Terms of PnbUcallon* the tioga county AGITATOR Jb pub L every Thursday Morning and mailed to sub very reasonable price.of On* Dol- CribC praDnum, invariably inadvanee. Itisinlend per itfv every subscriber when the term for d .|° h he hu paid aha " bave «P>red, by the stamp Out,” on the margin of the Ust paper. :„ T ‘ oer will then be stopped nntila farther re ‘ ; b ,Lnce be received. By this arrangement no man uttance debt t 0 the printer. S T« AonATon ifl the Official Paper of the Coon Th* ao> steadily increasing circulation f.wilbalageand^v e 1 neighbor B hood in the sachmg m ° 3 o j to any Post-office onnly. i limits, and to those living within ic'limits^but Jose most convenient postoffice may a i“ St exceeding 5 lines, paper in oded, U pery^r. IITTLE THINGS. A traveler through a-dnsly road. Strewed acorns on the lea, And one look root and sprouted up And grew into a tree, hove sought its shade at even-time To breathe its early vows, And age was pleased, in heats of noon. To bask beneath its boughs. The dormouse loved its dangling twig, The birds sweet music bore— II stood a glory in its place, A blessing evermore. A little spring had lost its way Amid the grass and fern; A passing stranger scooped a well Where weary men might turn ; lie walled it in, and hung with care A ladle at the brink— He thought not of the deed he did. But judged that toil might drink. He passed again—and lo! the well, By summers never dried, Had cooled ten thousand parching longues, And saved a life beside ! A dreamer dropped a random thought ’X was old and yet *t was new— A simple fancy of the brain. But strong in being trne; It shone upon a genial mind, And lo! Us light became A lamp of life, a beacon ray, A monitory flame. The thought was small, its issues great, A walclifire on a hill; It sheds its radiance far adown And cheers the valley still. A nameless man amid a crowd That thronged the daily mart. Let fall a word ot hope and love. Unstudied, from the heart; A whisper on the tumult thrown— A transitory breath— It raised a brother from the dust, It saved a soul from death. OgcrmJ 0 fount! O, word of love— -0 thought at random cast ! Ve were hut liLlle at the Jirst t Bot Mighty at the last! Touching Incident The following extract, taken from an ac count written by the Rev. James Miller, and quoted by the author of “Old Redstone, ** mil give the reader some idea of the pe cuniary embarrassments of early ministers and of the general slate of the Western coun try, and also of the remarkable interposition of Divine Providence for the relief of one of those ministers. “Our story,” says Mr. Miller, “will carry the reader back to (he period when all north of ihe Ohio river was almost an unbroken wilderness—the mysterious red man’s home. On the other side, a bold hardy band from beyond the mountains had built their log cabins, and were trying to subdue the wil derness. To them every hour was full of peril. The Indians would often cross the river, steal their children and horses, kill and scalp any victim that came in their way. They worked ip the field with weapons at their side, and cm a Sabbath met in a grove or rude log church to hear the Word of God, with their rifles in their hands. To preach to these settlers, Mr, Joseph Smith, a Presby terian minister, had left bis paternal home, east of the He, it was said, was the second minister who had crossed the Monongahela. He settled in Washington county, Pennsylvania, and became the pastor of Cross Creek and Upper Buffalo congrega tions dividing his time between them. He found them a willing and united people, but atill unable to pay him a salary which would support his family. He, in common with all the early ministers, must cultivate a farm. He purchased one on credit, promising to pay for it with the salary pledged to him by his people. Years passed away. The pas tor was unpaid. Little or no money was in circulation. Wheat was abundant, but there was no market. It could not be sold for ujore than twelve and a half cents, in cash, oven their salt, which, fiad to bo brought across the mounlains on pack-horses, was w onh eight dollars per bushel, and twenty cue bushels of wheat bad often to be given lor one of salt. The lime came when the W«« musl be made, and Mr. Smirh was told he musl pay or leave his farm. Three )ears salary was now due from his people, or the want of this, his land, his improve ments upon it, and his hopes of remaining among a beloved people must be abandoned. 6 people were called together, and the ase laid before them, and they were greatly oven ; counsel from on high was sought ; fan ader plan was proposed and abandoned ; r 6. Were unable to pay a tithe row h' 1 , ,s ’ an( * no money could be bor as*'t " ‘* es P a ' r they adjourned to meet S>n the following week. In the meantime, . Wa ® ascertained that a Mr. Moore, who CnnH <• ° n ' -V m ’ l * l^e CoUDl y> would At th *° r erR w * leat reasonable terms, thei 6 i 6 * l meet ' n g it was resolved to carry ftftvh* k 10 r ‘ M°°re ?a mill; some gave from By s ’ some more. This was carried mil) p n 10 lwe “ly six miles on horses to was re It * mon 'b word came that the flour were 8 e lO g° 10 market. Again the people p ravp . ca , together. After -an earnest run'ih O e 'l ues,iot > was asked, “Who will a sta il rlO New or,eaDBr ’ This was in the c l ,les| i on - The work was perilous t j ve n ( eslreme ’ months musl pass before the his i Ufer cou h°P e to return, even though the s h° u 'd I* fortunate ; nearly all WareMH* 38 * Wl^erness i and gloomy tales •ban ° a *bs treacherous Indians. More n e . l ' 8 crew bad gone on that jour then ie come back no more, “Who danger?” an d ura the toil and brave the shrunk- r, , OD ® volunteered; the young e *cuse i J ’b® middle aged had their shier in ik * hoary beaded man, an rose ~j f eburch, sixty-four years of age, hly ° 'c® astonishment of the assent deepest r r ra am • se nd me.’’ The F leelmg at once pervaded the whole THE AGITATOR. SefcoteU to tfce ZSxttmim of ttie of iFmfcom t&e of I&ealt&s meform. WHILE THEBE SHALL BE A WEONO UKHIGHTED, AND UNTIL “ MAN’S INHUMANITY TO MAN 1 ’ SHALL CEASE, AGITATION MUST CONTINUE. VOL. IV. assembly. To see (heir venerated old elder tbus devote himself for their good, melted them all to tears. They gathered around Father Smiley lo learn that hia resolution was indeed taken; that rather than lose their pastor be would brave danger, toil, and even death. After some delay and trouble, two young men were induced, by hope of a large reward, to go as bis assistants. A day was appointed for starling. The young and old, from far and near, from love to Father Smiley and deep interest in the object of his mission, gathered together, and with their pastor! at their bead came down from the church, fifteen miles away, to the bank of the river to bid the old man farewell. Then a prayer was offered up by their pastor, and a parting hymn was sung. Then said the old Scotchman, “Untie the cable, and lot us see what the Lord will do for us.” This was done and the boat floated slowly away. More than nine months passed and no word came back from Father Smiley. Many a prayer had been breathed for him, but what was his fate was unknown. Another Sab bath came; the people came together for worship, and there, on his rude bench, before the preacher, composed and devout, sat Father Smiley. After service the people were requested to meet earl; in the week lo hear the report. All'came again. After thanks had been returned lo God for his safe return, Father Smiley rose and told his story: That the Lord had prospered his mission; that he had sold his flour for twenty seven dollars a barrel, and then got safely back. He then drew a large purso and poured upon the table a larger pile of gold than most of the spectators had ever seen before. The young men were paid each one hundred dollars. Father Smiley was asked his charge. He meekly replied, that he thought he ought to have the same as one of the young men, though he had not done quite as much work. It was immediately proposed to pay him three hundred dollars. This he refused till the pastor was paid. Upon counting the money it was found there was (enough to pay what was due Mr. Smith, to advance his salary for the year lo come, lo reward Father Smiley with three hundred dollars, and then have a large dividend for each contributor. Thus their debts were paid, their pastor relieved, and while life lasted he broke for them the bread of life. The bones of both pastor and elder repose in the saftie churchyard ; but a grateful pos. terity still tells this pleasing story of the past.” novel Courtship. Three months since, a young Parisian was travelling per railroad in Germany, from Augsburg to Berlin. The cars, unlike those here, are divided into compartments, like the inside of a coach, the passengers silting facing each other. In the compartment he selected were four other persons, two mammas and two daughters. The two mothers were face to face in one corner, the young man took the opposite and found himself face to face with the young ladies. He soon after fell into a brown study, duriug which the con ductor demanded his ticket without success, and the young ladies were secretly laughing at his bewildered air. Suddenly resorting to a ruse to avoid ridicule, he pretended not to understand German, and transacted his busi ness with the conductor by signs. A mo ment after, the young ladies commenced conversation. “This young roan is a very handsonm one,” said one. “Hist, Bertha,” said the other, with a son of affright. “Why, he doesn’t know a word of Ger man. We can talk freely. How do you find him? “Only ordinary.” “You are diffident. He has a charming figure and distingue air.” “He is too' pale, and besides, you know I do not love dark.” “And you know I prefer dark to blonde. We have nothing but blonde in Germany. It is monotonous and commonplace.” “You forget that you are blonde.” “Oh, for a woman it is different. He has pretty moustaches.” “Bertha, if your mother should hear you !” “She is busy with her talk ; besides it is no hurt to speak of moustaches.” “I prefer the blonde moustaches of Fred erick.” “I understand that Frederick is espoused to you ; but I, who am without a lover, am free to exercise my opinions and am free to say that this young mao has beautiful eyes.” “They have no expression.” “You do not know, i am sure he has much spirit, and it is a pity he does not speak German. He would chat with us.” “Would you marry a Frenchman 7” “Why not, if he looks like this one, and was spirited, well-born, and amiable 7 But I can hardly keep from laughing. See, he doesn’t mistrust what we are saying.” The young traveler was endowed with a great power of self-conlrol. He looked carefully at Bertha, and his resolution was taken. At a new station the conductor came again for the tickets. Our young man with extra elaboration, and in excellent German, said ; “Ah, you want my- ticket. Very well let me see | [ believe it is in my portmonnaie. Oh, yes, here it is.” The effect was startling. Bertha nearly fainted away, but soon recovered under the polite apologies of the young Frenchman. They were pleased with each other, and in a few weeks Bertha ratified her good opinion of the young min, and her willingness to marry a Frenchman. They live in Hamburg. WELLSBORO, TIOGA COUNTY, PA., THURSDAY MORNING. JUNE 24, 1858. Touching for King’s EvIL In his History of England Macaulay gives us a rapid sketch of an ancient and royal practice, now long abrogated. The ceremony of touching persona afflicted with scrofula had come down almost unaltered from the darkest of the dark v agea to the time of Newton and Locke. The Stuarts fre quently dispensed the healing influence in the banqueting house. The days on which this miracle was lo be wrought were at sittings of the privy council, and weresolemnjy notified by the clergy in all the parish churches of the realm. When the appointed time came, several divines, in lull canonicals, stood around the canopy of state. The surgeon of the royal household introduced the sick. A passage from the sixteenth chapter of the Gospel of St. Mark was read. When the words, “They shall lay their hands on the sick and they shall recover,” hid been pro nounced, there was a pause, and one of the sick was brought up to the king. His majesty stroked the ulcers and swellings, and hung around the patient’s neck a white ribbon, to whirh was fastened a gold coin. The other sufferers were then led up in succession ; and as each was touched, the chaplain re peated the incantation, “They shall lay their hands on the sick, and they shall recover.’’ Then came the epistle, prayers, antiphonies, and a benediction. The service may still be found in the prayer books of the reign of Anne. Indeed, it was not till some lime after the accession of George I. that the University of Oxford ceased to reprint the office of Healing together with the Liturgy. Theolo gians of eminent learning, ability, and vir tue, gave the sanction of their authority lo this mummery; and, what is stranger still, medical men of high note believed, or affected to believe, in the balsamic virtues of the royal hand. We must suppose that every surgeon, who attended Charles IF. was a man of high re pute for skill ; and more than one of the surgeons who attended Charles IF. has left us a solemn profession of faith in the King’s miraculous power. One of them is not ashamed to tell us that the gift was commu nicated by the unction administered at the coronation ; that the cures were so numerous, and sometimes so rapid, that they could not be attributed t 6 any natural cause ; (hat the failures were to be ascribed to want of faith on the part of the patient; that Charles once handled a scrofulous Quaker, and made him a healthy man and a sound churchman in a moment; that, if those who had been healed lost or sold the piece of gold which had been hung round their necks, the ulcers broke forth again, and could be removed only by a second touch, and'a second talisman. We cannot wonder that when men of science gravely- repeated such nonsense the vulgar should believe it. Still less can we wonder that wretches tortured by a disease over which natural remedies had no power, should eagerly drink in tales of supernatural cures ; for nothing is so credulous as misery. The crowds which repaired to the palace on the days of healing were immense. Charles 11., in the course of his reign, touched near one hundred thousand persons. The number seems to have increased or diminished as the King’s popularity rose or fell. During the Tory reaction which followed the dissolution of the Oxford Parliament the press to get near him was terrific. In 1682 he performed the rite eight thousand five hundred limes. In 1684, the throng was such that six or seven of the sick were trampled to death. James, in one of his progresses, touched eight hundred persons in the choir of the cathedral of Chester. The expense of the ceremony was little less than $50,000 a year, and would have been much greater but for the vigilance of the royal surgeons, whose business it was to examine the applicants, and to distinguish those who came for (he cure from those who came for the gold. William had too much sense to be duped, and 100 much honesty to bear a part in what he knew to be an imposture. “It is a silly superstition," he exclaimed, when he heard that, at the close of Lent, his palace was be sieged by a crowd of sick. “Give the poor creatures some money and lake them away.” On one single occasion he was importuned into laying his hand on a patient. “God give you better health,” he said, “and more sense.” The parents of scrofulous children cried out against his cruelly ; bigots lifted up their hands and eyes in horror at his impi ety ; Jacobites sarcastically praised him for presuming to arrogate to Jiimself a power which belonged only to legitimate sover eigns ; and even some Whigs thought that he acted unwisely in treating with such marked contempt a superstition which had a strong hold on the vulgar mind; but William was not to be moved, and was ac cordingly set down by mauy high churchmen as either an infidel or a Puritan. We rarely meet with persons that have a true judgment; which, in many, renders literature a very tiresome knowledge. Good jodges are as rare as good authors. 1 A wise man wll foresee inconveniences be fore he makes his bargain ; and an honest man will stand to his baigain, notwithstand ing all inconveniences.— Martain. There are many doublings in the hmhan heart; do not think you can find out the whole of a man’s real character at once, unless he is a fool. The apprehension of evil is many times worge than the evil itself; and the ills a man fears he shall suffer, he suffers in ibe very fears of them. AN ESSAY, Read before the Tioga Go. Teacher’s Institute. BY JEROME B. NILES Fellow Teachers of Tioga County :— Were I to give my piece a name, it would be something like this; “Have a Mark.” And it will be my chief endeavor to prove, firstly, that it is necessary to have a mark ; second ly, the kind of a mark ; thirdly, perseverance in trying to reaph your mark, and fourthly, the duly of young men and young women in helping on the car of progress. Such, fel low teachers, wilt be the principal points dis cussed. Ist. I affirm that we should have a mark fixed, to the attainment of which our efforts should be directed. “Wherefore,” asks the fast youth, who wishes not to puzzlo his thoughts with the cares of to-morrow. “To day is the ship 1 sail in,” cries young Amer ica ; I have but one life to live and 1 am bound lo enjoy myself now, while I may, and leave the hidden future lo take care of itself.” True, we have but one life; hence, the great er importance of well improving it. Had we\ deed of half a dozen, there might be some excuse for trifling away one. But as we have only one life and that short, at most, to you I candidly submit, is it not highly im portant that we work in the Now ?—that we shake the cobwebs from our brains and be stir ourselves to action?—that we set our hearts and our minds upon something worthy of reflecting, intelligent and working men and women ? Shall I argue that we ought lo direct our energies to some particular point ? Does not everyihing in nature have its own peculiar mission to perform ? Everything below us has its own appropriate sphere, and shall man, who is the object and end of all created things, pass through I.fe, without that which the lowest plant in the vegetable kingdom has in such an eminent degree? Many things have an object which ip the mere looker on appear not to have. For in stance, lake the little spring that emerges from the bosom of the earth away up here among the broken fragments of the Alleghenies.— Suppose one who had never contemplated the event, should behold it bubbling from (he ground, scarcely large enough to cause a rivulet, would he think that that insignificant stream could help burst mountain barriers, could push itself through hundreds of miles of country and finally embosom itself in the waters of the great deep ? Every spring has its work ; it’s great ultimate is the ocean.— Not a grain of sand is in existence but for a purpose; and were a single atom annihilated, (life Creator would be incomplete. The sea sons change because of reason ; the grass springs from the ground, and the growing grain rewards the labor of the husbandman, in accotdance with well known principles. Now, every one knows that it greatly impairs the mind to be continually halting between two opinions; and on the other hand, (hat almost anything is possible to a mind that is determined—to one that knows not defeat— that knows nothing'save a resolution of ob taining its end. Again, when the mark is fixed, everything should be brought tributary to it. Our mark should not be fixed hastily. It should re ceive due reflection. As it is to be the object of our whole life, it should receive our most candid and solemn attention. Friends may be consulted, and months may elapse before the mind 'is brought to a conclusion ; but when formed, everything should be brought subservient to it. All the knowledge obtained—all the infor mation acquired, should be applied to help on to this great desideratum. For instance, lake the little spring before referred to. It rises up here among the hills and is hundreds of miles from its final resting place. Its mark is the ocean. But does it do any good be fore it reaches it ? Certainly. When it first comes to the surface it takes its course along by the farm house, affording cool and re freshing water for the farmer’s family ; thence rolls through his pastures, slaking the thirst of flocks and herds. It courses along ; min gles with the other streams; moves forward with different degrees of velocity ; sometimes moving lazily through the placid bosom of some beautiful lake—at others, dashing with lightning speed down some rocky declivity ; here, turning the machinery of the manufac tory ; (here floating the surplus grain and lumber to their accustomed markets. Thus, while it supplies the farm house; while it gives life to fainting flocks; while it selves as a promoter of commerce; it brings all these things tributary to point—the ocean. Thus should it be with man. He should bring everything subject to its great aim. Defeat should not cause him to sleep by the way. But both should nerve him on ward until victory finally crown his efforts. If he be strong, he should strike at oppos ing rocks more vigorously. If he be poor, he should struggle on with more determina tion. If he be rich, his means should help him onward. If he be educated, his educa tion should be used as a key to his future usefulness. And if he lack the essentials of a sound, practical education, he should firs' obtain it, by all means, as the greatest helper to reach his long cherished object; provided it be noble and elevating, and worthy of the attention of a man. 2d. The kind of a Mark. —ln my opinion this is the most important of the whole. ' We had far better have no object than a poor one. Now, I am not a believer in stand-still princi ples. Man is a progressive animal. He chafes when confined. He is capable of an almost infinite progression, either for good or evil. Every young man and woman has this prerogative, that their object, which shall be the basis of their future action, shall be placed beta* or above them; that their labor may constantly tend to drag them down, or to con tinually elevate; to. make them better; to make their sentiments more refined-—their thoughts more pure, and to-better themselves in a moral, social and intellectual' point of view. 1 I Every one can see the necessity of placing our thoughts on something elevated, above our present condition. If placed on, 1 some thing below, we are using all our facilities to make us wretched and to sink us still lower in the scale of being. If placed updnlan ob ject level with ourselves, our whole life will be but a dreary monotony, with nolmoun lains 10 scale—no soul-stirring prospect of beautiful landscapes below, when the hill top is once gained—with no varying scenes, but only to travel on—to travel ever, onlthe same dull track. But suppose we elevaie our mark high above us; every step in life, though it may be shori, lifts us constantly, (hough it may be slowly, onward to that mark j- and if such be our course, we may experience a daily improvement. i | Truly, we should not be visionary'. Our object should be something practical. It would of course be folly to expect to awaken some fine morning and find ourselves pos sessed of the riches of Croesus—the military fame of a Caesar—the eloquence ofaiCicero, or, what perhaps would be equally as| conge nial, a seat in Congress, sustaining lhe“pow. ers that be.” Suppose yonr object [be far ahead in the future; suppose it cause years of toil, and that to reach it you may be obli ged to toil on many long, weary hours, when the world is covered wiih”slumber. ,| So much the better. If you fail to attain it; you will stand higher than your early companions who aimed at an object level with themselves. If you aim at the sun, ydur arrow will fly high er, though it fail to reach it, than one aimed at an object on a level with, or below you. Therefore, consider well the location ,of that which is to be the object of your whole life. It either makes or unmakes youl | It will either elevate or lower you. Too ntany set out in life without any mark. Or,jif they have one, it has been thoughtlessly adopted and not worthy of the cares, affections and responsibilities of men in whose bands are the liberties of (his people, and who must de cide whether education in the future shall be encouraged or frowned upon. i I 3d. Perserertnce in trying to reach your mark. —Here is an important iteni in the completion of a man’s early project.. What a rudder is to a ship, perseverance is to one’s success. What sunshine and rain;are to the growing crops, resolution and firmness are to one’s final victory. Does it require any evi dence to prove, that if we are continually changing out minds ; if our opinions'; vary as often as the wind, we are impairing jour sta bility and lessening the prospect! of future usefulness? < I Every one before me can perhaps to mind some early acqnaintance, who began life with a bright intellect and happy pros pects. But he became unsteady.; Any oc cupafion was belter (ban his. Ever- hoping to better his prospects by changing bis con dition. He is a farmer today ; aspeculalor to-moirow ; next day turns a merchant, and soon fails; or to use a more modern term, he “suspends,*’and begins life again where he commenced years before. ‘ \ But, on the contrary, can you notfbriog to mind some poor, ragged little fellow; without friends, without means, without any one to advise, assist or protect, urging his Iway on ward to reach the mark he placed before him when his mind first began to think and rea son 1 ' 1 i I have a young man in my mind, with whom I used to play during the earliest days of my remembrance. He used to bet the sub ject of the jeers of those who had Jricb pa rents, because of his bare feet; his little whitehead, which rarely knew a; fiat; and the rest of his dress might have cos'l a shil ling, more or less. ■ Though he wasjpoor, he had a mind. He early evinced a profound desire for knowledge, and missed nojopporlu. nity of obtaining information. Here 1 have not room to detail his struggles wpbipoverly, how he toiled in the summer’s sun to obtain the means of going to school; jbut would simply say, he burst the barriers of his early, poverty; he has broken loose frond the low desires of too many, and to-day is a 'collegia an—so far above his early play '.mates who used to scoff him because of his situation, that their eyes become giddy on (jeholding him at the eminence upon which) he now stands. i | He had an energy of purpose 1 , | He was bound to be a man, and has eminently suc ceeded in his determination. Energy is the great and almost the only secret jolj his suc cess. But the logic is as plain agithe fact, that when we have once determined upon a thing, we should not be dissuaded; from it.—• Suppose I am in Wellsboro, and Ijmake up my mind to go to Covington. This is my mark for the present. J start off! wfith a full determination to reach Covington, jl am full of vigor and spirit, and start off al though I was going through on a fast train ;! but as I travel on, my courage begins to ooze out, and by the time I reach the big hill, Wy feet be gin to be sore. I sit down by-the way, tired, and with the perspiration flowing;freely.— After thinking the matter over, i concluded I did not wish to go to CovinfTbn] but that Tioga is the place to which I ought to have gone in the first place. Thus reflecting, I take the back track, and resolve! to reach Tioga or perish in the attempt. lam certain my mind will not be changed again. Off" I start, at a brisk step. I reach Wellsboro in high spirits and lull of hope, and proceed down the “plank.” In my sanguine imagina tion I aiready see Tioga looming) up in the Advertisements will be charged SI per square of Jburteen lines, for one, or three insertions,and cents for every subsequent insertion. All advertise ments of less than fourteen lines considered as a squaie. The following rates will bo charged for Quarterly, Half-Yearly and Yearly advertising:— Square, (14 lines,) . $2 50 $4 50 86 00 SSquares,. . . . 400 600 800 i column 10 01) 15 00 30 00 column, 18 00 30 00 40 00 All advertisements not having the number of in sertions marked upon them, wilt be kept in until or dered out, and charged according!?. Posters, Handbills, Bill,and Letter Heads,and all kinds of Jobbing done in country executed neatly and promptly. Justices', Consto. bles’and other BLANKS, constantly on hand and printed to order. NO. XLVII. distance. The traveling is good upon the road, and I trip along, gazing upon the sur rounding objects, and frequently fancy my self at my journey’s end. But all is not gold that glitters. Again I get tired and heartily wish I had taken some other -road, and jjy the time 1 arrive at the marsh, my mind is changed, my course altered, and my steps di rected towards Pine Creek. No one can fail to see at a glance, that the course I have marked out would be the height of folly.— Here I had three points in view. Either was good enough.and either could certainly have been reached had I continued my resolution as to either of them. Again, suppose I have two points in view at the same lime. To-day' I think I will go to Covington; to-morrow to Tioga. Neither will be reached, if I travel an hour in one direction and another hour in another.' It matters not how slowly I may have traveled. I may have gone with the pace of a snail.— If I had only continued ; if I had not become disheartened at the first inconvenience; if I had not been so easily discouraged, my ob ject would certainly have been obtained. Thus it is with the young man. He starts out with a good resolution. He reads what Washington has said about the nobleness of farming, and then resolves to be a tiller of the soil. Bm when the sun comes down with its scorching rays as he is swinging his scythe— when it is 90 degrees in the shade, and he has no refuge from the burning heal, he gets tired, throws down his'scythe, takes the ad vice of a friend and starts off for school.— He stays a term or more—gels tired of his books, his lessons are so dry and hard; so he takes the advice of another friend, and hires out to sell tape and draw molasses in some seven by nine grocery. After a while he imagines that he can best serve his coun try by becoming a disciple of Blackstone ; so be turns to bis taw books for a season, only to quickly leave them on his first impulse for a change. Thus he is continually changing his purpose; “Jack at all trades and master of none.” Had he considered the matter ful.ly—considered which occupation best suit ed-his native taste, and had had a proper amount of perseverence, be might have ac complished any single one. But the sequel must be that by a frequent change of purpose ha must fail in every at tempt; and when old age comes slowly steal ing upon him, he wonders why his brother has triumphed continually, while he has so signally failed .in every material thing. But with him who has his mark fixed, the case is different. He does not become dis heartened because the future does not prom ise all sunshine.' He does not falter if his path does not bid fair to be ever strewn with flowers. He lays off his coat, rolls up his sleeves, and goes to work in earnest. He al ways looks at the bright side of things.— Early and late he toils on. The follies of fashion are powerless to move him from his purpose. He toils unceasingly up the hill of progress; Oft limes he meels rocks that seem insurmountable. But be falters not.— While the world is asleep, he digs on. While his fellows are’giddy with earthly vanities he continues to struggle, and by and by, before his' early companions are aware, he stands high above them. The world calls him a genius, and wonders how Providence gave him such wondrous powers. But the secret of his success is'ut terly mistaken. It was not his inherent ge nius that placed him so far above his fellows. It was setting his mind upon something, and then resolving upon doing it. Here lies the secret of the great difference between man and man. One lives to some purpose and the other does not. Again, if I start for Covington I find many roads which appear good, leading in either direction. So with the young man. Once fairly upon the road to reach his object, he finds many things m lead him off. He finds many temptations upon either hand. But if he wishes to tri umph, iha doors of his mind must be closed upon those fashionable sirens, who, by their fascinating songs, lull to sleep, only to faeiray him- into ihe arms of ruin. And here I can not rpisl the temptation of quoting a thought frpm the gifted pen of Mrs. Osgood. “Labor is life ! *Tis the still water faileth; Idleness ever despaireth. bewailcth; Keep the watch wound, the dirk rust assalloth; Flowers droop and die in the stilness of noon. Labor is glory. The flying cloud lightens ; Only the waving wing changes and brightens; Play the sweet keys wonldst thou keep them in tune. Labor is rest from the sorrows greet us; Rest from all petty vexations that meet us; Rest from sin promptings that ever entreat us; Rest from world sirens that lure us to ill. Work! and pure slumbers shall wait on thy pillow; Work! thou shalt ride o’er care’s coming billlow; Lie not down weary ’nealh woo’s weeping willow; Work with a stout heart and a resolute will I Work for some good, be it ever so slowly! Cherish some flower be it ever so lowly I Labor, all labor, is noble and holy; Let thy grcat'decds be thy prayer to thy God!” | The effect of long sermons is thus point edly illustrated-by an exchange: ■ We heard a good anecdote the other day about long sermons. A lady look her son, of some .five or six years, to church. After the minister had been preaching about half an hour, the little fellow grew sleepy and began to nod. The mother roused him sev eral times, by pinching. But as it was hope less, she concluded to let him sleep undis. turbed. After nhe little fellow had had his nap out, he awoke, an’d saw the minister still holding forth. He looked up in his mother's face, and innocently asked—“ Mother, is it this Sunday night, or is it next Sunday night I” A rather thick-headed witness in the police court was psked the question whether So-and. so “stood on the “No, sir.” he innocently replied, “he stood on a bench. ’ Rates of Adrcrtisiiii;. 3 months. 6 months. 12 mo’s
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