BY D.. A. & C. H. BUEHLER.
VOLUME IXII.}
The Opening Of Spring.
nY z. c. notvz
March has burst the bars of Winter,
And unloosed the icy chain,
Theta° long has linked together
Brook and river, hill and plain.
Hark ! a sound liko distant thunder
Rolla along the vale and wood ;
See above. the sky is darkling—
Now the earth is all ahlood.
'Mid the mountain's rugged thicket,
Echo°. deep the storm•wind's roar ;
And the swollen atteamlets doodling,
Through each narrow channel pour.
On they ramble, now they tumble
Over rock and foaming sand,
With a headlong flight engulfing
Level field and meadow land.
Bright above. the heavens are glowing,
Beauty sparkles sll around ;
Sh . g river, mountain streamlet,
Lisp a low and mellow sound.
On the hlll.side flocks are griming,
Lambkins frisking on the lea ;
Merry peasant-boy oral maiden
Gaily join in sportive glee.
From Ileadleya'a Sacred Scene. arid Character.
SAMUEL AND SAUL
TIIK INTERVIEW BETWEEN TUE LIVING
One evening, just as the sun was setting
over the hills of Palestine, a host was
seen encamped in a beautiful valley, I hri.u B h
which wandered a clear stream, and over
whose green surface, woods and fields, and
fl ocks and herds, were scattered in endless
variety and profusion. The white tents
dotted the landscape far and wide, standing
against the green back-ground distinct as a
fleet of snowy sails against a storm cloud
on the AM. ; - While long rays of chariots
glittered between, and gay standards float
ed above, and groups of officers and ranks
of soldiers moved about, giving'aoimaiou
and life to the scene. At intervals came
triumphant bursts of music ; and the thril
lin4 strains of the trumpet arose and fell
over the plain, till the echoes were lost in
the woods beyond. And the evening sun
was shining on all this, tipping the tents of
thousands of lance points with silver, and
flushing back from burnished armor, till the
eye became dazzled with the splendor.
Una lithe eminence that overlooked
this glittering plain, was spread the tent
of the king. Of ample dimensions, and
decorated with gorgeous hangings and
costly ornaments, it looked like a fairy pal
ace there upon the swelling hill top. Un
derlie:oh its spreading canopy sat the
monarch himself, looking thoughtfully up
the prospect below hint. It was a scene to
stir a warrior's heart, for every one of those
countless tehts that stood Lathed in the
sunlight, contained soldiers true and tried;
and all the vast host at his feet was but a
single instrument in his hand. At the
blast of his trumpet, that plain wotti;l
tremble under the tread of armed men,
twiee ten thousand lances shake in the de
parting sunbeams, and, at his command,
rank upon rank would rush all steadily tip
s stand of leveled spears. They bud often
crowded after him to battle, had stood a
wall of iron about him in the hour of peril;
he had heard their shouts of &linnet! ring o
ver the (lash of arms and tumult (tithe fray
—at•, and their shouts of vietory, too, loud
er than all, as they drove the broken and
shattered forces attic enemy before them.
Well, then, might the sight of that tented
host" Send the flush of pride to the nm
areh's brow, mill fill his heart
.with exult- ,
ant feelings.
But, alas, no color came to that marble
face; pale and anxious the chieftain sat and
gazed, his brow knit in gloomy thought,
and care resting like a cloud upon his coun
tenance. No food bad passed his lips all
slay, yet something inure than fasting had
wrought that haggard look and bowed that
regal head., The white tents sprink ling the
&Id, the chariots beside them, the shining
ranks of warriors, the triumphant strains
of music, the glorious landscape smiling in
the setting sun, the hum of the mighty
Lost, were all unheeded. Be saw them
not, he heard them not ; his troubled soul
was busy amid other scenes, struggling
with fur other thoughts. Another army
rose before him—a host of sins, in ghastly
array, in whose dread aspect no relenting
could be seen. And, worse than all, the
oracles of God were duisib ; to his earnest
spestioning no response had been given ;
the Brim and Thummim ceased to be it
radiated ut his call, and silence and dark-;
ness rested on the ark of God. And now,
as ho thought of his crimes, and the silence j
of God, and of the battle on the morrow,
"Taming events cast their obstinate hefine them."
and he saw his army routed and slain, and
himself and his throne trampled underfoot.
No wonder the waving banners below him
brought no glow to his wan and wasted
features.
As the light of day disappeared, and
the fires began to be kindled in the broad
entampment, ho entered his tent, and, put
ting on a disguise, stole forth, anil i ne a last
resort, turned his steps towards the house
of a sorcereas, and asked that Samuel
zniglit be raised from the dead.
THE INTERVIEW
Scarcely had his request boon made,
when a stately form arose before him, clad
iu arlark mantle, his long gray locks and
board falling upon his breast and should
er& It was Samuel—the same &Meet
who had anointed him king over Israel,
and for so long a time had been the pillar
*Otis throne ; the dread and fearless proph
et who so often had withstood him. to his
face, and hurled the malediction of Heav
en, upon him ; whose last curse, backed
with the startling declaration, "The
strength of Israel will not lie nor repent,"
still rang in his ears. The frightened mon
arch stood dumb and powerless before the
dread spirit ho had evoked from the land of
shadows, When the deep sepulchral tones of
the prophet broke the silence, "Why bast
thou disquieted tne, to bring me up ?" "I
am sore distressed," murmured the king,
"for the Philistines make war upon me,
and God is departed from me, and answer-I
eth me no more, neither by prophets nor I
dreams; therefore I have called thee, that
I thou nmyest tell me what I shatl do."—
'Wherefore," answered the spirit, "dolt I
thou ask me, seeing the Lord has departed
from thee and is become thine enemy ?"--.
Ile would only repeat over again the curse
of former days ; and his words fell like a'
Ifuneral knell on the ears of the monarch,
I"The Lord bath rent the kingdom out of
thy hand, and given it to thy neighbor)
David. Not only has the throne gone, but
the dynasty closes with thee, and thy fam- 1
ily is disinherrited for ever for thy sins.—,
Nor is this all : the battle to-morrow shall
go against thee, for, "the Lord will deliver
Israel with thee into the hands of the
Philistines; an d"—t he prophet's voice here
made the heart of the listener stand still
in his bosom—"and to-morrow 81101 t thou
and thy sons be with toe." The thunder
hold had fallen, and the utter silence that
folbured was broken only by the shock of
the king's body as befell lifeless and head
long tirin the earth. No shriek, no groan,
told when and how deep the blow struck ;1
that heavy fall was more startling than
lan .q,uage
Th. fearful apparition sunk away, and
Saul was left alone with the night.
The next morning found the king in his
tent, nerved for the worst, and to
who sa* him, as his servants buckled on
his armor, he appeared the same as ever,
save that a deeper pallor was on his cheek
than thought can ever give—the p allor of
despair. Nevertheless the trumpets were
ordered to sound, and soon the plain shook
with the preparation of arms. Chieftains,
each with his retainers behind him, march
'ed forth, prancing steeds and chariots of
war followed, banners and lances and hel
wets fluttered and flushed in the morning
sunlight, and all was hope and confidence
in the army. As the troops defiled between
the royal tent, shouts of "long live the
king," rent the air. Alt, with what a
sudden death chill those shouts fell upon
his heart ; that host was going forth to be
slaughtered, and that bright sun in its
course was to witness the loss of his army,
his throne, his sons and his life. Perhaps
he cheered his deepouding spirit with the
vain hope that God might yet be appeased,
lor that Samuel had spoken falsdiy ; at all
events, he was determined to battle nobly
for his crown. As his guard closed stern
ly around him, the determination written
on his brow betokened a bloody day, and a
fierce struggle, even with fate itself.
The hostile armies met, and, rank after
rank, troop after troop, rushed to the on
set. The Hebrew sword diank blood; and
the shout of Israel went up as thrilling and
strong as ever it rose from Mount Zion
itself. And never before did their mon
arch lead them so steadily and fiercely on
—or give his royal person so freely to his
to his foe. But courage, and heroism, and
desperate daring were alike unavailing; the
sentence was writ on high, and Israel was
scattered before her foes. Vainly did their
leaders rally them again and again to the
charge. Vainly did the three princes, the
sons of Saul, call on their followers to em.
ulato their example, as they threw them
selves on the foe. Vainly did the king
himself I' on his troops, while the blood
from his whanded side trickled over his
armor. God was against them all, and dis-
comfited and scattered they fled on every
side. The three sons of the king fell one
after another, bravely battling foi their
father's throne and Israel's honor, till at
last Jonathan, the noblest and bravest of
them all, fell lifeless on the hill side. The
wounded monarch, hard hit by the archers,
at lust turned and lied for his life ; but.,
finding no way to escape, he stopped and
!commanded his armor-hearer to stab him
to the heart, "Lest," said the dying man,
"these uncircumcised come and thrust me
through, and abuse me." His armor-bear
er refusing to commit the horrid deed, he
Placed the hilt of his own sword upon the
ground and fell upon it. His faithful ar,
mor-bearer followed his example, and ho
and the king and his three sons lay corpses
together on the mountain of Gilboa.
The prophecy was fulfilled—the aurae
had fallen—and morning once more broke
on the land of Israel.
CHARITY.
Trust hot to,esch accusing tongue,
' As most weak porno' do ;
But still believe that story wrong.
Sheridan,
Whi
.../0 would
piok sue pearl, put tho key of
resierire inside. -• •
GETTYSBURG, PA. FRIDAY EVENING, MARCH 12, 1852.
TRUTH.
BY WM. R. PRINCE
0 Truth ! what apology can be present,
who now with feeble hand would fain es
say to touch thy strings of heavenly har
mony, that.their vibrations may wake the
cords responding in each human heart—
those cords which neither loss of pristine
innocence nor sin's destroying curse were
able to untune
What can he plead, when the loftiest in
tellects that ever illumined our world with
momentary radiance, by thee conferred,
have found themselves baffled in every at
tempt to compass thine eternal self?—
When those whose names were never born
to lie have shrunk from the cask of depict
ing thee, as from a duty more befitting
spirits infinite than the sin-fettered mind
of man, small indeed must be the indul
gence such as myself would claim.
What one of the thousand modes in
which Truth manifests itself shall I select?
Every form that it assumes is worthy of
being made the subject for a volume.—
' 'Tis the honor of the gentleman, the glory
of the moralist, the insignia of the Chris
tian, the white robe of the saint, the
power of the archangel, the brightest gem
in the tiara of divinity. But from this bril- 1
liant army of subjects,•l turn away to hold
it up for your contemplation as a heaven
born principle implAnted in the human
breast, which ever influences its possessor
to attain to truth in all things.
Truth is an attribute of primeval inno
cence, which seems to have escaped the
blight that curses, self-entailed, have cast
on all things heavenly here below. It is
a god-like attribute, a ray of light, divine;
the parting tear of banished innocence
dropped into the human soul, to mark the
spot where once her shrine had stood—
"A .hnoting star of blessed light
propped upon thu world'. midnight;
A drop id .west, %%herr all bookie
Is bitterest as II in lihfidull tide."
0 glorious principle! what wonder that
ponds hullowed,l2y . thy, influence haiT ever
bowed willing votaries at thy shrine, and
thence have drown their sweetest cups of
earthly bliss !—have found in thy pursuit
nA perprtunl fesst of 'teetered sweets,
Where no crude suifeir reigns."
Who, in view of the attractions present
ed by this ideal of all that is pure and wor
thy of man's noblest sspirations, would not
engage in her pursuit ? What allurements
does she not hold out to those who have
aims higher than the mercenary views of
life ?
"Art thou an aspirant for fame!
Anil wilt thou sit among the ruins
With all words of cheer Ulla!MIMI,
Till the silver cord i■ bowl
the golden bow I is broken
Lite ha. Import more inspiring
Than the fancies oi thy youth,
II has hopes us high as heaven,
It has labor, it has Tiit,"rx."
Go count the immortal ones of earth,
whose claims to fame are undisputed, whose
glory is unstained by blood. Lo, a fair
array of the votaries, aye, and or the mar
tyrs, too, of truth
See yonder youthful aspirant ! With,
mind unbiased by the philosophy of the
times, but convinced of the inconsistency
and error which pervaded it, he enlisted in
the cause of Truth, and, breaking away
from all the bonds of custom and
usage which then fettered the minds of his
countrymen, with otie stroke of the sword
of Truth dashes forever from the the heav-i
ens the chrystal spheres of Eudozus, the
cycles and epicycles of Ptolemy. Truth
triumphed, and the name of Copernicus '
written on the stars.
Turn now to the "Legislator of the skies,"
who exclaimed in the ecstacy of his joy,
when the labor of seventeen long years was
at length crowned with success, "I WILL
indulge my sacred fury, I WILL rejoice
that I have robbed of their lore the temples
of Egyptian idolatry, tq bßild , up a temple
for my God, far from the shrines of Egypt.
* * * The die is cast, the book is writ
ten, to be read now or by posterity, I care
not which. It may well wait a century for
a reader, since God has waited six thousand
years for an observer." Again truth had
triumphed, God was vindicated, and Kep
ler is a deathless name.
Vein would it be to attempt an eulogy
on him who "grasped the golden key that
unlocked the universe, and resred to New
ton's name a monument more lasting than
brass, and a pyramid more lofty than the
princely state."
Ono more example and I have done. No
European landscape furnishes the scene
for this last proud triumph ; it is laid a
mid the hills of young America. Threat
ening clouds enshroud the sky, and heav
en's artillery flashes and rolls across its
wild expanse. Why does Ton pedestrian,
accompanied by his son, quit, tit an early
hour like this, the shelter of his home, to
seek the open fields ? Unheard of audaci
ty ! He goes forth with no less a purpose
than to play with the fires of heaven. He
raises the connecting link between the
earth and the clouds :.Truth flashes from
the string, and Franklin is immortal.
Truth,,however, is far from limiting her
gifts to earthly glory and enjoyment.
"Her neo look beavengratd, for from berprirr. ate
ram'," •
And, he' who walks her Omani pithe,
"FEARLESS
when met by the destroyer's rod, falls not
A sewboan eagle, stable bow its onswing
down,"
"Like • spirit mono bird dean the easels nom
He mounts to big amid'. time who as. beemen."
LIZZIE IN THE HILL
BY GRABIL GII.IOOIIIrOOD.
Many years ago in a pleasant village of
New England. lived a little girl whose true
f story 1 am about to relate—Lizzie Stone,
the only daughter of des miller.
Lizzie was a child 'whom everybody
loved ; not only because she was so pretty,
lively and intelligent. but ter her being so
sweet, gentle and peaceable—so truly
good. Lizzie had two brothers, a few
years older than herself. who were very
th E
fond of her , and of w on she was very
fond. These three ren always went
to school and to elli together, and
played in perfect agreernent.
11 happened that ono sunny autumn af
ternoon %hey had a visit from two little 1
consults. who livedaboit a mile dimant.—
They had a will, joyous time ; they play- i
ed in the yard. is she basil, and all over
the house. Mrs. Stow, who was a kind.
pleasant woman, looted on and laughed.
if she did not mingle in their sports. She
got Cent a nice early lea by themselves ;
and when the visitors, alter one last merry
game, were about lea Tis.g. she said to
Lizzie— . _
'• Your brothers will go home with Alice
and Celia. You may go with diem as lar
as the mill; but be ware to stop thene, and
come I with your father."
As the cousins set mil, laughing and
frolicking along. Mrs. Stone stood in the
Rule front portico of her cottage. loll:nig
after them as they went &wit the lane,
and thinking what handsome, and happy.
and above all. what good elithlren they
were. She smiled at LiZl.se'S affectionate
way of taking leave of her, though she
was to he gone but a short tome_ Lizzie
never parted from her mother, even for a
hall InMr, without kiskong her lovingly
and bidding her good-bye in a voice as
sweet aild tender as the cooing of a dove.
Now, as Mrs. Stone went into the house.
she said sonic to herself. "It is nearly ten
years ..lire God gave me that chiol, and
she has never yet caused me one moment's
sorrow."
The eiSusins play'isl so much along the
road, and stopped so often to pick flowers
and berries; that it was nearly dark when
they reached the mill. Then. when the
gig's came to part. they yet had so many
things to tell each other. so many inrita
tions lit give. so many good-byes to say.
it was no wonder that they lingered awhile.
It seemed that Lizzie could not let her
I-014 1 41st°. She partite from them in her
loving way, so many times, that her booth
en grew a little impatient. and Georde.
the eldest said—
.• Why sister. I don't see but that Ned
and I will have to help you in your kissing.
or you'll never ge: thresh."
Then Afire and Celia. blushing and
laughing, broke away Irons their cousins,
and ran fast down a pule hill towards their
home. The boys soon overtook them;
and Lizzie alter watching the group awhile.
and thinking how good was God it. give
her such amiable cousins, such noble broth
ers, and such dear parent* to lore. turned
and was almost lrightened by the dm it
made, and by the darkness, for night was
fast coming on. SO caked her father's
name; lie answered; but the machniery
made FO much noise that she did not hear.
Thinking that he had already gone, she
hutted out to go home alone. She took
a way she had often safely taken, over
the flume, by the great water-wheel. But
In-night she was bewildered—lost lice
footing. and fell oil oat he wheel. whirl.
whirled her down. crushingand tearing her
in a shocking manner. It happened that
just at that moment her father, thinking
that Lizzie had been seat to call him
home, stopped the non, and began to search
for her. Led by ber cries lie came to the
wheel, and there found out what bad oc
curred.
"Are you badly hurt my daughter r he
asked iu great grief and terror.
"Yes lather, I seem to be crushed to
pieces, and I cannot stir; but I think I
shall live till you get me out. Leave me
here and go lor
The neighborhood was soon roused, and
many men hurried with saws and azea to
the mill. But they found that only one
or two rou'tl work at a time in cutting
away the strorig7heavy timbers, and that
it would be some hours before Imm 'mold
be taken from the cruel place where she
was held so last, and crashed so dreadfully;
and they said tlmt to move the w heel
backward or forwanl might kill her at
011 Ce.
When Mrs: Sterne came, one of the men
let down a light into the wheel. so that
she eiluld see her poor chlid. When she
raw Lizzie', white face. and the blending
arms held invents her. she shrieked and
cried bitterly. But Lizzie called up to her
as tweedy and eheerielly as she had ever
spoken in her life. and said—
" Don't cry mother ! They will get me
out before long ; keep up good courage.
and pray to God for me."
And so she continued to talk hoer af
ter hour, while the men kept cutting anal
sawing at the gnat timbers; so she cheer
ed and comfoned the parents. and her
poor brothers. when they too came to the
mill.
Once her voice grew very low and in
distinct—then it ceased altogether ; the
doctor looked clown, and said she had faint
ed away. and they sprinkled water upon
her. As soon is she revived. she beta.
again to say ecisakiiiiig *Ulu. and to beg
her mother not to cry. She said abs did
not stiffer so mush pain as at first and that
she was sure she would fits to be carried
home.
It was nearly midnight when the last
limber that held her was slowed away. and
a workman lifted her ready up. and laid
her In her father's anew- Tbe pain d be
ing renamed eared the poi! child to blot
again,old As did apt mile will go had
beta carried. Mom Whew abs .opeas
.
razz.-
her eves she found herself on her own
hula bed. with her dear father and mother
and brothers at her aisle. '
The doctor direfully dressed Lizzie's
wounds. and gave her some opium to snake
her steep; but he told her father and
mother hat she could not possibly get
well. When he heard the dreadful words,
Mr. Stone groaned ; and covered his fare
with his hands ; end for a few moments,
Mrs. Stone leaned her head on her hue-
band's shoulder, and cried. Then, lifting
j her eyes and clasping her hands, she caul,
"Thv will, oh ! Lunt, he done ." and went
and sat down calmly by Lizzie's side, and
watched her till she slept.
The poor little girl remained sleeping
most of the next day. She would often
Iwake, and ask for water, but she then
seemed hardly to know where she was or
!who was with her. Her cousins, Alice
and Celia, came to see her, but she did not
recognize them, and they went away, sub
bing
bitterly.
Early in the night, however, she awoke,
and seemed better. She knew till about
, her, and smiled on them, but said she must
leave them very soon. She told her lath
'er that she wanted to hear him pray once
more ; and Mr. Stone knelt down by her
bedside. and asked God to take safely home
the little daughter he had given them, a uf
thanked Him for leaving her with them
so long. Then Lizzie maid to her mother,
"Will you sing me just one verse of the
hymn I love so much." Jesus sought me 1"
Her mother tried. but she could not sill
for weeping ; and Lizzie said, "Never
mind—where I am going there is beau tiful
singing. Yet it seems to me, I shall hear
no voice so weet an yours, mamma. Why
Ido you cry Only think, mama, if I!
should live, now, how crooked and sickly
I should he. I might be a poor hunch
back, and give a great deal of trouble and
sorrow to you all. Will it not be better;
to hurry op this crushed body and let the
pleasant grass grow over it, and hive a
new glorious body, such as the angels
have.
As she spoke these words she smiled,
and did not weep ; but when, afterwards,
she eked for a Willful house-do t . stud her
pretty Maltese kitten, and they were
brought to her, she burst into tears.—
"Good-bye, old Bose ! good-bye, Kitty !"
rhe said. "I cry, mamma, to pert (rom
these, because I never, never shall see
them again ; for they have no souls, poor
thingie ! But you end papa will come to
Heaven helure many years ; and you, too,
brothers, if you are good buys."
A little while alter this,she said, "Geor
gie. give my love to slice and Celia, and
tell them I am glad I kissed them so many
times last night. Eddie—take care of my
flowers, and boys don't miss too much in
your play."
After lying very quiet some moments,
she again spoke, and said ;
"Mamma, are the shutters open and has
the morning come very brightly ?"
"No. my daughter, her mother answered,
it is still dark night."
"Oh, then." said Lizzie,"it must he the
windows of God's beautiful palace I see.
with the idealism light shining through.
lam almost there ! Good-bye, mamma.
and papa,aud brothers, good-bye !"
with a smile spread over her face, Lizzie
Ntreoheil out her arms, looked upward
and died !
When Lizzie lay in her coffin, that
smile was on her sweet face still—brighter
and purer than the white rose that lay up-
on her pillow—and MrA. Stone tried no
ill let her tears fall upon it ; for she said
- , G041 has taken back a little angel He lei
to me fir a few years, and why should
weep fur my happy child r
Some days since. some boatman on the
river Smite, discovered near the shore. in
the vicinity of St. Cloud, two human feet
just level with the surface of the water.
and approaching the spot, they drew from
the mud, the body of a young woman ap
parently about 25 years of age. Around
tot neck was a curd; to which was attach-
Jed a large stone. The identity of this un
fortunate could not be recognized. but in a
llittle tin box on her person were found the
following words :
.1 have never known my parents. Until
' theag
e of seven years I was brought ti
bylivedin• P
a good woman who
in the department of the Siene ci "Warne.
and from that period until 18 years of age,
I was in a boarding school at Paris. I best,
lieve that 1 am the aftsprfhg of a guilty
ham and probably my parents are rich,
for my beard was always scrupulously
paid, and the extent of my wardrobe was
all that the utmost caprice could have de
sired.
-.One day 1I rceeived a letter. It was
signed •Thy Mother !' Oh ! how happy
I was. •Thy birth,' said the letter, •if it
were known, would trouble the repose of
an entire family ; yet perhaps one day
thou mays* know thy mother. Honora
ble blood runs in thy viens, my daughter ;
do out sully it. Thy fortune is provided
for. Thou wilt be placed in a linen dra
per's store. and when thy apprenticeship
his passed over, and thou bast arrived at
years or majority, thou will be placed at
the head of an establishment of thine own.'
•Some days afterwards, I was, in fact,
placed as an apprentice in a large linen
warehouse. Several 'earn passed away,
and then came the revolution of February.
Since that fatal epoch, I have heard troth.
in, of my family. Alone in the world,
no one to counsel or to advise with, I be
lieve in the oaths of a libertine I Fur his
sake I robbed my employers. honesd of
falling upon me, suspicion fell upon an in—
unrest young man employed in the estah.
fishmeal, and he was discharged. The
wretch who had dishonored me soon de
emed me. Here, in these few lines, be
hold *egad history of an unfortunate, who
usable to bear up under the, weight of re.,
mane which crushes her, has sought re.
lid in suicide, •
•I'tieg that elate who may discover my
body will give all possible publicity to this
letter. May its contents teach other M.
maw the stiokeddeni or neglecting their
ehddrea.n
Artravaii.--che gifitir of nobla 1404
tbrovail akeofiroak otie.
Poor Girl!
The Power or the Peace.
The Rev.' J. B. Owen. M. A.. of Buis.
I ton, England, in the course of a 'lecture
delivered in the Liverpool Concert Hall, in
connection with the Church of England
Institution. upon "Popular Liouranee,"
related an aneedote, strikingly illustrative'
of the power winch' lies in the hand ofthe
working men' to promote thedrown social
comfort and independence, i r they woOkl
only exert it. A, Manchester calicci-prith
ter was, on Ids wedditijr.day..:penthethiat,
by his wife to allow her' two 'haltpints of
ale a day as her Aare: He rather wino
led under the bargain ; for. thrmith`a drinker
himself, he would have prefered a perfects.
ly sober wife. They both "workeil
and he, poor man, Was seldom out of the
public house as soon' as the factory 'chisel!:
The wife ,and husband saW little Orem+
other except at breakfast; but, aselie kept
things tidy about her, and made her glinted,
and even selfish, allowance rot lionsekeep:
ing meet the demands upon her, lie never
complained. She.had . her daily pint, 'and
he, perhaps, had Isis two or three quarts
and neither interfered with the other, ex
cept at odd tithes. she succeeded, by dust
of one little gentle artifice or _another, to
win him . home an hour or two earlier at
night. and now and then tospend an entire
evening in his own house. Bid — these'
were rare occasions. They had been
married a year; and, on the morning of
their wedding anniversary, the humband
looked askance at her Ilea/ and comely
I _person _iv ith _some ahade_of.reinerse,as
obeerved,"Mary, we'n had no holiday sin'
we were wed; and only that I haven't
a penny i' th world, we'd take a jaunt to,
Ih village mace the mother !" "Would'st
like to go John 1" asked she softly. be
tween a smile and a tear, to hear him
speak kindly as in old times. "If thett'd
like to go. John, I'll stand treat." "Thou
'amid treat !" said he with half a sneer !
"Last got a fortun' wench 1" "Nay,'
said she,"but I'n gotten the pint o' ale."—
"Outten what 1" said he. "The pint O'
ale !" was the reply. John still didn't
understand her, till the faithfill creature
reached down an old stocking from under
a loose brick up the eh imney, and count
ing nit tier daily pint of ale in the shape
of 365 threepences (1. e. .£'4 I Is. 3d.)
put it into his hand exclaiming, "Thee
shall have the holiday, John." John was
tashamed, astonialied, conscience•stnitten,
charmed. He wouldn't touch it. "Hasn't
thee had thy share 1 then I'll ha' no more." l
he said. They kept their wedding-day
with the old danie ; and the wife's little
capital was the nucleus ofa series of invest•
thents that ultimately swelled into shop,
factory, warehouse, cotinirpeeat, a, car.
tinge, and, for aught Mt. Owen knew,
John was Mayor of his borough at last,
MOW a Coat 'raw Identified.
Justice's court, in Huston. wee**
was recently decided in a most novel way.
A coat was in dispute, and the evidence
was direct and positive for both claimants;
the parties were Irish, full of grit, and
ready to spend all they had, rather than
give up beat. The affair had been care
fully examined, and the Court was in.a
quandary, not knowing who had the best
claim on the garment. However, a mo
ment before his Honor was to sum up the
evidence, Patrick Power, one of the claim
ants, made the Billowing proposition for
settling the affair:
"Timothy Maguire, now you say that
°oat belongs to yerself mtirely, I say it Is
me awn. flow mind ye, Witnothy,
both iv us will take the emit and look it all
over ; an,l the man who finds his name
on it shall be the owner."
"Done," said Timothy.
"An ye'll stick to the bargain 1"
"To be sure," answered Timothy, and
"Yes" rejoined counsel on both sides.
"Tnin look at it;" said Patrick, as he
passed the coat into the hands of Timothy,
who vainly searched every part of It tor
his name, and passed it back to Patrick,
boastingly saying, "AA now let us say if
ye can he fiindin the likes of yer own
name upon the garment."
"Ye'll stick to the 'greement I'' said
Patrick, eagerly grasping the coat.
"On the honor iv a Man," replied Tim
othy.
"Thin howld on a hit." said Patrick. as
he drew his knife atit: opened a corner in
the collar of the coat, taking therefrom two
very small pea., exclaiming as he held
them out in his hand :
"There d'ye see that r'
"Yee, but what iv that r said Timothy.
"A deal it has to do wid it, its me name
to be sure, Pea for Patrick atid Pea for
Powers. be jingo."
He got the coat.
PROGRESO or vim Acts.—A school:I:toy,
about ten years of age, approaches the
master, with a bold front and self-con6ditot
air, and the following dialogue ensues
Boy—May Ihe dismissed, sir I •
Mr Bir ch, scowling—What reason have
you for making the request, Thomas I ,
Boy—l want to take my woman out
sleighing, sir.
Mr. birch—Take your seat !—Carpet
Bag.
"Nese me," said an old lvtly, throwing
down the newspaper, and wiping her epee.
Melt's. "Imre is John Due and Richard
Roe 81 law again! They've had a suit
every year or so for more'n thirty years.
to my certain knowledge." '
'Ellen—"Oh, don't tease me today.
Charley ; I'm not at all well !" Char
ky—(rwelve years old. A man of the
World.) NI tell you what it is. you are
in love ! Now, you take the advice of a
fellow who has seen a good deal of that
sort of thing, and don't give , iray to it!"
XXTILISMAS.
“Avold extrema ; andshua the fault of each.
Who shill are pleased too kits or too taooht
At every, trifle scorn to take °Orem-.
That always abort,* great pride. or little stoma"
Intmnssa—A public Tani, where sari,.
ous kinds of mischief anveowei and doom.
Wed .among ..the, mesl. despicable of she
human race.
It isiald,that the mole , wldeh is blind
thringb lite a 'Rena lb' am *ben it is 4-
tug.
. . ,
TWO DOI LABS PlCM4eXiiiltit. ~/
iNUMBEIt
rioutbie litilArtatttit.
AT* aid the developer.... end vestell
:lb. dawn of little th ought."' , „
yit it our intention hereafter to Mt'
apart soie little apace in our columns
the bend of our numerous young reading,
in which we shall eater ht'
their tastes. We will 'endeavor
thia department a character which Witl,4
the same time instruct and amuse, ~
Tlin ElovrastaNs or, Exat,am- 1 ,13,
°outwitting to otomory theletlowing
of the sovereigns of England, their tiossim,
and the order-of tho reign of sang my b.
easily remembered.t , •
PirelliVinton the Norman Oben Willa* Ma
firtintY. lind Henry ; then
,Richand anti
John ;
Nett, Wail the third . ; Ediaartle, one, Yiri ilia
three; • • '
Afttegain, after Richard. three frenritm as ego.
freitt Edwattle. third Edward. if rightly 1 game t
Tato•Mentice.einth Editard. Queen Mar,. Qom*
Bore.
Then temfe the ecotchman; keit Chitlea'altcien
they Mari: . •
Yet leotard, iftei Cromwell, another Charlet lbw
Meat Jamie ihe'neetioil mended tbe throne, '
Then William and. Mary together came op •;
TM Anne, four Geoatgee and, al(mun.
God out us Victoria--tuay she , long he the IYI
QUERIES
_ANINtIIZMATICAL
If a ttone, dropped from the toprof i
a high tower, touch the round is , eight
and a half molds what ra 'theiheighekif
the tower • •
There are two pieeew of grenadi -es&
containing tea acres y one thelphnieili
square, the other eireuhtt. :Moorman?
more rails, live feet hi height, insditreire
in leng. th, wotxld'it , take to film
than the circular field l , "=) {,.,w"
-11/ why. ard-.4011114 ,
round timber oonsi tad; 4iptid f.019 1 16e0 •
of hewn timber? • 7 I
PuiLoonirfi ), .
rctit»- • , r-- ) •
Why does•water
What is rain.? ,
Why does rain fill irr dtopalls) , ffil it
In what part of the Irorkhiliies , lititi
moat abundantly 1 , •',:'•• • ?:, r
. .
Why are theloftWes4fiddni'sibetol '1 4 4
Why do !covet tuktioirtriti
Why do bobbles A* lie etuf eV*
when a lump df snot s diisOda inieit
How are Inner bars
lordtwayets wane quasksis#ll4.lo44l4'oo
- PEZZIORD,
iiIIN
Place the numbers from 1 tealll :loci&
sivo, in thirty•six cells, io the fowl dike
diagram above, so that thefigareolinndlng
in any four of the cells, taken i&a promo
shall amount, when added to M , of
t hleiniiits Of all the numberii. • '1 0, II
BREvrry.—The **Omit(
brevity is related as. P4;vlPg "coici Mitt
tween a shiit-owner and hiSallnton
superhitending the ladittg qt" 1 040, 4 3
IYishin some coal . ' added to,ilteltriN ,
owner addressed his agent
May. OD, AB ll lh* 11‘
Brown, ' 14,4,
Put soma :,!:
. Irtanak
Brown returned in,neply4 ~;
UltrStn,:
TOWS, !
Ax.ioaata.-11vei:y o'aelvitliialet
Oil
a
.9strottomers are astott-el?iireht . pailf
can deny that the 710/eO4/14411, 4
help ; or tliat"Latirii are
There are some who dtmbi
a rare madfrolic. n 1 1 .t
If you We rO, biuding ox:104ion ' At) ii 1104 ,1
cord, what single word 41 , the Rotlodaktwist
guaga could you use to espreatte.faterstiluth)
you aro doing? Iniao-ull4, (Whoa yaw
I tie.), ,
ti • ; -
Puz;r..—Plant four apOk-I : ,'
a manner that each tree
distance from each orthefrs, „
• I
Answer to Enittin4 In ourlaslpspnp.- 00 914111511r
Queen tlf EntesntL" ..: ~ :;+: .. ,i...pin
. t , .- I. ~t , .. , •
For the 11,, 2ar 430•••••.,„ i „
A er° ll 4l
. egli F 4141144114 • Hari 11
I ant Antiononal• of, iti0rit,12441111144121V .no 1 ,
My 1 14 15 17 13 ion tiontuphltnllo,T, ..it,,i , l.
My 220 8 116 is found in e5tv,01.111 1. 11010,,
Spe
My '826 17 19 is a county in Il ift , 1
My 4 19 5 I'4 7 201 i one orditi
~..p. , lo t, : s
My 8 8 18 16 was a Celsbrsistls '' t ." 6 '
My 6111916 is 4 re is )1101.4..., °At , ! ii.l? , “
My 71210 is .ativnt in 10141441.10W•ii WI . ...1 ,1 1
My H 246 in • small snit:l4 4., • !..1.
My 91720 3 isi s'inkroilif..
My 10 22 14 14' 15 Il 6 isit'ifitirfeltiiiiiii?'"'• l ,
My 11 6 4 131. 4 Dlsedisnsithlts tslol.v" , *, IA 'I ,
by 12 19 4 bis ono or the tardiest polusoletothed
compsaa. • , ; • • :1."
My 19 21718 17 I/1 woo aelOcape4l i irgyfbil
reisynni in Eunlia4hual 0 19
My 14'96 B 16 is a nap ? r,
My 16.17 6 4 was ono eflbi gotta wine alma eel
My 18
.14pI 26 11 ea" miaillsoireol/1414Mair
My 17 24 10 17149 22 it one ot Ono tn 4 11 .
. 0 1!liottr,
My 114 92 8 is I dameatis enhosi.
My .19 9 10 is it conjunction. '
My 2114 la II 4 le ■ city is the setatient PM,
Europe,
My 21 17 7.16 2 is one of our Smoot puss,
My 22 01012 4 is ramp 11/0010/111141,
My 113 17 IS 0 Is a Alter hi 49igal
My 21111 51416 is city lo
My 26 6YII is • oelsbooted volerbo. ' " ' l, ll
My 24 8.17 9 Igoe loalispessads osllelOposo44. ,
by Niters, of
My whole Is what wool man to 1101,71d14
should bars.,
owl S P ; 1 1 4111Pr f i
411,4 oat r ' ,
se 10 urot Itifd 41 ( , g%',v
—111aA""--,.1. istrv,plot
V' :Pv,ih .1 iy
• • ;
SRO