"' ' ' ' ■ . . | | THE STAR OF THE NORTH. m : . _ . * fcuHeucr ALAIUBOTC.] VOLUSp 2. Tllti STAR OF THE NORTH Is published every Thursday Morning, by Weaver & Gllmore. OFFICE—Up stairs in the New Brick bttilding on the south side of Main street, third square below Market. TERMS :—Two Dollars per annum, if paid within six months from the time of subscri bing ; two dollars and fifty cent# if not paid within the year. No subscription received for a less period than six months: no discon tinuance permitted until all arrearages are paid, unless at the option of the editors. ADVERTISEMENTS not exceeding one square, will be inserted three times for one dollar, and twenty-five cents for each additional insertion. A liberal discount will be made to those who ad vertise by the year. From the Dispatch. SONGOF.TIIE fIRO KEN-11EAR TEI. BY JAMES W. COFFROTH. The song of the broken-hearted How .mournfully it swells! As, ere youth's glow's departed, Of blasted hopes it tells. It tells of friends who've porished, Of love that lured and blighted— Of the false fair form he cherished, Who broke the vows she plighted. Al!;Nature seems perverted, And her mocking smiles but grieve— So young and so deserted, Why should he wish to live ? His dreams are but of Heaven, Vet no comfort it bestows, For the links of Love here riven, Can never there re-close. For 'twas earthly all. and tainted With the savor of the earth— But the love among the sainted, 1 rom the Godhead has its birth. Oh, 'tis life'schiefest error To fix our hopes below— 'Tis this gives Death his terror And deepens all our woe. Then never, mortal, never Thy thoughts to earth confine, But fix thy longings ever On things that are divine— On God and blessed Nature, Qp science and on art — But never to a creature Dovote thy erring heart. THE EXTRAORDINARY CONFESSION of Professor Joliu W. Webster, of THE MURDER OF DOCTOR GEORGE PARKMAN. BOSTON, TUESDAY, July 2. At the meeting of the Council, this morn ing, the case of Professor Webster, was re ferred to a Corninittee. Before the Committe •, at 12 o'clock, ap peared, Rev. Dr. Putnam, the spiritual advi ser of the condemned, with a petition for the commutation of punirhm jut, together with a confession that lie killed Dr Park man. The Rev. gentleman prefaced the state- j rnent by a few remarks relative to the man tier in which the confession was made to him. ! He stated that he had no personal acquain-1 tunoeship with Professor Webster before be- j ing called to act in the capacity of spiritual ! adviser. In the first few weeks of his visit ho sought no acknowledgement of the pris- I oner. Al length on the 23d of May, he vis- J ited him in his cell and demanded of him, for his own well being, that he should tell the truth in regard to llto matter, and ha ac ceded to the request by making a statement which was now submitted for the considera tion of the Council. It was as follows: I sent the note to Dr. Parkman, which it appears was carried by the toy Maxwell. 1 handed it to Littlefield qpsealed. It was to ask Dr. Parkman to call at my rooms on Fri day the 23d, after my lecture. He had be come of late very importunate lor his pay. He had threatened me with a suit, to put an officer into my house, and to drive me from • my professorship, if I did not pay him. The purport of my note was simply to ask the j conference. I did not tell him in it what 1 could do or what 1 had to say about the pay ment. I wislted to gain for those few days a release from his solicitations, to which 1 was liable every day on occasions and in a manner very oisagreeable, and also to avert for so long a time, at least, the fulfilment of recent threats of severe measures. I did not expect to be able to pay him when Friday should arrive. My putpose was, if he should accede to tho proposed interview, to state to him my embarrassments, and utter inability to pay him ut present, to apologize for those things in my conduct which had offended him, to throw myself upon his mer •y, and lo bog for further time and indul ence for the sake of my family, if not for my own, and to make as good promises to him a# I could have any hopo of keeping. I did not hear from him 011 that day or the ; next (Wednesday,) but I found 011 Thurs day he had been abroad in pursuit of me without finding me I imagined he had for- ! go:ten the appointment, or else did not mean ! to wait for it. I feared he would come in upon me at my leeture room or while I was preparing my experiments for it—therefore I called at his house that morntng, (Friday) between eight and nine o'clock, to remind him of my wish to sec him at the College at quarter past one o'clock—my lecture closing at one o'clock. I did not stop to talk to him, for I expected the conversation v ould be a long one, and I had my lecture to prepare, for i was necessary for me to have ray time and also to keep my mind free from other exciting matters. Dr. Parkman agreed to call on me as I proposed. He came accordingly belweec. 14 and 2 o'clock, entering at the lecture room door. I was engaged in removing some glasses from my lecture room table into the BLOOMSBURG, COLUMBIA COUNTY, PA., THURSDAY, JULY .11, 1850. room in the rear called the upper laboratory; he came rapidly down the step and followed mo into the laboratory ; he immediately ad dressed me with great energy, "Are you rea dy for me, sir—have you got the money ?" I replied, "No, Dr. Parkman,''and was then beginning to state my condition ar.d my ap peal to him, but he would not listen to me, and interrupted me with much vehemence ; he called me scoundrel and liar, and went on heaping on me the most bitter taunts and o - probrious epithets; while he was speaking he drew a handful of papers from his pocket and took from them my two notes, and also an old letter from Dr. Hossack, written many years ago, and congratulating him on his success in getting me appointed Professor of Chemistry. "You see," he said, "I got you into your office, and now I will get you out of it." He put back into his pocket all the papers except the letter and the notes; I can not tell how long the torrent of threats and invectives continued, and 1 cannot recall to memory lut a 6mall portion of what he said. At first I kept interposing, tr irg to pacify him, so that I might obtain he object for which I sought the interview, but I could not j stop him. and soon my own temper was up ; I 1 forgot everything, and fe It nothing but the sting of his words. I was excited to the I highest degree of passion, and while he ■ was speaking and gesticulating in the most | violent and menacing manner, thrusting the j letter and liis fist into my face, in my fury I i seized whatever thing was handiest, (it was ! a slick of wood,) and dealt him an instanta neous blow with all th i force that passion could give it. I did not know, or think, or care where I -hould hit him, nor how hard nor what the effect would be; it was on the I side of the head, and there was nothing to I break the force of the blow ;he fell instantly J upon the pavement; there was no second * blow; he did not move; I stooped down o- j ver him, and he seemed to be lifeless; ! blood flowed from his mouth, and got a sponge and wiped it away; I got some am- 1 monia and applied it to his nose, but with- ! out effect; perhaps I spent in ten minutes in ! attempts to resuscitate him, but I found lie was absolutely dead ; in my horror and con- | sternation 1 ran instinctively to the doors and j bolted thorn—the doors of the lecture room ! ar.d of the laboratory below; and then what j was Ito do? It never occurred to me to o out and declare what had heen done, and j obtain assistance, I saw nothing but the al tentative of a successful movement and con cealment of the body on the one hand, and ; of infamy and distraction on the other. The The first thir.g I did, as soon as I could do anything, was to draw the body into the pri- j vatc room adjoining, where I took off the j clothes and began putting them into the fire, j which was burning in the upper laboratory i they were all consumed there that afternoon, j with papers, pecket-book and whatever they | contained. 1 did not examine the pockets J nor remove anylhing except the watch. I saw that, or the chain of it, hanging took it and threw it over the brid. e went to Cambridge. My next move was get the body into the sink which stands in | the small private room, by setting the body ' partially erect against the corner, and by | gelling up into the sink myself. I succeeded ! in drawing it up there ; it was entirely dis- j membered ; it was quickly done, as a work of terrible and desperate necessity. The ! only instrument was the knife found by the j officers in the tea chest, which I kept for! cutting corks. I made no use of the Tur- ; I kish knife, as it was called at the trial; that had long been kept on my parlor mantel piece in Cambridge, as a curious ornament. ' My daughters frequently cleaned it, hence j the marks of oil and polishing found on it. 1 I had lately brought it into Boston to get the silver sheath repaired. While dismembering the body a stream of Cocliit :ate water was running through the sink carrying off the blood in a pipe that passed down through the lower laboratory. There must have been aleak in the pipe for the ceiling below was stained immediately around it. There was a fire burning in the furnace of the lower laboratory; Littlefield was mista ken in thinking there had never been a fire there; he had probably never kindled one, but I had done it myselt several times ; I had done it that day for the purpose of ma king oxygen gas; the head and viscera were put into that furnace that day, and fuel heaped on; did not examine at night to see to what degree they were consumed; some of the extremities were put in there, I be lieve, on that day. The pelvis and some of the limbs, perhaps, were all put under ! the lid of the lecture room table, in what is 1 called the well, a deep sink lined with lead / a stieain of Cochituate was turned into it and kept running through it all Friday night; the thorax was put into a similar well in the lower laboratory which I filled with wator and threw in a quantity of potash which I found there. This disposition of the re mains was not changed till after the visit of the officers on Monday. When the body had been thus all disposed of, I cleared away all traces of what had been done. I think the stick with which the fatal Mow had been struck proved to be a piece of the stump of a large grape vine—say two in ches in diameter and two feet long. It was one of several pieces which I had ca ried in from Cambridge long before for the purpose of showing the effect of certain chemical fluids in coloring wood by being absorbed into the pores ; the grape vine beir.g a very porous wood was wall adapted to this pur pose. Another longer stick had been used as intended and exhibited to the students; this one had not been used—l put it into the fire. I took up the two notes either from the table or the floor, I think the table, close by where Dr. P. had fallen ; I seized an old metallic pen lying on the table, dashed it a cross the face and through the signatures, and put them in my pocket; Ido not know why I dia this rather than put them in the fite, for I had not considered for a moment what effoct either mode of dispoi ing ot them would have on the mortgage, or my indebt edness to Dr. P. and the other persons inter ested, and I had tot yet given a single thought to the question as to what account I should give of the objects or result of my in terview with Dr. Parkman ; I never saw the sledge hammer spoken of my Littldfield— never knew of its existence—at least I have no recollection of it; I left the College to go home as late as six o'clock ; I collected my self as well as 1 could, that I might meet my family and others with composure. On Saturday I visited my rooms at the College, but made no change in the disposition of the remains, and laid no plans as to my future j course; on Saturday evening read the no i lice in the Transcript respecting the disap- I pearance; I was then deeply impressed with I the necessity of immediately taking some ' ground as to the character of my interview I with Parkman, for I saw that it must be | come known that I had such an interview, Jas I had appointed it first by an unsealed note on Tuesday, and on Friday I had my j self called at his house in open day and ra- tified the airangement, and had there been j seen, and liad probably been overheard by j the man-servant, and I knew not by how | many persons Dr P. might have been seen j .entering my room, or how many persons he have told by the way where he was [going; the interview would in all probability I bo known, and I must be ready' to explain i il '' The question exercised me much, but on j Sunday my course was taken. I would 4*o ' into Boston to and be the first to declare my- j self the person as yet unknown with whom j Dr. P. had made the appointment; I would take the giomid that I hd invited him to 1 the College to pay him money, and that I had paid it accordingly. I fixed bpon the ! sum b" taking the small note and adding in | terest, which, it appears, I cast erroneously. S 111 had thought of this course earlier I should not have deposited Petlee's check for S9O in the Charles River Bank on Saturday, i but should have suppressed it as going so far 1 make up the sum which I was to have pro- j | fessed to have pain the day before, and j i which Pettee knew I had by me at the hour j 1 of interview. It had not occurred to me that j I should over show the notes cancelled in ; I proof of it, or I should have destroyed the j large note and let it be inferred that it was i gone with the missing man, and I should j only have kept the small one, which was all i that I could pretend to have paid. My sin- thought was concealment and safety— j else was incidental to that. I in no state to consider my ulterior pe- j 1 cuniary interest—money; though I needed j !it so much it was of 110 account with me in j I that condition of mood. If I had designed | j and prcmediated the homicide ot Dr. Park j man in order to get the possession of the j notes and cancel my debt. I rot only should j not have deposited Pettee's check the next I day, but 1 should have made some show | getting and having the money the morning ; before. Ijshould have drawn my money : from the Bank and taken occasion to men | lion to the Cashier that I had a sum to make ■ up on that day for Dr. P. and the same to i Hanchman when I boirowed the- $lO. I | should have remarked that 1 was so much 1 short of a large fum that I w sto pay Park j man. % borrowed the money from Hench- I man as mere pocket money for the Ay. I r ij 1 had intended the homicide of Dr. P. 1 : j should not have made the appointment with . | him twice, and each lime in so open a man • ncr that other persons would almost certainly ' ! know of it, and I should not have invited j him to my rooms at an hour when the Col f lege would be full of students and others, ■ and an hour when I was most likely to re s ceive calls from others; for that was the , hour just after the lecture, at which persons having business with me or my rooms, wete always directed to call. I looked into my rooms on Sunday afternoon, but did nothing. After the first visit of the officers I too* the pelvis and some of the limbs from tho up per well and threw them into the vault un der the privy. I took the thorax from the well below and packed it in the tea chest as found. My own impression has been that this was not done till after the second visit 1 of the officers, which was on Tuesday; but Riilgsley's testimdYiy shows that it must have been done soOner. The perforation of the thorax had been made by the knife at the time of removing the viscera. On Wednesday, I put on kindlings and made a fire in the furnace below, having : first poked down thn ashes. Somo of the limbs—l cannot remember which or how many—were consumed at that time. This is the last I had to do with the remains. The tin box was designed to receive the thorax, though I had not concluded where I should finally put the box. The fish hocks, tied up as grapples, were to be used in drawing up the parts in the vault, whenever I should de termine how to dispose of them, and got 1 strains enough. I had a confused double I object in ordering the box and making the 1 grapples. I had before intended to get such ■ tilings to send to Fayal—the box to hold the I plants and other articles which I wished to Truth and Right—God tfiSQ iMir Country. protect from the salt water and the sea air, and the hooks to be used there in obtaining Cerralliner plants from the sea. It was this previously intended use of them that sugges ted and mixed itself with the idea of tho oth er application. I doubt even now to which use they would have been applied; I had not used the hooks at the time of the discov ery. The tan put int > the tea chest \tas ta ken from a barrel of it that had been <in the laboratory for sortie time; the bag 'of tan brought in on Monday, was not used; it be longed to a quantity obtained by me a long time ago. for experiments in tanning, and was sent in by the family to get it out of the way. Its being just sent in at that time was accidental. I was not aware that I had put my knife in the cheat; tho stick found in the saucer ofink was for marking coarse dia grams on cloth; the bunch of filed keys had been used long ago by me in Front Street, and thrown carelessly in a drawer; I never examined them, and do not know whether they would fit any of the locks of the College or not; if there were other keys fitting doors with which I had nothing to do, 1 suppose they must been all duplicat s, or keys of for mer locks, left Ihere by the mechanics or janitor; I know nothing about them, and should never be likely to notice them among the multitudes of articles, large and small, of all kinds, collected in my rooms; the Janitor had furnished me with a key to the dissect ing room, for the admission of medical friends visiting the College, hut I had never used it. The nitrate acid on the stairs was not used to remove spots of blood, but was dropped by accident. When the officers called on me on Friday, the 30th, I was in doubt whether I was un der arrest or whether a more, strict search of my rooms was to be had, the latter hypo thesis being hardly less appalling than the iormer. When I found that we went over Cragie's Bridge, I thought the arrest most probable; when I found that tho carriage was slopping at the jail, I was Rttre of my late. Before leaving the carriage I took a doso of strychnine fro .. my pocket and swal lowed it. I had prepared it in the sliapo of a pill before I left my laboratory on the 23d. I thought I could not bear to survive detect ion. I thought it was a large dose Tho state of my nervous system probably defeat ed its action partially. The effects of the poison were description ; it was In operaituu at dm OwllogH. and before I went there, and most severely afterward. I wrote but one of the anonymous letters produced at the trial—the one nailed at East Cambridge. The little bundle referred to in the letter detained by the jailor, contained only a bottle of nitric acid for domestic use. i I had seen it stated in a newspaper that I purchased a quantity of oxalic acid, which it was presumed was to De used in removing blood stains. I wish the parcel to be kept untouched that it may be s'noWn, if there should be occasion, what it really was that 1 had purchased. I have drawn up in separ i ate papers an explanation of the use I inten ■ ded to make of the blood sent for on Thurs i day, the 23J, and of tho conversation with i Littlefield about the dissecting vault. I think that Pettee, in his testimony at the trial, put 100 strongly my words about having settled with Dr. P. Whatever I did say of the kind was in th the hope I should be able to paci fy Dr. P. and make some arrangement with him, and was said in order to quiet Pettee, who was become restive, under the sdfieila tion of Dr. Parkman. After Dr. Webster staled some of the facts recorded above on the 23d of Hay, this question, with all the earnestness, solemnity and authority of tone that Dr. Putnam was master of, was address ed him : Dr. Webster, in alt probability your days are numbered, you. cannot, you dare not speak falsely to me now; you must not die with a lie in your mouth—so prove to yourself that your repentance for the sins of your past life is sincere; tell me the truth then, a confid.Jt.ce to be kept secret during your lifetime and as much longer as my re gard for the happiness of your family shall seem to me to require, and the interest of truth and justice to permit; search to the bottom of your heart for the history of your j motives, and tell me, before God, did it ever j occur to you before the decease of Dr. Park man, that his death, if you could bring it to pass, would be of great advantage to you, or at least that personal injury to him might possibly be the result of your expected con ference with him ? As allying man I charge you to answer me truly and exactly, cr else be silent Had you not such a thought? "No, never!" said he, with energy and feel ing, "as I live, and as God is my witness, never! I was no more capable of such a thought than 0110 of my innocent childreq ; I never had the remotest idea of injuring Dr. P. until the moment the blow was struck. Dr. P. was extren ely severe and sharp, the most provoking of men, and I am irriti ble ard passionate. A quick-handed and brief violence of temper has been a besett ing sin of my life. I was an only child, much indulged, and I have never acquired the control over my passions that I ought to have acquired early, and the consequence is all this." But you notified Dr. l'arkman to meet you at a certain hour, and told him, you would pay him, when you knew you had not the means ? No, he replied, I did not tel hirn I would pay him, and there is no evidenceht I to d him so, except my own words after his disappearance and after I had determined to take the ground that I had p id him, those words were a miserable tissue of falsehood to which I was committed from the moment I had begun to conceal the homicide. I never had a thought of injuring Dr. Parkman." This was accompanied by the satement in which the Professor attempts to explain as to his seeing Littlefield, sending for blood, and of inquiring about gases from the vault. After reading the statement PL Putnam proceeded to argue as to its truthfulness, say ing that it was made when the writ of error was pending also, that Professor Webster's estate was worth several thousand dollars, and that he was not in such a stra t as to commit such a crime deliberately. The previous petition from Prof. Webster, protesting his innocence, ane praying for abj solute pardon, he said was got up by his family, who were wavering in their belief in is innoc nice, until his confession was communicated to them about a week since. He concluded in asserting his belief that the confession was true. Members of the Council retained a cop / of the petition pre viously presented, and withdrawn by the ad vice of Dr. Putnam, which will probably be published. It asserts his snnocence. and it also asserts that Littlefield, or some other person, placed the remains in his room to compass his ruin. A ROMANCE IN REAL LIFE. BY LAURIE TODD. In New York, in 1796, my store was in Maiden lane, within three doors of the store of John Mowatt, an extensive dealer in shoes. His foreman was Johu Pelsure, who sat behind the counter, stitching shoes ana waiting on customers as they steppen in. One day a corpse was found in the dock, at the fool of tho street. The coroner took the jurymen from the neighborhood, and among them John Mowatt and his foreman John Pelsue. The corpse lay on a table in the centre of the room. Some of the jurymen remarked that as soon as John Pelsue looked on the corpse he started, turned pale, and looked as if go ing to faint. He rallied, however, but his subsequent movements occasioned some cu rious remarks. Tho jury having rendered a verdict of death by drowning, were dischar ged. Mowatt turned round to look for his foreman, bnt, behold, he was not there. He stepped out of door# and saw him high up the street, on a half run, when he quickly turned a corner.—All sorts of inquiries were made, but nothing could be jheard of him. This with his turning pale at the first view of the corpse, occasioned some surprise a mong the jurors for many days afterwards. John Mowatt was a bacelor of thirty five, and Pelsue had seen about thirty summers. On a certain day, about a month thereaf ter, a lady in deep mourning stepped into Mowatt's store and asked for a pair of shoes. While John was trying how the shoes fitted, the lady enquired— "You had a man in your store, John Pel sue by name—what is become of him ?" "Yes," says Mowatt, "but what has be come of him I would give a good deal to learn." lie then telated the story as above stated "Strange," replied the lady. "And you have not seen him since." "Never." "Yes you have seoa him," replied the la dy. "I certainly,', said Mowatt, "would not contradict a lady of youi appearance ; but I have i.ot seen him to my knowledge." "Well, then," says she, "I am John Pel sue ; and that subject on whom we held the jury was the corpse of my husband.—My family name is Randall. 1 was born in Phil adelphia. I married (against the wishes of my parents) John Conner, a sober, industri ous man, by trade a shoemaker. We lived happy for two years. He took to drinking, aud neglected his business, and once struck me, while in liquor. We had no family, so I resolved while we were stitching shoes to gether, to learn his trade and leave him. I soon made a passable shoe, when f assum- I ed male attire, came to New York, and you gave me work as ajourneyman. The rest you know." John told the present narratoi. some days after, that on hearing this he was dumb foun. ded. "Well, madam," says John, "what are your plans for the future ?" Says she "I have not formed any plan." "Well," says John, "I liked you as a jour neyman, and when my foreman, I was pleased; suppose we go into partnership for life ! In forty-eight hours thereafter they were married. She was a fine looking woman, and might have passed for twenty-five. This, perhaps is tho first mstanee 011 record of a woman's sitting as coroner's jurjman on the corpse of her husband.—The above is a simple tale of truth. I was witness to all the facts. Newspapers. A man eats up a pound of sugar, and tho pleasure he has enjoyed is ended ; but the information he gets from a newspaper is treasured up in the mind, to be used when ever occasion or inclination calls for it. A newspaper is r.ot the wisdom of one man or two men ; it is the wisdom of the age, of past agfs too. A family without a newspa per is always half an age bohind the times, 111 general information ; besides they never think much or find much to think about. And there are the little ones growing up in ignorance without a taste for reading. Besides all these evils, there's the wife, who, when her work is done, has to sit down with her hands in her lap, and noth thing to amuse her mind from the toils and cares of the domestic circle. Who then would be* without a newspaper—Ren;. FranoKn. A Short I'irc-sldt Story. One evening a poor man and his son, it j little boy, Bat by the wayside, near the gate 1 of an old town inGormany. The father took j n loaf of bread, which he had bought in the town, and broke it, and gave the half to his : boy. 'No lather,' said the boy, 'I shall not | eat till after you. You have been working l all day for small wages to support me, and you must bo very hungry 1 shall wait till you are done.' 'You speak kindly my son,' rep ied the pleased father; 'your love to me does more good than my fijod, and those eyes of your dear mother who is left us, and told you to love me as she used to doj: ind indeed, my boy, have been a gfeat strength and comfort to me ; but now that I have eat the first morsal to please you, it is your turn now to eat'—Thank you father; but break this piece in two, and take you a little more ■ for you see the loaf is not large, and you re quire much more than I do.' I shall divide the loal for you, but eat I shall not; I have j abundance and let us thank God for His 1 goodness in giving us food, and giving what i* better still cheerful and contented hearts. : He who gave us the li/ing bread from heaven, to nourish our immortal souls, how shall He not give us all other food that is necessaty to support our moral bodies!' Tho father and . son thanked God, and then began to cut the loaf in pieces, to begin their frugal meal. But as they cut one portion of the loaf, there fell oul several large pieces ot gold of great value. The little boy gave a shout of joy, and was springing to grasp the unexpected treasure, when he was pulled back by his father. 'My son ! my son ! 'do not touch that money ;it is not ouis! I know not, as yet, to whom it belongs; but probably it was put there by the baker through mistake. We must inquire, run.' 'But father, father,' in terrupted the boy, 'you are poor and needy, and you ttfbght the loaf, and then the baker may tell a lie, and'—'l will not listen to you, my boy, I bought the loaf, but did not buy 1 the gold in it. If the baker sold it to mo in ignorance, I shall not be so dishonest as to take advantage of him. Remember him who told us to do to others, as we would have others to do to us. The baker may possibly cheat us, but that is no reason why we should cheat him. I am poor indeed, but that'is no sin. If we share the poverty of Jesus, God's own son, 0, let us share his goodness and his trust in God.—We may never be rich, but we may always be hon est. We may die of starvation, but God's will be done in doing it! Yes my boy, trust God and walk tn his ways, and you never shall be put to shame. Now run for the ba ker, and I will stay and watch the gold till he comes.' So the boy run for the old man. 'Brother workman, said the old man, you have made some mistake, and almost lost your money ;' and he showed the baker the gold, and told him how it had been found 'lt is thir.e ?' asked the father 'if it is, take it away.' 'My father, baker is very poor, and' —Silence, my child; put me not to shame by thy complaints. lam glad we have sa ved this man from losing his money.' The baker had been looking alternately upon the honest father and his boy, and upon the gold that lay glittering upon the green turf 'Thou art indeed an honest fellow,' said the baker, 'and our neighbor, David sposje but the truth when he said that thou were the hotiestest man in our town. Now I shall j tell thee about the gold. A stranger came in my 6hop tho other day and gave me that ; loaf, and he told me to sell it cheaply, or j give it away to the honeslest poor man in 1 the city. I told David to send thee to me > ! as a customer, this morning; and as thou ! wouldst not take the loaf for nothing, I sold it to thee for the last pence in thy purse ; and the loaf with all its treasure—and cer tain it is not small—is thine ; and God grant thee a blessing with it!' The poor father' bent his head to the ground, while, the tears fell from his eyes. His boy ran and put his hand round his neck, and said, '1 shall al ways like you, my father ; trust God, and do what is right, for I am sure it will never put us to shame.— Edinburg Chr. Magazine. WAKE UP! WAKEUPt Not a vory courteous summons perhaps but a very timely one. ft is high time to a wake, and the most of us are asleep, and soundly. God calls us to awake. He speaks in his word loudly and clearly. He speaks by his Spirit, gently, but with power. He speaks by • is providence solemn and freely are the calls. Awake, thou that steepest. The Church calls us to awake. She needs our aid. We help her not at all when we are asleep. But she needs us now. Her foes are many. Her danger is great. She is beset without and willtin, and every man who loves her interests should be up and do ing. 'the world implores us to awake. The world is perishing. There are hundreds of millions abroad ; there are hundreds at our door, perishing in misery and sin ; for whose salvation we should be concerned Wake up to labor! There is much to be done. A city in flames would not require half the work that is demanded of us now for the world is in danger of eternal fire.—We ought to be at work—all hands and all hearls „ Wake up to give. God requires it—We must deny ourselves, and take up the cross ; give our property; give our children give ourselves to the work which the Church and the world demand. Wake up to pray ! He who can bless arid save will be required of to do thi* thing— The Church Is in danger, the country i* in j danger, the world is in danger. God aione i can help. Let us wake up and pray. ( [Tiro Dollars per Annan' NUMBER 24. MARRYING FOR LOVE. In the ''Police Cases" supplied the Peim• sylvnnian by the inimitable '-W." we fre quently find some excellent things. The fol lowing is not bad: A shabby gen tfeel man, in rusty black, presenteil himself at the bar, with a face frightfully scarified, and a very woful ex pression of countenance, lie gave tho fol lowing touching history of his misfortunes : "My name is Matthew Anderson. lam a d> er by trade, anil do a very good business. I began to set up for myself in the year 18 36; and, as soon as it was known I was getting albng pfelty well in the world, abcut forty girls, I suppose, seemed to be making a oead set at me. I could have hal my pick or choice of about as flue a lot ol fenn nines as ever trod on shoe-leather. They were constantly running to my shop, on pro fence of getting their ribbons, shawls dress es, petticoats, and so forth dyed .j and rhai.y a thing they got dyed that didn't want ay. ing at all—all for tho sake of throwing them selves in my way But my heart was cal lous to assaults of Cupid; though some of tho girls that ran after me thus way, had lots Of pewter, and ono of their fathers was wortir twenty thousartd dollars at the lowest figure. She was a pretty good looking girl, 100, ex cept that she was lame of one leg, and had an impediment Itl her speech. But I just kept on steady; and not a girl could brag that she had made the least impression on me, till I was belter than forty years old, and that was about two years ago ; for, you sec, I was afraid Of thetti girls that ssemed to be willing; and as I was a quiet man myself, ! wanted a wife that was just the same thing whereas rrost of lire girls that hunted Tie looked like they might b J una; end trim stone when they choosed to show c:• but there was one, named Mary Ann Green, that looked as mild as a iieiv potaloe : butter wouln't begin to melt in her mouth, I thought, though wasn't worth a copper, and hadn't a second suit to her back. So 1 fell * madly in love with her and married her fore you could say "Jack Kobinsdn !"—and what do you suppose was the result Pausing for a reply, and finding that the question was too abstruse for immediate so lution, Mr. Anderson removed a handker chief with which his lace was bandaged, and passing his fingers over several purple diagrams and lacerations ol the cuticle, he added, "Skinned, sir; literary skinned I tfer father was a currier, and this is the way sho dresses my hide ! before wo were married three days, she dropped the mask from her own face, and tore the best part of the skid from mine. Now, sir 1 want to seo if the law can protect me in my fghts, Mr. A. having received instruction to the effect that this was a family affair, in whiell the city authorities had no right to interfere, left the office with evident signs of discott tent. Woman's Patience; How strange that the patience ol Job should be considered so remarkable, when there are so many mothers in the world, whose patience equals, if it does not exceed his! What rvonld Job have done had he been compelled to sit in the house and sew and knit, and fturse the children, and sco that hundreds of different things wero alien ; ded to during the day, and hear children cry, fret, and complain ? Or how would he have stood it if like some poor women, he had been obliged to rear a family of ten ot twelve children without help, spending months, years—all the prime of hie—in washing, scouring, scrubbing, mending, cooking, nursing children, fastened to the house and his oflspring from morning till night, and from night till morning, sick or well, in storm or sunshine, his nights often rendered miserablo by watching over his children ? How could he have stood all this, and, in addition to all other troubles, the curses, and even violence of a drunken com panion ? How could he have felt, after wearing out his very exisltiess for his tendor offspring, and a worthless companion ; to bo abused and blamed 1 Job endured his toils and losses very well for a short time, but they did not endure long enoug to test tho length of patience. Woitlan tests her pa tience by a whole life of trials, and she does not grumble at her burden*. Wo are honestly of tho opinion, that woman has ntore patience than Job ; and, instead of saying, *'THe pdtionco of Job," wo should say, "The patience of women." Pnreu(|i and children. It was said that when tho mother of Wash ington was asked how she torined the char, acto of her son, she replied that she had eaiW endeavored to teach him threo things: obedience, diligence suit! truth. No better advice can ba given by any parents. Teach your children to obey. Let it be the first lesson. You can hardly begin to soon. 11 requires constant care to keep up the habit of obedienoe, and especially to do it in such a way as not to break down the strength of the child's character. Teach your Children to be diligent. The habit of being always employed is a great safe-guard through life, as well as essential to almost every virtue. Nothing can be foolisher then an idea which parents have, that it is not respectable to si L their ohildren at work. Play ia a good thing ; innocent recreation is an employ ment, and a child may learn to be diligent in that as in other things. But let them learn early to be useful. As to truth it ia the one essential tiling. Let everything else bo sacrificed rather than that. Without it what dependence oan you plica in your child ? And be sure to do nothing yourself wh eh may ooulenance any species of pmvarica ion or falsehood. Yet how many parents do teach tbeii children the first esson of decep tion.
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