It. W. Weaver, Proprietor.]
VOLUME 9.
TIIE STAR OF THE NORTH
18 PUBLISHED EVERY WEDNESDAY MOHNIKCJ BY
IK. W. WEAVER,
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ing, on the south side of Main Street, thini
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those who advertise by the year.
ffllioite [Joetrji.
ALONE.
BY MARY EMMA GILLIES.
'Twas midnight, and he sat alone—
The husband of the dead ;
That day the dark dust had been thrown
Upon her buried bead.
Her orphan'd children round him slept,
But in their sleep would moan,
Then fell the first tear he had wept—■
He felt he was alone.
The world was full of life and light,
But, ah, no more for him I
His little world once warm and bright-
It now was cold and dim.
Where was her sweet and kindly face ?
Where was her cordial tone?
He gazed around (he dwelling place,
And felt he 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 charm o'er all things thrown—
The sweetness in whate'ershe said—
All gone—he was alone!
He looked into his cold white heart, -
All sad (.nd unresigued ;
He asked how he had done his part,
To one so true—so kind?
Each error past he tried to track,
111 torture would ate lie-
Would give his life to bring her back—
In vain—he was alone.
Ho slept at last; and then he dreamed
[Perchance her spirit woke,]
A soft light o'er his pillow gleamed,
A voice ill music spoke—
"Forgot—lorgiven all neglect—
Thy love recalled alone,
Thy babes I leave; oh, love, protect!
1 still am alt thine own."
Victims of the I'luguo Dislulurieil utter
1 wo Centuries-
During the excavations which are now ta
king place near the tunnel of the East Kent
liailway, at Ordnance l'lace Chatham, the
workmen have discovered a great number of
human remains, amounting in the whole it
is said, to nearly fifty. Tho skeletons were
discovered at a depth of scarcely three feet
below the surface of the ground, nearly the
whole of them appearing as if having been
buried in coffins. The discovery of such a
-number of skeletons lias caused a vast
amount of interest in the neighborhood, and
speculation is rile liow they came to be buri
ed at the spot in question, which is far re
moved from anything like a churchyard.—
Local antiquarians seem to be of opinion that
the bodies have been there about two hun
dred years, and it has been suggested that it
is more than probable that they are the re
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 occasion ; and from
fear of infection, jt 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 cast and west,
in the ancient way of placing the corpse in
the grave. The skulls of many of the bodies
are very perfect, some of the teeth being en
lire.
Miam Stock Soles in New York.
On two days of last week, Tuesday and
Wednesday, there were sold at the New York
Board of Brokers nominally 18,000 Reading
Railroad shares amounting in value at par to
8900,000 when the city holds under 50,000
shares, one half of which have not changed
hands in the last eighteen months, and at
least 10,000 of the other half is held in trust
lor buyers on the other side of the ocean.—
The people believe this of course; they be
lieve 100 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 eliare 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 $26,000,000,
more than the entire banking capital of that
-<iily ! This extraordinary business, at which
'We can anticipate the eyes of readers not
-skilled in financial operations, stretched to
-the size of goggles, is only the operations in
-Reading with a stock limited to 223,668
wbares. On the 7th, the total operations for
That day only amounted to the sum of $3,-
y '678,358, and if kept up at that rate during
' i iVllfl yailT'Tf"" 1 ' 1 aggregate $776,655,380 —a
beautiful rs am for the qapital employed!
t)n the Bth reported were $2,981,-
400, which I s evidently a mistake ot the prin
ter, or may t) aTa Been omitted in the entry
of the chaitel'- s ra Kl# a g B of 81,500,000 upon
the Rolling a;' ok the New York and Erie.
With this we # a * a nothing to do. We have
reverted to thi> B, * ,a ihings to show that
there are only shares of the Reading
•Railroad left ;-|" all lbe mat have gone.
The ar^ counlB °* :ho cr °pa over 'Be
'country con/mue to be most encouraging.
7
THE STAR OF THE NORTH.
ADDRESS ON EDUCATION.
' BY HORACE GREELEY.
. At tho Anniversary of Wyoming Seminary
I in Kingston, Tuesday, June 30, 1857.
f Reported for the 'Record of the Times.'
( Mr. GREELEY siood behind a large melo
-1 deon, on tvliich six immense folios, volumes
, of the Biographia Britannica, were piled as
* a stand for his notes; and with a voice and
, manner which seemed as if his muso were
i pitchforking great loads of thought out of
, his interior, with tremendous effort, but
which grew gradually oasier, began as fol
lows :)
I come before you to-day with no elaborato
address prepared; for I think the speech
which will best suit the occasion will be one
inspired by the occasion. The theme is of
course the one, tho only one, which would
be fitting here and now ; I need scarcely
name it; EDUCATION. Yet not as an advo
cate of Education am I here to address you; '
she needs no advocate here, or you would
not be here to-day. All lb is 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 themo of thought
and interest with all 1 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 memories our young friends
bear from this place, and all tho hopes which
beckon them to the future, are so many tes
timonials to the importance of Education.—
But, that we bring our thoughts to some
practical issue to-day, indulge me with your
attention, and while my feeble voico can
make you hear, and so long as your patience
ought to bo taxed, I 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 in an accommodated and inaccurate
ser.se, as indicating a system or circle of
whatever pertains or ministers to the intel
lectual needs of man. Taking the word in
this, now its almost universal sense, we may
say that the world of Philosophy has pro
duced two great thinkers, Plato and Bacon,
who, above all others, have been and con
tinue to be kings in the realms of thought.—
Plato was acknowledged as supreme dicta
tor of the human intellect for ages before
Bacon wrote; and, indeed, among scholars,
in our colleges and academies, our systems
of education, and the literary woild at large,
the philosophy of Plato still wields a para
mount authority. We may 6ay that nine
tcnths of the thinking world bow to him.—
These two names then, raised on high, stand
to-day as landmarks to all who go forth upou
the sea of thought.
Plato's philosophy begins by contemplat
ing the soul rather than the body. It views
man more as a pure spirit than as an agent
in tho material world. It deems the noblest
work of education to be, not so much the
workman as the man. Its objects aie in
ward, and its means, therefore, are chosen
for their reflective action on him who em
ploys them, not for their power in the world.
But while Plator.ism thus builds on intuition,
llaconism seeks its foundation in reason.—
It begins with facts, and aims at fruits. It
rejects everything from the beginning but
clear, proved facts, and colls forth all tho
energies of its disciples in the search for
practical; useful results. The Baconian idea
regards man as placed on earth to be a
worker; and the true education as that which
best fits man for his work. It therefore cuts
of! from youthful training everything which
gives no promise of being turned to account
in manly work.
The civilized woild, as I have said, sat lor
more than fifteen centuries at the feel of
Plato; receiving his words with as implicit
faith as was given them in his own school at
Athens. And still his ideas prevail in our
scholastic system. Ask an old school pro
fessor of to-day why he insists so much on
the general study of the higher mathematics,
the dead languages, and such other branches
as have no practical work to do in the hands
of these pupils; and he is sure to answer you
as an orthodox Platonisl; To discipline the
mind. This is the great aim of our collego
and academy systems. But since the gen
eral diffusion of 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 is engaged, is whether this idea
shall bo adopted in the training system of the
coming era.
Bacunism, then, commences with a care
ful, intelligent observation of facts. It as
sumes nothing; proceeds by strict education;
takes nothing for granted; and postpones all
theorizing until by an adequate interrogation
of facts, we shall bo pointed irresistably to
the conclusion. The model Baconian of our
own nation, and 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 thinker, and in this light, he
was a model Baconian. Other illustrious
disciples of this school, however, belong to
these times; such as Fulton, Watt, Whitney,
Morse, Daguerre, and many more. For ibis
is the school of practical men, who do the
work.
Now 1 100, in my poor way, avow myself
a follower ol Bacon. I would apply his
BLOOMSBURG, COLUMBIA COUNTY, PA., WEDNESDAY, JULY 1857.
touchstone to all our processes of education.
I would aflirm that the mind is disciplined
best by its own proper work; and not by ma
king this discipline the great end. 1 would
say to the farmer's son, poring over Greek
verbs and Hebrew roolß and accents; to the
damsel of sixteen, wasting her sweetness on
algebra and geometry, what do you propose
to do with this, when you shall have master
ed it? What is its use, its purpose, its end,
so lar as you are concerned 7 If you pro
pose to turn 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 noed to know, belter than that
we don't need.
Yeß; 1 demand of education, and of every
part of it, fruits. I test its value 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 wo are here as doers, not as dreamers.
Yet does this Raconism not really affirm, as
some say, the subordination of the man to
the workman, the meutal to tho physical.—
It affirms for the laaor u precedence in time
only, not in importance. "First tho blade,
then the ear; a< rward 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 rhould first qualify its work
for his subject;—that is, for a career of as
sured usefulness and independence; because,
in delault of lilts, there is scarcely a chance
that he can be morally good or intellectually
great. Bread is not so noble as thought, but
in the absence of food, the brain is paralyzed
or absorbed in the consciousness of hunger.
Let every human being be first trained to an
assured ablility usefully to earn at least a
livelihood, and thus shielded from the ail
but inevitable moral degradation of the de
pendent and the beggarly. Every man who
has had, with myself, the sad experience
and observation afforded by a residence for
upwards of a quarter of a century in a great
city, will agree wiih me, when I suy 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 ils crowded populations.—
We see there a host of such waifs, intellect
ual wrecks, literally begging for a chance to
ooiit thoir thinking faculties tutu fv.oU. Mo
at elevation is of course impossible to such
men; and they are tho inevitable product o(
our present school systems.
Wo want a mote practical, physical, in
dustrial education, for many urgent reasons.
Ist. To advance physical hoalth, strength
and longevity. 2d. For the proper cultiva
tion ol tho earth, and the development of ils
mineral and vegetable -treasures. We have
but bogun in this age to know tho wealth
of nature. What is the present state of ag
riculture, the fir6t 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
for study omong the uuoducated. It is a
very common complaint that thrifty, un
taught farmers grudge the cost of a thorough
education for their sons and daughters.—
Hodge industrious and independent in his
ignorance scorns his educated neighbor, who
is but a drone and a beggar with it all. "I
have succeeded well enough," suys he,
"without education; why shouldn't my 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. Oil the
contrary it seems to me most natural, and
not very blameworthy. For do but consider
that the educated son or daughter too ofien
returns to the paternal homo with and ill
disguised contempt for its homely rool, and
a positive aversion to its downright labor.—
Who would expect a sensible homebred
parent to rolish and value such education 7
That son is not truly educated who cannot
grow more corn on an acre than his unlearn
ed father, and grow it with less 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 cnemlcal processes, 11
which her education should render her an
adept, far beyond any untaught person. The
educated lawyer, doctor or clergyman, whose
garden is not belter, (I do not say larger,)
and his fruit trees more thrifty and productive
than his illiterate neighbor's, sadly discredits
and damages the cause of education. The
prejudice against 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, ho who
can earn ten dollars per day as a lawyer
should not desert this to toil for a dollar per
day as a plowman or canal-digger. This
would be folly. But the lawyer or physician
who cannot earn the ten dollars per day, nor
one of them, and who stands idle, and runs
in debt for bis board, rather than plow or
dig, has been very badly taught, and is a
poor creature. Let each do his best; but let
no man make his presumed ability to do
something better an excuse for doing noth
ing. "Six days shall thou labor," says
the BOOK; and there is hardly a command
ment worse understood or worse heeded.—
Each of us is under a perpetual obligation to
usefulness; and this is not discharged by the
fact that we cannot find just the work we
would preler to do. Every one lounging
around taverns, or idling in office, or wait
ing for some one to employ him as a lawyer,
a doctor, or in some such capacity, and
meantime doing tbo world no good, but liv-
Truth aud Right God aud our Couutry.
ing on the earnings of others, is a scandal
and a clog to the cause of education.
Perhaps the great mistake is nowhere
more general or more pernicious than in the
education of woman. It is the destiny of
woman, we carelessly say, to preside over
a household as wife and mother; and so it is
the destiny of most women, hut by no means
of all. It is right that 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
a season. Why then should upt all be fitted
to exalt and adorn it? The position and
sphere of woman is one of the themes
which the thought of our age is pondering;
and its meditations will Dot be fruitless.—
Greater freedom ar.d wider opportunities lor
usolulness in maidenhood, a jusler and more
equal union in married life, these are the
essential demands ot the clear-sighted, and
(hey 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
homo and a livelihood. For, however prop
er the marriage slate may be, suroly an ill
assorted union is worso than none.
j To I Ilia end, woman must be taught and
i encouraged lo do many tilings she now
lj shuns;—must be called out into God'e sun
shine; and made a free producer of those
fruits which aro its noblest embodiments.—
The fine arts in all their phases,'gardening,
the vineyards, the manufactures, all must be
annexed to her industrial domain, until it
Bhould be impossible, as well as shumefol,
to exact of her teaching and other service
at half the price which man recoives for
equal ability and equal efficiency. This is
among the achievements immediately before
us, and it is to be attained through u wiser
and more practical education.
llut in thus basing education upon industry,
activity, efficiency, I do not of course mean
lo confine it to material ends. Its feet are
planted firmly 011 the earth, only that its head
may be exalted lo the skies. Let our edu
cated youth be first capable, skilful, efficient,
independent workers, in order that they may
de7olop and evince a nobler manhood, a
truer and sweeter womanhood, than we,
ilialr tusq fortunate predecessors and progeni
tors itave been aided or uDle to attain. Let
them be armed at all points for the great
battle of life, that thej may carry thence
grander testimonies than our feeble and un
mailed arms were ever able to achieve.—
Let them be skilled in all forms of muscular
exertion, so that they shall work out for
themselves a genuine leisure for conquests
in the dominion of mind. Let them be in
ventors, thinkers, philosophers, poets, uol
merely that they may coin their brain-sweat
into broad, but that, having secured ample
bread, they shall now be ready to labor in
tellectually for the good of their race.
15ut would you have every one u mere
delver? you ask. Yes, let every one delve
till a way shall open before him to do some
thing better. Let men be culled 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. Now we hear a young man,
trained in the prevailing system of educa
tion, cry, "Why may I not be an author, and
thus earn my bread." And so he makes an
earnest effort to enter the realms of Author
ship, as Novelist, Essayist, evctl us Poet.—
Hut alas / no Post ever deliberately sat down
lo write a poem for either bread or fame.—
Poetry, lo be real, is the overflow of life, not I
its mean quantity. True Poets only write
because they must; and Jenny Lind's Bird in
Iter beautiful song, that cries, "I must, 1 1
must be singing." Only to think of Homer
or Dante going about with, "Please, sir, buy 1
my poem, that my wife and my children
may have bread!" I often think with pleas
ure of an anecdote of Ueltler, the great Her
man Poet. When a friend visited him, at a 1
time when he had published nothing for
1 many months, and asked him, "Have you
anything ir hand now, any groat poetical
efTort not yet finished, that you continue so
long withdrawn from the public eye J" be
answered "No, I have not fell the necessity
of writing lately." A true Poet must be si
lent when he does not feel the necessity of
writing. But to write because you have no
other means of support, because you cannot
live without it, this is to debase your faculty.
Yet the world is full of appeals for patronage
and employment, which amount to just this.
Now the world is not bettered by the book
that is written for money; nor by any intel
lectual iobor of which hunger is the inspira
tion. And all education which makes a man
necessarily a lawyer, a physician, a cle'gv
man or an author, is degrading to literature
and intellect. The writer ought to be always
the perfected worker.
Tho curse of our time, as I suppose of all
limes, is inordinate self-seeking. We ac
quire that we may serve, not mankind, but
ourselves. We geek not to keep step in the
even march of life, but to steal a ride on the
baggage wagon. The 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 aays to the Legislator, pun
ish, punish crime; but only as the Guardian
of Justice and the Protector of the Common
wealth; for the prevention of future crime,
and, if it may be, the reformation of the
offender, h says to tho Thinker, Hato, but
bo careful to hate only that whiob is baleful,
which opposes anil impedes human good.—
And il cries, as it hails the rising generation,
Youth, study! Study with all your energies,
but study only that you may bo a more effec
tive worker! It says to men every where,
Work, that yon may be rnoro unselfish and
effective students. And to all, Live, with all
your powers ( and alt your life, that the
haughty may be abased, the humble exalt
ed, anil God glorified.
1 feel that 1 have reached the limits of my
voice and ol your patience. 1 have thrown
out these thoughts, thus imperfectly, hoping
that they may reach your minds and dwell
in them, and become your thoughts; and
thus, 60 far us they aro just and right, in
fluence your lives. You know our thoughts
are always, if allowed to develop themselves
rightly, belter than our lives. What then ?
Shall our thoughts be brought down to tho
lower level of our lives, or shall the latter be
exalted ? Let us 6trive to make education
the seed of good thoughts; a sure and faith
ful teacher that soul is more and better than
body. Let it train the young so to use every
power that man may be ennobled, and life
may bo higher and holier.
The Mother's liilluciico.
I can always tell the mother by her boy.
Tho urchin who draws back with double fists
and lunge 6 his playmate if he looks at him
askance, litis a very questionable mother.—
She may feed him, and clolho him, and
cram him with sweat .neale, and coax him
with promises; but if she gels mad, she
fights. She will pull him by the jacket ; she
will give him u knock on the back; she will
drag Ititn by the hair; she will call him all
sorts o( wicked names, while passion plays
over her face in lambent llames that-curl and
writhe out at the corner of her eyes.
And wo never see the courteous little fel
low, with smooth locks and gentle mann°rs
—in whom delicacy does not detract from
courage and -..anliness—but we say, "that
boy's mother is a true lady." Her words and
her ways are soft, loving and quiet. If she
reproves, her language is "my son," not "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 him 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 canvaH is that of his mother.
Smiles, and soft, low, voice, will bring her
image Ireely to ins heart "one is like my
( mother," will be the highest meed in his
praise. Nor even when the hair turns sil
very and the eyes grow dim, will the majesty
of that life and presence desert him. Hut
the ruffian mother—alas ! that there are such
—will form the ruflian character of a man.
There is 110 disputing the fact; it shines in
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 cars—l'll
slap your jaws—l'll break your neck," is
knowu as thoroughly through her children as
if her unwomanly manners were displayed
in the public street.
AN INCENTIVE TO PLUCK.— 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 wauling sonic animated
object to set the dog upon, his daddy, after
considerable persuasion, consented to get
down upon all fours and make fight with
Mr. Bull. Young America began to urge on
the dog—"sis-ter-boy,—seize him, &e.;" at
last the dog "made a dip" and got a good
hold upon the old man's proboscis, and get
the dog o'fT 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 young scapegrace ! "Grin and bear it—
'twill be the makin' of the jiuji.
rW At an examination of the College of
Surgeons a candidato was asked by Aberne
thy—
"What would you do if a man was blown
up with powder?"
" Wait until he come down," he coolly re
plied.
"True," replied Abernethy, "and suppose
I should kick you for such au impertinent
reply, what muscles would you put in mo
lion 1"
"The flexors and extensors of my arm, for
I would knock you down immediately."
He received a diploma.
ONLY ONE O'CLOCK.— Mr. M., coming home
lato one night from 'meeting,' was met at the
door by his wife.
" Pretty time of night, M., for you to come
borne—pretty time, three o'clock in the
moruing, you, a respectable man in the
community, and tho father of a family !"
"'Tisn't three—its only one; 1 heard it
strike ; council always sits till 1 o'clock."
"My soul! M. you're drunk—as true as
I'm alive, you're drunk. It's three in the
morning."
"1 say, Mrs. M., it's one. 1 heard it strike
one as I came around the corner, two or three
lima I"
E?" A fast man undertook tbo task of teas
ing an eccentric preacher:
"Do you believe," said he, "in the story
of the' Fatted calf?'"
"Yes," said the preacher.
"Well, then, was it a male or female calf
that was killed.
"A female," replied the divine.
'•How do fo\x know that f"
"Because, (looking the interrogaier in tho
face,) I see the mate is still alive.
From "The C'ompiis, Willi Vurluuous."
BY TOM HOOD.
Down went the winil, down wpnl the wave,
Fear quilled the most finical;
The saints, I wot, were soon forgot,
And hope was at the pinnacle ;
When rose on high the frightful cry—
"The devil's in the binnacle."
" The eaiiits bo 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 aghaM at mate,
The pilot at lh' apprentice;
No fancy of the German sea
Of fiction the event is;
But when they at the compass looked,
It seemed nun campus mentis.
Now north, now south, now oast, now west,
The wavering point wss shaken,
'Twas past the wliote philosophy
Of Newton and of Bacon.
Never by compass, till that hour,
Such latitudes were taken.
No llse Tor Trowsers.
On the morning of the meteoric shower in
1833, Old l'eytou Roberts, who intended ma
king an early start to his work, got up in the
midst of the display. On going to his door,
he saw with amazement, Ihe sky lighted up
with the falling meteors, and ho concluded
at once that the world was on lire, and that
the day ol judgment had come.
He stood for a moment gazing in speech
loss terror at the scene, and then with a yell
of horror sprang out of the door into the yard,
right into the midst of the falling stars, and
here in his effort to dodge them lie commen
ced a scries 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' aense he wasdoin' out thar, duncing
'round without his clothes. But Peyton heard
not—the judgment, and long back account
he would have to settle, mado him heedless
of all ferrestiul things, and his wife by this
time becoming alarmed ot his behavior,
sprang out of bed and running to the door,
shrieking to the top of her lungs—
"Peyton, I say Peyton, what do you mean,
jumping about oat that? Come m and put
your trowsers on."
Old Peyton, whose foars had near over
powered him, faintly answered us ho fell
sprawling on tho earth—
I "Trowserp, Peggy! what the h—lPs the
use o' trowsers when tho world's a lire."
IV 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 an annoyance to
his be6l friends, and confessedly his 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 to 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, and such a course should ever be
avoided.
GENTLEMEN AND THEIR DEBTS—The late
Rev. Dr. Sutton, Vicar at Sheffield, once said :
to the late Mr. l'eech, a veterinary surgeon,
"Mr. Peach, how is it you have not called i
upon me for your account V
"Oh, said Mr. Peech, "I never ask a g en- \
tleman for money."
"Indeed," said the Vicar, "then how do 1
yon get on if he don't pay?"
"Why," replied Mr. l'eech, "after a certain I
time I conclude he is not a gentleman, and
(her. 1 ask him."
TIT At a conceit in Wisconsin, at the con
clusion of the song, "There's a good lime
coming," a country farmer got up attd ex
claimed, " Mister, couldn't you fix lite date,
that is what we want—just give us the date,
Mister." The farmer was right; wo have
been promised this consummation for many
years, but like tbo rainbow, it recedes as we
advance towards it.
CF" 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.
CF- "Well neighbor, what's the most chris
tian nowsthis morning. 7 " said a gentleman
to his ffieud.
"1 have just bought a barrel ol flour for a
poor woman."
"Just like you ! who is it you have made
happy by your charity this time?
"My wife!"
irr Two travelers having been robbed in
a wood, ami tied to trees some distance from
each other, one of thom, in despair, exclaim
ed—
"O, I'm undone!"
"Are you?" said the other, "then I wish
you'd come and undo me."
EF* Miles Darden, seven feet six inches
high, and weighing over a thousand pounds,
diod recently in Tennessee. It took 4 men
to place him in bis coffin. The largest man
in the world.
KJ" Reputation is often got without merit,
and lost without a crime
[Two Dollars per Annua.
NUMBER 28.
THE LATE WILLIAM L, MAItCY.
1118 HOME—HIS STUDIES, AND HIS CI.OSINQ LIFE.
A correspondent of ihe New York Post,
writing from Albany, N. Y , communication
Ihe following in regard to ibo tale William (.
Marcy :
" During a po-uon of the day, I had lime
to visit the two bouses at different times oc
cupied by the late Secretary—one in the row
of bouses so much occupied by the Cover
nors, on the east of the Capitol Square, the
other, the "Knower House," owned by Mr
Marcy, on S'aie street. They are both largo
substantial brick buildings, plain in appeal
ance, and noticeably principally trorn then
association with their former illustrious occu
pant. The sight ol them brings back to his
old friunds u thousand rominisconces of his
genial hospitality and sterling qualities, that
endeared him to so large u circle, including
men of every shade of political
Indeed, it was in social and domeslro life
that Mr. Marcy appeared in his most inviting
aspect. He loved his family, hia children
his friends, and was never so happy a,
when away from the burden of official cares,
he could freely enter into the pleasures which
their presence afforded.
Hence, during the last few weeks of his
life, when he had a world-wide and honora
ble reputation, when his circumstances were
such as to allow him to rest upon the honors
wnich he had acquired, he was in the happi
est condition. His old books and his oIJ
friends were his constant solace, and when
he stopped at the antique, shaded hotel at
Ballslou where he died,lt was noticed how
he would lake his chair out under the wide
spreading elms and entertain his landlord,
and the plain,old fashioned people who gath
ered about him delighted with the pleasant
stories which he told, and philosophic humor,
and shrewdness, and social feeling which
twinkled in his keen, Wight 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 literature),
Milton, Shakspearc, lleivey. among the po
els, South, Barrow, or llobert llall, among
divines ; Iris French edition of Machitcvel,
(a favorite work, by the way, with Senator
Seward,) or Bacon, among philosophic wri
lings, and would read until h'o fell asleep.—
And this, indeed, was the way in which ho
fell asleep on tho noon of Independence Day
He had retired to his chamber, put bis boots
in the usual corner, put on his dressing gown,
and laying down with Knight's edition ot
Bacon's Essays—a small red quarto volume,
with illustrations. When Im was lonnd, bo
was Mill on his bed, his eyes were quietly
closed, on one side were the spectacles, on
Ihe other the well remembered snuff box, and
open on his breast lay the book he so much
loved—that immortal epitome ol 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 ihe birth
day of the nation whose fame and power ho
had done so much to uphold and extend.
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
ig good, doth avert the dolors of death ; but
above all believo it, the sweetest canticle is
'nunc itunittu when a man hath obtained
worthy ends and expectations."
The following letter, for which we are in
debted to Col. Barrel, of Washington, one of
Mr. Marcy's most intimate friends, will show
the cheerlul and pleasant frame ol mind in
which the veteran statesman passed his clo
sing hours. Tne numerous allusions to spir
itualism, to his friend Thomas, who had re
ceived a nomination as Governor of Utsh, to
the silver service which ho was about to re
ceive from the merchants of New Yotk, wilt
be readily appreciated.
MB. MARCY TO COL. BRRRETT.
U BALLSTON Sr*, July 2. 1857.
•' My Dear Colonel: Ido not know when
1 shall be likely to find myself so much at
leisure as now to write to you ; I have, there
fore, concluded to bring up my arrears iu our
correspondence, though I do not expect you
will be at Washington when my letter will
arrive there.
" I have been at this place more than a
week. There is very little company here,
but in fifteen minutes 1 can be in the ntidst
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
He will, I do not doubt, give you a surprising
and wonderlul account of the performance of
a young lady m a trance whCin he heard at
the Springs. The visit he made wa, 1 as
sure you, a very agreeable one. * * You
were not unretnembered in our two daya'
conversation.
"1 make but slow progress in adjusting
my affairs preparatory to my K.urupuati ex
cursion, and 1 have doubts whether I shall
be ready to lake my depar'uro so soon ss the
Ist of August.
No man more suddenly withdrew hie
thoughts from politics tbau I have mine. I
scarcely look at the newspapers. * * *
I hardly care to tax my memory with the
fact that there is such a placo in Ibis country
as the White House.
1 am right glad that our friend Governor
[P. F.] Thomas thinks he can do better than
lie would have done in exile among the Mot ■
mons.
1 have received a day or two since a bill
from Mr. K., silversmith, at Ballstoo. If you
car. tell what amount you paid him (or uie,
and when you paid it, I wish you would
make a note of it when you next write to
me. Take my purchase and my presents,
I shall abound iu uncoined silver■ * *
Yours truly,
W L. MARCY
Col. JAMES G. UEHKETT, Postmaster, Wash
ington, D C."