting.
itia". As the Educational column was start
ed, and is to be sustained, for the benefit of
teachers, it shall be our object to Make it both
interesting and useful to them, or rather, we
hope they will furnish us matter so that we
can present to them, from week to week, a
readable column. We shall occasionally pub
lish problems in intellectual and writteci arith
metic, and perhaps in Algebra, for. solution.
We -will, too, now and then, give difficult
English sentences, for analysis and parsing.—
Perhaps we may also publish each week a
short list of common words, which are fre
quently mis-pronounced, with the*correct or
thoepy, according to Webster and Worcester.
Not that we pretend to be correct or critical
orthoepists,but in order that we, as well as our
readers, may be improved in this respect. We
hope teachers and others may keep us well
supplied with material for this department.—
If they have not Webster's or Worcester's
unabridged Dictionaries at hand, never mind,
we will look out the words. We shall not
publish mathematical questions that are pre
sented just for the purpose of puzzling either
our readers or ourselves, when there is no
valuable principle nvolved. We do not pre
tend to be able to solve every problem that
can be found or made, and we have no time
to do it, it we could, but our ot.ject is•to pre
sent useful instructive matter to the teachers,
rather than to puzzle them with questions of
no real importance.
Graded Schools.
We copy the following from the 111. State
School Superintendent's Report for 1859 :
In all the departments of human industry,
whether physical, intellectual or moral, a sys
tematic division of labor, invariably yields
the most beneficial results.
It has come to be conceded by all experi
enced educationists throughout the country,
who have had an opportunity of forming a
correct judgment on the subject, that iu a
mixed or unclassified school, like the common
schools of the country, the pupils do not, ou an
average, perform over one-half the study, or
acquire half the learning which they are ca
pable of accomplishing and acquiring in prop
erly graded schools. In corroboration of this
fact, 1 need but appeal to the experience
of any one who has spent his school (lays in
a district school, and who has since had an
opportunity of witnessing the advancement
now made by pupils in the graded schools of
the country. More is accomplished b one
year by the pupil of a properly classified and
graded school than is done as a general rule
by the attendant at the district or mixed
school in three ; and with less labor ou the
part of both teacher and pupil.
Once classified in a graded school, the pupil
has a double incentive to keep up with, or out
strip his classmates—the hope of being pro
moted to a higher class in case he excels, and
the fear of being degraded by being assigned
to a lower one, provided he does not maintain
his standing. The most backward pupil is
thus urged on by a double stimulus to equal
the foremost, while the performance of the
latter is made the standard of excellence for
the whole class. The teachers, too, are arous
ed to greater teal and fidelity in the discharge
of their duties, since their skill and faithful
ness will be made apparent in the qualifications
of the. candidates whom they send to the high
er departments of the school ; and the length
of time occupied in preparing them for pro
motion.
A comparison of the merits of the graded
schools now in successful operation in most of
the leading cities of the State, with those
which formerly existed in those cities, under
the mixed or private school system, will fur
nish an overflowing argument in favor of the
former.
The graded school is not only an immense
economizer in the time required to educate the
child to any given extent, but it is also a great
saver of money. Three teachers, in a school
properly graded, can furnish more instruction
to three hundred pupils in any given time,
than six teachers can to the same number in
mixed schools. The former would require one
house, and the latter six. The saving in ex
pense of teachers and school houses, byildopt-
Mg the graded system then. may be safely sta
ted at one hundred per cent.
The advantages of , the graded system over
the independent district system, may be briefly
stated as follows, viz :
1. Deciease in the number and expense •of
both school houses and teachers. •
2. The introduction of a. inore,Andentatiz,
extended and thorough ctiltinte ots
Well as inOrtfuniforis Sepik Of `o4if
S. Increased facilltimOm Firocorfne a feiOng•
uulati oVellietiecice and atdlity, t 6 tue the'
general charge of the school, arrusgtelasies,
conduct the general exercises, to exercise s sa-
VOL. xxr.—No. 6.
pervisory tootrol over the less experienced
teachers of the school, and to manage cases .
of discipline.
4. Great facilities for dividing the school
into suitable departments, and forming larger
classes, enabling the teacher to devote more
time to each claw, to amplify and illustrate
more fully any subject under discussion than
he. could do if the classes were smaller and
there were more to be heard.
5. Greater facility for classifying the school
in respect to the age and attainments of the
scholars, and for adapting the discipline of
the school to the wants and capacities of all.
5. The greater opportunity afforded to
teachers for that special preparation before
each' lesson, resulting from the less number of
subjects which he is required to teach, which
is indispensable to the highest success in the
school-room.
7. The enthusiasm created In the minds of
the schools, not only during the recitatiou,but
also during the hours of study, by the thought
that they must soon appear in the presence of
so large a class,
and measure themselves, in
tellectually, with them.
S. The incentives to greater diligence on
the part of the pupils from the influence ex
erted upon them by the prospect of promo
tion.
9. The economy of both time and labor on
the part of both teachers and' pupils. No one
who has 'witnessed the practical workings of
both systems will deny, that in a well graded
school, a teacher can instruct sixty or seventy
five pupils more easily and more efficiently
than twenty five or thirty in a mixed school.
HARD WORK.--All classes of men complain
of " hard work." The carpenter thinks that
it is " too bad " that he is obliged to work so
hard for a living, while his neighbor the phy
sician can ride in his carriage to attend patients
or leisurely deal out medicines in h's office.
The physician thinks it hard work to be in
readiness to obey calls at all hours of the day
and night ; to travel in cold and heat, through
mud and storms, and not even be allowed one
hour in the tweLty four which Le can positive
ly call his own, lie envies'his friend the car
penter, who, when the day's work is done, can
return to his family and rest - in-peace.
The blacksmith feels that a bard lot in life
has fallen to him, as he strikes the anvil
through the lung day, while on the opposite
side of the street, his neighbor, the lawyer,
seems to be called to the performance of no
harder work than writing at his table or the
reading of his law books. But the lawyer as
his glance falls upon the blacksmith, thinks of
the years spent in study to fit him for the pro
fession, of other years of strenuous mental ex
ertion and constant application to gain a rep
utation, of the still incessant toil necessary to
attain it—of his frequent unavoidable contacts
with most hardened villains, of the revolting
relations of crime he is compelled to hear, of
the hundreds of suffering, innocent victims,
who plead with liim to succor them from power
ful oppressors, but whom he cannot aid. With
a sigh lie turns away from the whistling, sing
ing. jolly-faced and brawny-armed blacksmith,
and feels it harder to work to hammer and
weld the iron and blow the bellows of the law
in such a manner as shall always keep the fires
of his reputation burning before the world.
So it is in the various branches of trade and
in all professions. Each is apt to think his
neighbor's business light work compared to the
duties incumbent upon him to perform. But
it is not so. The merchant and the mechanic
the clergyman and the farmer, have all work
to do, either mental or physical, of equal im
portance to the general body politic, and re
qairing equal exertions. This grumbling about
hard work is of no benefit to us, but decided
ly foolish and wicked.
We are made to work. God constituted us
with bones, sinews, strength, and in every way,
by mental and physical endowment, adapted
us for the performance of labor. Labor is
called worship ; and whether in the mental or
physical sphere of action, he who labors the
most perseveringly, the most unmurmuringly,
the most efficiently for the good of himself and
welfare of his fellow-men, must he accounted
the most faithful and acceptable worshipper,
WHY PERSONS ARE BORN DUMII.- 1. Doc
tor," said an old lady, the other day, to her
family physician, " kin you tell me how it is
that some folks are born dumb ?"
" Why, hem ; why certainly. madame ; it
is owing to the fact that they come into the
world without the power of speech",
"La, no," said the old lady, "now jiet see
what it is to hare a physical education. I've
asked my old man mor'u a hundred times that
are same thing, and all I could ever get out
of him was, " kase they is." Well, I'm glad
I asked you, for I never could a' died satisfied
without knowin' it."
WILL. P..TENT FLUID LAMPS EXPLODE ?--A
peddler of patent fluid lamps called at the
house of Mrs. Peer, in Brooklyn, recently, fo
sell his lamp. His lamp, he said, couldn't ez•
plode ; and to convince the family, he gave it
a violent shaking, when the lamp exploded,
injuring, one person, a child, fatally, and five
others more or less severely.
Mir A boy was asked, one day, what made
him so dirty, and his reply wex.r" I am made,
so they tell me, of the dust of the earth, and
I reckon it's working out.
Mr At a printers' festival, recently, the
following toast was offered :
" Women—Second only to the Press is the
dissemination of news."
Heir The rhyming of silly boys and girls,and
the whistling of the wind through a hollow
tree, are equally signal instances of "Wilda
caused by emptiness."
tar A Lawyer engaged in a case, tome'•
ed a witness so mach with questions, that the
poor fellow at last cried far water. "'[bets,"
said-the Judge, " I thought you would pump
him dry."