u
FREE A3 THE WIND. AND AMERICAN TO THE CORE,
BY BY BUCKER SWOQPE.
CLEARFIELD, WEDNESDAY, NOV. .14, 185-5:
VOL. 2.-N0. 15.-T0TAL, 67.
1
it
THE WIFE OF THE INEBRIATE.
BY ROBERT T. COSRAD.
A lovely thing is the light that joy
O'er the young and gentle throw,
When the budding heart love fluttercth,
As tho humming-bird tho rose :
But the grace of grief, o'er beauty thrown,
Is a lovelier thing, I ween ;
It is the pale moon's holy light,
When it silvercth a summery scene.
I am thinking of her I saw last night,
Of her dark and pci.sive oye,
Which molted into angel thoughts,
And shone like a star-lit sky ; dreams,
Her voice 'twas the voice that we hear in
Or the rivulet tones of May ;
Eye, voice, and all aro with me now,
And never can pass away !
He once her young heart's joy drew near,
And he sat him by her side :
What was it wrung her gentlo brow?
What flushed her timid pride ?
His soul issealod to the poison-fiend ;
Ilia breath is a breath of flame ;
And gibbering heavily there he sat
And rocked in his idiot shame.
And this, all this, where the world looked on,
Amid a stranger throng I
Ifolt it would be a joy to die
For that gentle being's wrong,?
With her quivcrirg lip aud her swimming eye.
And her mute and crushed despair,
She looked as grief in heaven would look,
If grief e'or entered there.
How beautiful, thus sorrovr-crowncj,
That faultless face and form '.
As fair, as pale as the sun-lit cloud
When tortured by the storm.
Earth, sky. and sea are beautiful,
But earth, nor sky, nor sea.
Hath aught so sadly eveutly bright, ;
Deserted one ! as thee !
i
.And thou, the lost! who hast thrown away
A gem earth could not buy
Proud joys are thiue and cheaply bought !
But go! drink deep and die ! -Ay,
churl, to thy diizy revel go,
And raise the Bacchant roar;
" prink, drink, and die, that thy loathly form
ilay blot God's earth no moro !
Woman ! What gloom on thy sinless path
Alan's selfish vices fling I
Ilia ever the maniac joys of guilt;'
Butthino, alas! the sting!
How many a gentle heart thus crushed ;
How many a form laid low !
0, the seraphs pause in their hymns of bliss,
To weep o'er woman's woo!
U - .
I DID NOT THINK THAT.
One day as Mr. Lawson, a merchant t jilor,
stood at his cutting board, a poorly drvssed
woman entered his shop, and approaching
him, asked" with some embarrassment and ti
midity, if he had any work to give out.
"What can you do?" asked the tailor, look
Ing'coldly upon his visitor.
"I can make pantaloons and rests," answer
ed the girl.
"Have you ever worked for a merchant tai
lor I" ho asked.
"Yes, sir, I have worked for Mr. Wiipht,"
replied the girl.
'Has he nothing for you to do ?"
'Xo, not just bow; he has regular hands who
alwaya get the preference."
"Did yonr work suit him ?"
"He never found fault with it."
Where do you live ?"
"In Cherry street, Xo. ."
Mr. Lawson stood and mused for a short time.
"I have a vest here," he at length said, ta
king a small bundle from the shtlf, "which I
want by to-morrow evening at the latest. If
yon think you can do it very neatly, and have
It done in time, you can take it."
"It shall bo done in time," faid tho young
'woman, reaching out eagerly for the bundle.
"And remember,! shall expect it well made.
f I like your work I will give you more"
f'l will endeavor to please yon," returned
the young girl.
"To-morvow evening, recollect."
Yes, sir; I will have it done.''
The girl turned and went quickly away.
In a back, room, in the third story of an old
liouso in Cherry street, was the home of the
poor sewing girl. As she entered, she said in
a cheerful Toieo to her sick sister-
"Mary, I have get worjc ; it is a vest, and I
roust have it done by to-morrow evening."
"Can you finish it in time ?" inquired the
invalid in a feeble voice.
"Oh, yes, easily."
It proved to be white Marseilles. As soon
as the invalid aaw this, she said, "I'm afraid
jou will not be able to got it'done in time, El
Jen ; you are not fast with the needle, and be
sides, you are Tery far from being well." "
"Don't fear in the least, Mary j I will do all
J. engaged to do."
It was after dark the next night when Ellen
finished the garment. She was weary and
faint, having taken no food since morning
The want of everything, and particularly for
herself and sister, made seventy-five cents,
the sura she expected to receive for making
the vest, a treasure in her imagination. She
hurried off with the vest the moment it was
finished, saying to her sister, "I will be back as
soon as possible, andjring you some cordial,
and something for our supper and breakfast."
"Here it is half past eight o'clock, and the
vest It not Id yet," aaid Mr. Lawson, in a fret
ful tone. "I had my doubts about the girl
when I gave it to her But she looked so poor,
and. seemed so earnest about the work, that I
was weak enough to entrust her with the gar
ment." At thi3 moment Ellen came in and
laid the vest on the counter, where Mr. Law
son was standing. She said nothing, neither
did he. Taking the vest, he unfolded it in a
manner which plainly showed him not to be in
a very placid frame of mind.
"Goodness!" he ejaculated, turning over the
garment, .and looking at the girl. .She shrunk
back from the counter and looked frightened.
"Wvll, this is a pretty job for one to bring
in!" said the tailor in an excited tone of voice;
"a pretty job indeed !" at the same time toss
ing the vest away from him in angry contempt
and walking off to another part of the store.
Ellen remained at the counter. At length
he said to her, "You needn't stand there, Miss,
thinking I am going to pay you for ruining a
job. It is bad enough to lose the material and
customer. In justice 3-011 should pay me for
the vest; but there's io hopo for that; so take
yonrs-jlf ofF, and never let me set eyes on you
again."
Ellen made no reply; she turned round, rais
ed hei hand to hsr forehead, and, bursting in
to tears, walked slowly away.
After Ellen had gene, Mr. Lawson returned
to the front part of tho store, and taking up
the vest brought it back to where an elderly
man was sitting, and holding it towards him,
said, by way of apology for the part he hal
taken in the little scene. ' That is a beatiti
ful article lor a gentleman to wear, isn't it?"
The man made no reply, and the tailor alter a
pause, added, "I refused to pay her as a mat
er of principle. She knew she could not make
the garment when she took itawav. She will
be more careful how she tries to imposs her
self upon customer tailors as a good vest ma
ker."
"Perhaps," said the elderly gentleman in a
mild way, "necessity drove her to undertake
a job that required greater skill than she pos
sessed. She certainly looked very poor."
' "It was because she appeared so poor end
miserable that I was weak enough to place the
vest in her hands," replied Mr. Lawson in a
less 6-jvere tone of voice." "But it was an im
position for her to ask for work-she did not
know how to make." '
Mr. Dawson," said the old gentleman, who,
was known as a pious and good man, "we
should not blame with too much severity the
person who, in extreme want, undertakes to
perform a piece of work for which she lacks
the skill. The fact that a young girl, like tho
one who was just here is willing, in her ex
tremc poverty, to labor instead of sinking info
vice and idleness, shows her to possess trua
virtue and integrity of character; and that wc
should be willing to encourage, even at some
sacrifice. Work is slack now, as you are
aware, and there is but little doubt that she
had been to many places seeking employment
before she came to you. It maybe that sli3
and others are dependent upon the receipt o"
the money that was expected to be paid for
making the vest you hold in your hand. The
expression as she turned away, her lingering
steps, her drooping form, and her whole de
meanor, had in them a language which told
me of all this, and even more."
A change came over the tailor's countenance
"I didn't think of that," fell in a low tone from
his lips.
"I did not thiuk you did, brother Lawson,"
said his monitor i "we are more apt to think
of ourselves than others. The girl promised
the vest this evening ; and so far a3 that was
concerned, she performed her contract. Is
the vest made very badly ?"
Mr. Lawson took up the garment and exam
ined it more closely. "Well, I can't say that
it is badly done, but dreadfully soiled and
rumpled ; and it is not as neat a job as it
should be, nor at all such as I wished it."
"All this is very annoying, of course ; but
still, we should be willing to make some ex
cuse for the short coming of others. The
poor girl may have a sick mother to attend to
which constantly interrupted her, and under
such circumstances, you could barely wonder
if the garment come some what soiled from un
der her hands. All this may be the cause ;
and if so, you could And ft iu your heart to
speak unkindly to the poor creature, much less
turn her away angrily, and without the money
she toiled for so earnestly."
"I did r.ot thjr.k of that," was murmered
in a low, suppressed tone of voice.
Ellen, on returning home, entered the room,
and without uttering a word, threw herself on
the bed by the side of her sick sister, and bu
rying her face in a pillow, endeavored to
smother the sobs that came up convulsively in
her bosom.
Mary asked no questions. She understood
the cause of Ellen's agitation. It told her
that she had been disappointed in her expec
tation of receiving the money for her work.
Just at that moment there was a knock at
the door, but no voice bid the applicant for
admission to enter. It was repeated, but it
mtt with no response. Then the latch was
lifted, the door swung open, and tho tailor
stepped into the room. -
The sound of feet aroused the distressed
sisters, and Ellen raised herself up, and look
ed at Mr. Lawson with a countenance suffused
with tears.
"I ffelt that I did wrong in speaking to you
in the way that I did," said Mr. Lawson, ad
vancing toward the bed, and holding out to
Ellen the money that she had earned. "Here
is the price of the vest. It was better made
than I first thought it was. To-morrow I will
send you more work. Try to cheer up."
Mr. Lawson, finding that his presence was
embarrassing, withdrew, leaving the two sis
ters so deeply affected that they could not but
look at him with thankfulness."
Shortly after this they received a basket, in
which was a supply of nourishing food, and a
sum of money to procuro such articles as
might be necessary for the sick sister. Though
no one's name was sent with it they were not
in doubt as to the individual who sent it. Mr.
Lawson was not an unfeeling man, tut, like
too many others in the world he . did sot al
ways THINK. "
PEIMAEY SCHOOLS.
BY MRS. LYDIA II. 8IG0CHXEY.
Much light on the great subject of Educa
tion, has dawned upon the present age. Yet
broad wastes arc still unilluminated. "There
remaineth yet, very much land to be possess
ed." The theorist may have made prosper
ous way through the wilderness ofconfiicfing
opinions; but the practical teacher seems yet
to stand upon Pisgah, exploring a varied and
beautiful heritage, not yet fully reclaimed
from the heathen.
Philosophical writers have laboured to il
lustrate the different departments of mind.
They have unfolded its chart, and said, "here
is a stream, and there is a mountain, and there
a valley." But have they told us how the
stream may be guided, until it becomes a riv
cr? how it may fertilize and gladden itsbanks,
until it meets the sea? Ilavo they pointed out
among tho rocks, and tangled foliage of th
mountain, the sunny spots which are capable
of culture or ornament ? Have they instruct
ed us, how the volley may be best made rich
for the harvest ? how its fruits maybe safely
gathered into the garner of eternal lifo ?
It is the province of the faithful teacher to
entrr the field which the philanthropist has
described; to test tho validity of tho precepts,
which the sage -has promulgated. And is not
this oGlce as honorable as it is responsible ?
The Emperor of Russia-has directed the fe
males of his family to engage in the work of
instruction, and in St. Petersburgh aro sever
al schools over which they preside. The Pa
cha of Egypt has induced n English lady to
take charge of one hundred female pupils at
Cairo, and to give countenance to so strange a
movement in a Mahomedan realm, where it is
doubted whether women have souls, hasplaced
his own daughters under her tuition. The
King of Greece treats, with respect and con
fidence, the lady from our own land, who ed
ucates several hundred children at Athens,
and causes to be supported at her school a
delegation of girls, from the' different provin
ces of that classic clime. If the rulers of the
Old World, even in some of tho strong holds
of despotism, are disjjosed to show honor to
teachers, our own country, where a right ed
ucation is emphatically the safety and defence
of tho people, ought not to be backward in
following the example.
It is but too Ql ten the case, that primary
schools are undervalued, or their interests
committed to unskilful hands. The assertion
is sometimes made, that "any one will do to
keep a school for little children." Any de
cayed, ignorant woman, unable otherwise to
earn a living, whesa dim eyes fail to guide the
needle aright, or from whoso palsied hand,
the distaff had fallen, she is pronounced fit to
gather around her the freshest, youngest spir
its; to spread out, and to inscribe at pleasure,
the tenderest, most impressible page of hu
man existence. Should this be so? Is he who
builds a house inattentive to its foundation?
he who would erect a pyramid, careless to
give solidity to its base? So, they who aid
the mind in its earliest developements, should
be qualified wisely and efficiently to use their
delegated authority.
Primary schools aro assuming more impor
tance, in the opinion of the public, as the ne
cessity of moral training becomes better un
derstood. Intellectual education was former
ly considered almost the sole olyect of schools,
and the culture of right principles pursued
only as far. as they advanced or impeded it.--
Yet is it not rather the true order of thingst
to give the highest place to that which regu
lates our duty here, and affects our happiness
hereafter? If so, Knowledge should be en
listed in the service of Virtue, as a powerful
ally; for we have too often seen, that when un
controlled by such sacred influence it has been
placed on the throne, its' tendency is to blind
aud wayward, to selfish or criminal courses.
If we view the intellect as an instrument by
which we arrive at the heart, thoso who edu
cate the young should make every science,
every lesson, an adjunct in the culture of right
dispositions and correct conduct. Under such
a system, the pupils who are least advanced in '
age, may prove their most promising subjects;
for their hearts ripening soonci than their un
derstandings, are more readily reached, more
easily modified, less permanently injured by
evil habit or example. Formerly, they were
held in promiscuous schools, as a sort of hin
drance or interruption to the elder classes.
To keep their station on a hand bench with
their little feet vainly reaching after the floor;
to study rtraDge characters; to be occasionally
cled to utter unintelligible sounds; to be bid
den by nature to move, and by the teacher to
sit still, and to be still; to wait with wide-open,
wondering eyes, at a mysterious banquet of
knowledge, and to find scarcely a crumb fal
ling from the table for them, was but too often
their portion. Like the children of Israel, in
the land of bondage, they could not but "see
that they were in evil case." - Yet, as nior. 1
culture gains its true prominence, the "priso
ners will be brought forth from the prison
houses," and admitted as favoured students of
that science which endurvth, when "if there
be tongues they shall cease, if there beknowl
edge it shall vanish away."
Iu bespeaking a due share of attention for
those almost infantine pupils, whicw surely in
promiscuous schools have been too much, and
too long neglected, it may be well to consider
the force, and vitality of early impressions.
Close observers of character perceive that
they may spring up in unexpected forms,
through1 every period of future life. When
the seed is forgotten, when the hand that
sowed it moulders in dust, it may be perfect
ing its fruit.
With what tenacity do the aged cling to the
memories of their early years. Passing events
are to them comparatively divested of interest.
The hopes and passions, which agitato, young
hearts, have grown powerless. They aro pon
dering the far-ofi lines of life's first pages, and
the atmosphere of age, seems to act like the
chemist's art, in restoring the time-worn
manuscript. Tell them of the news, tho fash
ions, the changes of the day. You win but a
divided attention. The heart is elsewhere.
The past has taken possession of their whole
being. They are with the dead, burying their
dead, or causing tho dry bones to be anew
covered with living flesh. The voice of their
mother in the cradle-hymn, comes back to
them, when the car is deaf to the melody of
"siDgir.g men and singing women." Tho les
sons of their earliest teachers, the scenery of
their first school, are vivid before them, when
they aro about to pass from the discipline of
earth to the rewards of eternity.
It is said of the aged Swiss and Germans, in
the more anciently tettled parts of Pennsylva
nia, that when death approaches, they are heaxd
to sjjeak iu tka language learned in infancy,
though they had been for years unaccustomed
to their use. Teachers of primary schools!
havo you ever thought that the words which
you utter to the little ones at your feet, the
counsels which now they seem so lightly to re
gard, may grave themselves as with the point
of a diamond, and go with their souls to the
judgment ot the Great Day? Have you not,
indeed, a dignified vocation, standing as you
do next to tho mother, and she next to God ?
taking into your Land that which is never to
die, and promising to restore it, to those who
entrusted it, not only uninjured, but brighter
and more precious? Let your own deport
ment, your own life, bo the lesson of your
young pupils, lie diligent, be conscientious,
be prayerful, be yourselves what you require
of them to become, and doubt not that the
Divine blessing will animate and repay your
labours. " j - .
DO IT YOTJRSELVE3, BOYS.
Do not ask the teacher, or some classmate
to solve that hard problem. Do it yourselves.
You might as well let them eat your dinner,
as "do j our sums" for you. It is iu studying,
as in eating; he that does it gets the benefit;
and uot he that sees it done. In almost any
school, I would give more for what the teach
er learns, than for what the best scholar learns
simply because the teacher, is compelled to
solve all the haid problems, and answer the
questions of the la:y boys Do not ask him
to parse the dilficult words or assist you in the
performance of any of your studies. Do it
yourself. Xever mind, though they look as
dark as Egypt. Don't ask even a bint from
anybody. Try again. Every trial increases
your ability, and you will finally succeed by
dint of the very wisdom and strength gained
in the effort, even though at first the problem
was beyond your skill. It is the study and
not the answer that really rewards your pains-
Look at that boy who has succeeded, after
six hours hard study, perhaps; how his large
eyes are lit up with proud joy, as he marches
to his class. He treads like a conquorer. And
well ho may. Last night his lamp burned
late, and this morning he waked at dawn.
Once or twice he nearly gave up. He had
tried his last thought; but a new thought strikes
him as he ponders the last process. He tries
once more and succeeds; and now mark the
air of conscious strength with w hich ho pro
nounces his demonstration. His poor, weak
schoolmate, who gave up that same problem
after his first feint trial, now looks up to him
with something of wonder, as a superior being.
And he is superior. That problem lies there,
a great gulf between those boys who stood
yesterday 6ide by side. They will never stand
together as equals again. The boy that did it
for himself has taken a stride upward, aud
what 13 better still, has gained strength to
take other and greater ones. The boy who
waited to go others do"it,"has lost both strength
and courage, and is already looking for some
good excuse to give up school and study for
ever. Conn. School Journal.
C The young lady in Paris, who lately
made her fortieth ascent in a balloon, has cer
tainly a taste for moving in the upper circles.
Tho Last of the Randolph's.
A southern correspondent of the Home Jour
nal sends the following interesting sketch :
"During the summer of 1854 I had some bu
siness transactions which called ni3 to the
county of Charlotte, in lower Virginia. A
mild and lovely Sabbath morning found me
seated in one of the comfortably cushioned
pews of the village church at the Court House.
As it wanted a few minutes to the hour of ser
vice, my eye wandered over the large and re
spectful looking audience assembled, and was
finally attracted by a very eccentric individual
who was just entering a rather aged man,
tall, of d!rk complexion, long white hair wa
ving plentifully over his shoulders, and an
equally venerable imard flowing on his breast;
His step was active and graceful, his form
erect and manly. But his peculiar actions
were in striking contrast to his dignified ap
pearance. At first I thought him only eccen
tric, but a few moments of further observa
tion proved to mc that he'was insane.
"Immediately on entering the pew he knelt
towards the wall, crossed himself, and, appa
rently, repeated a prayer. He then sat dow n,
drew out a white cambric, delicately perfum
ed, wiped his brow, removed his gloves. strok
ed his hair and beard, took up his Bible, kiss
ed it and read, examined his cane, used lis
handkerchief again and all tho time keeping
iiiniat-'If iu constant motion. I say all the timo,
but, occasionally, lie was passive for a few
miuutes his attention apparently aroused by
some truths from the minister but these times
were rare. His countenance assumed ull
kinds of expressions. . Contempt, alarm, plea
sure, earnestness, sorrow and anger, flitted a
cr'oss it iu rapid succession. It reminded me
more of what children call 'making faces' than
anything else.
"Alter the services were over, I ascertained
that this gentleman was no other than the neph
ew of John Randolph, of Roanoke. lie calls
himself Sir John St. George Randolph, and is
sole heir to his celebrated uncle. Randolph,
himself, remarked with bitterness, during his
last days, that their blood flowed in tho veins
of but one single scion, and ho wss deaf, dumb
and insane. So much for human greatness.
Tho subject of this sketch although physical
ly, and now mentally, defective had a mind
cultivated in the highest degree. In his youth
he was sent to Paris, where, under the protec
tion of a celebrated abbe, he received a thoro'
education. Having tho cajacity to receive,
and the wealth to command, no pains were
spared in the improvement of his intellectual
faculties. But it was labor lost : for. on re
turning to his homa in Virginia, he met with,
and loved a young lady, whom he addressed,
but was refused, on account of his physical de
fects. On becoming aware of the truth he
was plunged in the most profound grief, from
which he was at last aroused, but insane.
"Ho has considerable wealth, which is man
aged by his friends ; and,"being harmless, he
comes and goes when he pleases, and is grati
fied in all his whims. Wrecked as his miud
is, he still commands respect; and his peculiar
manners do not attiact the attention of his ac
quaintances, or excite merriment, as one
would suppose."
SELFISHNESS.
Cod hath written upon the flowers that
sweeten the air upon tho breeze that rocks
tho flower on the stem upon the rain drop
that freshens tho sprig of moss that lifts its
head in the desert upon tho ocean that rocks
every swimmer in its deep chambers upon
evory penciled shell that sleeps in the caverns !
of the deep, no loss than upon the mighty sun j
which warms and cheers millions of creatures
that live in its light upon his works he,, has !
written "none of U3 liveth for himself.'' J
And probably we were wise enough to under- j
stand these w orks, we should find that there is j
nothing from the cold stone in the earth or 1
the minutest creature" that breathes which J
may not, in some way or other, minister to j
the happiness of some living creature. We j
admire and praise that flower thatbet answers j
the end for which it was created, and bestows
the most pleasure. We value and praise that j
horse, which best answers the end for which it j
was created, and the tree that bears fruit tho !
most rich and abundant ; the star that is the
most useful in the heavens is the star that we
admire the most.
AEd is it not reasonable, that mas, to'whom
the whole creation, from the flower up to the
spangled heavens, all minister man, who has
the power of conferring deeper misery or high
er happiness, than any being on earth man. !
who can act like God if he will is it not' rea- j
sonable that he should live for the noble end j
of living, not to himself but for others 1 j
Boisterous Pkeachixg. A celebrated di
vine, who was remarkable in the first period of
bis ministry for a loud and boisterous mode of
preaching, suddenly changed his whole man
ner, and acdopted a mild and dispassionate
mole of delivery. One of his hearers inquired j
the reason, an.1 the answer was: "When I was j
young I thought it was the thunder that killed '
people but when I grew wise, I found it was j
the lightning; so I determined to thunder
ess, and lightning more in future."
What is a Fkiekd ? Punch says a friend
is one who jumps down and puts on the drag,
when he finds that you're going down hill too
fast. "
What a Newspaper docs without a
Reward.
The result of my observation enables me to
Ktal( H a fact, that Jil-,h1i!.fr nf noirsnattra
( ... ,
: are more poorly rewarded than any other class
j of men in the United States who invest an
J equal amount of labor, capital and thonght.
j They are expected to do more service for lesa
! pay, to stand more sponging and dead bead
. ing," to puff and defend more people, and
! sorts of people, without fee or hopo for reward,
i than sny other class-
I They credit longer and wider; get oftener
j cheated ; suliVr more pecuniary loss ; and are
j oftener the victims of misplaced confidence ;
! than any other commnnity. People pay a
! printers bill more reluctantly than any other,
j It goes harder w tih them to expend a dollar oa
! a valuable newspaper, than ten on a needless
j gew-gaw ; yet everybody avails himself of tho
service of the editor's and printer's ink. How
many professional reputations and fortunes
have been erated tnd sustained by the friend
ly, though unrequitted pen of the editor? '
j How many embryo towns and cities have been
j brought into notice, and puflVd into prosperity
by the press ? How many railroads now in
successful operation, would have been found
ered for the assistance of the "lever that moves
the world ; In short vhat branch of Ameri-
j can industry, or activity, has uot yet been pro-
ruoted, stimulated and defended ly the press?
And who lus tendered it more than miserable
pittance for its mighty service ? The bazars
of fashion and folly, the haunts of appetite and
dissipation are thronged with an eager crowd
be.tring gold in their palms, and the commodi
ties thera vended are sold at enormoua profits,
though intrinsically worthless and paid for the
scrupulous iunctuality ; while the counting
room of the newspaper is tho seat of jewing,
trade ordeis and pennies. It is made a point
of honor to liquidate a grog bill, but not of
dishonor to repudiato a printer's bill. Wattr
ford Dispatch.
Analysis of Wealth.
God ha? been defined ps the "sweat of the
poor, and the blood of" the brave!" It is not
necessarily wealth. Thousands who have cof
fers laden with it are among the most misera
ble. Wealth depends not upon thd quantity,.
but the quality of our possessions. Its intrin
sic characters is measured by tho varieties - of
the human taste. Kingdoms for some, mines
for others, -books, excitement, and solitude
form the goals of differing desires. Power,
fame, and even security are sought with the
same enthusiasm as wealth. Money is value
less beyond its application to our wants our
necessities. What was gold or pearls to the
man famishing in the desert only a glitter
ing mockery. . Hunger asked for fruit, thirst
for a clear spring and for these which were
wasting in thousands of vallies, the dying trav
eller would have givenall the gold in the world. -Wea'th.
true wealth, is that potsessioh which
satisfies the heart. Palaces and lands may
still leave a man miserable. To be satisfied
in one's self to feci no aching void to sleep
peacefully and wake without pain, regret or
remorse, such is wealth. Content and health,
are a prouder inheritance than belongs to kings
With these tho hardest, pillow becomes soft,
the roughest way smooth, the darkest future
bright, and their possessor stands upon a man.
than whom God has made none nobler free
from tho canker which follows power and fame,
and independent of the exigencies w hich make
and may shiver crowns. .Money, beyond self
wants, may be desirable, the necessities and
misfortunes of our fellows oftn cast them up
on us, an 1 means to relieve them add as keen
ly to our joy as theirs. For the promotion of
the good, the beautiful, and the true, gold,
goods, and lands, are a heritage from hoaven ;
but when wrapped in a napkin, and bound to
the heart, they congeal human symphaties, and
blast hunnn life. ' -
To Stop Potatoes Rotting.
An experienced agriculturist informs us,
that about six years ago, he applied slacked
limji to potatoes that were nearly rotten, and
that it immediately arrested the decay. Po
tatoes that were partly rotten when the lime
was applied, remained as they were, the pro
gress of the rot being stopped; while potatoes
to which the lime was not applied, continued
to rot, and were lost.,- Sineo then he hasmado
it a constant practice to apply slaked lime to '
his potatoes, as he takes them up. He puts a
thin layer of liino upon the floor where the po
tatoes are to be laid, and sprinkles some of it
over the potatoes about every ten inches, as
they are put down. - If c considers this as per-'
fectly protecting them from rotting, as he haa
never had a rotten potato since he has practis
ed it; and ho believes, also, that potatoes thus
used, are rpndered better by the action of the
lime. Wo advise the farmers to try this plan,
as it can easily be done- by them all. ;
The Visit Rbxcesedt- Voltaire and Piroa
were passing somo time in a cottage. One
day Piron wrote on Voltaire's door, "rogue."
As soon as Voltaire saw it, he went to see Pi- ,
ron, who said to him : "What has procured .
me the pleasure of seeing you?" j ; ,
"Sir," replied Voltaire, I saw - yonr nam.
upon my door, and Icanietoreturnyour visit.', j
Warts. The oil from the ontside $helIof
Walnuts or Butternuts, will cure waxts by -a
few applications.
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