THE STAR OF THE NORTH. B, W. Weaver, Proprietor.] VOLUME 9. TIIE STAR OF THE NORTH IS PUBLISHED EVERY WEDNESDAY MORNING DT It. VV. WEAVER, tHrtlCE—Upstairs, in the new brick build ing, on the south side of Muin Street, third srjuare below Market. T Ell MS: —Two Dollars per annum, if paid within six months from the time of sub scribing ; two dollars and fifty cents if not paid within the year. No subscription re ceived for a less period than six months; no 'discontinuance permitted until all arrearages Sure paid, unless at the option of the editor. ADVERTISEMENTS not exceeding one square \vill be inserted three times for One Dollar, ' und twenty-five cents for each additional in seition. A liberal discount will be made to those who advertise by the year. g hoitc PoCtVQ. 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 ! 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- Tim sell-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 whale'ershe said— All gone—he was alone! He looked into his cold white heart, All sad Mid unresigned ; He asked how he had done his part, To one so true—so kind t Each error past he tried to track, In torture would atuie— Would give his life to bring ber back lit vain—be was atone. Ho 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—forgiven all neglect— Thy love recalled alone, Thy babes I leave; oh, love, protect! 1 still am all thine own." Victims of (be I'luguo Disinterred niter ~, 'I wo Centuries. Daring the excavations which are now ta king place near the tunnel of the East Kent Railway, ut Ordnance l'lace Chatham, the workmen have discovered a great number of human remains, amounting in tho whole it is said, to nearly fifty. Tho skeletons were discovered at a depth of scarcely three feel below the surface of the ground, nearly tho whole of liiem appearing as if having been buried in coffins. The discovery of such a -number of skeletons has 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 lo be of opinion that the bodies have been thero 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 the town as possi ble. The bodies were lying east sud west, in the ancient way of placing the corpse ill the grave. The skulls of many of the bodies are very perfect, some of the teeth being en lire. Mnim Stock Sales 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 2900,000 when the city holds under 50,000 shares, one half of which have not changed hands in the last eighteen months, and at leost 10,000 of the other half is held in trust for buyers on the other side of the ocean.— The people believe this of course; 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 SSO per share amounts to $9,666,- 100, and if kept up at the same rale 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 -iiity ! 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 slock limited lo 223,668 shares. On the 7th, the total operations for that day only amounted to the sum of $3,- v '678,358, and if kept up at that rate during ' 0 —a beautiful re ® rn f° r the capital employed ! tin the Bth re P orteJ wera 82,981,- 400, which f* evidently a mistake ol the prin ter, or may ft**® been omitled in the entry of the chattel, mortgage of $1,500,000 upon the Rolling th ® New York and Erie. With this we hi""' 8 oothing to do. We have reverted to ihiet '* l * flings 10 show that there are only shares of the Reading Railroad left ;-T al111,6 tcsl llßve 6°"®. ty T[, e of '.ho crops over the country coDi^ lr,uo ,0 be raost en uour *Bing -7 BLOOMSBURG, COLUMBIA COUNTY, PA., WEDNESDAY, JULY 22, 1857, ADDRESS ON EDUCATION. BY lIORACK GREELEY. I At tho Anniversary of Wyoming Seminary in Kingston, Tuesday, June 30, 1857. Reported for the 'Record of the Times.' ( Mr. GREELEY stood behind a large melo deon, on which 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 muse wero pitchforking great loads of thought out of his interior, with tremendous effort, but which grew gradually easier, began as fol lows :) I come before you to-day with no elaboralo address prepared; for I think the speoch which will best suit the occasion will be one inspired by the occasion. The (home is of course the one, tho only one, which would be htting here and now ; I need scarcely name it; EDUCATION. Yet not as an advo cate of Education am 1 here to address you; she needs no advocate here, or you would not be here to-day. All Ibis vast multitude, gathered from distant homes, have camo 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 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 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 may bring our thoughts to some practical issue to-day, indulgo me with your attention, and while my feeble voice can make you hear, and so long as your patience ought to be taxed, I will ofTer 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 bo kings in the realms ot thought.— Plato was acknowledged as supreme dicta tor of the human intellect fur ages before Bacon wrote; and, indeed, among scholars, in our colleges and academies, our systems of education, and the literary wotld at large, the philosophy of Plato still wields a para mount authority. We may say that nine tenths of the thinking world bow to 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 contemplat ing the soul rather than the body. It views man more as a pure spirit than as an agent in the material world. It deems the noblest work of education to be, not so much the workman as the man. Its objects ate in ward, and its means, therefore, aro chosen for their reflective action on him who em ploys them, not for their power in the world. But while Platonism thus builds on intuition, Baconism seeks its foundation in reason.— It begins with facts, and aims at fruits. It rejects everything from the beginning but clear, proved facts, and calls 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 truo education as that which best fits man for his work. It therefore cuts off from youthful training everything which gives no promise of being turned to account in manly work. The civilized woild, as I have said, sat for 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 Athens. And still his ideas prevail in our scholastic system. Ask an old school pro fessor of to-day why ho 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 Platonist; To discipline the mind. This is the great aim of our college 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 ihe 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. Baconism, 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 poicted irresistahly to the conclusion. The model Baconian ol our own nation, and of what we may call our own ago, 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 this is the school of practical men, who do tho work. Now 1 too, in my poor way, avow mysolf a follower ol Bacon- I would apply his touchstone to all our processes of education. I would affirm that the 10104 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 roots and accents; to the damsol of sixteen, wasting her sweetness on algebra and geometry, what do you propose to do with this, when jou shall have master ed it? What is its use, its purpose, its end, so lar as you are concerned ! 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 1 protest against it as a waste of time and energy. Action, action disciplines the mind; the acquisition of what we noed to know, better than that we don't need. Yes; I demand of education, and of every part of it, fruits. I lest its vulue by the standard of practical utility. Let us learn first, at least, what wo personally and posi tively need lo know; afterwards, if ever, that which we can profit by only as exercise or discipline. Let all our education recognize that wo are hero as doers, not as dreamers. Yet does this Baconism not really affirm, as some say, the subordination of the man to the workman, tho mental to tho physical.— ; It affirms for the laitor a precedence in time only, not in importance. "First the blade, then the ear; af -rward the full corn in the ear." The child must creep before it can walk, however decided the superiority of the latter modo of locomotion. We insist, then, that education thould first qualify :ts work for his subject;—that is, for a career of as sured usefulness ar.d independence; because, in delault of this, 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. Lot every human being be first trained lo an assured ablility usefully to earn at least a livelihood, and thus shielded from the all but inevitable moral degradation ol 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 say no sight is moro pitiable than the educated men, having no means of support by their hands, oither through ignorance, weakness or pride, who huddled in ils crowded populations.— Wo see there a host of such waifs, intellect ual wrecks, literally begging for a chance lo ooin Uoir thinking faculties ltnu M^- al elovalion is of conrso impossible to such men; and they are tho inevitable product ol our present school systems. Wo want a more practical, physical, in dustrial education, for many urgent reasons. Ist. To advance physical health, strength and longevity. 2d. For the proper cultiva tion of the earth, and the development of ils mineral and vegetable ttcasures. We have but bogun in this age to know tho wealth of nature. What is the present state of ag riculture, the first of arts in time, the first in necessity ! 3d. For improvement ill ma chinery, in manufactures, and in household economy. 4th. To difTuso leisure aud taste for sludy among the uneducated. It is a very common complaint that thrifty, un taught farmers grudge the cost of a thorough education fcr their sons aud 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," says he, "without education; why shouldn't my chil dren do the 6ame." 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 tho educated son or daughter 100 often returns to the paternal homo with and ill disguised contempt for its homely rool, and a positive aversion to its downright labor.— Who would oxpect 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 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 chemical processes, I i which her education should render her an adept, far beyond any untaught person. The educated lawyer, doctor or clergyman, whose garden is not better, (I do not say larger,) and his fruit trees more thrifty and productive than his illiterate neighbor's, sadly discredits arid 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, 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 o: 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 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 the world no good, but liv- Truth aud Right God and our Couutry. ing oil tho 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, but 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 pertiaps with more; —these consign thousands to sin gle life. All must fill this sphere at least for a season. Why then should uyl all be fitted to exalt and adorn it? Tbe position and sphere of woman is one of the themes which :he thought of our age is pondering; und its meditations will not be fruitless.— Greuter freedom ar.d wider opportunities lor usolulness in maidenhood, a juster and more equal union in married life, these are the easentiul demands ot the clear-sighted, and they cannot always be answered by misrep resentation nor silenced by sneers. Pecuni ary independence and self-support in single life are essential lo woman, that she may I spurn the degrading idea of marrying for a homo and a livelihood. For, however prop er the marriage slalo may be, surely ail ill assorted union is worse than nono. 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; end made a free producer of thorn: fruits which aro its noblest embodiments.— The fine arts in all their phase*,'gardening, the vineyards, the manufactures, all must be annexed to her industrial domain, until it should be impossible, as well as shumefol, lo exact of her leaching 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 bo attained through u wiser and more practical education. But in thus basing education upon industry, activity, efficiency, I do not of course mean to confino it to material ends. Its feet aro planted firmly on tho earth, only that its head may be exalted to tho skies. Let our edu cated youth be first capable, skilful, efficient, independent workers, in order that they may develop and evince a nobler manhood, a truer and sweeter womanhood, than we, ■ IMSM1 MSM fortunate predecessors and progeni tors have been uided or uOle to ultuiu. Lei them be armed at all points for the great battle of life, that thej may carry thencn grander testimonies than our feeble and uu mailed arms were ever able lo achieve.— Let them be skilled in ail 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, not merely (hat they may coin their brain-swoat into broad, but that, having secured ample bread, they shall now be ready lo labor in tellectually for the good ol their race. But would you have every one u mere delver! you ask. Yes, let every one delve till a way shall open before him lodo some thing belter. Let men be culled to intellect ual work, because needed there, not because needing lo be there. Let the relationship of literature to lifo 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 snip, as Novelist, K-sayist, even us Poet.— But alas.' no Post ever deliberately sat down lo write a poem for either bread or fame.— Poetry, to be real, is the overflow of life, not its mean quantity. Troe Poets only wrile because they must; and Jenny Lind's Bird in her beautiful song, that cries, "I must, I must be singing." Only lo think of Homer or Dante going about with, "Please, sir, buy my poem, that my wife and my children may have bread !" I often think with pleas ure of an anecdote of Ucliler, the great Ger man Poet. When a friend visited him. at a time when he had published nothing for many months, and asked liirn, "Have you unylhing ir hand now, any great poetical effort not yet finished, that you continue so long withdrawn from the public eye!" he 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 lobor of which hunger is the inspira tion. And all education which makes a 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 tbe perleoted worker. Tho curse of our time, as I suppose of all times, is inordinate self-seeking. We ac quire that we may serve, not mankind, but ourselves. We seek 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 says to the Legislator, pun ish, pnnish crime; but only as the Guardian of Justice and the Protector of the Common wealth; for the prevention of future crime, and, if it msy be, the reformation of the offender, h says to tho Thinker, Hate, but bo caroful to hato only that which is baleful, which opposes and impedes human good.— And it cries, as it hails the rising generation, Youth, sludy! Study with ail your energies, but sludy only that you may be a more effec tive worker! It says io men every where, Work, that yon may bo more unselfish and effective students. And to all, Live, with all your powers # nnd alt your file, that the haughty may be abased, the bumble exalt ed, and God glorified. 1 feel that I have reached the limits of my voice und ol your putieuce. 1 have thrown out these thoughts, thus imperfectly, hoping that they may roach your minds and dwell in liiem, and become your thoughts; aud thus, so far us they uro just and right, in fluence your lives. Yon know our thoughts are always, if allowed to develop themselvea rightly, better than our lives. What then 1 Shall our thoughts be brought down to the lower level of our lives, or shall the latter be exalted ? Let us strive to inake 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. 'J fie Jluihei's Inlluciico. I can always tell the mother by her boy. Tho urchin who draws back with double fists and lunges his playmate if he looks at him askance, litis a very questionable mother.— She may feed him, and clothe him, and cram him with swual.neats, and coax him with promises; but if she gets mad, she fights. She will pull him by the jacket ; she will giva him a knock on the back; she will drag him by ilia hair; she will call him all sorts ol wickod names, while passion plays over her faco in lambent flames that curl and writhe out at the corner of her eyes. And we never see the courteous littlo fel low, with smooth locks and gentle manners —in whom delicacy does not detract from courage and manliness—but wo say, "that boy's mother is atruo lady." Her words and her ways are soft, loving and quiet. If sho reproves, her language is "my sou," not "you little wretch, you plague of my lifo, you tor ment, you scump I" She hovers before him as the pillar of light before lite wandering Israelites, and her beams are reflected in his face. To htm the word mother is synonymous with everything pure, sweet and beautiful. Is be an aitisl! In after life, the face that with tioly radiance shines on his oanvas is that of his mother, j Smiles, aud soft, low, voice, will bring her l image treety to uis heart "Mte is into my j mother," will bo tho highest meed in his j praise. Nor even when the hair turns sit | very and the eyes grow dim, will tho majesty |of that life and presence desert him. But | the ruffian mother—alas! that (here are such —will form the ruffian character of a man. Thete is no disputing the fact; it shines in Ihe 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 slap your jaws—I'll break your neck," is known as thoroughly through her children as if her unwomanly manners wero 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 nriimalin the art of being ferocious, and wanting sonic animated object to set the dog upon, his daddy, after considerable persuasion, consented to get down upon nil fours and make fight with Mr. Bull. Young America began to urge on the dog—"sis-ter-boy,—soize him, &c.;" at last the dog "made a dip" and got a good hold upon the old man's proboscis, and get tbe dog o'ff he couldn't. So ho began to cry out with the pain caused by the fangs of the dog. "Grin and bear it, old man!" shouted tho young scapegrace ! "Grin and bear it— 'twill be the mukm' of the pup. rV At an examination of the Collage of Surgeons a candidate 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 uu impertinent reply, what muscles would you put in mo lion !" "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 lo come home—pretty time, three o'clock in the morning, you, a respectable man in the community, and tho father of a family !" "'Tisn'l three—ils only one; I 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 tbe morning." "I say, Mrs. M., it's one. I heard it strike one as I came around the coiner, two or three times I" US*" A fast man undertook tho task of teas ing an eccentric preacher: "Do you believe," said be, "in the story of the 'Failed calf!"' "Yes," said the preacher. "Well, then, was it a male or female calf that was killed. "A female," replied the divine. "How do know that f" "Because, (looking the inlerrogater in tho face,) I see the male is still alive. Fioni "The t'ompiift*, Willi Vurlailous." | BY TOM HOOD. Down went the wind, down went the wnve, Fear quitted the most finical; The saints, I wot, were soon forgot, And hope was nt the pinnacle ; When rose on high the Irightlul cry— "The devil's in the binnacle." "The saints be near," tbe helmsman cried, His voice with quite a falter, "Steady's my helm, but every look The needle seems lo alter; God only knows where China lies, Jamaica or Gibraltar." The captain stared aghaM at mate, The pilot at ill' apprentice; No fancy of the German sea Of fiction the event is; But when they at itie compass looked, It seemed nun comjm mentis. Now north, now south, now east, now west, The wavering point WHS shaken, Twaa past the whole philosophy Of Newton and of Bacon. Never by compass, till that hour, Such latitudes were taken. No Use for Trowsers. On the morning of the meteoric shower in 1833, Old l'eytou Roberts, who intended ma king an early start to bis work, got up in lite tnidst of the display. On going to bis door, ho saw with amazement, lite sky lighted up with the falling meteors, and ho concluded at once that the world was on lire, aud that the day ol judgment had come. He stood for a moment gazing in speech loss terror at tho scene, and then with a yell o( horror sprang out of the door into the yurd. right into the midst of the fulling stars, and tieie in his effort to dodge them lit commeti- ' ced a scries of ground tumbling that would have done honor to a rope dancer. His wifo being awakened in the meantime, and seeing old l'eyton jumping and skipping about in tho yard, culled out to know what in tho name o' sense he wasdoin' out thar, dancing 'round without his clothes. But l'eyton heard not—the judgmont, and long back account he would have to settle, mode him heedless of all terrestial things, and his wife by litis lime becoming alarmed at bis behavior, sprang out of bed and running to the door, shrieking lo the top of her lungs— "l'eyton, 1 say l'eyton, what do you mean, jumping about oat that? Come in aud put your trowsers on." Old l'eyton, whose fears had near over powered him, faintly answered as ho fell sprawling on tho earth— I "Trowsers, l'eggy! what the h—ll's the use o' trowsers when tho world's a lire." ITT 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 ail 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 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 cvor be avoided. GENTLEMEN AND THEIR DEBTS —The late J Rev. Dr. Sutton, Vicar at Sheffield, once said i In the late Mr. l'eech, a veterinary surgeon, i "Mr. l'eech, how is it you have not called | upon me for your account!" "Oh, said Mr. l'eech, "I never ask a gen- i tlemnn for money." "Indeed," said the Vicar, "then how do you 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 then 1 ack him." CjT At a concert in Wisconsin, at the con clusion of tho song, "There's a good lime 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, j Mister." The farmer was right; we havo j been promised this consummation for many years, but like tho rainbow, it recedes as we advance towards it. CW MR. PRENTICE, of the Louisville Jour nal is the author of the following;— " We see that tbe 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. t"W "Well neighbor, what's the most chris tian news this morning?" said a gentleman lo his friend. "I 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 lime! "My wife!" Two travelers having been robbed in a wood, and tied to trees some distance from each other, one of thorn, in despair, exclaim ed— "O, I'm undone!" "Are you!" said the other, "then I wish you'd come and undo me." tST Miles Darden, seven feet six inches high, and weighing over a thousand pounds, died recently in Tennessee. It took 4 men to place him in bis coffin. Tbe largest man in tbe world. DCT Reputation is often got without merit, and lost without a crime [Two Dollars per Annua. NUMBER 28. TUB LATK HI M.I AM 1,. HI All(. V• IIIS HOME —HIS STUDIES, AND HIS CI.OSIKO LIFE. A correspondent of the New V'ork Rolf, writing from Albsny, N. V , cominunicalos tbe following in regard to the late William I. Marry : " During a po-non of tho day, I had lime to visit the two houses at different limes oo cupied by the late Secretary—one in the row of bouses so much occupied by the Gover uors, on the east of the Capitol Square, the other, the "Knower House," owned by Mr Marry, on S'aie street. They arc both largo substantial brick buildings, plain in nppoai auce, and noticeably principally from then association with their former illustrious occu pant. The sight of '.ltem brings buck In Ins old friends a thousand rominisconcea of Ins genial hospitality and sterling qualities, that endeared him 10 so largo a circle, incliidiii