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SPRING.
Joyous Spring, once more is here.
Perfuming sweet, the atmosphere.
Nature’s radiant With-delight—
Flowers are springing fresh and bright.
Smiling meadow.
Grassy plain,
Birds, with rapture
. Sing again:
Winter’s cold, and dreary sway.
Has yielded to the gentle May.
Fairest Sowers, scent the air,
With delightful fragrance rare,
Buds are bursting, leaves are springing.
Feather’ll songsters, sweetly singing.
April showers,
Gentle fall.
Fair May flowers,
Softly call;
Winter's cold, 1 and dreary sway,
Has yielded to the gentle May.
Gentle Spring; once more we hail;
Let thy gentle power prevail.
We rejoicing welcomes, sing,
To thee, returning balmy Spring.
Sunlight playing,
O’er the land;
Beauty’s magic
Golden wand,
Drives old Winter far away,
And proclaims the reign of May,
For The Agitator.
Leaves l>y the Wayside.
BY AGNES.
“Yopi health, dearest!” and a pairof dark
eyes gazed fondly into another pair of eyes,
that looked lovingly and trustingly into his
own. Susie’s sweet lips parted with smile,
ter glass touched his, and the ruby wine was
drained.
On flew the hours, amid gay laughter,
sweet music and dancing. None there seem'd
khappy as Susie and Herbert. A twelve
month had scarcely gone by since they be
came man and wife, surrounded by kind
‘ttends, they dwelt in their pleasant home,
itppy, evfcfl as our first parents in Eden.
Oa going into the dressing room an hour
iter, 1 found Susie there, debating as she said,
‘whether she should go home or not. May,
[am weary; home is so pleasant and Her
bert's society so much more preferable to
tour butterflies of fashion, I have half a
mind, notwithstanding it is early, lo make
iiy adieux and leave you.”
“[ don't know, Susie, but that I should be
:ome a candidate for matrimony myself, if I
liouahi a twelvemonth, like the touch of a
aits’s wand, could change me from a roving
luuetHy, into as quiet and contented a house
vife, as your sweet self. Yet I find in every
night picture of life there may be seen dark
louds looming in the distance, which unless
uarded against may bring a storm that would
estroy all its bright tints and fade the pic.
are altogether. Susie,,will you excuse the
■berly of an old friend, if she lells you what
Biase clouds are ihsl overshadow your bright
Borne V’
She placed her hand upon my mouih and
ispered, “I know what you are going !o
May, deareal, you are needlessly alarm
!(is only a glass of wine token in sod
so as not to appear singular. Herbert
s not lasts of intoxicating drinks ai home,
abroad, unless necessity compels him.”
"What du you call a necessity for the use
intoxicating drinks Susie 1” I'asked.
“Well, father Matthew, when your hits
\ meets with agreeable gentlemen—rojen
56 talents, perchance, give them a high
ition in life, and those gentlemen, includ
your husband, from a desire to do some
tg kind and handsome fay each other, offer
treat,” would you have your husband
’ back, and thus dampen their kind efforts
civil ? By doing so, friend May, Die
ts you pay your companion for life a
compliment so'far as concerns his capa
t of doing right and taking care of hirn
iusie, this is no lime nor place for me to
iss ibis question with you as I should like
As I leave this place to-morrow to be
n an indefinite length of time, I will say
you know your true and tried friend
would say, only in kindness—“touch
taste not, handle not” intoxicating drinks.
. by all means, let not your lips, that
iu open always but to bring an angel’s
<;Dca u P° n your husband’s moral, physi
aod spiritual nature, taste the fetal poison
1 , ; For > be assured, Susie, the ser
lurks within that poisoned glass, whose
™ 7 des!f oy ’he beauty, the harmony
e Ule and happiness of your earthly
wen, l^e dance—louder swelled (he
-.while pleasure Hung her wreaths of
i u°" (0, ro ' v i fl nd cheeks grew
'i, the smiles of hope and love, and
earihs sorrows were forgotten in
, °f those few festal hours.
, *i * * #
’ I P' l > s * le ‘ s des, d !” I cried, as
n j e form of my friend. I placed
j S |,)| >Cin y' !r P u ' s ®i then her heart, but
•d I=«V> les * lhe we£ "7. the broken-
I '“® a lily before me. A sweet
i it, n rM v 'rested there for months,
lv nr,* 0 v ’ * ler * ,an<^8 were crossed
P°n her breast; the long lashes
a cheeks sunken by sorrow. Dear
is Susie!
fE Qtie*r ' )e^ Qfe received a note from
tTk '. n S n ) e to come to her immediate*
31 or &! , found her 'y in g U P°“
, sad su e £ “*“> Wl| h her arms above her
open K. s ho P e,es * expression of sor
-1 »uK , r . CB ’ !^al 01 f soul was
i ta, jentsh. I clasped her bands
liJ t ’ .‘"'Pfioting a kiss upon the
1 date in “ So * i9 > May loves you,
j „ 10 comfort sod sustain you in ail
010 ey6s a moment, and
■ antis about my neck, burst into
YOU. IV.
tears. Then, clasping her band upon her
heart, she became deadly pale. “Tis gone
now May ! 1 am often sol ” she said, I laid
her upon the pillow, and- taking her bands
within my own 1 knell and prayed. * When
I arose from my knees she looked more calm,
and faintly smiling, closed her eyes.
All day Jong 1 sat by her side, soothing
her by caresses and gentle words.' At eve
ning, after the physician had left she opened
her eyes-and taking me by the hand, said—
“ May dear, kind, good May, do ypu know
I’m going to die 1 I feel it I I have dreamed
it 1 Do you -remember' reading to me these f
words, ‘This life is but a dream, and if the
dream becomes painful beyond endurance the
guardian angel of sleep—the beautiful angel
of death, will (oucH you on your brow, and
.you will awaken—to your true and imralorlal
life?’ My existence has become much more
painful than I can endure. This form wilt
soon be sleeping in the icy arms of death,—
And where will this spirit be ? Something in
my own heart tells me that there is an exist
ence beyond the grave—aye, a bright and
glorious existence, where the high and holy
aspirations of our souls will be satisfied.—
“It seems, dear May, we were formed for
greater happiness than earth often gives. Can
we for a moment suppose that God would
create us with such capabilities for happiness,
and prescribe such meager limits to our
chance of opportunity for the exercise of
these capabilities ? I would not lake away
all the sunshine of earth. There are many,
very many spots of joyous sunlight, wherein
we bask, and often forget that earth is not
heaven. May, when 1 stood beside the altar
as the chosen bride of Herbert, my soul was
overwhelmed with a tide of joyous emotions,
and 1 blessed God in my heart for so fair a
world—a world so fraught with joy; whose
rainbow tints seemed then a covenant that
the future would be as bright as that day.—
The future, May, is indeed a sealed book,
wherein the sad and joyous lessons of our
lives are wisely hidden. Could I then have
opened the book of destiny and have seen
my earthly idol broken and shattered, as he
afterwards became, so that but a faint resem
blance remained of his once beautiful and
manly integrity of soul. Oh May, I should
then have died in anguish of spirit instead of
abandoning myself like a careless child, to
happiness.”
“I have often asked myself why I did not
listen to your warning voice in regard to the
wine cup, in the hospitalities of friends tow
ards each other. I was like those enchanted
knights, who-sit. like statues, and feel no
danger, until the spell is broken by the loss
of their treasures.
For the Agitator.
J. A. H.
‘‘lf women, May, would only consider how
they wield their influence! They are to a
certain extent, the regulators of society.—
How prayerful and cautious they should be,
lest they be the first cause of evil practices
in the sterner sex. The angels in Heaven
fell, and why should we feel that our loved
ones are in no danger of falling, when temp
tation to do evil is placed before them in the
alluring garb of custom. When the wine
glass flashes in fair hands which carry it to
woman’s lips, can we blame bur husbands,
our brothers and friends for doing the same?
And when we see them in after years, in
their degradation and desolation, we may
well shudder, lest in the great day of judg
ment before God, their sin be traced to our
own door,"
“No I no ! May, I am not talking 100 much.
I feel that I must say now, all I wish to say
to you. I wish to talk of Herbert—still the
fondly remembered idol of my soul. At first,
how gradually the signs of his ruin crept up.
on hi m. I saw; it is true, that excuses came
more frequently for the use of intoxicating
drinks—a headache—a sudden cold—but I
thought nothing of them, and in my desire
to please him I often prepared the various
beverages he wished, as medicine. After a
while I never met him without detecting the
nauseous fumes upon his breath. Then, May,
I grew alarmed, and remonstrated with him
upon a too frequent use of liquor. He car
ressed me fondly, laughed at me and left me.
t forgot my alarm. Only one week later, as
I sat weary and alone by my fireside, listen
ing to the bell as it tolled the hour of mid
night, I was startled by the sound of ap
proaching footsteps—unfamiliar to me ; for
Herbert’s always came like the sound of
sweet mush, and I could not mistake them.
The ringing of the bell called me to the door,
I opened it, and what a sight met my gaze 1
There stood Herbert, reeking with the filth
of the gutter, from which he bad been res
cued by two strangers who stood before me.
Ail that long night I knell by him in bitter
agony of spirit. Oh I how I remembered
your warnings at our social gatherings.—
How wy soul groaned in sorrow as 1 /bought
that I. his wife, bad stood beside him and
smiled as he drank the fatal poison ; little
dreaming it would prove the serpent whose
sling would be felt through life—whose ven
om would destroy every .vestige of happiness
in our quiet home. I felt, had 1 used my in
fluence against intoxicating drinks in all their
various forms, that hour of biller sorrow
would have been spared me, and Herbert
would have been the star of that home that
now lay in darkness. The next day I knell
at his feet and implored him never again to
touch intoxicating drinks. As 1 wound my
arms about him he wept like a child, and
promised. But, oh! May, when once the
appetite for strong drink is formed, it becomes
an unquenchable fire, which burns and burns,
destroying the beautiful workmanship of God,
and scattering desolation and ruin in many
places of earth. I need not tall you the
downward progreas of Herbert, It was like
that of all last and ruined men. How all
the angel purity of bis nature seemc-d obliter-
THE AGITATOR.
grfwtrfy to tic SSpttnoion of tit awa of ifmirom mi ttic SiureaJ* of mtnltis Hcfocm.
i , . ;
|VBIX£ THEBE SHALL BE A JYBONO UNSIGHTED, AND UNTIL INHUMANITY TO MAN 51 SHALL AGITATION MUST CONTINUE.
TOLLSRORO, TIOGA COUNTY, PA., THURSDAY MORNING, APRIL 15, 1858;
ated, and be became a blackened, seared and
deformed image'of that birthright of beauty,
manly integrity and lofty intellect, in which
his God bad created him.
The'heaviest stroke came last. His love,
which bad been ibe great principle of my
life, burned lower and lower, until it seemed
lo go out. Then, my life was desolate and
without support. It seemed a stretch of wea
ry time, without one ray of light to guide me
through it.
“May, the sighing of the wind to-night re
minds me of that hour when be was brought
home—dead—cold, and dripping from the
river. It was my last gaze at the face I
loved. Weeks went by ere I was conscious
of the world around me.
“Id my dreams I see Herbert. He tells
me I shall soon be whh him. And when I
clasp my hands upon my heart, as t often
feel a sharp, lancing pain there, even in sleep,
he weeps, and points to an overflowing cup
wherein well up great drops of blood from
the hearts of widowed wives and weeping or
phans, whose cries ascend to the throne of
the Most High, and call for vengeance upon
‘him who putteth the cop to bis neighbor’s
lips’”
* * *
The stare looked coldly down, the wind
swept mournfully past me, and mother earth
looked as if she were sleeping in her wiading
sheet, as I gazed around me on that wintry
night and thought of the sad fate of my two
friends Herbert and Susie, who only a few
years ago commenced life, hand in hand, with
one purpose—one heart—one soul, and with
pi os peels that then seemed unclouded by a
single ray of darkness.
“Bury He in the Garden.”
The following little sketch by Elihu Bor
ritl, the “learned blacksmith,” is certainly
one of ths most affecting ever written, and
shows that the writer is gifted with all the
finer trails of the human heart:
“There sorrow there, and tears were
in every eye; and there were low, hair sup
pressed sobbings heard from every corner of
■he room; but the little sufferer was still;
its young spirit was just on the verge of de
parture. The mother was bending over it in
all the speechless yearnings of paternal love,
with one arm under its pillow, and the other
unconsciously drawing the little dying girl
closer to her bosom. Poor thing! in the
bright dewy morning it had followed out be
fore its father into the field, and while he was
there engaged in bis labors, it had patted,
around among the meadow-flowers, and had
s'uck its bosom full, and its burnished tresses
with carmine and lily-tinted things ; and re
turning tired to its father’s side, he had lifted
it upon the loaded carl ; but a stone in the
road had shaken it from its seat, and the pon
derous, iron-rimmed wheel had ground it
down into the very cart-path—and the little
crushed creature was dying.
We had all gathered up closely to its bed
side, and were banging over Ihe young,
bruised thing, to see if it yet breathed, when
a slight movement came over its lips and its
eyes partly opened. There was no voice,
but there was something beneath its eye-lids
which a mother alone could interpret. Its
lips trembled again, and we all held our
breath—its eyes opened a little farther, and
then we beard the departing spirit whisper in
that ear which touched those ashy lips
“Mother! mother! don’t let them carry me
away down to the dark, cold but
burv me in the garden—in the garden, moth,
er I”
A little sister, whose eyes were raining
down with the meltings of her heart, had
crept op to the bedside, and taking the hand
of the dying girl, sobbed aloud in its tears ;
“Julia ! Julia! can’t you speak to Antoi
netre ?”
The last, fluttering pulsation of expiring
nature struggled hard to enable that spirit to
utter one more wish and word of affection.
Its soul was on its lips, as it whispered again,
“Bury me in the garden, mother!—bury me
in the —” and a quivering came over its
limbs, one feeble struggle, and all was still!
A school teacher relates the following
amusing incident: One day I saw a litile
fellow with his arms around a little witch of
a girl, endeavoring, if I interpreted (he mani
festation right, io kiss her.
“Tommy,” said I, “what are you doing
there?”
“Nothing, sir.”
“Yeth,” said the bright eyed little witch,
“he walh tryio’ to kilh me, that he watb,
thir,” and eyed him keenly.
“Why, Lucy, what prompted him to act
so uogentlemanly right here in the school 1"
I asked, anticipating some fun.
“O, he hitched up here, and he wanted me
to kith him, and 1 told him that 1 wouldn’t
kith such a thumlhy boy alh he ith ; then he
(hed he’d kith me, and 1 told him that be
darlbn’t, but he thed he would do it, and I
told him I would tell the mather, if he did,
hot he thed he didn’t care a thump, for the
mather, and he tried to_kith me hard and
the little thing sighed.
“Why didn’t you tell me as you said you
would ?” I asked in a pleasant manner,
“O, she replied, with an air of naivete,
I did not often see, “I didn’t care much if he
did kith me, and tho I let him.”
Here the whole school, which had been
listening attentively, broke out in an uproar
ious laugh, while our little hero and. heroine
hlashed deeply.
An honest lady when told of the death of
her husband, exclaimed:—“Well, I do de
clare, our troubles never come alone 7 It
ain’t a week since t lost my ben, and now
Mr. Hooper has gone, too—poor man.”
"He Died Rich.”
People said this everywhere,, when the
morning papers announced the death of John
Russel,. President of nie—r— Bank. They;
said it on Wall street, where they count
wealth by hundreds of thousands, and they
said it'm elegant parlors, and by.loxqrtqus
breakfast tables, all over (he squares and av
qnues of the great city; they said it, too, in
dark alleys, and in squalid homes where all
b(s thousands could not buy back to the mil
lionaire one hour of the life that to them was
a .burden and a misery. Every where, it was,
the same story, “He died rich.”
His family and his friends thought so, as
they gathered around the bedside of the dy
ing man; and you, reader, would have Ibo’l
it 100, if you could have looked around that
chamber, into which death was entering with
his dumb footfalls and bis ghastly presence.
Oh, it was a princely room!' Rare pictures
flushed the walls, that winter day, with the
glory of Arcadian summers; the fairest
blossoms of Southern Mays were piled thick
upon the costly carpel; and the daintily em
broidered drapery fell in soft clouds from the
massive bedstead. And the owner of all this
magnificence lay there dying,' and through
all his life of more than threescore years, he
had toiled and struggled for this—to die rich 1
He had bought lands, and sold them ; he had
sent richly freighted ships to foreign ports ;
he had owned shores in railroads, and stock
in Banks, and now 1
Ah 1 there was an angel who stood at the
bedside of John Russel in that dying hour,
and the man had nothing out of all bis life to
give him ; no generous, noble, self-sacrificing
deeds, which would have been pearls, and
gold, and oil precious jewels in the hand of
the angel; so he wrote down at the close of
the last chapter of John Russell’s life, “He
died poor."
And John Russel saw the words as his
soul followed the angel on that journey which
sooner or later we must all take, and he knew
(hen for (he first time, that all the labor sod
toil, and struggling of his life on earth, bad
only brought him this verdict at the bar of
the kingdom of Heaven, “He died poor.”
“He.died poor.” A very few persons said
this of an old man who lay in a back cham
ber of a small dilapidated building, whose
solitary window looked out on the back gar
den of John Russell’s residence. The floor
was bare, and there were onfy a few chairs,
a table, and a low bed in the room. By its
side stood an old black woman, whom the
dying-man bad occasionally furnished with
an armful of wood, or a loaf of bread.- She
moistened his cold lips with water, or field
the tallow candle close to his dim eyes, so
that he might see once more the light of this
world. He had not a dollar upon earth;'his
fortune had taken wings and flown away;
his wife and, his children had gone before
him, his friends had deserted or lost sight of
him, and now none remained to watch with
the old man till death called him, but the
graiefuf old black woman whom he bad saved
from starvation.
But the angel with the book atood there,
too, and looking over that old man’s life, he
saw how many good, and gentle, and gen
erous deeds,brightened every year; how he
bad been kind to the suffering, and forgiven
such wrongs as make men fiends, and striv.
en, through all the trials and temptations of
bis long, sad life, to be true to God and him
self. So the angel wrote under the last
chapter of this old man's life, and every let
ter shone like some rare setting of diamonds,
"■Be died rich."
And the old man knew it, too, when he
stood at the silver gates of the Eternal city,
and they led him in, and showed him the
“inheritance to which he was heir.”
There was the house not made with hands,
with its columns of pearl, and its ceilings of
jasper, with its pleasant rooms and its lofty
halls, and iis mighty organs from which peal
forever the notes of praise to our God !
There, too, was the pleasant landscape,
with its green avenues, its golden pavilions,
its trees waving in the joy of eternal leaves,
and its silver meadow lands sloping down
to the river of eternal waters. He was heir
to aii these things, and he look their title
deeds from the bands of God’s angels, and
entered into their possession, while they
were saying pityingly on earth, “He died
poor.”
Ah, reader! how unlike it 13 with the
things here, and the things there. All the
wealth of this world cannot buy one acre of
the soil “on the other side of the river,” nor
one title deed to its pleasant homes, or its
fountains of sweet waters ; but only live so
that when you sail out on the great sea of
death you shall bear with you to the golden
ports those blessed words of the angels, “He
died rich,” and you shall be satisfied with
your inheritance in the “kingdom of Hea
ven."—Lady’s Home Magatine.
A Ludicrous Mistake.—A ludicrous
mistake happened some time ago at a funeral
in Marylebone. The clergyman had gone
on with the services until bo came to the part
which says, “Our deceased brother, or sis
ter,” without knowing whether the deceased
was male or female. He turned to one of
the mourners, and asked whether it was a
brother or sister. The man very innocently
replied. “No relation at all, sir, only an
acquaintance.”
A Knowing Bbogab.—A beggar posted
himself at the door of the Chancery Court,
and kept saying, “A penny please sir! Only
one penny, sir, before you go in!’’ “And
why, my man 7” inquired an old country
gentleman. “Because, air, the chances are
that you will not have one when you come
out,” was the beggar's reply.—.TurnA. i
Revolutionary Reminiscences.
Eieazer Johnson having been!' borb in
1718, and living to 1764, was in the prime
of life when English oppression of .the Colo
nists commenced, and his sons were' ‘old
■enough to be participators in the ' revolution
ary struggle. The ship-carpenters were
among the most active of (he patriots, and
Eifeazer Johnson was one of their leaders.
Indeed, the ship-yards were the ;bpt-beds of
the Revolution', and we are not certain that
the first aggressive acts ft gainst iheLaulhori
lies were not there conceived, andiby those
men put into execution. It was thetfacl that
Rev. Mr. Parson’s society was jpiincipally
composed of them, that made himjamong the
most active at that lime in defence of! liberty;
so that at a meeting at his' house, he fur
nished what was then called “liberty tea
and si the close of one of his serarforis, called
for volunteers to step forward in thq church,
for. the formation of a military!; company.
The same year they built the powder house,
(1774,) the town voted that the grafting “an
excise on distilled spirits was an infringement
on the natural rights of Englishmen.” For
this vote all the carpenters in the! town held
up their hands. They used to' know then
when eleven and four o’clock came in the
yards. \ j
Next after came the stamp oppression;
.and here again they were united ; land from
those ship-yards, more than elsewhetje, ca'fne
the processions that marched about the town
with fife and drum, calling upon every man to
answer to the question—‘stamp or no (stamp’?’
If he replied “slamp,” they knocked him
down, hissed him, or otherwise showed their
displeasure ; if “po stamp,” the answer was
"fall in,”—join us: no neutrals were allowed.
Eleazer Johnson was in the head; ranks of
Ibis semi-rebellion. Next came [he tea diffi
culty, and all have heard what was done by
the “Mohawks” of Boston with the 1 tea at
thafpon ; but as yet none of our historians
have given the fact, that before Boston acted
in the disguise of Indians, the ship-carpen
ters of Newburypoit publicly and jopenly
burned the tea in Market Square. jHow (his
well-authenticated fact escaped them, that the
first defiant resistance to the lea imposition
n this country was in Newburyport, we can
not tell. But twice was this resistanceimade;
once by burning it in Federal street, and
again in the Market. The tea was stored in
the powder-bouse for safe-keeping- j
E'eazer Johnson, standing one day upon
the limber of his yard, called his men about
him, and, after a few patriotic wotfdi, gave
the order, “All who ere ready to joih, (knock
your adzes from their handles, and (follow
me.” Every adze in the yard was knocked
off, and that stout, athletic man. w(io' r w,ould
have marched through a regiment of “red
coals,” had they stood in his way, talking bis
broad ax as ah emblem of leadership tind for
use, marched at the head of the company to
to the powder-house. There that tyell tried
ax opened a way through the door, and each
man, shouldering his chest of tea, again fell
into line. They marched direct to thq Mar
ket, and then in a single file around] the old
mee'ing-house, where the pump now jsjwhen
Johnson’s ax opened his chest, and baix and
tea were on the, ground together. Each] man,
as he came up, did the same, when, wiih h>s
own hand, Johnson lighted the pile and
burned it to ashes; and on the spot,iwiiboul
disguise,the ship-carpenters of Newburyport
destroyed the first tea that was destroyed in
America. — Newburyport Herald. [ .
What Mann be, Mann he.j |
An old Scotch tailor happened lo : hhvfe a
helpmeet of a very peevish and querjiiloos
turn in her temper. Tailor's and shoetjapker’s
wives, as well as clergyman’s, often have this
turn, it is accidental, or because these] Worth
ies of the scissors, soles and sermons,]are al
ways in the house, and, having an opportuni
ty of observing the details in the household
economy, wish to have (he direction i i'nside
as well as outside of the house ? If so, we
tell theses to “stand by their order.’] (The
tailor’s help look ill, and the scyihe of Time
seemed about to shear through the lastisiitclv
es that made the couple “one flesh.” -
“I’m goun to dee, Andrew, said thei «|ife.
“Are ye?” replied the tailor as coolly as
if he had been trying the temper oC his g^iose.
“Ate ye V—is that the way to apeak when
I’m telling you that I’m gaun to leavelyou
Cot ever I” ! j
“What wad ye hae me to say ?-4-c!ati I
sheck the door against death ?” j I
“Deed no, Andre, ye caona sheck llje door
against the King o’ Terrors, nor would ye
rise aff your seat to do’t, though ye could.—
Ye’re no to lay my banes here amang them
o’Linlithgow, but lak’ them to Withburn.jand
lay them beside my father and my mother.
Andrew, esteeming a promise made jto a
person on the verge of lime sacred, and; not
wishing to put himself to the expense, which
indeed, he could ill afford, waived giving an
answer, but led on a different conversation.
“Do yon hear, Andrew 1” 1 ,
“Oh yes, I hear.” j |
“VVeel, mind what I’m saying ; lak’jme lo
Whitburn, or I'll rise and trouble ye>pight
and day—do you hear I" >
“Yes, yes, I bear perfectly—is that pain
i’ yer side aye troubling ye yet I” .j
“Ay, I’m ihegilher, but the imaisi
pain to me is, tfiat you’ll lay my dust feeie.”
“Oh, woman ( dinna distress yoursel’ about
that simple circumstance.” 1
“Mind, I’ll no lie here, ye maun tak’jme
lo Whitburn j I’ll trouble ye if yg diona, end
ye may depend on’t.” ! ,
"Well, well, then, if ye maun be buried
at Whitburn, I canna help it, but we’ll tty ye
at Linlithgow first.;
i
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NO. XXXYBf.
A Lightning-Rod S(aa In a Fix.
Mis Thomas Kingston, who for several
years has followed the business of putting up
lightning rods, recently had ascended St.i
Paul’s Cathedral, whose spire is shoot two.
hundred and thirty-five feet high, near the
head .of Broadway, and gone lo the very top,,
where having left his ladder below, he clung
by his arms and legs, fastened the last loot
of the rod and attached its point—quite a.
heavy piece of metal securely, as he supposed,
lo die cross surmounting the steeple. HP
had just completed this Difficult and danger,
ous task, watched by a number of persons in
the street below, and while looking at the
work, of a sudden something heavy struck
him and made bis brain reel until he could
hardly see. Instead of losing his hold at
once, as wouid-seem. to have been the nalu.
fal" and inevitable result, he clung with* a
power beyond himself and a will superior lo
bis own, closer and instinctively to the spire-.
He knew nnt what bad occurred, and lo hia
confused senses it appeared that the steeple
was tumbling; or that some strange cause
was about lo bring the vast structure lo the
ground.
Some forty seconds—an age to him—must
have elapsed before he sufficiently collected
his scattered thoughts and subverted cons
ciousness to know that the entire upper part
of the rod, bad fallen upon bis head causing
the blood to. trickle over his forehead, and
nearly blind him. He_vyas in a dread per
plexity, and most dangerous position. He
feared, if he moved, he would go cleaving
the air to a terrible death upon (he stony
street below—and at the same time he knew
he could not, in the disordered state of his
nerves, and his increasing weakness, retain
his grasp, more (be result of fate than of feel
ing, much longer. If he stirred he might’
fall ; if he remained he certainly would ; and
determined at least to make an effort for hia
life, he put one fool very cautiously, then his
arm, and then moved on his.other fool; and
after a half minute of exertion, and the great
est danger, he touched the topmost round of
the ladder, and in a few secpnds more was
within the steeple and safe. '
Then j I was Mr. K’s great courage and
strength forsook him ; and he sunk upon the
platform motionless and insensible. He must
have lain there half an hour before he could
rise and walk, and he did not recover from
the. shock for more than a fortnight after
ward.—Cin. Enquirer.
The following article, taken from the Ten
nessee Farmer and Mechanic, was recemly
sent lo Life Illustrated, by a gentleman
living in Minneapolis, Mina :
Having occasion to call at a livery stable,
not tong since, in , my attention was
called to some fine looking horses belonging
to the proprietor, who was a man of more
than ordinary experience in the management
of horses, and the cure of those diseases to
which they are incident. I asked him bow
it happened that his horses were in such good
plight, and looked so much belter than other
.people’s 1 “Ah,” said he, “there is a secret
about that which I cannot tell every one;
and if I should, they would not follow roy
directions, I may,as well keep it to
myself: but as I have not obtained a patent,
I will tell you, then you can act as you
see proper.” He told me that the whole of
his secret consisted simply in this, that he
gave his horses no salt, and that he believed
the use of it was deleterious lo all animals.
His horses be assured me, kept in good order
without it, and that they were freer from dis
ease than they used lo be when he gave them
as much salt as they wanted. He believed
that salt stimulated the stomach beyond what
nature required, that it produced an unnatu
ral thirst, and caused the animals lo drink
more water and lake more food than the
stomach could properly digest, and this would
necessarily produce disease add premature
death in any animal. He said the difference
between a salted and unsalted horse was
perceptible in the perspiration. In the one,
the salt will ooze out through the pores' of
skip, and will often dry and settle on
the hair, causing roughness on its texture,
whereas, from a horse that eats no salt, the
sweat will issue through Ihe skin, as clear
and as pure as' spring water, and leaves the
hair and skin as soft, and in a healthy con
dition.
Thave noi copied ihe whole of ihe article,
but simply) the facts. Such facts, coming,
as these do, from one who makes no preten
sions to science, and consequently, has no
theory to susta n, are certainly worthy of tho
candid consideration of every lover of truth.
In regard to the difference in the perspiration
which abstinence from salt makes in the
human animal, I can testify from experience
that it dues exist, and any one may demon
strate the truth of it by experiment fora few
months. Yours Respectfully,
H, N. Herrick.
A clergyman v|as endeavoring to instruct
one of his Sunday scholars, a plowfaoy, on
the nature of a milacle.
“Now my boy,” said he, “suppose you
were to see the sun rising in the middle of the
night, what should you call that? ’
“The roune please sir.”
“No, but,” said the clergyman, “suppose
you knew it was not the moon, but the sun,
and that you actually saw it rise in the mid
dle of the night—what should you think ?”
“Please, sur, I should think it was time lo
get up.”
“I thought you were bdrn on the first of
April,” said a benedict to his lovely wife,
who had mentioned the 21st as her birthday.
“Most people would think so from n;7
rhcice of a husband,' si.< i-ji.ed.
Bales of Advertising.
3 months. S months. 13 i no'a
Is Salt Good for Animals?