i) i III i Hi FREE AS THE WIND. AND AMERICAN TO THE CORE. BY E BUCHER SWOOPE. CLEARFIELD, WEDNESDAY, OCT. 17, 1855: VOL. 2.-N0. 12.-T0TAL, 64. I WOULD NOT LIVE ALWAYS. Br WILLIS C. CLARKE. When with a calm, observant eye We gaze on all this earth can give. And mark iU sweetest blossoms die, And feel its rapture fugitive; Oh. who can long desire to stay Where all is change from joy.to grief Where lore, and woalth, and power decay Like Autumn's melancholy leaf t Who, When the gorgeous spell is gone. That made his young existence dear When Hope's beguiling wing hath flown, And darkness blots the atmosphere Who then would journey dimly on Amidst a dull and plodding throng. Which like a stream from tempest grown. Rolls thick and turbidly along? What recks it upon vanish M years That sweeps like eagle's pinions by. With changeful round of vmiles and tears, To cant pale memory's mournful eye ? Oh. can it bring again the bloom To youth's res(ilendant coronal, Or can it rend the clouded tomb. And wako the slumberer "neath its pall? It is in rain! it is iu Tain. For earth's ephemeral joys to live; Its transports daikeu into pain And flowers, once dead. can ne'er revive! And from the sad and varied past One lesson only may we glean That joy is far to dear to last That sorrow clouds its brigtest scene ! Life! 'tis a waste, where storm and gloom Are gathering up from memory's cell Where gapes the wide insatiate tomb, And fierce diseases daikly dwell. Ob. then, why should the spirit cling Unto the dull and cold domain; Since life hath but one golden spring Uno mora that ne'er returns again I Why should wc love to linger here. Where baseless dreams are only known When Faith, with visions calm and clear, Can glance to God's eternal throne? Far rather, let the fetters break Which keep us from that brighter shore Where saints their endless anthems wake And cankering cares are felt no more! THE FATHER. AN INSTRUCTIVE SKETCIT. BT MRS- SIGOUBSET. It is the duty of mothers to sustain the re verses of fortune. Frequent and sudden as they hare been to our own country, it is im portant that young females should possess some employment, by which they might ob tain a livelihood in case they should be redu ced to the necessity of supporting themselves. When the families are unexpectedly reduced from affluence to poverty, how pitiful and con temptible it is to see the mother desponding or helpless, and permitting her daughters to embarrass those whom it is their duty to assist and cheer. "I have lost my whole fortune," said a mer chant, as he returned one evening to hit home, "we can no longer keep our carriage. We must leave this large house. The children caa no longer go to expensive school. Yes teiday I was a rich man. To-day there is noth ing 1 can call my own." "Dear husband, we are still rich in each oth er and our children. Moneymay pass away, but Go 1 has given ns a better treasure in those active hands and loving hearts." "Dear father," said the children, "do not look so sober. We will help you to gvt a liv ing." "What can you do, poor things;" said he. "Von shall see, you shall see," answered several cheerful voices. "It is a pity if we have been to school for nothing. IIow can the father of eight children be poor. We shall work and make you rich again." "I shall help," said the youngest girl, hard ly four years old, "I will not have any new things bought and I shall sell my great doll. The heart of the husband and father, which had tuuk within his bosom like a stone was lifted up. The sweet enthusiasm of the scene cheered him and his prayer was like a song of praise. lie left his stately house. The sen-ants were dismissed. Pictures and plate, rich car pet and furniture were sold, and she who had so long been the mistress of the mansion shed no tear. "Pay every debt," said she, "let no one suffer through us, and we may yet be hap py." He rented a neat cottage and a small piece of ground, a few miles from the city. With the aid of his sons he cultivated vegetables for the market. He viewed with delight and as tonishment the economy of his wife, nurtured as she had been in wealth and efficiency which hii daughters soon acquired under her train ing. The eldest one assisted her in the work of the household and also assisted the younger children. Besides, they execute various works Which they had learned as accomplishments but which they found could be disposed of to advantage. They embroidered with taste om) of the ornamental parts of female appar el which were readily sold to merchants in the city. They cultivated flowers and sent boquets to market, in the cart that conveyed the vegeta bles they plattedstraw, they painted maps, they executed needle-work. Every one was at her post busy and cheerful. The cottage was like a bee-hive. "I never enjoyed such health before," said the father. And I never was so happy before," said the mother. "We never knew how many things we could do when we lived, in the great house," said the children, "and we love each other a great deal better here. Tou call ns your little bees." "Yei, replied the father, "and you make jut suet honey M the heart IwTes to feed en. Ecouomy as well as industry was strictly ob served nothing was wasted. Nothing un necessary was purchased. The eldest daught er became assistant teacher in a distinguished female seminary, and the second took her place as instructress to the family. The little dwelling which had always leen kept neat, they were soon able to beautify. Its construction was improved, and the vines and flowering trees were replanted around it. The merchant was happier under the wood bine covered poarch, in a summer's evening, than he had been in his showy drawir.g-room. "We ara now thriviug and prosperous," said he, '-shall we mow return to the city ?" 'Oh, no, no, no," was the unanimous reply. "Let us remain," said the wife, "where we have found health and contentment." "Fsither said the youngest, "all we children hope you are not going to be rich again; for then," she added, "we little ones were shut up in the nursery, and did not see much of you or mother. Now we all live together, and sister who loves us, teaches us, and we learn to be industrious and useful. We were none of us happy when w were rich, and did not work. So, father, please not be a rich man anv more. My Husband. My husband Is a very strange man. To think how he should have grown so provoked about such a little matter as that scarlet sc;irf. Well, there's no use tryiug to drive him. I'v sot tied that on my mind. But he can be coaxed can't he though? and from this time hence forth shan't I know how to manage him ? Still there's no denying Mr. Adams is a very strange man. You see it was this morning at breakfast, I said to him, "Henry I must have one of those ten dollar scarfs at Stuart's. They are perfectly charming and will correspond so nicelv with mv maroon velvet cloak. 1 want to go out this morning and get one before they are all gone.' "Ten dollars don't grow on every bush, Ad- eliue, and just now times are pretty hard, you know," he answered, in a dry careless kind of tone, which irritated me greatly. Besides that I knew he could afford to get me the scarf just as well as not. Only, perhaps, my in in ner of requesting it did not quite suit his lord ship. "Gentlemen who can afford to buy satin vests at ten dollars a piece, can have no mo tive but penuriousness for objecting to give their wives as much for a scarf," I retorted, as I glanced at the money which a few mo ments before he had laid by the side of my plate, requesting me to procure one for him ; he always trusts to my taste in these matters. I spoke angrily. I should have been soirry lor it the next moment, if he had not answer ed "You will then attribute it to my penurious ness, I suppose, when I tell you I caunot let you have another ten dollars to day!" "Well, then, I will take this and get me the scarf. You can do without your vest this fall" and I took up the bills and left the room for he did not answer me. "I need it, and I must have it," I soliloqui zed, as I washed my tear swollen eyes, and adjusted my hair for a walk down Broadway, bnt all the while there was a still small voice n my heart whispering, "Don't do it, go and buy the vest for your husband," and at last would you believe it ? that inner voice tri umphed. I went down to the tailor's, select ed the vest, and brought it home. "Here it is, Henry ; I selected the color which I thought would suit you the best. Isn't it rich?" I said, as I unfolded the vest after dinner, for somehow my pride was all gone. I had felt so much happier ever since I had resolved to forego the scarf. He did not answer me, but there was such a look of tenderness filling his dark and hand some eyes, as his lips dropped to my forehead, that it was as much as I could do to keep from crying outright. But I havn't told the cream of the story yet. To-night when he came home to supper he threw a little bundle into my lap. Wondering greatly what it could be, I opened it, and there, would you believe it, was the scarlet scarf, the very one I had set my heart on at Stuart's yes terday. "O! Henry," I said, looking up and trying to thank him, but my lips trembled, and then the tears dashed over my eyelashes, and he drew my head to his heart, and smoothed down my curls, and murmured the old loving words in my ear, while I cryed a long time, but O, my tears were such sweet ones. He is a strange man, my husband, but he is a noble one too, and his heart is in the right place, after all, only it is a little hard to find it sometimes, and it seems to me my heart never said so deeply as it does to-night, 'God bless him.' 1I An exchange savs. the man that would systematically and wilfully set about cheating the printer, would commit highway robbery on a crying baby and rob it of its gingerbread rob a church of its counterfeit pennies lick the butter off a blind niffeer's last 'flitter' pawn his grandmother's specks for a drink of whiskey steal acorns from a blind sow, and clothes from a scare-crow to make a respecta ble appearance in society. An Angel in every House. There is an angel in every house ! No mat ter how fallen the inmates, how depressing the circumstances, there is an angel to pity or to cheer. It may be in the person of a little child ; or it may be enclosed in a stooping or wrinkled body, treading the downward path to the grave. Or, perhaps in a cheerful spirit, looking upon the ills of life as so many steps toward heaven, if only bravely overcome and mounted with sinless feet. We knew such an angel once, and it was drunkard's child. On every side, wherever she moved she saw only misery and degreda tion. and she did not fall. Her father was bru tal and her mother discouraged, and her home thoroughly comfortless. But she struggled along with anel endurence, benring with an almost saintly patience, the infirmaties of him who gave her existence, and then hourly embittered it. Nisrht after nieht, at the hours of ten, twelve, and even one, barefoot, ragged shawless and bonnetless, has she been to the den of the drunkard, and gone staggering home with her arm around her father. Manv a time hn her flesh been blue with the mark of his hand, when she his stepped in between her helpless mother and violence. Manv a time has she sat upon the cold curbstone with his head in her lap : many a time how bitter it was to cry for hunger when the money Hint should have bought bread was spent for rum And the patience that angel wrought with. made her young face shine, so that though never acknowledged in the courts of this world, in the kingdom of heaven, she was a- waited for by assembled hosts of spirits, and the crown of martyrdom ready, lay awaiting her fair young brow- And she was a martyr. Her gentle spirit went up from a couch of anguish; anguish brought on by ill-usage and neglect. And till then did the father recognize the angel in the child; never till then did his manhood arise from the dust of dishonor. From her humble grave, he went away to steep his resolves for the better in bitter tears; and he will tell you to-day, how the memory of her much enduring life, keeps him from the bowl ; how he goes sointimes and stands where her patient hands held him, while her cheek crimsoned at the sneers of those who scofi at the drunkards child. Search for the angels in your household's aud cherish them while they are among 3-ou. It may be that all unconsciously you frown upon tiiem, when a smile would lead you to a knowledge of their exceeding worth. They may be among the least cared for, most de spised but when they are gone with silent influence, then will yon mourn for them as a jewel of great worth. Mrs. Denison. Tne Power of Truth. Wealth, we are told, is power ; talent is pow er, and knowledge is power. But there is a mightier force in the world than either of these a power which is not rich enough to ovei reach, nor authority imposing enough to si lence. They all tremble in its presence. It is truth the really most potent clement of in dividual life. Though tossed upon the billows of popular commotion, or cast into the seven fold furnace of persecution, or trampled into the dust by the iron heel of power, truth is the one indestructible thing in this world that loses in no conflict, suffers from no misusage or abuse, and maintains it? vitality and com pleteness after every assault. All kinds of conspiracies have been undertaken to destroy and drive it from the earth ; all sources of pow er have been used to crush it, and all kinds of seduction employed to vitiate and poison it; but none has succdeded, and none ever will. We can be confident of nothing else in this world but the safety aud imperishability of truth for it is a part of divine nature and in vested with the eternity and omnipotence of its author and source. It may often seem to be in danger : it is as much set upon and as saulted now, alter eighteen hundred years of successful resistance, but history and experi ance ought to reassure our faith. It never yet failed and it never will. We niay rest secure ly on it and feel no alarm ; we may anticipate its virtues, and enjoy its triumphs. In this struggling life, what encouragement and com fort is there in this thought the man of truth and the cause of truth, are connected with the most potent element in the world, and have all the certainty of succeeding which God's immutable nature and decree affords. Thus is Life. If we die today, the sun will shine as brightly, and the birds sing as sweet to-morrow. Business will not be suspended a moment, and all is forgotten. "Is he dead ?" will be the solemn inquiry of a few as they pass to their work. But no one will miss us except our immediate connections, and in a short time they will forget us, and laugh as merily as when we sat beside them. Thus shall we all, now active in life, pass away. Our children crowd close behind ns, and they will soon be gone. In a few years, not a living being can say." I remember him ?" We liv ed in another age, and did business with those who slumber in the tomb. Thus is life. IIow rapidly it paases. E7"Tf you observe a gentleman with his arm around a young lady, it is morally certain that they are not married, neither is it certain they eTer will be. .. "Behind Time." A railroad train was rush mg along at an ngntning speca. A. curre was just ahead, beyond which was a station at which the cars usually passed each other. The conductor was late, so late that the period during which the down train was to wait had nearly elapsed ; but he hoped yet to pass the curve safely. Suddenly a locomotive dashed into sight right ahead. In an instant there was a collision. A shriek, a shock, and fifty souls were in eternity ; and all because an engineer had been behind time. A great battle was being fought. Column after column was being precipitated for eight mortal hours on an enemy posted along a ridge of a hill. The winter sun was sinking in the west; reinforcements for the obstinate defenders are already in night ; it was neces sary to carry the position by one final charge or all would be lost. A powerful corps had been summoned from across the country, and if it came up iu season all would be right. The great conqueror, confident in its arrival, formed a reserve into an attacking column, and led them down the hill. The whole world knows the result. Grouchy failed to appear; the imperial guard was beaten back ; Water loo was lost. Napoleon died a prisoner at St. Helena because one of his marshals was behind time. A leading firm in a commercial circle Lad long struggled against bankruptcy. As it had enormous assets in California, it expected re mittances by a certain day, and if the sums promised arrived, its credit, its honor, and its future prosperity would be preserved. But week after week elapsed without bringing the gold. At last came the fatal day on which the firm had bills maturing to enormous amounts. The steamer was telegraphed at day-break ; but it was found on inquiry that she brought no funds ; and the house failed. The next arrival brought nearly half a million to the insolvents, but it was too late ; they were ruined becausehcir agent, in remitting, hnd been behind time. A condemned man was being led out for ex ecution. He had taken human lifo, but un der circumstances of the greatest provocation, and public sympathy was active in his behalf. Thousands had signed lhe petition for a re prieve, a favorable answer had been expected the night before, and though it had not come, even the sheriff felt confident that it would yet arrive in season. Thus the morning pass ed without the appearance of the messenger. The last moment was up. The prisoner took his place on the drop, the cap was drawn over his eyes, the bolt was drawn, and a lifeless body swung revolving in the wind. Just at that moment a horseman came into sight, gal loping downhill, his steed covered with foam. He carried a packet in his right hand, which he waived to the crowd. He was the express rider with the reprieve. But he had come too late. A comparatively innocent man had di elan ignominious death because a watch had been five minutes too slow, making its bearer arrive behind time. It is continually so in life. The best laid plans, the most important affairs, the fortunes of individuals, the weal of nations, honor, happiness, life itself are daily sacrificed be cause somebody is "behind time." There are men who always fail in whatever they under take, simply because they are "behind time." There are others who put off reformation year by year, till death seizes them, and they per ish unrepentar.tjbecause 'forever behind time.' The Allies have lost a year at Sebastopol because they delayed a superfluous day after the battle of Alma, and came up too late for a coup de main just twenty four hours "behind time." Five minutes in a crisis is worth years. It is but a little period, yet it has often saved a fortune or redeemed a people. If there is one virtue that would succeed in life it is punc tuality ; if there is one error that should be avoided it is being behind time. Bait. Sun. tE?"The habit of calling young men with fhe dubious title of "Mr." is in many iastances, a peice of formality which does. harm. With those who have known the child and the boy, and have familiarly and affectionately called him by his first name, it is hard to change the pleasant John, or George, or William into Mr. Jones, Mr. Smith, Mr. Wise, and is only de manded at the instance of a false idea of pro priety, r or a young or middle-aged person to be called by his given name by his old and ong-known friends is indicative of the kindly regard they feel for him, and shows that their hearts are as ever open to the olden and bless ed influences of the time agone. The young person male or female, who takes offense when old friends address them by their best and long-known appellation, is one unworthy of kindly and heart felt consideration, and will pass through the world as a peice of formality and etiquette that knows little of the warm glow of kindly remembrances. But he or she who love to be called simply as their first names are,is true to that simplicity which is a great beauty in any character. As in the household, so let us be to all who loves us, anxious to be friends and brothers , and then many hearts will be lighter, many a eold for mality avoided. A little sermon, but one which will bear remembrance. rrp- He is happy, whose circumstances suit his temper; but be is more excellent, who can rult hie temper to any eireumstee. I WILL. Yes, I know you will. The energetic ex pression and determined tone show that you will. "I will try ." said the gallant Miller, as he marched his undisciplined but determined troops, up the hill whose summit was crowned with a battery that poured death in all direc tions, and that battery, guarded by British reg ulars, was silenced, and its brave defenders sent to the long sleep that knows no waking. 'I will be President of the United States," said John C. Calhoun, on the day he left col lege. Through along life, with his eye steadi ly fixed on that as the end of hi career, he ob tained a wide renown, and died but one step short of the Presidency. "I will discard the title of Emperor of all the Russians, and take that of Emperor of all the Slavones," said the young Emperor of Russia ; and whoever lives to see !ten years more will sec his threat accomplished- His energetic determination, is a sure guarentee of its fulfilment. Set your mark high, young reader determine to reach it, never swerve from your purpoe and yoa will accomplish your object. The ea gle, with his eye on the sun, and a determi nation to reach it, ma' never get quite there, but he will soar higher than a three foot bush. One of the finest passages in the play of "Richelieu," is this. Richelieu "Young man, Ik? blithe, ! for note me ; lrom the hour you grasped that pack et, think your guardian stars rain fortune on you." Francois fif I fail ?" Richlieu "Fail! Fail! In that bright lexi con youth, which fate reserves for a glorious manhood, there is no such word as fail ! Why should a young man fail? If he be honorable, if he be ardent, if he be energetic, if he be gifted with mental powers, if he be right in soul and strength, he should never fail ; and if any alluring temptation whispers in his ear, words that would turn him aside, let him revert to that "bright lexicon," and never fail. Mysteries on EveitT side. The world is full of mysteries. The chamber in which the infant opens its eye is a universe of mysteries. The father's voice, the mother's smile, reveal to it slowly the mysterious world of affections. The clild solves many of these mysteries; but as the circic of knowledge is enlarged, its vi sion is always bounded by a veil of mystery. The sun that wakens it at morning, and again looks in at its window to bid it farewell ; the tree that shades, and in whose branches the birds come and sing before the dews are dry, the clouds with shining edges that move across the sky, calm and stately like the chai iot of au angel, all are mysteries. Nay, to grown up man there :s not a thing which the hand touches, or on which the eye rests, which is not enveloped in mystery. The flower which springs at your feet who has revealed the wonderful secret of its organization ? Its roots shoot down, and leaf and flower rise up and expand into the infinite abyss of mystery. We are like emigrants traveling through an unknown Wilderness; they stop at night by a flowing stream, they feed their horses, set up a tent and build a fire ; and as the flames rise up, all within the circle of a few rods around is distinct and clear in its light. But beyond and bounding this are rocks dimly seen, and trees with vague outline dimly stoop forward to a blaze ; and beyond the branches creak and the waters murmur over their beds ; and wild unknown animals howl in the dark realms of night and silence. Such is the light of man's knowledge, and so U is bounded by the infinite realms of mystery. Fkankness. Be frank with the world. Frank ness is the child of honesty and courage. Say just what you mean to do on every occasion, and take it for granted you mean to do what is right. If a friend ask a favor you should grant it, if it is reasonable ; if it is not, tell him plainly why' you cannot. You will wrong him and wrong yourself by equivocation of any kind. Never do a wrong thing to make a friend or to keep one ; the man who re quires you to do so is dearly purchased at a sa crifice, Deal kindly and firmly with all men ; you will find it the policy which wears best. Above all, do not appear to others what you are not. If you have any fault to find with anyone, tell him, not others, of what you complain. There is no more dangerous ex periment than that of undertaking to bo one thing to a man's face, and another behind his back. We should live, speak and act out of doors, as the saying is, and say and do what we are willing should be known and read by men. It is not only best as a matter of princi ple but as a matter of policy. Look Upward. Hope on. frail mortal! What, though thy path be rugged, and strew ed with thorns ? thou hast on!y to persevere, and thy reward awaits thee. Many days and nights, perhaps years, hast thou struggled with adversity. What, though thou art poor, despised by those, it may be, who are thy in feriors in all save wealth ? What matters it, that thy short life is exposed to the rude blasts of adverse fortune, if at last thou art crowned with immortality, which those who rudely push thee from them think not of. Hope on, then, in thy poverty ; aspire to be great by be ing troly rood. The SoiTn or Olden Time. In Mr. Ben ton's forth coming volume of his thii ty years ; in the Senate, occurs the following passago, in allusion to the decline of the commerce of the Southern States : "It is a tradition of the Colonies that the South had leen the seat of wealth aud happi ness, of power and oppulence ; that a rich population corercd the land, dispensing baro nial hospitality, and diffusing the felicity which themselves eujoyed ; that all was life, and joy, and affluence then. And this tradi tion was not without similitude to the reality, as this writer can testify; for he was old enough to have seen (after the Revolution) the fetill surviving state of southern colonial manners, when no traveler was allowed to go to a tavern, and was handed over from family to family through entire States when holi days were days of festivity and expectation, long prepared for, and celebrated by master and slave with music and feasting, and great concourse of friends aud relatives ; when gold was kept in chests or desks, (after tho down fall of paper) and weighed in scales, and lent to neighbors for short terms without note, in terest, witness or security and on bond or land security for long years and l.-rful usance ; and when petty litigation was at so low an ebb that it required a fine of forty pounds of to bacco to make a man serve as constable." Right Talk. A straight out wrtter givea the following cxcclleut advice to those young men who depend on fathers for their support, and take no interest whatever in business, bnt arc regular drones in the hive, subsisting on that which is earned by others : "Come, off with your coat, clinch thtfl saw, the plough handles, the axe, pickaxe, spade anything that will enable you to stir your blood ! Fly around and tear your shirt, rather than be a passive recipient of the old man's bounty ! Sooner than play the dandy atMad's expense, hire yourself out to some potato patch let yourself to stop hog-holes or watch the bars ; and when you think yourself entitled to a rest ing spell, do it on your own hook. Get up in the morning-turn around at least twice be fore breakfast help the old gentlemau give him now and then a generous lift in business learnjiow to take the lead, and not depend forever on Joeing led, and you have no idea how the discipline will benefit you. Do this, and our word for it, you will seem to breath a new atmosphere, possess a newiframe, tread a new earth, wake to a now destiny, and yoa may then begin to aspire to manhood. Take off, then, that ring from yuu lily doper. hr.t your cane, shave your Mpcr lip, wipe vour nose, hold up your head, and, by all means, never again eat the bread of idleness, nor de pend on father. AWonderfil Blind Max. The Journal deChartres gives an account of a water-mill, in the hamlet of Oisiem, near Chartres, built entirely by a blind man, without either assis tance or advice from any one. The masonry, carpenter's work, roofing, stairs, paddle wheel, cogs, in a word, all the machinery pertaining to the mill, has been made, put up, and set in motion by him alone. He has al so, the above journal asserts, made his own furniture. When the water is low and the mill does not work, our blind miller become a joiner, and also a turner, on a lathe of his own invention, and so lie makes all mauner of utensils, and pretty toy wind-mills for the ju veniles. He lives quite alone, sweeps his own room, and cooks his own dinner ; his mo ther, who has fifteen children to care for, Uvea a mile off, and does not trouble her head'about 'her blind boy,' for 'he earns his bread now, she says, 'and does not want hcr. In 1852 this blind miller was rewarded with a medal by the agricultural society of the arrondisse ment for a machine serving the double pur pose of winnowing corn and separating the best grains from the common. The F aithfil Wife. A true-hearted wo man always walks by faith and not by tight; ' no matter that the world deserts the object of her affections, that he stumbles and falls, ajd repeats his error, or that adversity over whelms him in his career, she is always in the right place, her heart ever glowing with hope, and pointing to the future when all shall be bright and cheering. She never assails the heart of her friend, rudely, but oharms it by those delicate touch, es of silent eloquence, that speak without a voice and find their way to the heart's best fountain, as heat penetrates and vivifies the world of beauty and life. . ' . ... - The Mind. What an emanation from God, 1 is the human aUnd ! Though it dwells in a, -frail cottage, yet it can look out of the win dows of its clayey tenement and soar among the stars, and fly with them around the migh ty orbit in which they move with inconceiva ble velocity. Truly, we may aay, how sublime Is the Ira nian mind standing forth in its God given re galia. With what mingled awe and joy are we possessed, when we see it unfolding fte't lofty faculties with such gigantic yet calm power, and pressing upward on its shining ! track into the heavens ! fjy The good, heart; 'the tender feelings and the pleasant disposition, make smiles, lore and sunshine rrrwher. hi ill i It J 'i Hi "si . s M i ft ' f 4 j 3' 'it 1
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