Bradford reporter. (Towanda, Pa.) 1844-1884, February 14, 1861, Image 1
J3LLAS PER ANNUM INVARIABLY IN ADVANCE. TOWANDA: Thursday Morning, February 14, 1861. (Original fbdru. [Written for the Bradford Reporter.] THE SUNSET BY THE SEA. BY SYBIL rXUK. n beauUfal, so beautiful, That sunset by tbe sea, Ths red light pouring richly d&wa O'er rock, aud flower, aud Bali acting all the brilliancy. So grandly at our feet, — The glowing waves cauio breaking up 1b music wild and sweot. Oh, reverently I seemed to stand Within a minster dim ; And gloriously the ocean-chant,— A grand cathedral hymn, Swept o'er my heart-strings boarli® all Ju vague nurest away, And leaving sunshine whore the pall Of gloomy shadows lay. The epleudor of that autumn ak/ The glory and the light, Att mirrored on my sonl this day In beauty warm and bright. Again I see the islands fair. And o'er the orimson SOB, The white sails drifting proudly out I.lke sea birds strong and free. But rediuutly the glory died Proni out the brilliant west, Aud then the deep in< twi ght brought A J ream of home and rest; fci.il lingering!/ ho tarried limit fcosiue the restlea* dtvp, U'uti! the night had folded c'..e litr purple wings of sleep. Tiwa homeward underneath the start, And through the dusk we came, Tl dark waves chanting solemnly Their jubilant retrain ; And faithfully ha* memory kept That sunset .by the sea, The crimson sweeping richly dowu O'er rock, and flower, and tiee. &MKEV,ULU, L'B. [Written for the Bradford Reporter.] BESONE FROM MY STIRIT THOU WEIOST OF YEARS. Hegsne from my spirit, thu drear weight of years I Unburden mine eyelids, thou shadow of tears ! Unfetter my heart, thou cold cankering chain 1 Sweet sunshine, steal Into its chambers again ! Tor 1 meet with the joyous and happy to-night, Ami lain woukl I gather a gJinifwu of the light WLich has vanished away from uiv cloud-curtained sky ai Tosih, and its fairy-land scenes have gouo by. I Bit. how shall the spirit, earth-burdened aud sad I Brest sway from its thralidora, and learn to be glad ? ■ ?-. hwrt which distrust, and dark sorrow has chilled I v-g-.he sunlight of faith, and of comfort, bo tilled? J Lai .nd, sweetest music, enchantment and power I To Hi! up the moments, and gladden the hour, ■ Vita ao mingling tone trom the far away nbore lif taw dream land where music and revel are o'er ■ jrs, with red lips, the fond love-lighted srailo D 'Y.me Innocent sweetueaa might well nigh beguiia I '< seraphs of light, from the region of bliss I dwell iu the rapturous love-smiles of this. Ist no Munching come over their rose-tinted bloom Till tliey mock in their paleness the hue of the tomb, AI in watching some lip for au answering smile le nurk in its wrealhiug. but falsehood and guiie. *"*'B t.-derly, trustingly, hope lighted eyos, * •. radiance seemingly caught from the skies, Iflirre each glittering star in the blue azure sea hsoms a loving guardian of destiny. Kevp steadfast your gaie on the Heavenly sphere* TW weary and heavy with darkening tears, At each prrs.ige of promise foreshadowed there | Snail vanish away in the depths of despair. I '"ad ye gaily, yet softly, witli light airy feet, [ * pathway with fragrance of roses is sweet, Iv the i -heries of pleasure the spirit entrance, bfegsmlsil along in the frolic aud dance. F'ta-r, U"t away, gristed, dejected, forlorn, I v? torn and bleeding, from thistle and thorn, I se< n 'mid the res that bloomed in tho way ■pi r ved ; like earth-phautoaw, which lure W> bc [ trwy. poison t* mixed in the banqueting cup -2 "h. -!i in iu fulness this evening we sup, '' lie hid in the festival bowera driak in the fragrance, and gather the flowers. f vfenst of the soul, in rich bounty be spread, •' chtof enjoyment its radiance shed •r the heart, that the mourning, life-weary, and sad, •' !MT f, m , rrow , !IC I ] eßrTl ( 0 (, e glftd. m my spirit, thou drear weight of yeara! 1 ' sr. m.rie eye-lids, thou shadow of tears I I ray heart, thou cold, cankering chain 1 I ***• '"rash:ne, u-al iuto its chambers again ! Px. Him* Lorisg. 1 1 *KXTLK ANNIE—Some one Rays he loves " j!l ? called "Geutle Anuie." There is P'M.ng outside the pale of human affections p" f .ove. L\"e would fear the mau who did r We too, love the song, and con weakness—but yon wont say anything P ' Yin ?—for the gentle girl herself ; l ' le sou* entirely out of the question, e song jg indeed sweat, and while list- Iv d °- ltS wortls > w hen snug by some sweet, j to.ee, we have often pictured in our j - "gentle heroine—gentle and sweet as i u-(. a ' f ~re. e t s ' st cr, long since gone home but ler ■ ' n onr memor J. as w remember ltv morn of our existence, when laying mi,', °L ' ier l ''' n white hand, in a low sweet f,.,' >! 0 ta <ight us to repeat after her, "Our T art in Heaven,"— YreU Journal. lot g - be his fate who makes 1 1 100(1 hfPPJ ;itis so easy. It does 1 hUt i ° r P 08 ' 1 ' 0 " or fame; only 5,t , „i", ' " SS ' ft "d the tact which it inspires. reUe hi. ! a ia,,ce t0 love ' 10 to ex rrii , ""agnation and affections, and he *!th , G i Ve hm the cond 'tios Of |T lI fo<jd ' e *rcise, and a little va •toand 0 -' :c ?l iatlons T-* nd lie will be happy "a bappbe*. . i #* A A J 0 ' ' ■ a'"-':.-' ";W : * The Progress of my Zouave Practice. A fellow with a red bag having sleeves to it for acoat;with twored bags without sleeves to them for trovvsers ; with an embroidered and braided bag for a vest; with a cap like a red woolen saucepan ; with yellow boots like the fourth robber in a stage play; with a moustache like two half pound paiu't brushes, aud with a sort of sword gun or gun-sword for a weapon, that looks like the result of a love affair between an amorous broadsword aud a lonely musket, indiscreet aud tender—that is a Zouave. A fellow who can "put up" a hundred-and-teu pound dumb bell ; who cau climb up au eighty foot rope, hand over Laud, with a barrel of flour haugiug to his heels ; who can do the " giaut swiug "ou a horizontal bar with a fifty-six tied to each ankle ; who can walk up four flights of stairs, holding a heavy man in each hand at arms' length; and who can climb a greused pole feet first, carrying a barrel of pork in his teeth—that is a Zouave. A follow who cau jump seveuteeu feet four inches high without a spring-board ; who can tie his legs iu a double bow knot around his ueck without previously softening his shiu boues in a steam bath ; who can walk Blon diu's outdoor tight rope witu his stomach out side of uiue braudy cocktails, a suit of chain armor outside his stomach, and a stiff north east gale outside of that; who can set a forty foot ladder on end, balance himself on top of it, aud 6hoot wild pigeons on the wing, one at a tiuio, just behind the eye, with a single bar reled Minie rifle, three hundred yards distance and never miss a shot; who cau take a five shooting revolver iu each hand and knock the spots out of the ten of diamonds at eighty paces, tumiucr somersaults all the time and firing every shot iu the air—that is a Zouave. I am a Zouave. My musket education progresses—l am get ting on finely—l can tell the muzzle from the stock at first sight, aud shall soon he able to say which end of the ramrod to put down aud which side up the cartridge goes. But I am paying more attention to my gym nastics just at present thau to my musket, for everybody knows that in a battle arms are not of nearly so much importance as legs—it is a very good thing to kuow the use of your legs —iu case of war. I've got a practicing room, where I gymnas tic every day. I've taken up the carpet —a performance which my landlady eutireiy ap proves—Fve piled the chairs ou top of the table in a corner, and have sold my bed at auc tion—Zounvos sleep on the floor. Besides, it is a good thing to know how to sleep without a bed—iu caso of war. Spinkey and his brother came to see my room after I had got it arranged for practice— they did things—they Zouuved a little,by way of setting me an example. I found out by the actions of the Spinkey brothers the exact dimensions of my room ; it is three fl.p-flups long, aud a handspring aud two back somersault? wide. By means of a flip-flap you disconcert your enemy's aim and draw bis fire, tbeu you kill him. A flip flap is a good thing to do—in case of war. By means of a handspring, you reverse your position, and you bewildered enemy cuts off your foot, instead of your head. Then you kill them; then your screw ou a woodcu leg ! aud uo so again. When you've done it twice i you've killed two enemies and only lost two legs ; and, afie*' that, you can only lose wood en legs, which are comparatively cneap, especi ally if the war is ia a well timbered country. A handspring is a spleudid thing to do—iu case of war. By means of a forward somersault, you leap over your enemy, when he charges you; then, by a back somersault, you fall on bis head from n great height aud stun him ; then you kill him. A somersault ia an indispensable manoever —in case of war. Our company—Spinkey commanding—can go through the manual of arms complete, and only touch the ground three times; they do ail the loading in a single somersault springing in to the air at the word " Up 1" with their muskets empty, and loading exactly together at the word of commaud, given by Spinkey with a speaking trumpet, and firing by tiles as they come down. When Spinkey left my room I began to , practice; for I'm very anxious to progress.— Our company has been all drafted into Kcrri ! gao's Contingent, and we must all be ready. Tried a somersault first,as I thought it look ied very easy. All you have to do is, to throw i your heels up and your head down, and then j bring your head up and heels down; it is the | easiest thing in the world—apparently. When | I came to try it, I thought the floor unusually hard; so I put a pillow on the spot where I thought my feet would come dowu, as I didu't want to hurt my heels. Then I took off my coat, tied my suspenders tightly around my waist, took a short run from the corner of the room, shut my eyes, and— * * * * When I recovered, which I should judge was about three quarters of an hour, I had a bump on my forehead as if I'd been hit there by a baseball, which had struck. It took me fifteen minntes to get up on my feet, for I felt as if my legs aud arms had been distributed over the neighboring country by a gunpowder explosion, aud it was some time before my mind was disabused of that impression. I judge that something interfered to pre vent the artistic execution of my contemplat ed somersault, for my head evidently struck the ground as soon as my heels weut np ; my nose had received a severe coutusion, and the results were, a map of some uuknown country done in red on my shirt frout,two vest pockets full of blood, and my hair so stuck together with the same fluid that 1 had to get my head cropped like a prize fighter. Whether I broke the window with my head when it went down, or with my heels when they came up, is com paratively immaterial—certain it is that there was a hole in the sash big enough to throw a bushel basket through without touching the ttlgns. PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY AT TOWANDA, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA., BY R. W. STURROCK. As to the pillow, it didn't seem to case my feet after all; perhaps it is beoause neither of them came within a rod of it, for I discovered that while I broke my only water pitcher with ouc heel, 1 had put the other through my pic ture of John C. Heeuan, in his favorite chara cter of champion of the word. I mustered up courage in three days to try a hand spring, but the results were not satis factory, being merely a new and extensive as sortment of bumps and bruises. Then I sent for Spinkey—Spinkey taught me the art—l cau do it now—l do it all the time—l keep doing it; in fact, I don't do anything else. When 1 come down to breakfast, I generally walk on my hands | around the table, and give each one of the boarders a patronizing shake of my slipper; theft i turu a haudspring over the table, and come down easily in my chair, and read a col umn of the Tribune while the people are look j ing in the air for me to come down. 1 never sleep on a bed, now a-days; sometimes I hang myself by the toes to the gas fixtures; some times I suspend myself by ray little finger to a staple in the wall; sometimes I balance myself on my trusty sword, or take a short nap on the point of my bayonet. I've practiced thrus ting with my bayonet and swcrd till there isn't a picture in my whole collection that has its regular number of features; Dolly Davenport has only one eye, and a fraction of a nose; Edwin Forrest is playiog llumlet without any top to his head, aud John C. Ileenau with oue arm aud a big hole iu his ribs, is fighting Tom Sayers, who has no legs, aud nary au eye in his head. I've put up a target on the brick partition that separates me from the uext house and have fired so mauy balls iuto it, that the bricks are uot now more than an inch and a half thick, and I expect every day to kill a baby or two in there. When I do, I suppose I will huve to apologize. I havn't killed any body for a good while, and I really ought to get my hand iu aguiu. If you shouldn't hear from me next week, vou may conclude that I'm going through the farcical formality of an ex amination for manslaughter, aud that I'll write as soon as I cau get out on bail. Confidently, DOESTICKS. I\ 13. An Old Tinia Schoolmaster. There are many persons now residing iu the city of Philadelphia who, remembering back some thirty years, cau recall the houest face of a sturdy pedagogue from the North of Ire land, by the name of W., a stern disciplinarian of the old school who believed that learning as often went in with a "thwack," as an inclina tion. Among the pupils of honest old W , was oue who-has siuce arisen to soma distinc tion, but who, during his school boy days, was generally regarded as a thick-headed, lazy fel low, and was sure to get old W.'s attention iu the " warming way " every semi-occasionally. Oue;day wbeu Johuuy had forgotteu to study his lesson, as usual, the old douiinie blandly requested him to Lake his place on the floor, as he had a few words which he wished to say to him. Johnny of course, stepped out with j fear and treuibiiutr, and was greatly astonish ed to hear his stem teacher address him in a very kind and geutle tone. "Johnny, my son," said W., " ye're of a good family, so you are." Johnny, who expected a pretty scvero pun ishment, and had already begun to whine and dig his kuhckles iuto his eyes, looked up in the greatest imaginable surprise. " I say Johnny," pursued the dominie, "ye're of a good family—d'ye understand ?" "Ah thank you, sir !'' replied the lad, with au air of some confidence. " Yes, Johnny, I repeat, ye're of a good family, as good a family as me own. I kuew your father, Johnny, in the oulvl country and this—as a lad and a man—and a better and honcster lad and mau, Johnny, I never knew ayther side of the big deep " " Thank you, sir !" said JolinDy, with a pleasant smile, and a furtive glance of triumph at some of his playmates. " And I knew your mother, too Johuny; and a dear swate little girl she was afore she grew up and married your father, Johnny; aud , after that she was a blessed bride, and as kind hearted and lovely a mother and mistress of a family, Johnny as iver left the blessed shores I of onld Ireland. " Ves, sir—oh, thauk yon, sir ?" responded the delighted Johnny. " Ah, Jhonny, your father and mother and myself have seen some happy days across the great seas !" sighed the sentimental schoolmas ter; " days that I'm knowing now will never return to me again. And then your sisters, Johnny—you've got fine sisters, too, that I have known since they were toddlings, and which same now are ornaments to iuny society Johnny." " Oh, sir, I am much obliged to you ?" re sponded the happy pupil, scarce knowing how to express the joy he felt at finding himself such a great favorito with his heretofore stern master. "And then there's yourself, Johnny, that I've known since your birth—the son of my ould friends and companious of my youth." " Oh, thauk you, sir." Ah, yes, Johnny," weut on the domine, with something between a groan and a sigh, and some slight indication of tears, " it's the whole blissed family that I have known so long, so well, and 60 favorably, Johuuy : and now that 1 look back with pride ou these same by-gone reminiscences, I think I would uot be doing justice to your noble father, your kind mother, and your lovely sisters, nor to jour self and the rest of mankind, if I were to let such a lazy, good for nothing rascal go with out a good ' thwacking.' Hould out yer hand, Johnny—hould yer had, yer young rascal!" And before poor Johnny had time to recov er from his astonishment, he found himself in the process of a good "thwacking" that he never forgot to the end of his life. Tiie darkest scene we ever saw was a dar key in a darkccliar, with a dark lantern, look ing for a black oat that wusu t there. " RE3ARDLESS OR DENUNCIATION FROM ANY QUARTER." Womea and Marriaga. I have speculated a great deal upon matri mony. I have seen young and beautiful wo men, the pride of the gay circles, married—as the world goes—well ! Some have moved into costly houses, and their friends have all come and looked at their fiue furniture and splendid arrangements for happiuess, and they have gone away aud committed them to their sunny hopes cheerfully and without fear. It is natu ral to be sanguine fof the young, and at such times I am carried away by similar feelings.— I love to get, unobserved, into a corner and watch the brido in her white attire, and with her smiliDg face aud soft eyes moving before me iu the prido of her life, weave a waking dream of her future happiness, and persuade invself that it will be true. I think bow they will sit upon the luxu riant sofa as the twilight falls, and build gay hopes, and murmur in low tones the now un forbidden tenderness, aud how thrilling the allowed kisses aud beautiful endearments of wedded life will make even their parting joy ous, and how gladly they will come back from the crowd and empty mirth, and of the gay, to each other's quiet company. I picture to my self that youug creature, who blushes even now at his hesitating caresses, listing eagerly for his footsteps as tho night steals on, and wishing that ho would come; aud when he enters at last, and with an affection as undy ing as his pulse, folds her to his bosom, 1 can feel the very tide that goes flowing through his heart, and gaze with him on her graceful form as she moves about him for the kind offi ces of affection, soothing all his unquiet cares and making him forget even himoelf iu her young and uushadowed beauty. I go forward for years and see her luxurious hair put soberly away from her brow, and her girlish graces ripening into dignity, and bright loveliness chastened iuto affection, ller hus band looks ou her with a proud eye, aud shows her the same fervent love aud delicate atten tions that first won her; and fair children have grown up about them, aud they go ou full of honor and untroubled years, and are re membered when they die. 1 say I love to dream thus when I go to give the youug bride joy. It is the natural tendency and feeling touched by loveliness that fears uothing for itself; and it I ever yield to darker feelings it is because tho light of the picture is changed. I am uot fond of dwelling upon such changes, aud I will uot minutely now. I allude to it oulv because I trust that my simple page will be read by some of the youug and beautiful beings who move daily across my path; aud I would whisper to them as they glide by joy ously and confidently tho secrot of au uueloud ed future. The picture I have drawn above is not peculiar. It is colored, like the fancies of the bride; aud many, oh ! many an hoar will she sit, with her rich jewels lying loose in her fiugers, and dream such dreams as these. She believes them, too—aud she goes ou for awhile undeceived. The evenings arc not too long when they talk of plans of happiness, and the quiet meal is still pleasant, with delightful novelty of mutual reliance and atteutiou.— There comes soon, however, a time when per sonal topics become bare and wearisome, aud slight attentions will not alone keep up the social excitement. There are intervals of silence and detected symptoms of weariness, and the htisbaud first, in his manhood, breaks in upon the hours they were to spend togeth er. I cannot follow it circumstantially. There come long hours of restlessness, and terrible misgivings of each other's worth and affection, until, by aud by,they cau couceal their uueasi uess no longer, aud go out separately to seek relief, anil lean upou a hollow world for sup port, which one, who was their lover and friend could not give them ! Ileed this, yc who are winning, by your in noceut beauty, tho affections of high-minded and thinking beings 1 llcmember that he will give up tbe brother of his heart, with whom he has had ever a fellowship of mind; the soci ety ofj his cotemporary runners in the race of fame, who have held with him a stern com panionship, aud frequently in his passionate love he will break away from the arena of his burning ambition, to coma and listen to the "voice of the charmer." It will bewilder him at first, but it will not long ; and then, think you, that an idle blandishment will claim the mind that has been nsed for years to au equal communion ? Think you that he will give up for a weak dalliance the animating themes of men and the search into the mysteries of know ledge? Oh, no, lady ! believe me—no! Trust not your iuflueuce to snch light fetters ! Credit not the old-fashioned absurdity that woman's is a secondary lot—ministering to the necessities of her lord and master. It is a higher destiny I would award yon. If your immortality is as complete and your gift of mind i 3 as capable as ours, 1 would charge you to water the undying bud, aud give your self a healthy culture, and open its beauty to the sun, and then yon may hope that when your life is bound with another, you may go on equally aud with a fellowship that shall pervade every earthly interest.— Washington Irving. LOGICAL PEPCCTIOX. —At a protracted meet ing held some time ago, a hymn was given out which contained the words— "There is no more sorrow there."' At the close of the hymn, a brother stood up and shouted in a voice of thunder, "Yes, brethren, thar's no sorrow in Heav en 1 Aud why not ? Because in the words of this beautiful hymn, thar's no sorrer tbar." This brilliant deduction brought out a by stander, who observed : "That's what I call coming out of the same hole you went in at, friend !'' FIRST IN AI.I. THlNGS. —Pennsylvania made the first turnpike road in the L'nited States, laid the first railroad, established first water works, ran the first locomotive, established the first hospital, the first law school, the first hall of music, aud the first library in the world opened to all. A TAKE OFF.—The following is an admir able " take off " of tho startling inllamatory despatches which nppear daily in newspapers of tho sensation class : Late, Later, Latest and Highly Important from Charleston—Our Special Despatches by the Underground Line. " CHARLESTON, Supper time, Jan. 15th, — All the babies in the South are in arms. " Tico and one half Minutes Later.—Hun dreds of the noblest women of South Caroli na are behind the breast works, and they bold ly express their determination to remain there.' " Later Still —Three-quarters of a minute. A number of young ladies were in arms dur ing the greater part of last evening, and many more are extremely anxious to follow the self sacrificiug example of their sisters. Shame ou the young men." " One Quarter of a Minute Later. —We have learned, from a reliable source, that the study of military tactics will be introduced into the female schools of this State immedi ately, us the spirited girls declare a willingness to take charge of the South Carolina " iufau try,"' which is yet to be raised." " A report from The interior says the ne groes " wear" drilling, but it needs confir mation. Everybody is in a blaze of enthu siasm, and the gas company has suspended iu consequence.'' DIARY OF A " MEDIKCL" MAN.—A pocket diary was picked up in the street in Mobile a few days siuce. From the following extracts it appears that the loser was a " mcdikul " man : " Kase.l74, Mary An Perkius, bisnes wash woman ; sickness iu her bed. Fisick, suin pills, a soperifik, aged 32. Fade me one dol lar, I quarter bogus. Mind get good quarter aud make her take moro fisik. Kasc 115. Mikil Tubbs, Bisnis, Nirishman. Lives with Dekun Pheley, what keeps a dray. Sikness, dig in the ribs, and tow bad ise. Fisik to drink my mixter twice a day of sasiperrily and jollop, and fish ile, to rnaik it taist fisiky put in sum asidifv—rubbed his fuis with kart grease liniment, aged 23 yeres of aig. Drinkt the mixtur and wuddent pa me kase it taisted nasty, but the raixtur'll wutk his innards I reckin. Kase 116. Old Misses Boggs.— Aint got no bisnis but plenty of money. Sik ness aul a humbug. Gave her sum of my scl ebrated Dipseboikin, whitch she scd drunk like kold tee —which it was too. Must put santhin in to make her fele eik and bad. The old woman has got the rocks.,' A MAN WHO COULDN'T STAND JERSEY.— Oue terrible stormy night in the bleak Decem ber, a Uuited States vessel was wrecked off the coast of Jersey, aud every soul, save one weut down with that doomed craft. This one survivor seized a floating spar, and was wash ed toward the shore while innumerable kind hearted tools of the Camden aud Amboy llailroad clustered on the beach with ropes aud boat. Slowly the uuhappy mariner drift ed to land, and as he exhaustedly caught at the rope thrown to him, the kindly natives ut tered au encuraging cheer " You are saved!" they shouted. "You aro saved—and must show the conductor your ticket!" With the sea still boiling about him the drowning stran ger resisted the efforts to haul him a>hore.— Stop!" said he iu faint tones.—Tell me where I am! What country is this ?" They answered "New-Jersey." Scarcely had the name been ut tered, when the wretched strauger let go the rope, ejaculating as he did so—"I guess I'll float a little fartherl" Ho was never seen again. MARRIAGE.—PeopIe have different opinions of the value of marriage, according as tliey are more or less habituated to the operation— as witness the following, from one of the Indi ana papers—all about the "discount" ou second marriage. A lady apparently about thirty, entered a justice's office and asked for the eqnire. I called, squire,' she said, ' to engage your ser vices this evening. I am about to be married.' The squire bowed, and smiled encouraging ly. ' Might I ask,' continued the lady, ' what your fee is ou such occasions ?' ' Oue dollar, madam, iu the office.' ' And how much if you go to the house V 'Five dollars.' Too much—entirely too much said the lady, quick ly—'l have been married before. The first time I would not have hesitated at twenty dol lars, but I think two dollars quite enough.'— The squire consented to tie the knot for two dollars, and the lady handed him her card, and requested him to be prompt, and swept out of the office as if it was an affair of every day. A FEMALE SLAVE'S IDEA OF THE ELECTION OF LINCOLN.—A Mississippi correspondent of the St. Louis Democrat relates the following anecdote : " A negro man from a neighboring planta tion has been courting onr cook for a long time : he came in the other evening, and sit ting down beside her began : " What, Lincolu is 'lcetcd, and now you'll see : you'll see." " Well, what'H I see ?" said she. " Never mind, you'H see." " Well, what'll I see ?" " You'll see ; you'il see." " Yes," said the cook, exasperated beyoud all patieuce, " I'll see more Diggers licked than ever ; that's what I'll see." HEAVEN.—"Where are yon going P' said a young gentleman to an elderly oue in a white cravat, whom he overtook a few miles from Little Rock. "I am going to Heaven, my son ; I have been on the way eighteeu years." "Well, good-bye, old fellow, if you have been traveling toward Heaven eighteeu years and got no nearer to it thau Arkausas, I'll take another route." FRESH ROLLS EVERY MORNING—RoIIing to the other side of the bed for a fresh snooze. VOL. XXI. —iXO. 37 educational Department. SPEAK GENTLY. Speak gently ; it i* better far To rule by love than fear : Speak gently let no har.h worJs mar The good we might do here. Speik gently—love doth whisper low The vows that true hearts bind. And gently friendship's accents flow - Affection's voice is kind. Speuk gently to the little child. Its iove be sure to gain— Teach it in accents soft and mfld ; It may not long remain. • Bpeak gently to the young, for they Will have enough to bear ; Pass through this life as best they may, : Tis full of anxious care. Bpeak gently to the aged one ; Grieve not the care-worn heart; The sands of life are nearly run- Let such in peace depart. Bpeak gently, kindly to the ponc- I-d no harsh tone lie heard ; They have enough they must endure Without an unkind word. Bpc-uk gently to the erring—know They must have toiled in vain ; l'erehance unkiuduess made them s— Oh! win them back again, bpeak gently! He who gave his life To bend man's stubborn will, When elements were tierce with strife. Said tojthc-iD, " Peace ! be still."- bpeak gently—'tis a little thing Dropped in the heart's deep well; The good, the joy which it may bring Eternity shall tell! Etudy a Child's Capacities, If some arc naturally dull, aud yet strive to do well, notice the effort, and do not censure the dullness. A teacher might as well scold a child for being near-sighted, as for being I naturully dull. Some children have a great ! verbal memory, others are qnite the reverse. ! Some minds develop early, others late. Soma : have great powers of acquiring, others of : originating. Some may appear stupid, because their true spring character has never been touched. The dunce of the school may turn out in the end, tho living, progressive, won der-working genius of the age. la order to exert the best spiritual influence we must understand the spirit upon which we wish to exert that influence. For with the human mind we must work with nature, and not against it. Like the leaf of the net tle, if touched one way, it stings like a wasp ; if the other, it is softer than satin. If wa would do justiee to the human mind, we must : find out its peculiar characteristics, and adapt ourselves to its individual wants. In conver j satiou on this point with a friend, who is now the principal in ono of our best grammar schools, and to whose instruction I look back with delight—" your remarks," said he, " aro quite true ; let me tell you a little incident which bears upon the point: " Last summer, I had a girl who was ex ceedingly behind in all her studies. She wa at the foot of the class, and seemed to care but little for her books. It so happened, that as a relaxation, I let them at times during school hours unite in singing. I noticed that this girl had a remarkably clear sweet voice, and I said to her, " Jane, you have a good voice, and you may lead in the singing." She brightened up ; and from that time her mind appeared to be more active. Her lessons wero attended to, and she soon gained a high rank. " One day, as I was going home, I ovortook her with a school companion. " Well, Jane,* said I, "you are getting along very well, how happens it you do so much better than at the beginning of the quarter ?" "I do not know why it is," she replied. "I know what she told me the other day," said her companion. " And what was that ?" I asked. " Why she said s/ie was encouraged." Yes, heje we have it—she was encouraged. | She felt she was not dull in everything. She had learned self respect, and thus she was eiv | couraged. j Some twelve or thirteen years ago, there was in Franklin school an exceedingly dull • boy. One day the teacher wishing to look out a word, took up the lad's dictionary, ami on opening it, found the blank leaves covered with drawings. He called the boy to him : " Hid you draw these ?" said the teacher. " Yes, sir," said the boy, with a downcast look. " I do not think it is well for boys to draw in their books, and I would rub these out If T were you ; but they are well done ; did ever take lessons ?" "Xo, sir," said the boy, his eyes sparkling. "Well, I think you have a talent for thli thing. I should like to see you draw me something when you arc at leisure, at hern®, and bring it to me. In the mean time SM how well you can recite your lessons." The next morning the boy brought a pie* turc, and when he had committed his lesson-, the teacher permitted him to draw a map.— The true spirit was touched. The boy felt he was understood, lie began to love his teach er. He became animated and fond of hii books. He took delight iu gratifying hia teacher by his faithfulness to his studies, while the teacher took every opportunity to encour age him iu his natural desires. The boy be came one of the first scholars, and gained the medal before he left the school. After this he became an engraver, laid up money enough to go to Europe, studied the works of old masters, sent home productions from his own pencil, which found a place iu some of tho best collections of paintings, and is now ono of the most promising artists of his years iu the country. After the boy gained the medal, he sent the teacher a beautiful picture as a to ken of respect ; and while he was an engraver, the teacher received frequent tokens of con tinued regard ; and 1 doubt not to this day, he feels that that teacher, by the judicious encouragement lie gave to the natural turn of the mind, has had a great moral aud spiritual effect ou his character.