The Waynesburg messenger., December 17, 1862, Image 1

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jt Agit" Paptt---Illoottli to Politics, Aviculture, fittrnint, srinict, Art, fort*, poststic entre' jittllipictfirr.
ESTABLISHED IN 1813.
TM WONESBURG MESSENGER,
PUBLISHED BY
N. W. JONES & JAMES S. JENNINGS,
WAYNESBURG, GREENE CO., PA
OTOPIPICE NEARLY orromis THE
PUBLIC , SQVARZ• .I=il
1/11111Ute3
Iteseettrmon.—s l 50 in advance; $1 75 at the ex
piration of six months; $2 00 witbin, the year; $2 50
.tier the expiration of the year.
A remtsvrre Inserted at $1 00 per square for
Ores insertions, and 25 cents a square for each addition
al insertion; (ten lines or less counted a square.)
clar A liberal deduction made to yearly advertisers.
Eler Joe Parana°, of all kinds, executed in the best
er, and on reasonableterms, at the "Messenger" Job
I,rd . intsburg 13usintss stalls.
ALTTOBSISTS.
a. A. FUR lAN. .1 G. NITCOII.
PURMAN & RITCHIE,
ATTORNEYS AND COUNSELLORS AT LAW,
Waynesburg, Pa.
13 'AI business in Greene, Washington, and Fay.
Mae Counties, entrusted to them, will receive prompt
attention. Sept. 11, 1661-Iy.
J. A. 3. BUCIIAXAS. WK. C. Lannesv.
3174M&Inlar & wimunr,
ATTORNEYS AND COUNSELLORS AT LAW,
Waynesburg, ra.
Office on the South side of Main street, in the Old
Bank Building. Jan. 1, ISOlt.
Wt.. w. 3CPOWIVIIIT3r9
ATTORNEY AND COUNSELLOR AT LAW.
frrOillee in I edwith's Building, opposite the Court
House, Waynesburg, Pa.
S. A. /eCONNIELL
& IrrilllMP,
ATTORNEYS AND COUNSELLORS AT LAW
Wayuesbarg• Pa.
Ft.Mee ill the "Wright li, , . a e," East Door.
scoots, Re-, will receive prompt attention.
ynesburg, April 93, 186 --Iy.
DAVID CRAWFORD,
Attemiey and Counsellor at Law. °Mee in Sayers'
adjoining the Pont Tice :
Sept. 1.1,, Net —lg.
0. A. SLACK. JOHN PHELAN.
BLACK & PHELAN,
/ATTORNEYS AND COUNSELLORS AT LAW
°Mee to the Court House, Waynesburg.
Sept. 11,1M-Iy.
PAITIMOULWB
B. M. BLACHLEY, M. D.
. ZUTSXCXAN St. SURGEON,
Oddito—lirlashiey t a Building, Main lit.,
R - derECTIPULLY announces to the citizens of
. Waynesburg and vicinity that he has returned from
;ire Hospital Corps of the Army and resumed the pmc
of medmine at this place.
Waynesburg, June 11. 1361-13.
DR. D. W. BRADEN,
•y aid Surgeon. Office t* the Old Bank
'./Minetreet. Sept it 1861-Iv.
SR- A. O. CROSS
WOUJAP_ VIII/1 respectfully tender his services as a
I'ItYIHCIAN AND MTROEON, to the people of
and vicinity. He hopes by a due appre
ennuis" life and health, and stnct intention to
new, to went a share of public patronage.
:Wayna•ba . January 8, 1882.
MIL A. Z. lICKIY
Aree'lsllrilleififHLLY °Ohm his services to the Citizens
Wriffitynesherg and vicinity, as It Physician and
a. Mice opposite the Republican office. He
. 11! des appreciation of the laws of human life
,so native medication, and strict attention
rilati, to merit a liberal share of public patronage.
I A.T., 1„ ilis2.
DRUGS
M. A. LIARVEY,
D t and lipotbecary, and dealer in Paints and
4W:Vs mast celebrated Patent Medicines, and Pure
Liquors for isedicinal purposes.
Sept. 11,
WM. A. PORTER,
Wholesale tad Serail Deales in Foreign and Domes
tic Dry Goods. Groceries, Notions, Are., Main street.
Sept. 11. 1861-Iy.
R. CLARK,
Heater in Dry Goals. Groceries, Hardware, Queens
rare and notions, in the Hamilton House, opposite
ofroGoort Hease. Main street. Sept. 11. 1861-Iy.
MINOR & CO.,
Dealers in Foreign and Domestic Dry Goods, Gro
eerie*, Queeusware, Hardware and Notions, opposite
tbo.fiessal House, Main street.
Sept. 11, 1811—ly,
CLOTHO,*
N. • - N. CLARK,
.. Dealer in Ilea'a and soya' Clothinik_Cloths. Caul
...wee. Satinets, flats and Cape, atr, Mlle race*. op.
pelts the Court House. Sept. 11.
Ip!CM AM. BROS BRAINIER.
J. to. COSGRAY,
810$ sad Oboe maker. Main street, early
1y eaposlre
is awl Drover's Dank." Eve ry —style f
pereratinsoss constantly on hand or ma de to order. o
pt. 11, 1861—.
N. H. McCLELLAN
Moot mod Shoo anuiclisebiley's Corsair, Main stmt.
Soots and alitassot ovary malty stoops on Mod OT
-made to coder ea Mama otied
Maio. n, •
& V
JOSEPH YATER„
Polar io Goierriee end Conektfsimilgo. Nodose ,
Pertionerini, Liverpool *ire. MMoo of
41/ 1 5 1 444. and Gik Moulding and Looking GJ r Plow.
geed eittjpg Apigg.
-7
JOHN MUNNELL,
a AlMan' iaCiejmosries and Confectionaries, tad goods GellesodY. Wilson's &sr Building, AM SWIM.
`I I OP I ii, 184-47.
300Z11. &a.
4
. -
i t
LEWIS DAY,
roc
lo !school and MiseedNneovas Illeoakitat4oll-
1 1 _ 11 1Painad and Papenk. Ode don. east in
. ,A , MOP Main Wrest.
nen. u, i*t 17.
.... _
VIIIIIIMIIIII 1111n1P11414 WWI
..iiMMUEL WALLISTSt,
theiums Wire* *Aar. MI lia*
itik lii
.
—4
'Bl4l7Pet Mamm y
, .
I 3; iistillantnuis.
HOW CHILDREN SHOULD BE TREAT-
My Dear Friend : I love children.
I used to think when I was a bache
lor, (it's a good many years ago,)
that there was something rather
presuming in the manner in which
doting fathers and mothers would
bring their wee things around them,
and, for the especial edification of
us single fellows, cause them to
"misspeak half uttered words," and
go through with divers little lessons
in manners and elocution. But both
parents and children were made so
apparently happy by it, that I could
think, as certain of irreverent com
panions were wont to think, and to
say, that it was "a bore." No, I
never thought or said that; but I
did think, 1 remember, as 1 have
said, that there was a little bad taste,
and not a little presumption, in such
a course.
I don't think so now. When a
father—and how much more a moth
er, sees for the first time the gleam
of affection illumining, with what the
Germans calls an "interior light,"
the eyes and features of his infant
child, when that innocent soul, fresh
from heaven, looks for the first time
into yours, and you feel that yours is
an answering look to that new born
intelligence—then, I say, will you
experience a sensation which is not
"of the earth earthly," but belongs
to the "correspondences" of a higher
and holier sphere .
I wish to gossip a little with you
concerning children. You are a full
grown man now, my friend, yet you
were once a boy; and I am quite cer
tain that you will feel quite interest
ed in a few incidents which I am go
, ing to relate, in illustration of my
theme ; incidents which I hope you
will judge to be not unfruitful of
monitory lessons to "children of
larger growth" than mere girls or
boys.
Don't you think that we parents,
sometimes, in moments of annoyance,
through pressure of business or other
circumstances, forbid that which
was but innocent and reasonable, and
perfectly natural to be asked for 7--
And do the best of parents frequent
ly multiply prohibitions until obe
dience to them becomes impossible ?
Excuse me; but all your readers
have been children; many of them
I are happy mothers : many more
that are not will be in God's good
time; and I cannot but believe that
many who shall peruse these senten
ces will find something in them
which they will remember hereafter.
"The sorrows and tears of youth,"
says Washington Irving, "are as bit
ter as those of' age," and he is right.
They are sooner washed away, it is
true; but oh ! how keen is the present
sensibility—how acute the passing
mental aw'ony !
My twin brother Willie—may his
ashes repose in peace in his early,
his untimely grave:—and myself,
when we were very little boys in the
country, saw, one bright June day,
far up in the blue sky, a paper kite,
swaying to and fro, rising and sink
ing, diving and curveting, and flash
ing back the sunlight in a manner
that was wonderful to behold. We
lett our little tin vessels in the mead.
ow where we were picking straw
berries, and ran into a neigboring
field to' get beneath it; and, keeping
our eyes continually upon it, "gaz
ing steadfastly toward heaven," we
presently found ourselves by the
side of the architect of that magnifi
cent creation, and saw the line which
held it reaching into the skies, and
little white paper messengers gli 3ing
upward upon it, as if to hold com
munion with the graceful '-bird of
the air" at the upper end.
lam describing this to you as a
boy, and I wish you to think of it as
a boy. Well, many days afterward,
and after various unsuccessful at
tempts, which not a little discomfit
ted us—for we thought we had ob
tained the "principle" of the kite—
we succeeded in making one which
we thought would Ay. The air was
too still, however, for several days;
and never did a becalmed navigator
wait more impatiently for a breeze
to speed his vessel on her voyage
than did well:Yr a wind that should
send our paper messengers, bedizen
ed with stars of red and yellow pa
per, dancing up the sky.
At last it pleased the "gentle and
voluble spirit of the air" ,to favor us.
A mild south wind sprang up, and so
deftly did we manage oar "inven
tion," that ft was presently reduced
to a mere miniature kite in the blue
ether above es. Such a triumph !
Fulton, when he essayed his first 43X
peritne nt, felt no more . exultant
great did we when that est event
was achieved 'lre kept it up until
"Iwixt the &aeons and the mirk,"
when we drew ft down and deposited
it in the baria ; Seditaing eft
to place it, out of sessile aniffitke
that seemed sale and Aphis but
ihmorilboidrat *sisal ibb
ist il-bilvet4 Woe Oisipillistete*
411110 , 1**.
• usweatailegl noir
INV* 4 11/ 1 / 70.
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4 le l IMO:
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J. J. lIIITYRAX
ED.
WAYNESBURG, GREENE COUNTY, PA., WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 17, 1862.
night; and, far up in the heaven of
our sleeping vision, we saw it flash
ing in the sun and leaming opaquely
in the twilight air. In the morning
we repaired betimes to the barn ;
approached the barrel with eager
ness, as if it were possible fbr the
kite to have taken the wings of the
evening and flown away ; and, on
looking down into the receptacle,
saw our cherished, our beloved kite
broken into twenty pieces!
It was our man Thomas who did
it, climbing_upon the hay mow. It
was many years afterward before
we forgot the cruel neighbor who
laughed at us for our deep six
months' sorrow at that great loss ; a
loss in oomparison with which the
loss of a fortune at the period of
manhood sinks into insignietcpce.—
Other kites, indeed, we constructed ;
but that was the kite "you read of
at this present. Think, therefore, 0
ye parents always think of the acute
ness of a child's sense of childish
grief.
I once saw an elder brother, the
son of a metropolitan neighbor, a
romping, roystering blade, in the
merest "devilment,' cut off the fbot
of a little doll with which his infant
ine sister was amusing herself. A
mutiliation of living flesh and blood,
of bone and sinew, in a beloved play
mate, could scarcely have effected
the poor child more painfully. It
was to her the vital current of a
beautiful babe which cozed from the
bran-leg of that stuffed effigy of an
infant; and the mental sufferings of
the child were based upon the inno
cent faith which it held, that all
things were really what they seemed.
Grown people should have more
faith in, and more appreciation of,
the statements and feelings of chil
dren. When I read, some months
since, in a telegram to one of our
morning journals, from Baltimore,
if I remember rightly, of a mother
who, in punishing a little boy for tel
ling a lie, (which, after all, it subse
quently transpired that he did not
tell,) hit-him with a slight switch
over his temple and killed him in
stantly—mere accident, of course,
but yet a dreadful casuality, which
drove reason from the throne of the
unhappy mother—when I read this,
I thought of what had occurre din
my own sanctum only a week or two
before ; and the lesson which I re
ceived was a good one, and will re
main in me forever.
My little boy, a dark-eyed, ingeni
lous and frank-hearted child as ever
breathed —though perhaps "I say it
who ought not to say it"—still, I do
i say it—had been playing about my
table, on leaving which fora moment,
I found, on my return, that my long,
I porcupine quill handled pen was
gone. I asked the little fellow what
he had done with it. He answered
at once he had not seen it. After a
I renewed search I charged him, in
the face of his declaration, with hay
! ing taken and mislaid or ost it. He
looked me earnestly in the face and
I said ; "No, I didn't take it, father."
I then took him upon my lap ; en
larged upon the heinousness of tell
ing an untruth ; told him I did not
care so much about the pen ; and, is
short, by the manner which I rea
soned with him. almost offered him
a reward for the confession—the re
ward be it understood (a dear one to
him,) of standing firm in his father's
love and regard. The tears had
welled on into his eyes, and he
seemed about to "tell me the whole
truth," when my eye caught the end
of the pen protrucVng from a portfo
lio, where I myself had placed it, in
returning a sheet of manuscript to
one of the compartments. All this
may seem a mere trifle to you—and
perhaps it is : yet I shall remember
it for a long time.
But I desire now to narrate to
you a circumstance which happened
in the family of a friend and corres
pondent of mine in the city of Bos
ton, some ten years ago, the history
of which will commend itself to the
heart of every, father and mother
who has any sympathy with, or affee
tion for their children. That it is
entirely true, you may be well as
sured. .1 was convinced of this
when I opened the letter from L.
B—. which announced it, and in the
details of the event which was subse
quently furnished men.
A few weeks before he wrote he
had buried his eldest Sun, a fine,
manly little fellow, of some eight
years of age, who had never, he said,
known a day's illness until that
which finally removed him hence to
be no more. His death occurred un
der circumstances which were pecu
liarly painful to his parents. A.
younger brother, a delicate, sickly
child from its birth, the next in age
to him, had been down for nearly a
fortnight with 'an epidemic fever.—
Ia conseqaehee of the nature of the
disease, every precaution had been
adopted that prudence suggested to
vita the other members et the tam
agaisit it. Bat of this one, the
father's eldest, he said he had little
to fear, so rugged vas he, and so
geseraWbssitlif. Eftirt; howsyer,
b. bow, a ilAht eye npoa him, and
his going hits*.
ze We "lig*
7 1 1100111660-41.11 , 1111 111.00010141
7 4:1= 0001 .6 1 . 1 10:
alit Ape
more frequently to think that is their
nature to be. Of all udnatural
things, a reproach almost to childish
frankness and innocence, save me
from a "boy-man 1" But to the sto
ry
One evening this unhappy father
came home wearied with a long
day's hard labor, and vexed at some
little disappointments which had
soured his natnrally kind disposi
tion, and rendered him peculiarly
susceptible to the smallest annoy
ance. While he was sitting by the
fire, in this unhappy mood of mind,
his wife entered the apartment and
said :
"Henry has just come in, and he is
a perfect fright ! He is covered
from head to foot with dock-mud,
and is as wet as a drowned rat !"
"Where is he f" asked the father,
sternly.
"He is shivering over the kitchen
fire. He was afraid to come up
here when the girl told him you had
come home."
"Tell Jane to tell him to come
here this instant !" was the brief
reply to this information.
Presently, the poor boy entered,
half perished with affright and cold.
His father glanced at his and plight,
reproached him bitterly with his dis
obedience, spoke of the punishment
which awaited him in the morning,
as the penalty for his offence : and,
in a harsh voice, concluded with :
"Now, sir, go to your bed !"
"But, father," said the little fellow,
"1 want to tell yott—"
"Not a word, sir ; go to bcd !"
"I only wanted to say, father,
that—"
With a peremptory stamp, an im
perative wave of his hand toward
the door, and a frown upon his brow,
did that father without other speech,
again close the door of explanation
and expostulation. When his boy
had gone aupperless and sad to his
bed, the father sat restless and un
easy while supper was being prepar
ed, and at tea table ate hut little.—
His wife saw the real cause, or the
additional cause of his emotion, and
interposed the remarks :
"I think, my dear, you ought at
le est to have beard what Henry had
to say. My heart ached for him
when he turned away. with his eyes
full of tears. Henry is a good boy,
atter all, if he does sometimes do
wrong. He is a tender-hearted, af
fectionate boy. Ile always was."
And therewith the water stood in
the eyes of that forgiving mother,
even as it stood in the eyes of Mercy,
in "the house ef the Interpreter," as
recorded by Bunyan. After tea, the
evening paper was taken up; but
there was no news and nothiug of
interest for that father that evening.
He sat for some time in an evidently
painful reverie, and then rose and
repaired to his bed ehamber. As he
passed the bedroom where his little
boy slept, he thought he would look
in upon him before retiring to rest.
He crept to his low cot and silently
bent over him. A big tear bad sto
len down the boy's cheek, and rested
upon it, ; but he was sleeping calmly
and sweetly. The father deeply re
gretted his harshness as he gazed
upon his son ; be felt, also, the "sense
of duty ;" yet in the night, talking
the matter over with the lad's moth
er, be resolved and promised, instead
punishing, as he had threatened,
to make amends to the boy's ag
grieved spirit in the morning for the
manner in which he repelled all ex
planation of his offence.
But that morning never came to
the poor child in health. He awoke
the next morning with a raging fe
ver on his brain, and wild with delir
ium. In forty-eight hours be was in
his shroud. He knew neither his
father nor his mother, when they
were first called to his bedside, nor
at any time afterward. Waiting,
watching for one token of recogen
tion, hour after hour, in speechless
agony, did that unhappy father bend
over the couch of his dying son.—
Once ' indeed, he thought he saw a
smile of recognition light up his dy
ing eye, and he leaned eagerly tor
wail, for be would have given worlds
to have whispered one kind word in
his ear, and have been answered; but
that gleam of apparent intelligence
passed quickly away, and was suc
ceeded by the cold unmeaning glare,
and the wild tossing of the fevered
limbs, which lasted until death came
to his relief TWo days afterwards
the undertaker came with the little
coon, and his son, a playmate of the
deceased boy, bringing the low stools
on which it was to stand in the entry
hall.
"I was with Henry," said the lad,
"when he got in the water. We were
playing down at the Long Wharf,
Henry, and Prank Mumford, and I ;
and the tide was out very low ; and
there was a beam me out of the
wharf ; and Charles got out on to
get a, Ash line and hook that hung
over where the water was deep and
the drat thing we saw, be had shp
ped • off, and was Itlugglin is tfie
water ! Henry threw off his dap end
inutP" 0 1 43 4 r from the wharfiran the
water, and, after a. eat Oaf of hard
work, 1p l i s . oriaztdw
IIE a
V tb zwt.ur
s.l4ol.lphaimin
Wal l 4l/411, AU'
rkft.,
ry not to say anything about it, for if [The baker shut his book abruptly,
he did, his father would never let and thrust his papers in his pocket.]
him go near the water again. Hen- As for the boa you allude to, that was
ry was very sorry; anu all the way pledged this morning to raise a few
going home, he kept saying: shillings to pay you the five you
"W hat will father say when be sees have received, and to provide for
me to-night? I wish we bad not gone those who have tasted little else be
te the wharf?" yond dry bread for the last week.—
"Dear, brave boy exclaimed the I The tippet I have on was lent me
bereaved father ; and this was the by my landlady, as the day is wet
explanation which I so cruelly refus- and cold."
ed to hear !" And hot and bitter "Well, Mr. Baker," said the Chair
tears rolled down his cheeks. man, in a tone of compassion, "per-
Yes ! that stern father now learn- baps you will agree to the young la
ed, and for the first time, that what dy's terms?"
he had treated with unwonted sever- "0, ay !" said the baker, "twa and
ity as a fault, was but the impulse of saxpence a month. Pit it down if ye
a generous nature, which, forgetful weel."
of self, had hazarded life for another. 4 Chairman Two and sixpence a
It was but the quick prompting of week was offered
that manly spirit which he himself "Make it just what ye like," said
had always endeavored to graft upon the baker.
his susceptible mind and which, The order was made and handed
young as he was, had already maui- to the young lady. As she was
tested itself on more than one occa- leaving the court the baker stopped
sion. her :
Let me close this story in the very
words of that father, and let the les
son sink into the hearts of every pa
rent who shall peruse this sketch
Every-thing that I now see, that ev
er belonged to him, reminds me of
my lost boy. Yesterday, I found
some rude pencil sketches which it
was his delight to make for the amuse
ment of his younger brother. To
day, in rummaging an old closet, 1
came across his boots still covered
with dock-mud, as when he last wore
them. (You may think it!strange,
bat that which is usually so unsight
ly an object, is now 'most precious to
me.') And every morning and every
evening, I pass the ground where my
son's voice rang the merriest among
his playmates. All these things
speak to me vividly of his active life;
but I cannot—though I have often
tried— 1 cannot recall any other ex
pression of the dear boy's face than
that mute, mournful one with which
he turned from me on the night I so
harshly repulsed him. * * * Theo
my heart bleeds afresh !
"Oh, how careful should we all be
that in our daily conduct towards
those little beings sent us by a kind
Providence, we are not laying up for
ourselves the sources of many a future
bitter tear. How cautions that,
neither by inconsiderate nor cruel
word nor loblt, we anjustly grieve
their generous feeling I And how
guardedly ought we to weigh every
action against its motives, lest, in a
moment of excitement, we be led to
mete out to the venal errors of the
heart the punishment due only to
wilful erimet !
Alas ! perhaps few parents suspect
how often the fierce rebuke, the sud
den blow, is answered in their chil
dren, vy the tears, not of passion, set
of physical or mental pain, but of
loving yet grieved or outraged natural
I will add no word to reflections so
true—no correlative incident to an
experience so touching.
L. GAYLORD CLARK.
THEBOOTOR BALKER IN LONDON.
A ROTUND, full-priced baker who
was in the habit of bringing his mis
erable debtors into "Westminister
Court of Requests," one day stepped
into the plaintiff's box with papers
and ledger in hand, to make his
claim for twenty-five shillings, for
bread supplied to a Mr, John How
ard.
A tall, young woman, wearing a
handsome fur mantilla, and evident
ly careful to exhibit she externals of
gentility, presented herself to answer
the demand. Her age might be ei
ther eighteen or twenty-eight ; the
hollow cheek and spare form, pro
duced by early privation or sorrow,
prevented a closer approximation to
the truth.
A Commissioner. Is the lIIIMOLUS t dis
puted ?
Young Lady. Certainly not. I
hove only to say, on the part of my
father that he sincerely regrets his
inability to settle the amount at
once.
Chairman. How will you pay it r
Young Lady. 1 have five Ahillingis
to offer now, and my father wishes
to have the indulgence of paying the
neat at half& crown a week.
Coe nissioner. The bill is for bread,
and it has been standing for some
time. Judging from your appear
ance, I should think your hither ()ne
wt be in such circumstances se to
make it difficult to procure the shill
ings left unpaid on this bill.
Youway Lady.• Appearances are de
ceitful. It is equally distressing to
my father sad myself to ask for even
sec day ; but anexpectad sickness in
our family bas totally-exhausted our
little means.
Baker, (pocket* the mosey.) Two
and almanac* a week is not enough.
Ti gang shoat tooa with &grand boa,
aa' a line silk arms, while nay wife
wsaa wear a plaid shawl an' a cotton
goon, beam*: the Likes o' ye will eat
am h onest mom's knead wi'oot paying
far't. That. Sne tippet ye bae gotten
a* maim have cost, way be, sax gow
dea,guin ens."
"ii is, trite," said the young lady,
coloring, 4 , my dress maw appear
rather extrAvagant, and if I could
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7 i . r.
"Gie me your hand o' that bit o'
paper," said the baker. The request
was complied with. "Noo," Mid the
baker, thrusting some silver into her
hand, "tak' bock your croon piece,
.and dinna fash yourself ava wi' the
weekly payment. Ye shall hae a
four-pound loaf ilka day at my shops,
and ye may pay we just when ye're,
able, and if I niver get the silver,
may be I'll never miss it; bat mind
young leddy," said he angrily, "gin
ye deal wi' any ither baker, I's pit
this order in force agin ye're father."
The young lady looked her grati
tude. The baker bad vanished
From the Christian Secretary
BAYTNGS Or CHILDREN.
A lady reader who has been inter
ested in the sayings of children,
which have appeared from time to
time in our pap..lr, sends us the fol
lowing as having transpired under
her observation.
A little girl, between two and three
years old, whose parents reside in
New Brunswick, N. J., one day
when there was company in the
parlor, took it upon herself to do the
entertaining in the way that chil
dren do sometimes, until her moth
er was obliged to reprimand, and
even punish her. The little creature
immediately seated herself in a
chair, and resting her chin resigned
ly upon her hand, said, in a solemn
tone that raised a general laugh,
'•Yell, I think I have grace to sup
port me !"
Little Tommy C—, not quite two
years old, whose black eyes first
opened upon the sea country of New
Jersey, was one dayjust falling away
to sleep in his mother's arms, when
a shower arose, and a heavy clap of
thunder brought the little fellow to
his waking senses, and half asleep,
half awake, he lisped out, 'What is
that barking ?'
A little friend of mine,.ono of the
brightest little fairies that ever ex
isted, had a habit, when being tin
robed for the night, of instituting
original inquiries about Death, Heav
en, &c.
The following a part of one of
the nightly conversations.
"Must every body die ?"
"Yea, every b9dy."
"What, every one of the people in
the whole world ?"
"Yee, every body in the world."
"How it will crowd up Heaven,
won't it 1"
-The next day, I chanced to repeat
the conversation in her hearing,
when she exclaimed, "I didn't want
you to tell ! I did not think that of
you and 1 think it is real mean !"
Not long after this, she happened
to And herself alone in the parlor,
i and had the misfortune to break a
(
glass ornament, which she had been
forbidden to touch. Soon her moth
• er came in and saw the pieces lying
oa the carpet.
"Agnes," she said, "did you do
this ?"
No answer.
"Answer me, Agnes," said the
mother again,, did you break it?"
"I dee't desire to talk, now," was
the sublime reply.
A lady had taken a homeless little
girl to bring up as her own. When
the hard times came last year, the
lady, who is not at all rich, was afraid
she could not sustain so large a fam
ily. One day she told the little girl
that perhaps she would have to get
her another home, if she could find a
good place. "No, mother," answer
ed the obild, "you won't have to send
me away; God will give yen some
thing, Bayou can keep me ; I know
he Wilt." The mother thought no
moire of it at the time, but a little
while alter, hearing &sound up stairs
she opened the door arid listened.—
It was the little girl at prayer. "Oh,
God, good God, do send mother some
thing, so she cast keep me; I don't
want to go, sows) , ; ph, mod God, do
send mother something !"
Pretty 'soon she came doWn stairs
with a very happy face, saying, "God
will send you something, mother •
I know he will." That eve
rielghfor came in a little' '
ent, just for tifi - 41L: je t blade *4 O
four. " There ` ' t," illAtt 114 i.
l ot_
child, 4 issitlol , I 'sit i 104(11/0'
4petsafi l - 1 --.Bkablikliii: ' '''
NEW SEAS, --VOL. 4, NO. 28.
Riding is a fine thing—a golriens
institution. Biding, not driving.—
Driving is well emu in its place,
but it should not the place of
riding. There are an dent realms
why cripples and very old ladies
should use a carriage ; but that any
young person, male or female,
should prefer driving in a carriage
to riding is the result of a wrong ed
ucation. What is a carriage bat an
easy-chair placed on wheels toren
out-doors ? a perambulating settee, a
peripatetic sofa ? Driving is only
carrying the sedentary a little far
ther; that is, beyond the threshold.
The person that prefers to be hauled
at the heels of a horse to moving
dominant upon that horse's back •
that prefers an inglorious trundl e
in an itinerant easy-chair to an ex
hilarating jaunt on hcrseback. is im
becile to the very core and essence
of his being. If young, be is a spoon
y; if old, a foggy. No matter what
the person's age, senility or anility
has set in. The man that walks is a
wholesome, independent fellow, and
we call him a pedestrian ;the man
that rides is a fortunate, noble follow,
and we call him an equestrian ; but
for the man dragged at a borse's tail
our good old Latinized English dis
dains to furnish any distinctive appel
lation. In the universal pleasure-car
riage our vaulting and vaunting civ
ilization overleaps itself and falls in
to the ditch on the other side. Only
where there is a scarcity of horse
power—only when one horse must
take several persons, is the carriage
justifiable. The human form divine,
bifurcated below, shows that man
was intended to ride a horse, as
somebody, Frederick the Great, we
believe, observed long ago.
The horse has been called a noble
animal. Next to the dog, he is the
most intelligent of all our domestic
animals. At his best estate, proud,
sensitive, with alert ears, gleaming
eye, arching neck, impatient foot, he
is a beautiful object. He is instinct,
and radiant with an intense -vitality.
Very suggestly descriptive is that de
scription of the war horse in Job.—
A horse is in a groat measure the
creature of education. Undoubtedly
a horse, like a man, comes into the
world with certain hereditary tend
encies or traits, which togeth,er form
a character ' • but, in the cases of both
man and horse, that character is so
modified and transformed by educa
tion, otherwise eircumstancesand as
sociations, that the lent state often
bears little resemblance to the first.
Nature blocks out the rough cast,
sketches the catagraph, but circum
stances finish it up. A horse is known
by the company he keeps, or rather
by the company that has ept him.—
A horse trained by a gentleman wilt
not be visions. It isnoticabie how
much more intelligent are dog' be
longing to amiable and, refined finni
lies in which they are well treated
and inside companions, than those be
longing to the rough and foal, kick
ed about and treated like a dog. A
dog for horse assimilates to his com
panions as well as man to his. There
should be full sympathy between ri
der and horse. They should be as
centaurish as possible. The rider
should be master and friend to his
horse : be always firm, never harsh,
insisting on obedience, and reward
ing good behavior as much as he
a puoishes bad.—Springfield Republi..
n
gave Year OM Papers
The scarcity of rags and other ma
terials, out of which printing paper
is made, has eonsiderably enhanced
the price of old ncw re, which
are now being extens= innulae
tured into printing paper. Hoed
keepereshould bear this in mild and
save their old newspapers. Let none
be wasted, as every one needlessly
burned or destroyed, adds directly
to the present scarcity of paper.—
Let all who use ed p:lpers for kind
ling fires, reflect that the material is
worth eighty dollars per ton, and
that w ood is much cheaper to use for
this purpose.
bar-Albert was a great rogue in
school ; feet, hands tad tongue were
ever busy, oftentimes to the detri
ment of that quiet so much desired,
there. One day, being more trou
blesome than usual, his teacher be
came displeased with him, and point
ing to a seat in the corner, she stern
ly commanded him to take it. Al
bert obeyed, with a comical air, and
with a flourish of infaatileJtriumph,
said, "Been wantia' to sit there all
mornin', but &aren't ask you."
♦ 014 ExiPerinsimit
The editor of the Woonsocket Pqt
riot makes merry ever the mistake
of an old Shanghai hen of his, that
has been setting for two weeks upon
two round stones and a piece of
brick ! "Her anxiety," quoth he, "ie
no greater than oars, as to whatighe
will hatch. Ifit 'gores a brickyard,
the iteniia nn. for sale,:'
I XI I °V'g A,L • •
mprMui of he sur
wwmi:
El
Wig
SIDIIG,
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