THE STAR OF THE NORTH.
R. Vf. Weaver, Proprfe^jl
VOLUME 9.
THE STAR OF THE NORTH
IS PUBLISHED EVERY WEDNESDAY MORNING BY
R. W. WEAVER,
krt^FlCE—Up stairs, tn the new britk bittid
ing, on Ike south ride oj Main Street, third
square below Market.
Ell 111 8 .—Two Dollars per annnm, if
paid within six months from the time of sub
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paid within the year. No subscription re
ceived for a leas period than aix months; no
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are paid, unless at the option of the editor.
ADVERTISEMENTS not exceeding one square
will be inserted three times for One Dollar,
and twenty-five cents for each additional in- 1
Settion. A liberal discount will be made to j
(hose who advertise by the year.
v Choice floetrg.
A LO R Ei
BY MARY EMMA GILLIES.
'Twas midnight, and he sal alone—
The husband of the dead ;
That day the dark dust had been thrown
Upon her buried head,
tier orphan'd children round him slept,
But in their sleep would moan,
Then fell the first tear he had wept—
He fell he woa alone.
The world was full of life and light,
But, ah, no more for him !
His little world once warm and bright-
It now was cold and dim.
Where was her sweet sod kindly face !
Where was her cordial lone!
He gazed around the dwelling place,
Aud felt be was alone.
The wifely love—maternal care—
The self-denying zeal—
The smile of hope that chased despair,
And promised future weal;
The clean bright hearth—nice table spread—
The obarm o'er all things thrown—
The aweetness in whate'ersbe said-
All gone—he was alone ?
He looked into his cotd while heart,
All sad ind unresigned ;
He asked how be had done his pari,
To one so truo —so kind!
Each error past he tried to trick,
In torture would alt tie-
Would give his life to bring her back-
In vaiu—he was atone.
He slept at last; and then he dreamed
[Perchance her spirit woke,]
A soft light o'er his pillow gleamed,
A voice in music spoke—
"Forgot—lorgiveri all neglect—
. Thy love recalled alone,
Thy babes I leave; oh, love, protect!
I still am all l
l'lace Chatham, the
workmen have discovered a great number of
human remains, amounting in the whole it
is said, lo nearly fifty. The skeletons were
discovered at a depth of scarcely three feet
below the rurfsce of the ground, nearly the :
whole ol them appearing as if having been \
bnried in coffins. The discovery of such a ,
number of skeletons has caused a vast
Amount of interest in the neighborhood, audi
speculation is rile how they came to be buri
ed at the spot in question, which is far re
moved from anything like a churchyard.—
Local antiquarians seem lo be of opinion that
(he bodies have been there about two tian
-ilred years, and it has beec suggested that it |
is more than probable that they are the re- i
■mains of those persons who died during the |
great plague in 1666 as it is a well known
fact, from the parish record that Chatham
suffered severely on that occssion ; and from
fear of infection, it appears feasible that the
bodies of the deceased persons would be de- ,
posited as far away from tho town as possi- !
ble. The bodies were lying eas'. and west,
in ibe ancient way of placing the corpse in '
the grsve. The skulls of inany of the bodies
are very perfect, some of the teeth being en- {
lire.
Miaa Stock Sales In New York. j
On two days of last week, Tuesday and ,
Wednesday, there were aold at the New York
Board of Brokers nominally 18,000 Reading
Railroad shares amounting in value at par to
£900,000 when ttlto city holds under 50,000
•hares, one half of which have not changed
hand* in the last eighiedt! months, and at
least 10,000 of the other half is held in trust
for buyers on the other aide of the ocean.—
The people believe this of coarse; they be
lieve too that notwithstanding this condition
of the stock that during the last forty days
194,325 shares have Been sold as reported, '
which at 850 per share amounts to $9,666,-
100, and if kept up at the same rate until the
year is completed it would amount to over
$77,000,000, which is over 826,000,000,
wore than Ibe ehtiie bankiog capital of that
•city I This extraordinary basinets, at which
•we can anticipate the eyes of resdert not
•killed jn financial operations, stretched to
the size of goggles, is only the operations in
Seeding with a stock limited to 228,668
•hares. On the 7ih, the total operations for
that day only amounted to the snm of $3,-
$78,358, and if kept op at that rate during
the yeat, would aggregate 8776,655,880 —a
beautiful return for the eapital employed I
On the Bth the sales reported were 82,981,-
<OO, which is evidently a mistake ol the prin
ter, or may have been omitted in the entry
of the ohattef mortgage of 81,500,000 npeo
the Rolling atoofc of the New York end Erie.
With this we have nothing to do. We have
reverted to this state of tbinge to show that
there are only 80,846 sbaree of Ibe Reading
Railroad left;—all the rest have gone.
Iy The aeeounta of the crops over tho
ctuitry coniinoe to be moat encouraging.
I}L'6 oils ßUßG, C6LI;WBIA COUNTY, PA., WEDNESDAY, JULY 22,1837. •
ADDRESS ON EDUCATION.
BY ROSACE GREELEY.
At the Anniversary of Wyoming Seminary
in Kingston, Tuesday, June 30, 1857.
Reported fir the 'Record of the Timet.'
( Mr. GREELEY stood behind a large melo
deon, on which six immense folios, volumes
of the Biographia Britannica, were piled at
a aland for his notes; end. with a voice and
meaner which seemed as if his muse were
pitchforking great loails of thought out of
his interior, with tremendous effort, but
which grew gradually esaier, began as fol
lows :)
I come before you to-day wil)j no elaborate
address prepared; for 1 think the speech
which will beat suit the occasion will be one
inspired by the occasion. The theme is of
course the one, the only one, which would
be filling here and now; I need scarcely
name it; EDUCATION. Yet not as an advo
cate of Education am 1 hers to address you;
she needs no advocate here, or you would
not be here to day. Ail this vast multitude,
gathered from distant homes, have came as
her advocates. There is surely no need of
dwelling on the value and importance of
that which is the engrossing theme of thought
and interest with all I see before me. The
intelligence, beauty and attention here col
lected, the halls in view of which we are
assembled; the addresses we have already
heard, all the memoriea our young friends
bear from this place, and all th hopes which
becken them lo the future, are so many les
pmoniils to the importance of Educalioo.—
• But, that we may bring our thoughts to some
practioal issue to-day, indulge me with your
attention, and while my feeble voice can j
make you bear, and so long as your patience ]
ought to be taxed, 1 will offer some remarks
as the fruits of my reflection and experience,!
on EDUCATION, —ITS MOTIVES, METHODS AND
ENDS.
The word Philosophy, in its proper and
derivative meaning, denotes a love of wis
dom or knowledge. But it is more common
ly used iu an accommodated and inaccurate
ser.se, as indicating a system or circle of
whatever pertains or ministers to the intel- j
lectual needs of man. Taking the word in i
this, now its almost nnitgyal sense, we may i
say the world
I *-ef cknswHlMKt
I among soholars,
i in our colleges and academies, our systems
of education, and the literary wot Id at large,
the philosophy of Plato still wields a para
mount authority. We may say that nine
tenths ol the thinking world bow lo him.—
These two names then, raised on high, stand
to-day as landmarks to all who go forth upon
the sea of thought.
Plato's philosophy begins by conlemplat
in<>the soul rather than the body,
man more as a pure spirit than as an agent
in the material world. It deems the noblest
work of eduoation to be, not so much the
( workman as the man. Its objects ate in
ward, and its means, therefore, are chosen
I for their reflective action on him who em-
I ploys them, not for their power in the world.
I But while Plator.iam thus builds on intuition,
Baconism seeks its foundation in reason.—
It begins with facts, and aims at fruit*. It
rejects everything from the beginning but
clear, proved facts, and calls forth all the
energies of its disciples in the search for
practical; useful results. The Baconian idea ,
regards man as placed on earth to be a 1
worker; and the true education as that which
best fits man for his work. It therefore cuts
i ofl from youthful training everything which
I gives no promise of being turued lo account
I in manly work.
j The civilized wotld, as I have said, sat for
i more than fifteen centuries at the feet of
< Plato; receiving his words with as implicit
faith as was given them in his own school at
Athena. And still his- ideas prevail in our!
scholastic system. Ask an old school pro- i
lessor of to day why be insists so much on
the general study of the higher mathematics,
the dead languages, and such other branches
as have no praotical work to do iu the bands
of these pupils; and be ia sure to answer yon
as an orthodox Platonist; To discipline the
mind. This is the great aim of oor college
and academy systems. But since the gen
eral diffusion o f the art of printing, the op
posite or Baconian idea has been steadily
gaining ground. And now the great ques
tion in which the educational mind of our
own age ia engaged, ia whether this idea
akall be adopted in the training syrtem of the
coming era*
Baeunism, then, commences withacare
•ful, intelligent observation of facts. It as
sumes nothing; proceeds by strict education;
takes nothing for granted; and postpones all
theorizing UQtil by an adequate interrogation
of facts, we shall be poicted irresistibly to
tbe conclusion. The model Baconian ol our
own nation, m>3 of what we may call our
own age, in comparison, with the vast extent
of history, was Benjamin Franklin. He was
not, indeed, a model man; as a man his char
acter had many faults; but we speak of him
now only as a tbinker, and in this light, be
was a model Baconian. Other illustrious
disciples of this school, however, belong to
these times; such as Fulton, Watt, Whitney,
Morse, Daguerre, snd many more. For this
is the school of practical men, who do tbe
work.
Now I too, in my poor way, avow myself
a follower of Bacon. 4,would apply his
Troth and Rigbt™Cod our Couutry.
touchstone lo allour processes of education.
I would affirm that the min4 i disciplined
best bj its own proper work; and not by ma
king this discipline the great end. I would
say to the farmer's son, poring orer Greek
verbs and Hebrew roots and accents; to the
damsel of sixteen, wasting her sweeluess on
algebra and geometry, what do yoo propose
to do with this, when joo shall have master
ed ill What i its use, its purpose, its end,
so lar as you are concerned ! If you pro
pose to tnrn it to some practical account,
very well; but if you only acquire it with an
eye to mental discipline, then I protest against
it as a waste of time and energy. Action,
action disciplines the mind; the acquisition
of what we need to know, better than that
we don't need.
Yes; I demand of education, tad of every
part of it, fruits. 1 test its vefue by the
standard of practical utility. Let us learn
first, at least, what we personally and posi
tively need to know; afterwards, if ever, that
which we can profit by only as exercise or
discipline. Let all our education recognize
that we are here as dodrs, not as dreamers.
Yet does this Bacontsm not really affirm, as
some say, the subordination of the man to
the workman, the mental to the physical
It affirms for the latter a precedence in time
only, not in importance. "First the blade,
then the ear; afterward the full corn in the
ear." The child must creep before it can
walk, however decided the superiority of the
latter mode of locomotion. We insist, then,
that education should first qualify its work
for his subject;—that is, for a career of as
sured usefulness and independence; because,
in delault of this, there is scarcely a chance
that he can be ncoralljiSgood or intellectually
great. Bread is not so noble as thought, but
iu the absence of food, the brain is paralyzed
or absorbed in the consciousness of hunger. I
Let every human being be first trained lo an
assured ablilily usefully to earn at least a
livelihood, and thus shielded from the all
but inevitable moral degradation of the de- J
pendent and the beggarly. Every man who
has bad, with myself, the sad experience
and observation affoided by a residence for
upwards of a quarter of a century in a great
city, will agree with me, when I say no
sight is more pitiable than the educated men,
having no means of support by their hands,
either through ignorance, weakness or pride,
who huddled in its crowded populations.—
host of such waifs, intellect-
We want a more |
dustrial eduoation, for many urgent reasons.
Ist. To advance physical health, strength
and longevity. 2d. For the proper cuhiva
tion of the earth, and the development of its
mineral and vegetable treasures. We have
but begun in this age lo know the wealth
of nature. What is the present state of ag
riculture, the first of arts in time, the first in
necessity! 3d. For improvement in ma
chinery, in manufactures, and in household
economy. 4th. To diffuse leisure and taste
(or study amoug the uneducated. It is a
very common complaint that thrifty, un
taught farmers grudge the cost of a thorough
education for their sons aud daughters.—
Hodge industrious and independent in his
ignorance scorns his educated noightor, who
is but a drone and a beggar with it all. "1
have succeeded well enough," says be,
"without education; why shouldn'tjny chil
dren do the same." Now 1 realize and re
gret Hodge's contempt for learning, but I
cannot pretend to be surprised at it. On the
contrary it seems to me most natural, and
not very blameworthy. For do but consider
that the educated son or daughter too often
returns to the paternal home with and ill
diaiuised contempt for its homely root, and
a positive aversion lo its downright labor.—
Wfto would expect a sensible homebred
parent to relish and value such education!
That son is not truly educated who cannot
grow more corn on an acre than his unlearn
ed father, and grow it with !ess labor. That
educated daughter has received a mistaken
and superficial training if she cannot excel
her mother in making soap or cheese or but
ter. All these are chemical processes, ii
which her education should rendot her an
adept, far beyond any untaught person. Tbe
educated lawyer, doctor or clergyman, whose
garden is not better, (I do not say larger,)
and his fruit trees more thrifty snd productive
ihnn his illiterate neighbor's, sadly discredits
and dnmages the cause of education. The
prejudice agnnat muscular, physical labor is
a product of barbarism and slavery. It ought
long since to have vanished in the light of
liberty and civilization, of course, he who
oan earn ten dollars per day aa a lawyer
should not desert this to toil for a dollar par
day as a plowman or canal.digger. This
would be folly. But tbe lawyer or phyaioian
who cannot earn the ten dollars per day, nor
one of them, amh who stands idle, and runs
io debt for bis board, rather than plow or
dig, has been very badly taught, and ia a
poor creature. Let each do bis best; but let
no man make his presumed ability to do
something better an excuse for doing noth
ing. "Six days shall tbou labor," says
tbe BOOK; and there is hardly a command
ment worse underwood or worso heeded.—
Each of us is under a perpetual obligation to
usefulness; and thia is not discharged by the
fact that we cannot find just the work we
would prefer to do. Every one lounging
around taverns, or idling in office, or wait
ing foi some one to. employ him as a lawyer,
a doctor, or in some such capacity, and
meantime doing ibe world uo good, but liv-
I ing on th* earnings of others, is a scandal
I and a clog to the cause of education.
| Perhaps the great mistake is nowhere
more gerieial or more pernicious than in the
education of woman. It ia the destiny of
woman, we carelessly asy, to preside over
a household aa wife and mother; and so it is
the destiny of most women, but by no means
of all. It is right thai all should be educated
to fulfil nobly the duties of matronage; but
it is not well that any should be educated so
as to fit her for no other sphere but this, so
as to render her life as a maiden necessarily
a defeat and a failure. Choice with some,
disappointment with others, necessity perhaps
with more; —these consign thousands to sin
gle life. All must fill this sphere at least for
■ season. Why then should not all be fitted
to exalt, and adorn it! > position and
sphere of woman is One pf- she themes
which the thought of Our age is pondering;
and its meditations will not be fruitless.—
Greater freedom ar.d wider opportunities for
usefulness in maidenhood, a juster and more
eqoal onion in married life, these are the
essential demands of the clear-sighted, and
tbey cannot always be answered by misrep
resentation nor silenced by sneers. Pecuni
ary independence and self-support in single
life are essential to woman, that she may
spurn the degrading idea of marrying for a
home and a livelihood. For, however prop
er the marriage state may be, surely an ill
assorted union is worse than none.
To this end, woman must be taught and
encouraged to do many things she now
shuns;—must be called out into God's sun
shine; and made a free producer of those
fruits which are its noblest embodiments.—
The fine arts in all (heir phaaet, gardening,
the vineyards, the manufactures, all nr.ust be
annexed to her industrial domain, until it
should be impossible, as well as shameful,
to exact of her teaching and other service
at half Ibe price which man receives for 1
equal ability and equal efficiency. This is
among the achievements immediately before
us, arid it is to be attained through a wiser
and more practical education.
But iu thus basing education upon industry,
activity, efficiency, I do not of course mean
to confine it to material ends. Its feet are
planted-firmly on the earth, only that its head
may be exalted lo the skies. Let our edu
csted youth be first cspable, skilful, efficient,
independent workers, in order that they may
develop and evince a nobler manhood, a
truer and sweeter womanhood, than we,
Let them be skilled in i.l! • .nn- nt inn-r• ' .r
exertion, so that They shall work ont for
themselves a genuine leisure for conquests
in the dominion of mind. Let them be in
ventors, 'hinkers, philosophers, poets, not
merely that they may coin their brain-sweat :
into bread, but thai, having secured ample ;
bread, they shall now be ready to labor in
teljectually for the good ol their race.
But would you have every one a mere
delver! you ask. Yes, let every one delve
till a way shall open before him to do some
thing better. Lei men be called to intellect
ual work, because needed there, not because
needing to be there. Let the relationship of
literature to life be placed on a truer, more
earnest basis.. Not*, we heji a young man,
trained in the prevailing system of educa- i
lion, cry, "Why may I not be an author, and
thus earn my bread.'! And so he makes an
earnest effort to enter the reslms of Author
ship, as Novelist, Essayist, even as Post.—
But alas / no Post ever deliberately sat down
to write a poem for either bread or fame.—
Poetry, lo be reel, is the overflow of-life, not
its mean quantity. True Poets only write
because they must; and Jenny Lind's Bird in
her beautiful song, that ories, "I must, I
must be singing." Only to think of Homer
or Dante going about with, "Please, air, buy
my poem, that my wife and my children
may have bread!" I often think with pleas
ure of' an anecdote of Uehler, the great Ger
man Poet. When a friend visited him. at a
time when he had published nothing for
many months, and asked him, "Have you
anything in band now, any great poetical
effort not yet finished, continue so
long withdrawn from ibe publio eye!" he
answered "No, I have not feh the necessity
of writing 'alely." A true Poet must be si
lent when he does not feci the necessity of
writing. But lo write because yoo have no
other means of snpport, because you cannot
live without it, Ibis is to debase your faoulty.
Yet the world is full of appeals for patronage
and employment, which amount to jnst this.
Now the world is not bettered by the book
thai is written for money; nor by any intel
lectual lobor of wbieb hunger is the inspira
tion. And alt education whioh makes s man
necessarily a lawyer, a physician, a cle'gy
man or an author, is degrading to literature
and intellect. The writer ought to be always
the perfected worker.
The curse of our time, as I suppose of all
times, is inordinate selfweeking. We ac
quire that W6 may serve, not mankind, bnt
ourselves. We seek not twYeep step in lb*
even march of life, but to steal a ride on the
baggage wagon. Tbe spirit of the NEW AGE
on which we are entering is different; it
speaks only of, and seeks for, the equal
rights of all. It says to the Legislator, pun
ish, pnnish crime; but only a* the Guardian
of Justice and the Protector of the Common
wealth; for the prevention of future crime,
and, if-it may be, tbe reformation' of tbe
offender. It says to the Thinker, Hate, but
bo careful to hale only that whioh is hateful,
which opposes and impsdsa human good.—
And it cries, as it hails the rising generation,
Yontb, study! Study with all your energies,
but study only ibaLyou may be a more effec
tive worker! It sayV to men every where,
Work, that you may be more unselfish and
effecfiTO students. And to all, Live, with all
yonr powers and all your life, that the
haughty may be abased, the humble exalt
ed, and God glorified.
I feel that I have reached the limits ol my
voice and ol your patience. I have thrown
out these thoughts, thus imperfectly, hoping
tbsl they may reach your minds and dwell
in them, and become your thoughts; and
thus, so far aa they are just and right, in
fluence your lives. You know our thoughts
are always, if allowed to develop themselves
rightly, better than our lives. What then 1
Shall oufthoughts be brought down 10 the
lower level of our lives, or shall the latter be
exalted ? Let us strive to make education
the seed of good thoughts; a sure and faith
ful teacher that aoul is moro and better than
body. Let it train the young so to use every
power that man may be ennobled, and life
may be higher and holier.
Tho Mother's Influence.
I can always tell the mother by her boy.
Tho urchin who draws back with double fiats
and lunges his playmate if he looks at bim
askance, has a very questionable mother.—
She may feed him, and clothe him, and
cram liirn with sweat.neats, and coax him
with promises; bnl if she gets mad, she
fights. She will pull him by the jacket ; she
will give him a knock on the back; she will j
drag him by the hair; she will call him all
sorts of wicked names, while passion plays
over her face io lambent flames that curl and
writhe out at the corner of her eyes.
And we never see the courteous little fel
low, with smooth locks and geulle manners
—in whom delicacy does not detract from
courage and manliness —but we say, "that
boy's mother ia a true lady." Her words and
her ways are solt, loving and quiet. If she
reproves, her language is "my son," iiol"you
little wretch, you plague of my life, you tor
ment, you scamp!"
She hovers belorc him as the pillar of light
before the wandering Israelites, and her
beams are reflected in his face. To bim the
word mother is synonymous with everything
pure, sweet and beautiful. Is he an artist!
In after life, the face that with holy radiance
shines on his oanvas is that of his mother.
JtHji-IJ.SjJILQj soft, low, voice, will bring her
urc my
Wljtmlt .jps'til -in. KIsJ
: to rn a
the ruffian mother— al.isl Hint there arc such
—will form the ruffian character of a man. j
There is no disputing the fact; it shines iu
the face of every little child. The coarse, \
brawling woman, will have coarse, vicious,
brawling, fighting children. She who cries
on every occasion, "I'll box your ears—l'll J
slap your jaws—l'll break your neck," is
known as thoroughly through her children as
if her unwomauiy manners were displayed
iu the public street.
AN INCENTIVE TO PLUCE. —A hopeful youth
who was the owner of a young bull terrier
was one day training the animal in the art of
being ferocious, and wanting some animated
object to set the dog upon, his daddy, alter
considerable persuasion, consented to get
down upon ail fours and make fight with
Mr. Bull. Young America began lo urge on
the dog—"sis-ler-boy,—seize liim, &c.;" at
last the dog "made a dip" and got a good
hold upon the old man's proboscis, and get
tho dog off he couldn't. So he began to cry
out with the pain caused by the fangs of the
dog. "Grin and bear it, old man!" shouted
the yonng scapegrace! "Grin and bear it—
'twill be the mahin' of the pup.
Itr At an examination of the Collage of
Surgeons a candidate was asked by Aberne
thy—
I "What would you do if a tnan was blown
up with powder!"
" Wait until be come down," he coolly re
plied.
"True," replied Abernethy, "and suppose
I should kick you for such an impertinent
reply, what muscles would you put in mo
tion !"
"The flexors and sxlensors of my arm, for
I would knock you down immediately."
He received a diploma.
ONLY ONE O'CLOCE.— Mr. M., coming home
late one night from 'meeting,' was met at the
door by his wife.
" Pretty time of night, M., for you to come
home—pretty time, three o'clock in the
morning , you, a respectable man in the
community, aud tho fattier of a family I"
"'Tisn'l three—its only one; I heard it
Itriko; council always sits till I o'clock."
"My soul IM. you're drunk—as true as
I'm alive, you're druuk. It's tbrea in the
morning."
"I say, Mrs. M., it's one. I heard it strike
one as I came around the corner, twoor three
times'."
0T A fast man undertook the (ask of teas
ing an eccentric preacher:
"Do you believe," said he, "in the story
of tbe'Fatted calf!'"
"Yes," eaid the preacher.
"Well, then, was it a male or female calf
that was killed.
"A female," replied the divine.
"How do you know that
"Because, (looking the interrogator in the
face,) I see the mtle is still alive.
From ''The Compass, With Variations."
BY TOM HOOD.
Down went the wind, down went the wave,"
Fear quitted the most finical;
Tbe saints, I wot, were soon forgot,
And hope was at the pinnacle ;
When rose on high the frightful cry—
" Tbe devil's in Ibe binnacle."
"The saiuts be near," the helmsman cried,
His voice with quite a falter,
"Steady's my helm, but every look
The needle seems to alter;
God only knows where China lies,
Jamaica or Gibraltar."
The captain stared aghat at mate,
The pilot at III' apprentice;
No fancy of the German sea
Of fiction the event is;
But when they at the compass looked,
It'eeainad turn compos mentis.
Now north, now south, now east, now west,
The wavering point was shaken,
'Twns past the whole philosophy
Of Newton and of Bacon.
Never by compass, till that hour,
Such latitudes were taken.
No Use for Trowers.
On the morning of the meteoric shower in
1833, Old Peyton Roberts, who intended ma
king an early start lo his woik, got up in the
midst of the display. On going to his door,
he saw with amazement, the sky lighted up
with the falling meteors, sod he concluded
at once that the world was on fire, and that
tbe day of judgment had come.
He stood for a moment gazing in speech
less terror at the scene, and then with a yell
ol horror sprang out of the door into the yard,
right into tbe midst of the falling stars, aud
here in his effort to dodge them h6 commen
ced a series of ground tumbling that would
have done honor to a rope dancer. His wife
being awakened in the meantime, and seeing
old Peyton jumping and skipping about in
the yard, called out to know what in the
name o' sense be wasdoiti' out char,dancing
'round without bis clothes. But Peyton beard
not—the judgment, and long back account
lie would have lo settle, made bim heedless
of all terreslial things, and his wife by this
lime becoming alarmed at his behavior,
sprang out of bed and running to the door,
shrieking to the lop of her lungs—
"Peyton, I say Peyton, what do yon mean,
jumping about out that! Come m and put
your Irowsers on."
Old Peyton, whose fears bad near over
powered him, faintly answered as he fell
sprawling on the earth—
"Trowsers, Peggy! what the h—U' it>
tr-twhan worhP* fire."
IJV PASSION. —A passionate person is al
ways in trouble—always doing that which
he regrets and is ashamed of, in his calm re
flecting moments—always nn annoyance lo
his best friends, and confessedly bis worst
enemy. The indulgences of passion, by pa
rents especially, has a far reaching, a most
pernicious influence. A parent who cannot
govern himsell is totally unfit lo govern his
children. A fretful, peevish mother will
make her children like herself, and nothing
less than a miracle can prevent it. An angry
word, followed by a blow, goes far to fret
and provoke, and sour the temper of your
children, aud such a course should ever bo
avoided.
GENTLEMEN AND TIIXIR DEBTS— The late
Rev. Dr. Sutton, Vicar at Sheffield, once said
to the late Mr. Peecb, a veterinary surgeon,
' Mr. l'eech, how is it you have not called '
upon me for your account!"
"Oh, said Mr. Peeeh, "I never ask a gsn- ,
tleman for money."
"Indeed," said the Vicar, "then how do
you get on if he don't pay!"
"Why," replied Mr. Peech, "after a certain
lime I conclude he is not a gentleman, and
then I ask him."
tsr At a concert in Wisconsin, at the con
clusion of the song, "There's a good time
coming," a country farmer got up and ex
claimed, " Mister, couldn't you fix the date,
that is what we want—just give us the date,
Mister." The farmer was right; we hnve
been promised (his consummation for many
years, but like the rainbow, it recedes as we
advance towards it.
OR MR. PRENTICE, of the Louisville Jour
nal is the author of the following:—
" We see that the sprightly, though naugh
ty authoress, who calls herself George Sand,
has expressed herself very strongly in favor
of being burned after her death. If there is
any truth in the scriptures, we guess she will
have her wish.
XW "Well neighbor, what's the most chris
tian news this morning I" said a gentleman j
to his friend.
"1 have just bought a barrel of flour for a
poor woman."
"Just like you ! who is it > you have made
happy by your charity this time!
"My wife I"
tF Two travelers having been robbed in
a wood, and tied some distance from
each other, one of tftern, in despair, exclaim
ed—
"O, I'm undone!"
"Are youl" said the other, "then I wish
yon'd come and undo me."
17" Mile* Darden, seven feet six inches
high, and weighing over a thousand pounds,
died recently in Tennessee. It took 4 men
to place him iu his coffin. The largest man
in tbe world.
87 Reputation is often got without merit,
and loat without a crime.
[t* Dollars Jter Mau.
NUMBER 28.
THE L*TK WILLIAM L. MAHCY
HIS UOMT—HIS STUDIES, AND IIIS CLOSISQ LITE.
A correspondent of the New Vork PmJ,
writing from Albany, N. V , communicates
tie following in regard lo the late William L.
Marry:
" During a po-tibn of the ijay, I had lime
10 visit the two bouses ait different times oo
cupied by the late Secretory—one in the row
of booses so mueh occupied by the Gover
nor*, on the east of the Capitol Square, the
other, the "Knower Rouse," owned by Mr.
Marcy, on S'ate street. They are both large
substantial brick buildings, pi .tin in sppear
auce, and noticeably principally from their
association with their former illustrious oon.tit
pant. The sight of ;hem6rings back to hie
old friends a thousand reminiscences of .his
genial hospitality aj.d (tailing analitie°, that
endeared him to so large a circle, including
men of every sliadb of political opinion.—
Indeed, it was in social and domestic life
that Mr. Marcy appeared in bis most inviting
aspect. He loved bis family, his children,
his friends, and was never ao happy as,
when away from the harden of official cares,
he could freely enter into the pleasures which
their presence afforded.
Hence, during the last Tew weeks of his
life, when be had a world-wide and honora
ble reputation, when his circumstances were
such as to allow him to rest upon tbe honors
wnlch he had acquired, he was in the happi
est condition. His old books and bis old
friends were his constant solace, and when
he stopped at the antique, (haded hotel at
Ballaion where he died, it was noticed bow
he would lake his chair out under the wide
spreading elms and entertain his landlord,
and tbe plain,old fashioned people who gsth
ered about him delighted with the pleasant
stories which be told, and philosophic humor,
and shrewdness, and social feeling which
twinkled in bis keen, bright eye. At other
times he would return to his room, as his
custom was, and taking up some favorite old
author, (he rarely read modern litoratore),
Milton, Shakspeare, Hetvey. among the po
ets, South, Barrow, or Robert Hall, among
divines ; his French edition of Machircvel,
(a favorite work, by the way, with Senator
Seward,) or Bacon, among philosophic wri
tings, and would read until he fell asloep.—■
And this, indeed, was the way in which he
fell asleep on tbe neon eflndependence Day.
He had retired to bis chamber, put his boots
in the usual comer, pnt on his dressing gown,
and laying down with Knight's edition of
Baconjs Essays—a small red quarto volume,
with illustrations. When he was (bhnd, ho
was) still on his bed, his wera Aqniotly
closed, or. one side were the spectacles, on
(he other tbe well remembered snuff bos, ami
open on his breast lay the book he so much
loved—that immortal epitome of human wis
dom—the Essays of Bacon, and over it were
clasped his hands, hugging it To his heart.—
Such was his final sleep—peaceful, serene,
and worthy of so great a life—in the midst of
the thunders which commemorated the birth
day of the nation wtrese fume and power he
had done so much to uphold and eslend.
What page it was on which the volume
was opened I know not. Perhaps it was on
that most appropriate passage, where the
great philosopher thus discourses on 'Death:'
"A mind fixed and bent on somewhat that
is good, doth avert the dolors of death ; but
above all believe it, the sweetest oanticle is
'nunc dimiltit,' when a man hath obtained
worthy ends and expectations."
The following loiter, far which we are in
debted to Col. Barret, of Washington, one of
Mr. Marcy's most intimate friends, will show
tbe cheerful and pleasant frame of mind in
which the veteran statesman passed bis clo
sing hours. TIM numerous illusions to spir
itualism, to his friend Thomas, who had re
ceived a nomination as Governor of U'tb, to
tbe silver service which he was about to re
ceive from the merchants of New York, will
be readily appreciated.
MB. MARCY TO COL BERRETT.
" BALLSTON SPA, July 2. 1857.
*' My Dear Colonel: Ido not know when
I shall be likely to find myself so much st
leisure as now to write to yoss; I bave, there
fore, concluded lo bring up my arrears in our
correspondence, though I do not expect you
will be at Washington when my letter will
arrive there.
" 1 hire been at this plaoe more than a
week. Tnere is very little company here,
but in fifteen minutes' 1 can bo in the midst
of that at Saratoga.
"Very much to my surprise and gratifica
tion. Gen. Thomas (Assistant Secretary of
State,) appeared in this place on Saturday
morning. We spent Sunday at the Springs.
Ho will, I do not dohbt, give you a surprising
and wonderlul account of the performance of
a young Italy in a trance whom he heard at
the Springs. The visit he made was, I as
sure you, a very agreeable one. * * You
were not uuremembered in our two days'
conversation.
"1 make but slow progress in adjusting
my aflaira preparatory lo my European ex
cursion, snd I have doubts whether/ shall
bo ready to take my departure ao koonss the
Ist of August.
No man more suddenly withdrew his
thoughts from politics than I have mine. I
scarcely look at tbe newspapers. * • •
I hardly care to lax my memory with the
fact that there is such a plaot in this country
as the White House,
1 am right glad that our friand Governor
[P. P.] Thomas thinks he can do hotter than
he would have dona in exile among the Mor
mons.
I have received a day or two since a bill
from Mr. J£., silvorsmitb, at Ballston. If jrou
car. tell what amount you paid him for mo,
and ishsn you paid it, I wish you would
make a note of it when yon next write lo
me. Take my purchase snd my presents,
I shall abound iu uncoined silver. * *
Yours truly.
W. L MARCY
Col JAMES G. BARRETT, Postmaster, Wash
ington, D. C."