For Ihi Agitator.
Memory*! An§wci.
BY.M. DODD.
•A boon, & talisman, O Memory, giro
To shrine my name in heart* where I Would Uto
Forevermore. - .
And Memory answered me—‘wild wish and nun!
I have no hues the loveliest to detain
In the heart's core.’ Htiura.
There rose a wild prayer on the still evening air,
From a lone and qaist spot;
*T was the low, earnest plea—“o let me not be
By the lov'd and the absent forgot 1"
*T was the soft pleading tone of one doomed to roam
From the scenes of hi* yonlh for away,
0 never again, over hillock or plain.
Might he hope with those loved ones to stray!
There was grief in the thought, that he might be
forgot,
And his name be remembered no more;
And to Memory bis cry on the lone breeze went by.
That she would his image restore.
That the wind’s wildest moan might bring back a
tone,
And the stream as it murmured along,
Might bear on its breast, which could never snow
rest.
His name like a ceaseless song,
fiat did Memory bestow the dear boon I —Ah, no 1
To her belongs not the powei.
She can weave not a chain which shall faithful re.
malt.
Beyond the brief space of an hour
No, his memory will fade from the grcdnWood and
pIUO-
And hifl place be remembered no rnpre
Hi* name be forgot in the hearts where ho sought
7 o enshrine it forevermore
Hyde Park. P&
IlllOHim SKETCH.
From Ballou’s Pictorial.
THE STUDENT’S DUEL.
BV EDWARD OSGOOD,
“Hi, ha, ha 1 ” roared a bevy of young
fellows, who sal in one of the private rooms
of handover's restaurant, after dinner, over
their Burgundy, one day “Ha, ha! Capital
—upon my word, Josey,” continued one of
them, louder than the rest; “n you can heal
ttia., Tom, let s see you do r>. That was up.
top, though, to be sure 1
This recommendation caero from a frolick
ing, harem-scarem fellow, who enjoyed a joke
immensiey, and who had jusl heard a jest de
livered that applied personally and admirably,
to some weak point of a young military olh
cer present (attached to the State militia, and
who enjoyed the enviable title of Major—
eomehody. These young men were enjoy
mg their wine rather generously, and the tna
lor seemed to be the butt oi thu company on
this occasion. He obser-ed this, and he did
not laugh when the rest die
“Gome, Tom, have at him,’' continued he
who laughed the loudes.
“Well, Major,said Tom, who had de
clared he could beat the aforesaid ‘capital
loke.’ “1 had a letter irom a friend last night,
inviting me to come up ana see him at his
spooling box, on the Hudson, a charming
spot Dv the wav, which he calls the “Ma
ples ' Now, I'll wager wine for the com
pany that vou can't guess in hve Inals how
he contrives to spell the word maples ’
“Hone. 1 ” said the Alujor, promptly. “You
understand the proposal, gentlemen ? Stu
dent lorn proposes me wine (or the company,
that 1 don’t tell in live guesses, how his friend
spells maples. And (here sno iok-e included
in the wager—is this r,. Me 'Ion; ’’
“Ho on—we understand it.” said Tom,
“Now Ihen —wine ior me company, and
spell manles as ms fnenc does,’’ continued
tne ftiair
“Ye r ’
“Well —with his mouth, 'lorn,” began the
Maior triumphant:
“Ciood. good 11 roared me company.—
liu. 'lorn said “No, that isn’t right. That’s
one
“Wei! than, m-a-i-o-l-e-'
“VVrong Diram ; that’s twicr ’
“M-a-v-o-o-i-e-s ’’ said the Maio:
"ha. ha No; that s Hirer time:’
“L,ers sec, then —m-a-p-o-i-; ’
“No ; that’s lout. Now s the last chance
All eves were bent upon tne Maior, as he
scratched the place where he supposed his
prams lay, and said W cl., m-ai-p-c doub-
“No. nc 1 screamec 'iom, crazily ;
you’ve lost, Majot. Here s my friend’s
let-
“how, then, does he spell i;
"M ny, m-a-p-l-e-s, to be sure, old fellow,”
said lorn, triumphantly pointing to the word
correctly spelled in me note And a roar
succeeded tins that suggested to Bancover,
the proprietor ol me room, the idea of send-
ing lor the city one:, to read tne not act
among the Doys, me;.
The Minor rose irorr, me labic, buttoned
up ms coa., saw nothing a; al, to laugh at
and remana.
“Mr. Student lom Bawdm, t m a military
mar., sir, anc Know tne use o; a pistol al
twenty paces. 1 m 100 ola a soldier, sir—
too ole a soldier to submit to such internal
nonsense as ah tms comes to You don’t
swindle me out of wine in inis manner, sir—
trials tnc word, sir —swindle me, a gentle
man and a milium oft ice' witti no such
came, mitul vou No sir \ pa\ no wine
si: Mv fnenu win wan on you to-morrow,
uooc night. gentleman ' Ana me Major
bowed oui oi tnc room in high dungeon m
w bat lie deemed inexcusable ana premedna
lea insu.
.Non, lorn liad no idea of fighting at ah,
am ne could give or take a joke with ihe best
o- worst oi ms mate.
“No white leathers, lorn; that won : t do.
Tne Main: is a 100. to lane umbrage thus,
but if ne insists unon it, get a dasn at him,'
and knock some oi me slarcn out of the fan
cied plumes no wear.
I don’t mmo an exchange o' shots with
mm, any now,’ said iom, on reflection.—
“I’ll bet wine lor me company, that, (with all
ms prowess and talk about military) lie can’t
hit a earn at fuieen paces dislan., without a
rest to steady his eloov
Anolhe' "na, nc " (fainter than tne pro
ceeding ones'. succeeded inis speech from
lom; me hm was pa,u, ano me company
separated tor the night, me student promising,
i 1 called upon, to “stand fire,’ cenaip,
Wnen morning came, lorn iouud that the
Maior was reativ in earnest, (or, many rate
ne pretended so to be,) lor ne sent his “friend ”
w nn h demand lor an apology tor what he
nao cnosen to construe into an insult, on the
Pan o’ tnc merry sluaec.. lom read his,
THE
Bebottb to tb* SSxtpwHon o( tfte of Jfmbom an
COBB, STURROCK <ss CO.,
YOL. 1.
bombastic note and then said to the bearer—
“I thought the Major had more real pluck,
and could appreciate a good thing better than
1 find him capable of doing. He can create
a theory in reference to this little affair lo
answer his own ideas, but he can’t bully me,
if he is a malicious officer; and as to the
supposed insult, I doubt much if he ever fell
himself insulted at all. Be this as it may, he
gets no apology from me, .and 1 refer you to
my friend, Joe Stetson, for the rest, 1 am
ready to mem him L if. he has any desire to
have a substantial hole knocked in his digni
ty, or through his waislcoal,” continued Tom,
gallantly.
The Major’s friend departed, the seconds
subsequently met, and had every thing ar
ranged in their own way.
“Ned,” said Joe Slelson to his opponent's
friend, “you don’t want the Major hurl, do
you V
Gad 1 no—upon my word," said the
olher.
“Neither do I care to risk Tom’s skin, I
assure you. A ‘ball in the thorax’of either
of them would be a very comfortable pill to
digest of a cold morning, without doubt—and
I can’t see that any good carries from this
man murder, myself.” ;
“1 see what you’re at, and [ fully coincide
in your opinion. Tom, I think, is a good
shot—eh?”
“Excellent! I’ve seen him snuff a candle
at twenty paces, live limes out ot six, repeat
edly,” said Joe.
“Is it possible?” exclaimed Ned. “Then
I can tell you that this idea of shooting is
altogether 100 fast for the Major 1 He’s a
military man, but I honestly doubt if he is
accustomed to the use of the pistol much;
and you have the advantage of us.”
“1 don't mean to use it, however. Both of
these boys are good fellows; and we, their
real friends, should see to it that they don’t
harm each other. This can all be managed
without the knowledge of the belligerents,
you know.”
“Exactly 1 Fix it to suit yourself, and I
will join in your scheme, any way,” sai|l
Ned.
The ground was named, the hour of meet
ing agreed upon, and the two fighting men
“came up to the scratch” in very tolerable
condition, finally. Tom was calm and self
possessed, though he told Joe Stetson that he
had a good deal rather not fire at the Ma
jor.
“And why not, Tom?" asked his friend.
“Well, 1 am afraid I shall hit him, that’s
all '
“Very true. Bui he may hit you my
boy !’’
“Yes, F have thought of that, of course;
but I have no fears or concern on that score.
You see there is really no cause for this duel,
and the Major ought to back down, Joe.”
“0, yes, that is mighty fine talk for you,
who have been cracking your merciless jokes
upon the poor fellow’s head for the past year!
lie won’t back down ; and you must face the
music, or apologize, my boy.’ 1
“I am ready,” said Tom, “where are the
weapons 7 ’
“All snug, here,” said Joe, producing a
pair of beautiful Manlons.
The seconds stepped aside, the cartridges
were carefully examined by both, and the
pistols being loaded, they were directed to
lake their respective stations; twelve paces
were measured, the weapons were pul into
their hands, and they were called.
“Are you ready, gentlemen 7”
The Major was in undress uniform ! Ilis
legs were a little shaky, and B cold dampness
overspread his features, as he came up and
faced his opponent, who was a dead shoj sure,
when he was so disposed.
“One moment,” said Tom, calling to his
second, who approached him. “Tell the
Maior he must remove his coal, ] will not
fire at him m that costume. Do you see that
Pulton on his right brest 7 This is bad; I
shall drive it right through him certain. I
want no such mark as this I"
The seconds conferred together, and the
Mnior opened his coat and bared his breast
with a faltering hand. Tom did tho same,
and they again stood opposite each other.
“Are you ready, gentlemen 7 One, two,
three—fire
Bang I went botli pop-guns at the same
moment, Ihe wad of Tom’s pistol passing di
rectly over the Major’s shoulder. But nei
ther party was harmed.
The seconds endeavored now to arrange the
matter. But Tom had no apology to offer.
The Major was perfectly “satisfied” (to
think that he hadn’t got a leaden pill in his
packet,) but he could do nothing, for Tom
was bent on another shot at him.
Again the pistols were loaded, and placed
in the hands of the two men. Tom was still
cool and confidently calculated upon winging
the Major this time. He was astonished that
he was now standing before him for a second
shot—for he would have wagered his life,
and all his old bools into the bargain, that he
could have hit a three cent piece in the star,
at twelve paces distance !
“Are you ready, gentlemen]” said' the
caller,
“One, two, three—fire I”
The Major fell; and his second sprung to
his side, as Tom said to himself, “I thought
I’d fetch him.”
He had swooned—he could bear up no
longer. His courage oozed out, os he en
countered the carefully pointed pistol muzzle
of Tom’s pistol a second lime; and though
he fired his own pistol at the word, ha drop
ped at the report of the Manlons, and fainted
from absolute fear I No ball had been put
in the pistols at all ? though of course, nei
ihor of the combatants had any knowledge of
this fact. This was agreed upon between the
two seconds, who bad no wish to see their
WELLSBOROUGH, TIOGA C.OUNTY, PA., THURSDAY MORNING, APRIL 19, 1855.
friends maimed or killed for so trivial a cause;
and the two belligerents had gone thro’ with
alt the necessary performances to sustain
their honor (1) and courage.
When Tom found that the Major had fal
len an instant too soon, he was very much
rejoiced, and asked no questions at the mo
ment.' On coming lo consciousness, the Ma
jor asked if Tom was hurt; and on being in
formed that he was not, and was standing in
his place, wailing for him to take his post for
a third fire, he exclaimed !
“I won’t 1 I have been shot twice to-day,
and I don’t care a curse weiher his friend
spells Maple with an M or an N—but I hope
lo be in a heller place, with a crook in my
ear, if I again dispute with a law student
about orthography.”
“Will you pay ihe wine?” asked Joe
Stetson, firmly.
“Yes, yes,” said the Major.
“We are satisfied,” cried Joe. “Hurrah,
Tom, it is all right ? No more shots to-day !”
And the parties shook hands all round, and
left the ground the best friends alive.
Over the Major’s wine at Bancover’s that
evening, the boys met once more in friendly
feeling. The joke passed as freely as ever,
and Tom was never in belter spirits than
then. .The Major had been cured of his
crustiness and fenaciousness, and subsequent
ly took or gave a jest like a good humored
man. At a late hour the company were
about to adjourn, and Tom turned to the
Major, good naturedly, and said :
“Before we leave, Major, I want to ask
you one question.”
“Go on, Tom.”
“How do you spell maples?”
“M-a-p-l-e-s,” said the Major, prompt
ly?
“Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!" joined the
happy crowd at this termination to the fell
ing’s Con; and from that moment Tom and
Major Tender were the warmest friends in
town 1
Tlic Will and the Way.
A young collegian, itinerating in the State
of Vermont, fell in company and also in love
with a very pretty girl, the daughter of an
old curmudgeon, whose brains were made o(
saw dust, hog’s lard and molasses, but who
upon aocount of the spaciousness of his farm,
had been for many years at (he head of the
school committee in the district. The col
legian’s attachment to Sally (for that was
the name of the old fellow’s daughter) was
so overpowering that all the logic and philo
sophy he had learned in the school was, com
pared to his force of arguments, as chalf in
a hurricane. But not having the where
withal to winter in the country without resort
to employment, he intimated to Sully that he
should like to keep the school in the district ;
when the kind hearted girl informed him that
her father was committee man, and also in
formed him what questions would be pul to
him, and how he must answer them if he
expected to gain the good graces of her fa
ther.
Accordingly, on Sunday evening the young
man of classical lore informed the old ignor
amus that he would like to lake charge of
their school for the winter, and board in bis
family. Whereupon the old fellow assumed
an air of consequence, and asked llio same
questions that Sally had informed her lover
would be asked:
Do you believe in ihe final salvation of the
world ?
Ybs sir, most certainly, answered ihe
young man,
Do you believe that God ever made another
man equal to Thomas Jefferson 1
Certainly not.
Can you spell Massachusetts?
Yes sir.
Well, spell it.
The young man spelt the word very dis
tinctly, when the father turned to his daught
er, and said, Did he spell it right, Sally 1
Yes, sir, said the affectionate girl.
The young man commenced his school
the next day. How he and Sally made out
is another story.
Ilorc is a virtue most expressly and care
fully enjoined' upon us, and lately I have
thought much of the reason, it is so parlicu
larized. Human beings have so much to for
give in each other, more than the Divine Be
ing has to forgive in them, that this virtue
must be exercised to its utmost extent. —
While the Omniscient Rye looks into every
soul, and knows the thoughts and intentions
thereof, whether they bo good or whether
they be evil; we, with our narrow vision,
see evil where only good was intended, and
call out all our Christian principle to forgive
nets noble in themselves, and often perform
ed by great self-sacrifice and sense of duly.
Not long ago, I heard a young friend express,
humbly and sincerely, her thankfulness that
she had been able to forgive another, for an
act, painful in.the performance, but which
she (the actor) considered an unavoidable
duty, and which, I coubl not, tons a duly.
To this friend, who forgave her so heroically
and yet with such earnest effort to do right,
the act appeared to be evil. Thus wo have
not only to forgive real trespaess, but a great
many imaginary ones created only by our
own perverted vision; and to.live happily
with even'our best friends, wo must trust to
their charily to forgive, not alone what wrong
we do, but a great deal that we never thought
of doing. This is, it seems, the best wo can
do until we learn that belter “charily” that
“thinkelh no evil.” —Coudersport Journal.
The Boy who undertook to ride a horse,
radish, is now practising on a saddle of mut
ton, without stirrups,
AGITATOR.
“the agitation op thought is the beginning op wisdom.”
Forgiveness.
tfte Sjmatf of &ealt|)£ ilrfotm.
AN ENORMOUS STORY.
New Developments In Qhostology.
SPIRITS TALKING ALOUD AND BAKING
SLAP-JACKS.
From ihe Spiritual Univtrte.
Hartford, Trumbull Co., Ohio, Jan. 8,1855.
S. W, SMITH, Esq. —Dear Sir: The fact* giv
en in the enclosed affidavit of John Richardson are
of public notoriety here, and can no doubt be sus
tained by any amount of evidence. You are at lib
erty to make any use of the affidavits you choose.
Respectfully, WM.J. BRIGHT.
State of Ohio, Trumbull Co., is: —Before
me, VVm. J. Bright, a Justice of the Peace in
and for the county aforesaid, personally came
John Richardson, who being duly sworn, de
poses as follows : 1 am a resident of Pamytu
miany township, Mercer County, Pa.; live
four miles east of the center of Hartford,
Ohio; have lived where I now reside some
nine months. About five weeks ngq my at
tention was arrested by a very sharp imd loud
whistle seemingly in a small close! in one
corner of my house. This was follbwed by
loud and distinct raps, as loud as a person
could conveniently rap with the knuckles.
The closet door is secured or fastened by a
wood-button that turns over the edgp of the
door. This button would frequently turn,
and the door open, without any visible agen
cy. This was followed by a loud and dis
tinct (apparently human voice, which could
be heard perhaps, fifty rods.
After repeating a very loud and shrill
scream several limes, the voice fell to a low
er key, and in a tone about as loud as ordina
ry conversation, commenced speaking in a
plain and distinct manner, assuring the fam
ily that wo would not be burned, and request
ing us to have no fear of any injury, as we
were in no danger. Those manifestations be
ing altogether unaccountable to myself and
family, we searched the entire house, to find,
if possible, the cause of this new aid start
ling phenomena, but found no one in or
about the premises but the family. Again we
were startled by a repetition of the screams,
which were repeated perhaps a dozfen limes,
when the voice proceeded to inform us that
the conversation came from the spirit of two
brothers, calling themselves lie try and
George Force, and claimed to have been mur
dered some eleven years since, and hen gave
us what they represented as a history of the
tragedy, and insisted that we shouljd call on
some of the neighbors to hear the disclosure.
John Ranney, Henry Moore, and spme doz
en others, were then called in, to whom the
history was detailed in length. We could
readily discover a difference in the voice pro
fessing to come from the two spirits.
About the third day after these manifesta
tions commenced, my wife brought a ham of
meat into the house, and laid it on the table,
and stepped to the other side of the room,
when it was carried by some invisible agen
cy, from four to six feet from Ihe table, and
thrown upon the floor. This was followed
by a large dining-table turning round from
its position at the side of the room, and car
ried forward to the stove, a distance of more
than six feet. This was done while there
was no person near it. The same table has
since that time been thrown on its side with
out human agency, and often been made to
dance about while the family were eating
around it. At one lime dishes, knives and
forks, were thrown from the table to the op
posite side of the room, breaking the dishes
to pieces.
On another occasion the voice requested
Mrs. Richardson to remove the dishes from
the table, which was done immediately, when
the table commenced rocking violently back
and forward, and continued the motion, so
that the dishes could not be washed upon it,
but were placed in a vessel and set upon the
door, from which a number of them flew
from the tub to the chamber floor, over head,
and were thus broken to pieces. What crock
ery remained we attempted to secure by pla
cing it in a cupboard, and shut the doors,
which were violently thrown open, and the
dishes flew like lightning, one after another,
against the opposite side, and broke to pieces.
At another time a drawer in the table was,
while there was no person near it, drawn out
and a plate that had been placed there carried
across the room and broken against the op
posite wall. And this kind of demonstration
has continued until nearly all the crockery
about the houso. has been broken and de
stroyed.
At different times the drawers of a stand
silting in a bed-room, have been taken out,
and at one lime carefully placed on a bed.,
A large stove-boiler has been, while on the j
stove, filled with water, lipped up, and caused i
to stand on one end, and the water was
turned out upon the floor, this time ta
ken off from the stove, and carried some six
feet, and set down upon the floor, and this
wjiile untouched by any person. A tea-ket
tle has often been taken from the stove in the
same manner, and thrown upon the floor. At
one lime a spider, containing some coffee for
the purpose of browning, was taken from the
stove, carried near the chamber floor, and
thrown upon the floor. And frequently;
while Mrs. Richardson has been baking buck
wheat cakes on the stove, the griddle has, in
the same unaccountable manner, been taken
from the stove and thrown across the house;
and often cakes have been taken from the
griddle while baking, and disappeared en
tirely.
At one time the voice, speaking to my wife,
said it (the spirit) could bake, cakes for
George,, a boy eating at the table. Mrs.
Richardson stepped away from the stove,
when the butter (already prepared for baking
cakes) was by some unseen agency taken
from a crock silting near the stove, and placed
upon the grjddle, and turned at the proper
•lime, and when done taken from the griddle
ppd placed upon (be boy’s plate at fable, The
PUBLISHERS & PROPRIETORS,
voice then proposed to bake a cake for Jane,
my daughter, who was then at work about
the house. The cake was accordingly baked
in the same manner as before slated j and car
ried across the room and placed in the girl’s
hand.
During all these occurrences, the talking
from the two voices and others has continued,
and still continues daily, together with such
manifestations as I have detailed, with many
others not named. The conversation, as well
as the other demonstrations, have been wit
nessed almost daily by myself and family, as
Iwell as by scores of persons, who have visi
ted my house to witness these strange phe
nomena.
I will only add, that the spirit (the voice)
gave as a reason for breaking crockery and
destroying properly, that it is done to con-'
vtneo the world of ihe existence of spirit
presence.
Eliza June Richardson, being duly sworn, says:
I am tho wife of John Richardson, who made the
above affidavit. I have wiUieeeed all the manifesta
tions given by my husband in hjs affidavit and
many others, such as singing by tho voices, and
writing without human agency.
Eliza Jane Richardson.
Sworn to and subscribed before me, (his Bth day
of January, 1855.
Wu. J. Bright, Justice of the Peace,
James H. Moore, being duly sworn, says : I have
witnessed many of the occurrencss given by John
Richardson in his affidavit, such as conversing witli
the voices, seeing the table move about, &0.
James H. Moore,
Sworn and subscribed before me, Ibis Bth day of
January, 1855.
Wm. J. Bright, Justice of the Peace.
BANKING.
A correspondent of the North American fur
nishes the following table of the comparative
number of banks, and amount of banking
capital, in certain states: —
Population. Bank, Ag. Capital,
Massachusetts, * 994,000 137 $43,300,000
Rhode Island, 148,000 77 16,000,000
Connecticut, 371,000 53 13,000,000
New York, 3,400,000 342 79,000,000
Pennsylvania, 2,300,000 61 19,800,000
He further says that even South Carolinai
with only 248,000 while inhabitants, possesses
§16,000,000 of bank capital Georgia, with
524,000 white inhabitants, has 813,000,000 ;
Louisiana, wilh 217,000, over 817,000,000 ;
and Kentucky, with 771,000, about 811,000,-
000. And deduces from these facts the great
comparative scarcity of banking capital in
Pennsylvania.
He admits ihe danger of establishing more
banks under charters similar to those existing
at present, but would "restrict every bank in
the Commonwealth from having at any lime
investments in any shape of a character sus
ceptible of yielding interest or pjofit, whether
in bills discounted or bills receivable, in real
estate, or in any species of public, corporole,
or private loans, slocks or obligations, or in
any other properly whatever, more in their
aggregate limn tho amount of its capital, and
fifty per cent, in addition thereto. This pet
cenlage beyond its capital,” he believes,
“would bo a fair and sufficient margin to ena
ble] a bunk, if prudently managed, to pay us
expenses, and earn six per cent, per annum,
besides retaining in its vaults com enough to
ensure its safely."
As our readers probably have noticed by
this time, we are neither an especial friend,
nor a violent enemy of the present banking
system. We think that experience has fully
proven to most men who are not mere theo
rists, that the advantages of almost any
banking system hitherto adopted, more than
overbalance its evils. And that in proportion
as the system is made safe and perfect, the
multiplication of banks and banking capital
is not an injury, but a benefit.
But “there’s the rub.” The banks do not
desire that the banking system should be
placed on a secure and perfect basis—because
it would necessarily result in lessening their
profits. Although, to lake a period of fifty
or one hundred years, they probably would
lose nothing by the operation.
If those interested in banking would be wil
ling to bring down their ideas to a permanent
dividend of six per cent, per annum, banking
could be gradually placed upon a basis, which
would enable it to become a great promoter
of the industrial development of the common
wealth—a blessing to the rich, and an even
greater blessing to the enterprising, industri
ous and economical poor.
In fact, one reason of the marvellous pro
gress of the New England Slates, despite
their natural disadvantages, is lo be found in
their large amount of banking capital—little
Rhode Island having almost as much as
Pennsylvania.
Let our incredulous readers consider, for a
moment, the possibilities of good in judicious
and Christian banking. Suppose a small
bank located in every country neighborhood,
managed by the most sagacious moneyed
men in the vicinity, who were intent upon
getting only sober and honest six per cent,
on the amount of their capital, These men,
acquainted with every person almost for
miles around, would bo perfectly willing to
loan young, enterprising, honest and econo
mical poor men, sufficient to start in their
trade or business. For such men are just as
safe for a small amount, as tho wealthiest
man in the country is for his proportionate
sum. And a bank that should thus loan the
poor man, and the various struggling grades
for some distance above him, the means to
carry on a profitable occupation or business,
would be of inestimable benefit not only to
those thus aided, but to the community at
large.
“Ah,” soys many a reader, wuh an in
credulous smile, “you have given us a fanev
sketch, indeed ! When such Christian
bankers come, the heavens will fall, and we
shall catch larks.” admit the fancy
character of our picture, dear, incredulous
raadat—but the impossibility of one age, may
be the probability of the next. Now, lha
insane desire for gain, for a high rale of in.
terest, is the bane alike of business aud bank,
ing. Capital, forgetful that it baa its duties,
as well as its rights, is now bent only upon
securing as large a share as possible of the
profits resulting from its employment by la.
bor. Until the wealthy men of our nation
really, on week days, and not theoretically
only, on Sundays—begin to look upon them,
selves somewhat io the light of stewards of
the Lord’s treasure, and perceive that some,
thing else is required at their hands, than
grinding twelve to thirty per cent, out of the
industry of the struggling classes yearly, for
its use, it is all idle to talk about good banks,
judicious management of business, wise set.
dement of the Tariff, or almost any other,
financial and commercial question. Given
as a problem, Universal Greediness, sup.
posed to be the Great Law of Commerce,
and Highest Christian Rule of Financial
Right, to educe anything from it but Embn.
zlements, Expansions, Contractions, Untver.
sal Cheatery, end Chaos Comet Again, would
be an impssible operation.
m 40.
Well, I think it’s likely*; but don’t tea**
me any more. Your brother has married *
poor girl, one whom 1 forbade him to marry,
and I won't forgive him if they starve logeth.
or.
This speech was addressed to a lovely girP
scarcely eighteen, beautiful as the lily that
hides itself beneath the dark waters. She
was parting the silvery lockgjm her father's
handsome forehead, of which her own was a
miniature, and pleading the cause of her de*
linquent brother, who had married in opposi*
lion to his father’s will, and consequently been
disinherited. Mr. Wheatly was a rich old
gentleman, and a resident.of Boston. He
was a fat good natured old fellow, somewhat
given to mirth and wine, and sal in his arm
chair from morning until night smoking his
pipe and reading the news-papers. Some*
times a story of,his own exploits in our rev*
olutionary battles filled up a passing hour.—*
He had two children; the disobedient son,
and the beautiful girl before spoken of. The
fond girl went on pleading.
Dear father, do forgive him; you don’t
know what a beautiful girl he has married
and—
I think it’s likely, said the old man, but
don’t tease me, and open the.door a little, this
plaguy room smokes so.
Well, continued Ellen, won’t you just sea
her now—she is so good, and the little boy
looks so innocent.
What did you say I interrupted the lath,
er; a boy ! have J a grandchild I Why Ell.
en, 1 never know that before! but I think u’a
very likely. Well, now give me my ciioco.
late, and then go to your music lesson.
Ellen left him. The old man's heart began
to relent.
Well, he wont on, Charles was always a
good boy, a little wild or so at college, but I
indulged him; and he was always good to
his old father for all, but he disobeyed me by
marrying this poor girl, yet as my old friend
and fellow soldier Tom Bonner used to say,
we must forgive. Poor Tom I 1 would give
all the old shoes I have got to know what baa
become of him. If 1 could but find him or
one of his children I Heaven grant that they
are not suffering I This plaguy smoky room,
how my eyes water! If I did but know who
this girl was that my Charles has married i
but 1 have heard her name, i’ll find out
and—
I think it’a likely, said the old man.
Ellen led into the room a beautiful boy,
about two years old. His curly hair and ro.
sy cheeks could not but make one love
him.
Who’s that t said the old man, wiping hit
eyes.
That—that is Charles boy, said Ellen,
throwing one of her arms around her father's
neck, while with the other she placed the
child on his knee,— The child looked tender,
ly up in his face, amt lisped out :
Grandpa, what makes you cry sol
The old man clasped the child to his bos.
som. Kissed him ogam and again. After this
emotion had a little subsided he bade the child
tell him his name.
Thomas Bonner Wheatley, said the boy,
Tm named after grandpa.
What do I hear 1 said the old man ; Thom,
as Bonner your grandfather I
Yes, lisped the boy, and he lives with me
at—
Get my cane, said the old man, and com*
Ellen, be quick, child.
They started off at a quick pace, which
soon broughl him lo the poor, though neat
lodging of his son. There he beheld his old
friend Thomas Bonner, seated in one corner
weaving baskets, while his swathed limbs
showed how unable be was to perform his
necessary task. His lovely daughter, the wife
of Charles, preparing their frugal meal, and
Charles was out seeking employment to sup.
port Ins npedy family.
It's all my fault, sobbed the old man as ho
embraced his friend, who was petrified With
amazement.
Come, said Mr. Wheailv, come all of you
with me, ne will live together—(here is plen
ty of room m my house for all.
Oh, how happy we shall bo ! she exclaimed,
Ellen and her father will love our little Thom,
as so, and he’ll be your pel, won't he, falh.
he I
Ay, said the old man, I think very likely,
Honest Labor. —Labor, honest labor,
is right and beautiful. Activity is the ruling
element of life, and its highest relish. Lux.
uncs and conquests are the results of labor—
wo can imagine nothing without it. The no
blest man on earth, is he that puts his hand
choei fully and proudly to honest labor. La
“bor is a business and an ordinance of God.
Suspend labor, and where is the glory, and
pomp of earth—ihe fruit of fields and pla
ces of fashion for which men strive and war !
Let the Inbor-scnffrr look around him, look
at himself and loam what are the trophies of
toil. From the crown of his head, to iho
sole of his fool, unless he is made as the
beastT he is the debtor and slave of toil. The
labor which he scorns has tracked him into
iho stature and appearance of man. Where
gels he his garments and equipage? Let la
hor answer. Labor makes music in the mind
ar)c! iVtoW, and at Ihe forge.
A Pretty Salary,