BY D. A. & C. 11. BUEHLER
VOLUME XXIV. I
[From the Albany Argus
The Grave Watchers.
I love the stars, for they alone
Will welch our graves, when we are gone;
Through the lone midnight. still and deep,
"'hen mortal •yes are cloud in sleep,
And gloom end darkness hover round
The liule unprotected mound,
'Neath which, neglected, rests our head,
Our hopes, our fears, our fancies fled ;
Then thee each night will wake and bend
Above our grave's, like watchful friends.
T here planted by some friendly hand.
Perhaps a weeping tree may stand,
Or fragrant flower, whose felling leaf
Emblems our life—as frail, as brief—
Or marble slab, with snowy pegs,
Telling ilia sleeps es name and age
To heedless strangers, loitering nigh,
Who'll read with no tear, no sigh,
And lightly from the mound depart,
That swells above our once warm heart.
Though friends awhile may dress the spot,
They tee will die and he forgot;
The snowy slab, with moss o'srgrown
By rolling years, will be o'erthrown--
The sheltering tree, so wide and high,
Affection planted there will die ;
Nor mound, nor ought be left to show
Whets silently we sleep below.
Then, when have Bed long chancing years,
Nor stone. nor tree, nor mound appears,
To turn the busy feet away,
That trample on our voiceless clay ;
Whet not one soul on earth so wide
Shall know that we have lived and died—
Then those tame stars on which we gaze,
Still in the heaven's, as now will blaze;
Still, from the midnight's deep, so blue, 41 '
Our unmarked testing place will view—
While Time endures , each stilly night
They'll look from yonder azure height
On our forgotten graves, and bend
Above our sleep, like faithful friend.
A Bssurneur. Picruax.—The man
who stair& upon his own soil, who feels
that by the laws of the land in which he
lives—by the law of civilized nations—he
is the rightful and exclusive owner of the
land which he tills, is by the constitution
of his nature under a wholesome influence
not easily imbibed from any other source.
feels—other things being equal—wore
strongly than another the character of
a man as lord of the inanimate world.—
Of this great and wonderful sphere, which,
fashioned by the hand of God, and upheld
by his power, is rolling through the hea
vens, a part is his—his from the centre to
the sky. It is the space on which the gen
eration before moved in its round of du
ties, and he feels himself connected by a
visible link with those who follow, and to
whom ho is 'to transmit a home. Perhaps
his farm has come down to him from his
fathers. They have gone to their last
home ! but he can trace their footsteps o
ver the scenes of his daily labors. The
roof that shelters him was reared by those
to whom he owes his being. Some inter
esting domestic tradb ion is connected with
every inclosure. The favorite fruit tree
was planted by his father's hand. Ile
sported in boyhood beside the brook, which
still winds through the meadow. Through
the field lies the path to the village school
of earlier days. He still hears, flouthis
window the voice of the Sabbath bell which
called his father to tho House of God ;
andnear at baud is the spot where hie pa
rents laid down to rest, and whore, when
his time has come, he shall be laid by his
children. These are the feelings of the
owners of the soil. Words cannot paint
them—gold cannot buy them; they flow
out of the deepest fountains of the heart,
they are life-springs of a fresh, healthy,
and generous national charaoter.—Eo-
WARD FIVT.RETT.
THIN OLD Arunsr !—Dead I and all
his wealth not sufficient to bury him with
proper decency. Died, doubting to the
last, poor old gray-headed Atheist 1
Years age his home was a palace.—
His daughters were beautiful ; his sons
stately and noble. He gloried in his un
belief. "Ilis eyes stood out with fatness."
It seemed hard to the poor Christians, and
one wits tempted to say, "It is better with
the wicked than with the good."
But by these wet clods, on which the
rain drops dismally, lies his pine coffin.—
The sezton strikes it with his shovel, and
coarse jests profane the "garden of God."
"Poor old Atheist 1" One daughter lies
broken-hearted in an early grave. One in
a foreign land wanders under the weight of
his curse. The youngest son, the "old
man's darling," rota in jail; the other died
drunken.
All were atheists I Prosperity kept
them company long. Their ships sailed in
safety. Their orchards were never blight
ed. Sickens tainted not their beauty ;
oare and disappointment left their hearts
alone.
But today where are they, with the
wealth and glory of prosperity
Aye I it is true.
"The will of Ckod grinds ante—but it
grinds to payer '
•Cagle Children.
%Mkt children, howl lore them !
Witirtheir winning, artless trays.
:Soothing many an boor of eidness.
ClhartaloraMay weary days.
Lillie children, eta of Hansen,
Floaritaitill bright from God's own band
Dearest blessings to , man given ;
Wiaderris from an angel lead.
;Little 441d/enjoy/se ereataree,
Chris/with love and smilei their way ;
)oesdly speak and kindly treat thsa—
Childhood's boars noon Iles away.
At eilfingtlrld, Mess.. lady tent the
fhllowing volunteer toast :--Atipruet old
Itaebelore , --the ow -greens of ecootety l"
[ From the Olive Branch.
THE UNLOVED ONE.
BY MINNIB MINOT
"My pride, my joy, my blessing, my
weet little Rosabolle : your dear lips are
closed forever, and will never murmur mam
ma again. Shall I never feel the clasp of
your soft arms, or hear the patter Of your
feet ?" and bending forward, Marion El
lerton, in a paroxysm of the wildest grief,
repeatedly kissed the icy btow of her idol,
her youngest and fairest.
The little rosewood coffin rested on a
rich marble 'table and valuable articles of
vertu were scattered carelessly around ;
but the luxurious apartment, the costly
rurniture, magnificent pictures, or the per
fumed atmosphere, had no charms for the
stricken mother. They bad arrayed her
in the deepest mourning, and her sable
velvet dress and rich drapery were unno
ticed by her, for it mattered not whether
she was robed in satins or the coarsest
serge, for she only saw the lifeless form of
her darling.
Well might she mourn for the child.—
For earth had note fairer flower than %Isa
belle, who lay like a blighted lilly bud in
her shrouded loveliness.
The witching blue eyes had lost their
mirthful sparkle, the soft, glossy curls were
lying so still on the marble temple and
dimpled cheeks, and the little wan hands
nestled in the snowy folds of her winding
sheet. The magnificent black tresses of
the mother swept around the corpse like
a pall, and the dreamy stillness was un
broken, save by her smothered sobs and
bitter wailing. She did not hear the door
softly open, nor see a little pace face look
wistfully in, nor bear the gentle footsteps
of a child that stole timidly towards her,
and with tearful eyes gazed at her ; but
a small soft hand glided softly into hers,
and turning, she exclaimed, half angrily,
"Well, Lilly, what do you want ? You
trouble me, child . 1 "
The tears that had been standing in the
the large brown eyes overflowed; throwing
her arms around her mother's neck, she
sobbed unrestrainedly. The mother push
led her rudely away, and with a cold, Bur
-1 prised air, repeated her question.
The thin fingers worked, and by signs
I she tried to express her meaning, but she
was too much agitated, and stretching out
her arms, and turning her ayes in the di
rection of the coffin, with a cry peculiar to
the dumb, said as plainly is she could, by
• the expression of the eager, tearful feca—
-1 'Love me, mamma,'—and nestled her head
in her mother's lap, as if to try to unseal
the fountain that had ever been closed to
her.
The dark eyes of Marion flashed impa
tiently, and saying, in a querulous tone,
"Go away, Lilly, you can never be lilre
Rosabelle," motioned her to go away.
An expression of intense pain passed o
ver the features of the rejected one, apd
with a drooping head, and a long, long look
of reproach at her mother, with a hopeless
air turned to leave the room ; but seeing
a tall, manly form standing in the door
way, gazing mournfully yet tenderly at her,
she felt half frightened, and looked around
for some other means to escape. The fath
er, for it was he, opened his arms, and with
a faltering voice said—
" Come to me, my poor child, andl will
over love you. May God forgive me for
never thinking of you before you." And
as she hesitated, half trembling with joy,
and half fearful, he added—"Do not be a
fraid of your father, Lilly."
She sprang to his arms and clung to his
neck, as if she was sure that at least one
of the parents she had pined to have love
her, had indeed taken her to his heart, and
the little desolate creature could hardly be
lieve it true, but kept putting np her face
to have him kiss her again; while the
father, with a swelling heart, clasped her
closer, and kept murmuring tenderly to re
assure her. After awhile he put her down
and said—
"Lilly, dear, oomo to me again bpand
by, but go up stairs to Margaret till din
nor."
As soon as the echo of her light tread
bad died in the distanoe, Edward Ellerton .
turned sternly to his wife.
"Marion, why will yon indulge in this
selfish grief and vain repining, when the
eldest, and our first-born, comes to you and
pleads tor a portion of the love bestowed on
the dead 7 We have both done wrong in
denying her the rightful tenderness due
her ; but, it is not too late toritair the er
ror, and we will take Lily to our bosoms,
.and try by our affection to have her forget
the poi."
"The mother railed her head, and with 'a
bitter mils anewmed—
'ks Lilly for Raabelle P—my little
litiry, my angel, my doie, theirend een
aromid Which I have woven my heart's
boat love, and my sonys•choiceet treasure,
which - the dark and gloomy grave . c laimed
for ita own, and take in exchange an un
lovable being whoa voice will be forever
mute, and who has no warm affections, nor
seeks to love anything. No, no l I shall
sever love Lilly, my heart will be buried
GETTYSBURG, PA., FRIDAY EVENING, AUGUST 12,1853.
with my own darling;" and bursting out
afresh, she bowed her head on the coffin.
"This is unworthy of you, Marion ; you
are unjust and unreasonable to reject the
little afflicted one, and make the very.af
fiction one of the causes °flour rejection.
She has warm and pure affections, and has
long been pining for our love. Let us
take her beneath its shelter, and guard her
from the rude world's scorn, and soften
the pangs she must endure when she is
older, nor thrust her from us as valueless.
"The mother would only say—"she can
never be like Rosabelle ;" and he left her,
pondering on her strange and unnatural
conduct.
Marion El'erten was one of the favored
children of fortune. Her every wish, from
earliest youth, was gratified, and a thick
crust of selfishness and *ordliness had
grown over her battler nature; but she
sincerely loved her husband, and sought
by every means in her power to make him
happy. The little Lilly had been a very
plain child, and though she provided for
its comfort, and every thing that money
oould do, had been done to restore the
power of speech, yet she denied her the
greatest of earthly blessings, the love of a
mother.
The most eminent physicians had said
that she would never speak, and Marion,
satisfied that she had done her duty, left
the sensitive child to the care of nurses
and attendants, and the young heart had
closed, and all its calls and yearnings for
affection were unanswered ; so that her
father, who was a noble, generous•hearted
man, began to think with his wife that she
was a very odd child, and did not attempt
to draw her out from behind the curtain
of timidity and reserve that giadually grew
around her.
When the lovely Roaabelle came like
a sunbeam to gladden and bless, their af
fections twined around her, and the poor
little dumb girl's existence wart nearly for
gotten, or, if remembered, with a sigh at
the contrast.
But the beautiful and delicate bud was
never destined to blossom on earth, and the
first real grief that Marion ever felt was
when the frail and tender one sickened,
and in spite of earnest prayers, and tears,
and loving hearts the gentle spirit left the
exquisite casket for a fitter and better
clinic.
Mr. Ellerton, seeing that his wife did
not recover her health and spirits, think
ing that retirement might benefit her, closed
his city house, and sought a sweet, seclu
ded spot, where nature spread her thickest
charms, and tried to divert her mind from
the grief that was praying upon it.
One day they were Baling on a beautiful
lake in a small boat, and Lilly desired to
read some aquatic plants. Mr. Ellerton
leaned over the side to get them for her,
when the frail bark was overturned, precip
itating all three into the water. As he
fell, Lilly, who was nearest, clasped her
arm around his neck : twining one arm
around his terrified wife, being a good
swimmer, ho struck out for the shore. Ere
he had swam half the distance be felt his
strength failing him, and, in agonized tones,
cried out,
"Oh, God ! I cannot save you both, we
will all die together."
Marion shrieked, and clinging olose, ex
claimed, "Oh, save me, my husband, I
must not, cannot die."
No sound was heard, but the little arms
around him unclasped, and the dumb girl
sank gently beneath the waves, and Eller
ton, relieved of a part of his burden, with
difficulty gained the shore. He sank on
his knees, and raising his streaming eyes
to heaven, breathed a short, silent prayer,
plunged into the water, and swain towards
the spot where Lilly sunk.
'Manion called wildly for him to come
back, but he still kept on, and diving,
brought np the body, and slowly and wear
ily sought to return. His wife'■ cries
had attracted several persons to the spot,
and a boat was immediately unmoored and
sent to his assistance. He tried to sus
tain himself and burthen above the water,
and was sinking with exhaustion as they
drew him in. They sought to take the
body from him, but weak and exhausted
as he was, he folded it tighter, and sank in
the bottom of the boat.
Repaid no attention to his wife's tears
and embrsoes, but kept his oyes fixed on
the child. ‘‘ At last he turned and mild :
4 1tiotrion, you have never loved the little
one whose lifeless body lies before you, but
she, with a deep, unselfish love, has given
bfr young life for yoirs. To her you owe
tle power to breathe; your heart would
have been stilled, had she not loosed her
hold on me."
A whole flood of remorseless feelings
swept over the soul of Marion, sad throw
ing herself beside her, she poured forth her
lamentation and deep sorrow, and with
wild and earnest prayer, besought her to
speak and tell her that she never cherished
unkind emotions toward her on account of
her neglect.
As if the unwonted voice of love from
her mother had indeed called her from the
spirit-land, the eyelids quivered, And with
a deep, lootdrawn sigh, slowly opened ;
"FEARLESS AND FREE."
and with a mighty effort, Lilly half-raised
herself and tried to lay her hand on her
mother's bosom ; but they closed wearily
again, and she sank into anconsoionsuess.
Proper remedies were applied, and she was
restored, as it were, from the grave to life
again, and she has never regretted those
hours of peril and suSuing, since they gave
to her the long-wished-for gift, her moth
er's love."
Marion Ellerton has been blessed with
other children ; but though she loves them
all, her purest, deepest, holiest affections,
are centered in the dumb girl.
Coul4ll 9 et! cos he sung so!
Leaning idly over a fence, a few days
since, we noticed a little four-year old
"lord of the creation" amusing himself in
the grass by watching the frolicsome flight
of birds which were playing around him.
At length a beautiful bobolink perched
himself upon a drooping bough of an ap
ple tree, which extended to within a few
yards of the place where the urchin sat,
and maintained his position, apparently
unconscious of the close proximity to one
whom birds usually consider a dangerous
neighbor.
The boy semed astonished at his impu.
dance, and after regarding him steadily for
a minute or two. obeying the instinct of
his baser part, he picked up • stone lying
at his feet, and was preparing to throw it,
steadying himself carefully for a good mint.
The little arm was reached backward
without alarming the bird, and Bob was
within an ace of damage, when lo! his
throat swelled, and forth came Nature's
plea; link—a link—a I-i-n-k, bobo
link, bob-o-link a no-west, a-noiweet !' I
know it—l know it ! a link—i link"!
don't throw it !—throw it, throw it,"
&e., &c., and he didn't. Slowly the little
arm subsided to its natural position, and
the despised stone dropped. The minstrel
charmed the murderer ! We heard the
songster through, and' watched his unharm
ed flight, as did the boy, with a sorrowful
countenance. Anxious to hear an expres.
sion of the little fellow's feelings, we ap
proached him,and inquired :
..Why didn't you stone him, my boy ?
you might haie killed him and carried hint
home."
The poor little fellow looked up doubt
ingly, as though he suspected our mean
ing, and with an . expression half shame
and half sorrow, he replied :
g.Could'nf, cos he sung so !"
Who will aver that music hth no charms
to soothe the mange breast,' *elody awe.
kened fiumanitY;Aind huinarttly---Miercrt
The angel who sang at4he creationo whit!.
pored to the child's heart. The bird was
saved, and God glorified by she deed.—
Dear little boys, don't stone the birds.—
Clinton courant.
One of Fanny Fern's best.
Under the title of ~ M rs. Grumble's So
liloquy," Fanny Fern contributes the fol
lowing to the Musical World and Times:
"There's no calculating the difference
between men and women boarders.—
Here's Mr. Jones. been in my house six
months, and nu more trouble to me than
my grey kitten. If his bed is shook up
once a week, and his Goats, (warms, love
letters, cigars and patent-leather boot* left
undisturbed in the middle of the flour, he
is as contented as a pedagogue in vacation
time. Take a woman to board, and (if it
is perfectly convenient) she would like
drapery instead of drop curtains ; she'd
like the windows altered to open at the
top, and a wardrobe for her flounced dresses,
and a few more nails and another shell in
her closet, and a bench to put her fest on,
and a little rocking-chair, and a big looking.
glass, and a pea-green shade for her gas
burner. She would like breakfast about
ten minutes liter than her usual hour ;
tea ten minutes earlier, and thegong, which
shocks her nerves so, altogether dispensed
with. Site can't drink coffee, because it
is exhilarating; brims is too insipid, and
chocolate too heavy. She don't fancy
cocoa. •'English breakfast tea" is the
only beverage which agrees with her deli
cate spinster organization. She can't di
gest a roast or a fried dish; she might
possibly peck at an egg, if it were boiled
with one eye on the watch. Pastry she
never eats, unless she knows from what
dairy the butter came which enters intoits
composition. Every article of food pre
pared with butter, salt, pepper, mustard,
vinegar or oil; or bread that is made with
yeast, soda, milk or salerstus, she decided
ly rejects. She is constantly washing out
little duds of laces, collars, handkerchiefs,
ehemisettes and stockings, which she fes
toons up to the front win dows to dry ; giv
ng passers-by the impression that your
house is occupied by a blanehisseuso—
then jerks the bell wire for an hour or
more, for relays of hot smoothing-irons, to
put the finishing stroke to her operations.
She is often afflicted with interesting lit
tle colds and influenza, requiring Me-im
mediate consolation of a dose of hot lem
onade or ginger tea; choosing her time
for these complaints when the kitchen-fire
has gone out and the invents are on a
furlough. Oh i nobody know but those
who've tried, how immensely troublesome
women are ! I'd rather hawse whole regi
ment_ol men boarders. Al! you have to do
is, to wind them up in the morning, with
a powerful cup of coffee, give them carte
bkittrAr to smoke, and a night-lay, and
your work is done."
A tray R,us t puto ifs Susaseaamin
a country town udowneast," s Detnooratio
newspaper wu started, depending amittiy
for support on the contributions of the
“faitbful" in that region. Its motto
was :
OS. JostAnd rear Not."—Shakspeere
An 010 farmer who had been quite ac
tive in promoting the interest of the news
paper enterprise, took up the first number
and commenced reading it with laudatory
comments. Au he read the motto his lace
flushed with honest enthusiasm, and he ex
claimed :
"Frio not Shekspeere! No that wo
won't, nor Ng other darned :Id Ade ,
diet !"
HALF DOLLAR.
• A 1781.11111. LIMN.
Ellen Villiers was the orphan nieee of
a wealthy farmer, who had commenced the
world with no capital but industry. For
tune smiled upon his labors, and he was
soon able to purchase for himself a snug,
farm, upon which he Wilt a neat cottage,
and went on year after year, adding tract
after tract 'of land to his wide domains,
until he could look for miles around on
his possessione. A little village reared its
head amidst a beautiful cluster of elm trees,_
and owned him as its master. and was al
so known by• his name.
He had, in early life, selected one trom
amongst his *neighbors' daughters, with
whom to divide his cares and share his
joys ; and hand in hand they journeyed
on through tedious way, so immersed
in the tumult of business as taut to perceive
the vacancy around them. But at the age
of fifty. Mr. Granger found that,
.notwith
standing the bounteous gills of Providence,
there was a void in his breast ; he had no
smiling offspring to gather round his knee
at dewy eve, no lisping prattler wrest his
return.
However, he was not long left to
mourn over his lonely state ; the death
of an only sister, at this period. gave to
hts charge the orphan Ellen, and the
old man entered, as it were, upon a new
life.
There was no pain that Ellen's presence
could not mitigate, no - grlettihrrankl - not
Menge. No fears or thrests . could a
larm him, cave the fear of loosing' Ellen,
the idol of his hopesi - the centre of his at
tractions.
Merry Christmas paid its annual visit to
the young folks. and the confer allotted to
Ellett. for her plav-house groaned beneath
the weigheof.the tokenatieposited there by
numerous friends for thrpurpoee oTtlslight
ing the fancy of the child, or gainhtg.thilia,..
vor of the wealthy uncle. Among the reel
of the gifts was a bright half dollar, which
she turned over and over, and laid it in her
work box.
Christmas sports and pastimes over.
the toys and playthings lost their attrac
tions and Ellen wished for something new
on which to bestow her attention. She
became pleased with a pretty dull which
she saw one of her playmates have, and
expressed a desire to have one, as she
said it coat only half a dollar, and
she could purchase it at her own ex
pense.
The doll was eccordingly purchased and
Ellen called to receive her charge, and took
good care of it until she needed something
else.
"Oh. 7ty beautiful doll and my hall-dol
lar too exclaimed Ettotrin aUtprise, bvo
beautiful eye beaming with delight toward.
her no less delighted uncle.
Some months alter this, a neighbor call
ed on Mr. Granger to solicit aid in reliev
ing a family who had been reduced to beg
gary by the intemperance of her husband ;
but aid was sternly refused, as the old gen
tleman said he had but little idea of wast
ing his substance on drunkenness and idle
ness.
The friend, unwilling to be put off, con
tinued to plead for the starving wife and
helpless children.
Ellen, who had been playing behind her
uncle, was an attentive observer of all that
was passing, and skipping gaily from her
hiding place, bounded off with the swiftness
of a fawn, and presently returned, putting
'into the gentleman's hand her shining half
dollar.
"Take this." said she, "and buy them
bread. See," she continued ; have all
I want, and half-dollar too."
"Sweet child," said the gentlemen, ta
king her in his arms, "you art destined to
be a blessing to those to whom you are re
lated."
"Take your money, child," said the Im
ola, "and be assured it has purchased food
for the hungry. Your uncle",has all be
wants, and wherewith to relieve the dia.
tressed."
The chilly blasts of winter had begun to
whistle around the dwellings of the pour.
The frugal and thrifty farmer was making
ample provisions for his winter's store.—
And Mr. Granger, exact to a letter where
his own interest wee concerned, looked
carefully over his rent-roll, and found some
of his tenants at Grangersville in arrears.
Bills wereaecordingly sent in, with strict
instructions that the money should be forth-
coming.
On the following morning a poor wid
ow-presented herself before her landlord,
and, with streaming eyes, begged for a lit
tle longer indulgence.
But Mr. Granger. not remarkable for
lenity, and wearied with importunities,
deelared'his intention of seising her cow.
if she did not, in a few days, settle the
claim.
The poor woman returned borne in great
distress, as she well knew abe could not
raise the money, and her cow, which
furnished food for her children, must be
ICIPL
In the evening. Mr. Granger took little
Ellen on his knee, is was his custom be
fore retiring, bat the child did not return
his caresses with her usual warmth, which
led him to fear she was not well. Gpen
being interrogated, she replied she was
perfectly , well.
After having sat some time upon his lap
in deep silence, she looked up in_his face
and kindly
,eaid.
"Uwe* you have a great many cow'n.,
haven't 'you
, Yes, my child," replied Mr. Granger ;
"I have twelve as fine ones in my pasture
u ever, pail went under."
"Then why, Uncle, "
resumed the child,
"wilt-you take Mrs. Green's cow when
she has but one 1"
. 4 0h I" said Mr. Granger, "1 do not
want the cow ; I shall sell it for the
rent that is due for the house she lives
in."
4 0h ! then, Uncle, said the delighted
ehtld, will buy it ; for you know I have
a whole hall.dollar."
"And what do you want with a cow, my
darling I" said Mr. Granger, patting her
fondly on the head. ,
"Oh I I should give it to poor Mr. Green
again," said Ellen ; "and then you know
little Willie sind Mary would not have to Mein rose to the cold, cold armed.
est their breed alone, and pto bed + but BY I. P. CHRISTI'.
can have }heir nice rich cream and milk Round t e e meadows am a ringing
for their suppers. I did feel so alley The dartkal mournful song,
when' you talked of taking their , cow.- While the mocking-bird is siogiug,
and leave them nothing but their dry Happy as the day is long.
bread l" , Where the ivy is • creeping
A tear was seen MOM° in the old man's O'er the grassymonnd,
There old masts is a sleeping,
eye ;he sat for, loose moments absorbed in bleeping in the cold, cold ground:
dace thought. . Down in the comfteld
"s.tet me learn a lesson," he said.ofrom Hear that mournful sound ; - •
tide .child. I have enough, end more thin All the durkies are a weepini,—..
enough; this poor woman PM, but *scanty Msona's in the cold, cold posed.
subsistence ; and yet I would take from when the autumn waves WON filling,
her to add to my well-filled puree. I have When the days went cold,
toiled all my life like • slave, and havo Toet hard to hear old mama calling,
been too 'farrow hearted to enjoy the bles- 'Cause be was so weak and old.
sings that I have at dilligently toiled for. Now the orange tree is bloomicg
'On the sandy shore,
I will, from this moment, clo se •my ac " Now the summer day' are coming,
counts, and open wide 'my heart." Masse never calls no mom.
"Ellen, my child," he said, "your half- I Down in the eorn•flield, At;,
dollar has bought the widow's crer."
And seating himself at his writing desk,
lbe *trite Mrs. Green a receipt in full, and
despatched a t with it, that the poor
Women might sleep comfortably that night;
and the next day several poor families in
Grange re ville received the same treatment;
and the old man often says that Ellen's
half-dollar has purchased for him more
real enjoyment than all the money he ever
spent
lie WSHMIS A Wife.
BT NHS. NICHOLS.
He wants a wife, and she ma; be
A model of propriety
A biillient pattern--mbre, discreet,
A centre where ell 'irises smolt ;
Good tempered. JlSitsesti likeef• kind—
A. warm of bead pom in mind;
Devoted. tender, gentle. bit;
Accomplishments and cultism rare ;
Lossmoieed. 'maned with *eery graeo—r.
An angel half, in form and fete 1 > -
A sweet, harmonione,•isharysing thing,
At hhi canonised to weep or tang.
H. wants a wifill—welloitmota•lir.
Consents to wed-rhis fr(elide advise it 1
He wants a wife with !nudist 104314
Whose heart le like • wetly book,
Which be I. mood and end to own--
Which can be reed by him algae;
He wants her ekmder. too, anti tall,
And lair as Commit elm* the Pell ; '
Her eyes—it meows not their boo—
tie worship, beck--adore! the WWI ---
Her hair must, with her toeing eyes, '
Agree in shade, re dentromist 1
He wants her sensible and mild—.
In (oral a wqman--hesrt a child ;
He wants e saiki--to lore him blindly,
A'partner he can govern kindly.
He wants a wife for neatness noted—
For taste unqueetionebly quotel:
With whoteso,ne pride a very little.=
01 wilt conceit, no jot or tittle;
A harmless, guiltless vanity,
He'll not object to, if it he
that histionl4 pulps" her
Indeed in his esteem, %would ratio her
He wards her to hard youth std health •; - -
He wants her wheys brevity, wealth ;
He wants a careful, prudent wife,
To share the nameless Miser life--
No will but his way ewer agent In—..
A downright imi'—not "if I can, air !"
He wants a wife to nurse his joys—
To school his girls and spoil his boys;
To make and mend thou clothes when able,
To sit as mistress at ors table; ,
To boil his coffee, brew his tea,
To every household comfort
To hold his slipper., make his bad,
To eerily bathe his acbsof bead ;
To he es fond aerate is weak,
He wants a wile (poor, modest man,)
Hellion this grand and perfect plan :
He'll take her then, for worse or better—
Let us devoutly get her
CHOATI'II EULOGY 0nn0......rhe
WineTs
proposed eulogy on Daniel .Webster. by
the Hon. Rufus Choate, was delivered in
the College Chapel, at Hanover, N. H..
on Wedneaday last. It is considered the
most brilliant, eloquent and .proftiund eulo
gy that has yet been delivered to the mein
qry of the great orator and statesman.—
The following closing paragtephe exhibit
the spirit and style of the whole oildress ;
But it is time this eulogy were brought
to its,conclueion. My heart goes back
into the coffin there with him. and I would
pause. I went--.-it is a day or twit since
--alone. to see again the house which he
so passionately loved, the chamber where
he died, the grave in which they laid him
down—all habited as when
"His look drew audience still as night,
Or sotmen noontide air,"
till the heavens be no more. In all that
spauioue and calm scene all things to the
eye looked at first unchanged. 'the books I I
in the library, the portraits, the table at
which he wrote, the scientific culture of
the land, the course of agricultural occu.
patios. the coming of harvests, fruit of the
seed his own hand had stiattered, the ant-
Male and iMplements of husbandry. the
trees planted by him in lines, in copses,
in orchards, by thousands. the seat under
I the noble elm on which he used to sit to
feel the south-west wind at evening, or
hear the breathings of the sea, or the not
I less audible music of the starry heavens.
ill seemed at first unchanged. The 01111
of .0 bright day, from which, however,
something of the fervors of midsummer
were wanting, fell temperately on them a !I,
filled the air on all aides with the utterance
of life, and gleamed on the lung line of o.
cean. Some of those whom on earth he
loved best, still were there. The great
mind still .seemed to preside, the great
presence to be with you. You might ex
pect to hear again the rich and playful
tones of the voice of the old hospitality.—
en moment more and all the scene took
on the aspect of one great monument. in
scribed with his name, and sacred to his
memory. And such it shall be in all the
future of America ! The sensinion of des.
°lateness, and loneliness, and darkness.
with which you see it now, will pass
away. The sharp grief of love and friend
ship will become soothed. Men will
repair thither, as they commemorate
the great days of history. The same
glance shall take, and the same emotion
greet and bless the Harbour of the Pil
grims, and the tomb of Webster.
"father," said a little four year old. "I
think youern foolish." "Why,chlld!"
"Because you brought that baby here
when mother was sick, and you lure le get
a woman to owes li."
TWO DOLLARS nu ANNUM, ,
1 NUMBER tO.
Mum made the darkies love him.
He always was so kind,
Now they sadly weep above
Mourning. for he leave them baba: ,
I cannot work before tOmm(OW, • • !
So many tear-drops flow, , •. .
I try to drive away my sorrow
Picking nu the old banjo.
Down in the coni.tield. fie.
Two In Heaven
ioiron have two children," acid I.
have four," was the reply ; ""two o
earth, two in heaven."
There spoke the mother! Still here.
only "gone before !" Still remembered,
loved and cherished, by the hearth and at
the board,—their places not yet filled;
even though their successors draw his
from the same faithful breast where their
dying heads were pillowed.
*lwo in heaven !"
Safely housed from storm and tempest,
no sickness there. nor drooping heed, car
fading eye. nor weary feet. By the green
pastures, winded by the good Shepherd,
linger the little lambs of the heavenly
fold.
*•Twn in heaven !" Earth less attvsn•
tire. Eternity nearer. Invisible cords
drawing the maternal nod upwards.—
..Still, small" meet., ever whispering,
Come ! to the wurld.weary spirit
"Two in heaven !"
Mintier of angels ! Walk softly !—bolt'
eyee watch thy .00t.teps !—cherub forms
bend to listen ! Keep thy spirit free front
eartit•taint ; so shalt thou ••go to ihemr
though •they may not return to the
Fern Leaves.
EXPOUNDILD.—uuting am
eddress, delivered by a young ors* Ike
debating society, the speaker attempted:*
describe .the beautiomof nature, and toltidtv
ing upon the scenes Of a thunder sturtrrins
had wltnessed once upon a time, his food
tain of eloquence could no longer:100W
itself, and he broke torth in the following
strain I telt•oti, M r . frreidenti
the roaring of the'll.unpie wielicardlar
and wide, and rentindell those who beard
it of the clattering of the hoofs 0610 many
*id hums crossing a bridge over tl creek
where the little flakes wvie seen,altipping
!Mont from puddle In puddle—and-, the
lightnings dashed and flashed. every now
and then the whole heavens looked as
though it was lighted-up with tallow can
dles, and then all snuffed !"
81ateatv Arrscionv —At a .protrieted
meeting,' held hot a thousand miles fro*
Ballston, Spa., an socient sister arose and
relieved hersett'as billows-1 see young
ladies here who seem to lore gew.gaws.
fdrbelows, ribbons a'atil laces more Also
their' Preston I loved them ;nee arid Yip
domed my hat with French artificial tin*.
ere, bright colored ribbons, and sky blue,
trimmings, but I Could% they were draiq
me down to hell, and I took them o fd
gam them to toy sister!
The beet food for fauteningfowls is pOt.►
toes mixed with . meal. Boil the potatoes
and smash them fine when they ■re hat.
and mix the meal with them just before it
is presented. They fatten on this diet in
less than half the dine ordinarily required
to bring them to the same condituirr cif'
excellence on corn or even the corn mesh
Mate Dona.—it ham lately been discover
ed, revs the National Era. that a strong
deeoetion made of die bark of the roots of
white ash. When drank an a medicine, will
cure the bite of a mad dog. This, un
doubtedly, in owing to the tact Iliad rattle
snakes can be made more easily to crawl
Over live coals than white ash leaves ;and
they are never found in the forests where
the white ash grows.
At the celebration. in Boston. : on the
Fourth. the billowing toast was given :
"7 he Children of Boston—May the boys
become wiser and better men than their
lathery—and the girls grow up- to be—
just like their mothers
TROST GOD.-1 could write down tweet.
ty cases, says a pious man, when I wilted
Guil had dune otherwise than he did ;
which I now see, had I my own will.
would have led to extensive misohist
To TAKE INK OUT OF LINICK.•••4111lif
piece of of tallow. melt it and dip the spat
ted pert of the linen into the tallow, then
wash the linen, and the Tits will diesp ,
pear without injuring it.
A man in Maine applied for Massimo
of rum for intettauiral purposes. "Fur
what int (+pineal pnrpoeer 1" itigeireal die
agett. "For raising, a)tarn., wltfi IA" t*
131. Y. 0 •
.Death by bunging—arosnid * San
shop," was the subject of a meeni "0004
by a coroner's jury. upoo 110 booky r
Wan who died drunk.
There is a California turnip bribe"
which measures foil:live ihickdlr
cumference, and weighs losittlink. isaid
half pounds.
Oboists his spited diroolis 41141 ,1 1 w
tent of eoontry mod liftilissospodo)l. lo4l / 4
mod with much rowdily,
As it tsustsistes Mae , wbas Iba sea
shims, so tbittr may be Mp is do asisSA
beast when then au sirs ip bia yriaq