"' ' ' ' ■ . . | |
THE STAR OF THE NORTH.
m : . _ . *
fcuHeucr ALAIUBOTC.]
VOLUSp 2.
Tllti STAR OF THE NORTH
Is published every Thursday Morning, by
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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.