u
BY S. J. ROW.
CLEARFIELD, PA., WEDNESDAY, MAI 29, 1801.
YOL. 7.-NO. 39.
14
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MEMORIES.
Memories sonny and golden,
; Thoughts of the days agone.
Come to my heart like the flashing
That heralds the coming dawn ;
They, the beloved and true-hearted,
- That gladdened the days of yore.
Are thronging through Memory's portals
And sitting beside me once more.
Holy and sweet are the echoes
Deep in iny heart doth dwell-
They come like the chimes of the silv'ry
Sound of a far-off bell; ' . ..
Voices, the true and tender,
Strike on my listening ears
They, the beloved of my childhood
Friends of my riper years.
Thoughts of that dear young sister,'
Who passed to the land of rest.
Par from the home of her childhood
Far in the prairie West
One hope 'mid the gloom and darkness,
Uloauis bright o'er oursorrowing night
We know our beloved is henceforth.
A glorified angel of light.
And I think, sometimes, that these holy
Memory haunted hours
Are sent like the Autumn sunshine,
To brighten the fading flowers
Bo. whenever the mists of the earth-life,
Their darkening shadows entwine,
Bow low at the bush of twilight,
. At Memory's holiest shrine.
; Yes, they come ! the loved and the absent,
Some on earth, and some in heaven; .
And they meet around my fireside
In the quiet hour of even.
Like tho bloom that tints the rose-leaf
Like the flash of the sunset sky
Come memories s.icred and holy
Of tho loves tnat never shall die.
A LAWYER'S STORY.
TOLD BY HIMSELF.
About thirty years ago I was a young law
yer with nothing but my profession and two
very strong aspirations. The first was to suc
ceed and make a great name at the bar, and
the other to be able to marry the lady of my
love. One monrnig I went down to my oflice
which my boy bad just opened, and found a
waiting me there a letter which gave me the
greatest pleasure: it announced in the first
place the death of my grand uncle, who, wttb
my grandfather, had cruelly turned my moth
er out of doors when she was a girl ; and in
the second place it informed me that my grand
uncle touched by remorse, had loft me a lega
cy ot five thousand dollars. The writer of the
letter, Martin Drew, who was my uncle, re
quested me to come to lyndale, at once and
get my money, and expressed much affection
for me, and said his family were all anxious to
see me, and many other things which excited
my suspicions. That afternoon I called at
widow Curtis' to inform her daughter Laura
ofruy good fortune, and ask the dear girl to
"name tho day." Laura was quite ready to
comply with my wishes ; but her mother said
we had better wait until I got back with my
money, predicting that something would be
sure to happen, and asserting that the Drews
were "mighty slippery fellows," and that no
Van Buren, (my name,) that she had ever
heard of, ever had any luck. .Not hnding my
self very comfortable in the widow's parlor, I
soon withdrew, and went back to my office.
Tlte next morning I mounted my horse, and
with a light heart pursued the road that led to
Tyndale. I was two days upon the way, and
sk-pt the second night at a little country tav
ern a few miles distant from the residence of
my pseudo uncle. 1 had intended to reach his
house that evening, but the heaviness of the
road prevented. The next morning I was ear
ly astir, and rode up to Martin Drew's door
just as he and family were eating breakfast.
1 was welcomed with a great show of cordiali
ty, by the various members of the family, all
of whom, save the eldest son, George, were
present. I might have believed myself among
warm friends had not the memory of my moth
r's stifii-rings in that house saved me from an
entire reliance upon the professions of these
demonstrative relatives. Little by little, my
reserve melted before their kindly words and
manuers. Ibe girls were pretty and fascina
tiug, the young man, Martin, frank and agree
able. I never could resist genial manners,
and before the morning hours had waned I
found myself on decidedly pleasant terms with
the young people, and confessing to myself
that l could see nothing very objectionable
in their elders.
I had intended to transact my business with
all speed, and if possible to avoid breaking
bread beneath this roof; and by all means to
leave before nightfall. But, .on one pretext
or other, and willingly, I must confess, I was
detained until long past midday. At last
however, the-business had been transacted,
the money in my bands, and my receipt in
:liose of Martin Drew, and began to insist on
going, at least as far that evening as the tav
ern where I had passed the preceeding night.
How they gathered around me then, with smi
ling, entreating faces, and clinging hands,
o, they said, I must not go until George
came home. lie was expected every hour.
I must remain until morning and see George,
or be would be sadly disappointed. And be
sides, it was hardly safe to stop at that road
side tavern with such a sum of money, tho
people there were prying and curious, and
h&d, without doubt learned before this, that I
had conie to receive my legacy. Of course I
iiyed, and a pleasant evening I had with
tlK-sa merry young people, and cordial old
ones.
The chamber assigned me was what In coun
try parlance was usually called the "spare bed
room," a large, pleasant room upon the ground
poor, opening from the best parlor, and, with
that apartment, separated from the rest of the
house, by a wide entrance hall. Martin Drew
ni his two sons, (for George bad returned,)
n their excess of hospitality, bad entered
ith me to, assure themselves, that all was
comfortable lor me, and above all, , as they
"a'd, safe for my money. There were ill con
ditioned people in the neighborhood, they
j'd, and my business was well known, so that
though it was bardly possible that any one
"ould attempt to enter the house to steal my
oney, it was well to be careful. There were
jooks to hang my coat and waistcoat upon,
oti had better not leave the money in their
f?.et, perhaps it would be safer under my
pillow, or had I not better lock it in a draw
er .the bureau? . .
in h 5 ?er anx'ety seemed somewhat annoy-
5 hot if there wero suspicious people in the
neiSliborhood, it was but natural. Still it oc
arred to me that it would be as well to say
notning ot the place where I intended to be-
ay money. When I was at last left a-
lone I began to hasten my preparations for re
pose, lne two windows of the room were
closed and secured by heavy shutters, but
there was no lock on the door. I placed a
chair against it. I then finished disrobing
myself, and having decided to put my pocket
book between the mattrasses of my bed, and
beneath my head, I had just placed it there
when a slight noise in the room caused me to
turn. George Drew hadeutered so noiseless
ly that be had nearly reached my side un
heard.
"I beg your pardon," he said laughing at
my frighteued face. "I only came back to
inquire if you would like to oe wakened iu
the morning. You did not bear my knock."
lie was gone as soon as answered, and again
placing a chair against the door, and laying
something upon it, which I thought would
fall with a noise if the chair was disturbed, I
extinguished mv light and went to bed. It
seemed as if I had but closed my eyes, though
l now Know mat i must nave slept two or
three hours, when I was suddenly wakened by
the sound of a door softly and cantionsly shut,
yet slightly creaking on reluctant hinges. I
sprung up. In the intense stillness, I thought
X distinguished a laint tread in the adjoining
room. I thrust my hand beneath the pillow,
but though it touched my watch, which I had
there, my pocket book was gone. At the
same instant I distinguised another sound
the opening of the outer door. I sprang from
my bed and shouted for help. Iu the dark
ness I could not at first find the door. But in
less than a minute I stood in the parlor, faint
ly lighted by the embers of the expiring fire.
At that Instant the ball door closed, and steps
were heard upon the gravel outside. I shout
ed again, and in a moment Martin Drew and
his younger son hurried in, and before my
story Was finished, were joined by George
The hall door was ajar, as the robber had left
it, but before we had time to put on the ne
cessary clothing, he bad two or three minutes
the start of us. e all plunged out into the
pouring rain, and the darkness almost palpa
ble ; but a search of fifteen minutes was with
out reward, as we could trace the robber's
steps only to the gate which led to the high
road. Wo then all returned to the house, ex
cept George, who mounted his horse and rode
off to the village to give the alarm.
I remained two days longer ut Tyndale, aid
ed by my relatives, m my attempts to regain
my money, with extreme kindness and inter
est. Unfortunately for them, the very ex
tremity of this kindess aroused, or more prop
erty strengthened suspicion that had com
menced at the moment I discovered the ab
sence of my money. And thus all their en
deavors to assist me but provided me with
fresh evidence against themselves, and I left
them on the morning of the third day, as ful
ly convinced that five thousand dollars had re
turned to Martin Drew's hands, as if I had
seen them there.
It was with great dfficulty that I found an
opportunity, on the morning after the rob
bery, to write and enclose, and afterwards to
post, advertisements to the county papers,
and notices to the banks, stopping payment
of the bills I bad received and secretly mark
ed. On my way homeward I went to the
county town and left such information with
the magistrates there as put them upon the
alert, and then, satisfied that I had done all in
my power for the recovery of the money, I
pursued my course, and on the second even
ing entered the village, rode past the widow
Curtis' bouse, and stopped at uiy ofhee door.
I tarried only to partake of my frugal supper,
before I bent my steps to the home of my di
vinity, otherwise my Laura. She, dear girl,
gave me as warm a welcome as it I had re
turned wiui pocKetsas lull as iiiey were emp
ty. ut the widow ! I will not repeat her
stunning abuse. I survived it all the smoke
and roar of battle died away, and in the list of
wounded was but one young man "damaged
in feelings." while Laura's smile consoled me
in the endurance of my wounds. Two months
later I received a very different welcome from
the widow, when I came to announce the re
covery of my money, and tho indictment of
Martin Drew and his sons as the robbers. All
was smiles and praise then from the widow,
and Laura cried joyful tears upon my bosom,
and named the happy day.
Young Martin had attempted to pass, when
slightly intoxicated, one of the marked notes,
and several others had been found in his pos
session. Search of the homestead, and the
persons of his father and brother, had brought
to light the remainder, and my legacy was
once more in ray hands. Martin, the elder,
and bis son George, were sent, for a long
terra, to the State Prison. 1 ho younger Mar
tin went for a shorter period, and as soon as
be was released, removed the family to the
West. There, probably, the father and broth
er joined them, when at liberty, for from that
period they never reappeared in their old
haunts. . .
As for me, I am a tolerably rich and very
happy man, a little past middle life. Laura
has been my wife for many a year, and sons
and daughters are growirg up in health and
beauty, and goodness around us. My legacy
founded my prosperity, aud my wife my hap
piness.
Two Streams. From the same Alpine
mountains flow two rivers ; the same rain and
melted snow faed them, but each of these
rivers follows the course it has traced. The
one flows to the South, towards the sun ; it
crosses all tho towns where the Greeks and
the Romans successively planted the germs
of civilization, the traditions of their genius,
and those melodious languages spoken by the
grandest poets and the greatest authors that
ever honored numanity. me. other river
flows toward the North ; it traverses the vast
forests of the Germanie tribes, from whom de
scended the Angles, the Saxons, and perhaps
the Normans ; it waters cold, cloudy, industri
ous and resolute countries. One is called the
Rhone, the other the Rhine. . The one, by
turns a rivulet and a torrent, now flows, now
precipitates itself through a country filled with
Doesv, and its contrasts, beneath a blue ssy, to
ward an azure lake,that glorious sea whicb,frora
the commencement of ages, has seen devel
oped in its banks all the destinies of humanity.
The other, majestic and calm, bears constant-
y on its surface steam vessels, and, reflecting
the light on its long banks,, shows the various
buildings elevated by modern industry; it
flows into that sea, or rather canal, the junc
tion between the ocean and the Baltic, the
separation ot the ancient world from the mod
ern, where perhaps some day must be decided,
the future destinies of humanity.
A TALE ABOUT MARRIAGE.
Two maidens in youthful bloom and beauty
sat earnestly talking. Their thoughts were
reaching away into the future ; their theme
was marriage.
"I like him well enough," said one of them ;
"but " She paused, tho objection unspoken
"What is the impediment, Alice V
- "Ilia income is too small."
"What is it?"
"Eight hundred dollars a year."
. "You might live on that." .
"Live! Bah ! What kind of living ?"
"Not in princely style, I will admit." '
'Nor scarcely in plebeian, Fanny, . Eight
hundred dollars! Why father pays six hun
dred dollars rent; and I'm sure our style of
living is plain enough. Eight hundred! Oh,
no. f like Harry better than any young man
I have met. I could love him, no doubt.
But he can't support a wife in any decent
style."
"Did your father and mother begin their
married life on a larger income than Harry
Pleasants now receives ? Mine did not, as I
have often heard them relate."
"Father and mother! Oh, according to
their story, Job's famous turkey was scarcely
poorer than they were in the beginning
Mother did all her own work, even to the wash-
mg and ironing, 1 believe,
was not over three or lour
Fathers income
hundred dollars a
year."
"And they wero happy together, I am sure."
"No doubt. In fact, I've heard mother say,
that the first hard struggling years of their
life, were among the happiest she has known.
But that doesn't signify for me. That is no
reason why her daughter should elect to go
into the kitchen, and spend tier years in wash
ing, ironing and cooking. If a man isn't able
to support a wife genteely, and in the style to
which she has been accustomed, let him . mar
ry some Irish cook, sewing girl, or washer
woman, who will manage his uoushold with
needed economy. Young men who can:t earn
more than eight hundred or a thousand dollars
a year, should not look into our circle lor
wives."
"I don't like to hear you talk in this way.
Alice," said her companion. "We are not
cn narinii Ituinrrt. l m f nn Iw (ho an iola r f r" n ' '
"Did I say that we were superior ?"
"One might inter from your lauguage that
you thought so.
"I don't see bow the inference can fairly be
drawn."
"Oar circle for wives, you said just now."
"Yes."
" What do yon mean by that ?"
"A circle of intelligence, refinement, taste
and cultivation," replied Alice.
"lou don't say wealth."
"No. My father, though living in good
style, is not rich. 1 have beard him say, more
than once, that wo were up to our income."
"Then we have only our own sweet selves
with which to endow our husbands. No
bouses, or lands ; no stocks from which to
draw an income ; nothing substantial on which
to claim the right of being supported in cost
ly idleness. We.must be rich indeed, as to
personal attractions."
"Wo are educated, accomplished, and
and " Alice was a little bewildered in
thought, and did not finish the sentence.
."Not better educated, or accomplished, as
girls, than are most of the young men who, as
clerks, earn only from seven hundred to a
thousand dollars a year. In this regard, we
are simply their equals. But it strikes me,
that, in another view of the case, we cannot
claim even an equality. They are our supe
riors."
"Not by anv means," replied Alice,
"We shall see. Here is Harry Pleasants,
for instance. What is his income ? I think
you mentioned the sum just now."
Eight hundred dollars a year."
That is the interest on how much? let
me see about twelve thousand dollars, lo
be equal, as a match for. Harry, then, you
should be worth twelve thousand dollars."
"How you talk, Fanny !"
"To the poiut, don't I ? If we are not supe
rior to the young men who visit us ; superior
simply in virtue of our sex; then our onl)
claim to be handsomely supported in idle self-
indulgence, must lie in the fact that we endow
our husbands with sufficient worldly goods to
warrant the condition."
"Yon are ingenious."
"No matter-of-fact. What have you to say
against my position, Alice ? Are we better
than young men of equal intelligence and edu
cation ?"
"No; I cannot say that we are."
"If we mirry, we must look among these
for husbands. Rich men, as a generaJ thing,
select their wives from rich men's daughters.
Our chances in that direction are not very
encouraging. Your father has uo dowry for
his child; nor has mine. Their families are
large and expensive, and little or nothing of
the year's income is left at the year's close.
The best they can dolor us is to give us
homes ; and I feel that it is not much to our
credit that we are content to lean upon our
fathers, already stooping under the burdens
of years, care and toil, instead of supporting
ourselves. The thought has troubled me, of
late."
A sober hue came over the face of Alice, as
she sat looking into the eyes of her friend.
She did not renly,and Fanny went on.
"There was wrong in this. On what ground
of reason are we to be exempt from the com
mon lot of useful wurk We expect to be
come wives and mothers, is this our prepa
ration ? Can you bake a loaf ot sweet, light
bread ?"
"No."
uXi'nn nan T fir rAcf a airlrtiri 7"
"No."
- "Or broil a steak ? Just think of it, Alice ?
We can manage a little useless embroidery, or
fancy, knitting : can sing and play, dance and
chatter but as to the real and substantial
things of life, we are ignorant and helpless.
And with all this, forsooth we cannot think
of letting ourselves down to the level and
condition of virtuous, intelligent young men,
who, in daily, useful work, are earning a fair
independence ! We are so superior that we
must have husbands able to support us in
luxurious idleness,: or we. will have none!
We are willing to pass the man to whom love
would unite us in the tenderest bonds,, be
cause his income is small, and marry for posi
tion one from whom - the world turns with in
stinctive aversion. Can we , wonder that so
many are unhappy ?" --.-- .
"But eight hundred, dollars, Fanny 5 IIow
is it possible for a married couple to live in
any decent style, in this city, on eight hun
dred dollars a year ?"
"They may live in a very comfortable style,
if the wife is very willing to perform her part."
What do you mean by her part, Fanny ?'
"We will take it for granted, that she is no
betterthan her husband. That, havingrought
him no fortune beyond her own dear self, she
cannot claim superior privileges."
"Well?"
"He has to wrork though all the day."
. "Well?"
"Under what equitable rule is she exempt ?"
: "None. She must do her part, of course,
ir mere is anything to do with. She must
keep his house, if ho can afford a house. Bu
if he have only eight hundred dollars a vear
Why, rent alone would consume half, or more
man uau or that. There would bo no house
keeping in the case. They must board.
"And the wife sit in idleness all day long?'
ane would nave nothing to do."
"Could she not teach ; or by aid of a sewing
machine, earn a few dollars every week ? or
engage in some useful work that would yield
an income, so do her part 7
"Yes, she might do something of the kind
but if marriage is to make 'workies' of us
were better to remain single."
Ana live in unwomuuiy dependence on
our parents and relatives. No, Alice, there
is a false sentiment prevailing on this subject.
and as I think and talk, 1 see it more and
more clearly. Our parents have been weak in
their love for us: and society, as constituted.
nas given us wrong estimates of things. We
should have been required to do useful work
in the household, from the begining ; and
should have been taught that idleness and self
indulgence were discreditable. Our brothers
are put to trades and professions, and made to
comprehend, from the beginning, that indus
try is honorable, and that the way of useful
work is the way by which the world's bright
esi piaaes are to ie readied, isut we are
raised daintily and uselessly, and so unfitted
for our duties as wives and mothers. Our
pride and self-esteem are lostered, aud we
come to think of ourselves as future aueens.
who are to be administered to in all things, in
stead of being ministrants, in loving self-lor-
getlulness, to others. No wonder that an aa-
ti-marriage sentiment is beginning to prevail
amongst young men ot moderate incomes, in
all our large cities. The fault is in us, Alice
The sin lies at our door. We demand too
much in the co-partnership. We are not wil-
i to do our share of work. Our husbands
must bear all the burdens."
Alice sighed heavily. Her friend contin
ued : "I have read somewhere that the de
light of heaven is the delight of being useful
Aud it seems to me. as I dwell upon the
thought, that the nearest approach to heavenly
aeiigui nere, must do tnat state into which a
wife comes when she stands by her husband's
side's, and out of love for him, removes one
burden and another from his shoulders,
aud so lightens his Work, that smiles take the
place of weariness and the shadowings of care.
it ne do rich, she can hardly have so great a
privilege; but if they are alike poor, and
know how to moderate their desire, their
home may become an image of Paradise.
Eight hundred dollars ! Alice if you were
really fitted to become Harry's wife, you
might live with him, doing your part happier
tnan any queen."
"That is, I must take in work, and earn
money, if we board, or but housekeeping is
out of the question." .
o ; it should never be out of the question
in marriage, I think."
".But house-rent alone would take half of
our income." ,
"That does not follow."
"It does, for any house I would consent to
live in."
"So pride is stronger than love. But pride
has its wages as well as love : and the one is
bitter while the other is sweet. It is this
pride of appearance, this living lor the eyes of
other people who do not care a pennv for us.
that is marring the fair fabric of our social
life. Fine houses, fine furniture, fine dresses,
parties, shows, and costly luxuries of all kinds
are consuming domestic happiness, and bur-
ing lathers and husbands, iu all grades of
society, with embarassment and wretched
ness Alice, we must be wiser in our genera
tion."
"That is, coop ourselves up in two or three
mean little rooms, with our eight-hundred-a-year
husbands, and do our own cooking and
honsework. Is that it my pretty one ?"
"For shame, Alice ! You do not deserve a
good man. You are not worthy to wed Harry
Pleasants, and 1 trust you will pass him by,
should he bo weak enough to offer his hand.
He can't afford to marry a girl of your expec
tations ; he must content himself with one,
who like himself regards life as real, life as
earnest; and the way of use and duty as the
way to true honor and the highest happiness."
"Suppose you take him, Fanny," said Al
ice, half sportively, half petulently. She was
a weak, vain, proud girl.
"If he should offer himself perhaps I will."
"Oh, then, if ho kneels at my feet, I will re
fer him to you as one likelv to make him a
good cook and chambermaid."
"Do, if you please. I always liked Harry,
and I don't think it would require much effort
on my part to love him. He is a great deal
better off in the World than I am ; having an
income of eight hundred dollars a year, while
I have nothing. On that sum I am sure we
could live in comfort, taste and happiness. I
would not keep a servant to wait on me so
long as I could do the work of our little house
hold. Why should I keep a servant anv more
than he ? I would find mental recreation and
bodily health in the light tasks . our modest
home would require. Need we care as to what
the world would say ? And what would the
world say ?" ; "
"1 hat. your husband had no business to
marry if he couldn't support his wife." ;.
"JNot by any means, Alice. The .world
would say. 'There's a sensible couple for you,
and a wife worth having. We'll endorse
them for happiness and prosper itv.' And.
what is more, Alice,' others would be encour
aged to act the same wise part, and thus be
made happy through our example. I'll take
Harry if he offers himself, and show you a
model home and a model wife ; so pass him
over to me, should he lay his fortune at your
feet." -.s - - v, . .
A man who has done a wrong, is always
fearing that his friends will rise up against
him and accuse., bim of evil. .His. conscience
is never at rest. ' . .
A LESSON IN OBEDIENCE.
"Jack! Jack! here, sir! hie on!" cried
Charlie, flinging his stick far into the pond
Jack didn't want to go; it wasn't pleasant
swimming in among the great lily leaves,
that would flap against his nose and eyes, and
and get in the way of his feet. So be looked
at the stick and then at his master, and sat
rATL'n ivaffrrlnw Vila i 1 1 1 o a m K a a f
"You're a very nice little boy ; but there was
no need of throwing the stick in the water,
and I don't think I'll oblige you by going af
ter it.
But Charlie was determined. He found a
nother switch, and, by scolding and whipping,
forced Jack into the water, and made him
fetch the stick. He dropped it on the bank,
however, instead of bringing it to his master;
so he had to go over the peiformance again
and again, until he had learned that when
Charlie told him to go for the stick be was to
obey at once. Charlie was satisfied at length,
and with Jack at his heels, went home to tell
his mother about the afternoon's work. He
seemed quite proud of it. "It was pretty
hard work, mother,"be said. "Jack wouldn't
mind at all until I made him ; but now he
knows that he has to do it, and there will be
no more trouble with him, you'll see."
"What right have you to expect him to
mind you ?" asked his mother quietly
"Right, mother? Why, he is my dog!
Uncle John gave him to me, and I do every
thing for him. Didn't I make bis kennel my
own self, and put hay in it ? And don't I iced
bim three times every day ? And I'm always
kind to bim. I call him 'nice old Jack,' and
pat him, and let him lay his head on my knee
Indeed, I think I've the best right to have
him mind me !"
His mother was cutting out a iacket. She
did not look up when Charlie had finished
but going on steadily with her work, she said
slowly, "I have a little boy. He is my own.
He was given to me by my Heavenly Father.
1 do everything lor him. I make bis clothes,
and prepare the food he eats. I teach him
his lessons, and nurse him tenderly when he
is sick. Many a night have I sat up to watch
by his side when fever was burning him, and
daily I pray to God for every blessing upon
him. I love him. I call him my dear little
son. He sits on my lap, and goes to sleep
with his head on my arm. I think I have the
'best right in the world,' lo expect this little
boy to obey me ; and yet he does not, unless 1
make him, as I would make a dog."
"Oh, mother !" cried Charlie, tears starting
to his eyes, "I knew it was wrong to disobey
you ; but I never thought before how mean it
was. Indeed I do love you, and I'll try I
really will try to mind you as well as Jack
minds me," . -
"Dear charly," said his mother, "there is a
great difference between you and Jack. You
have a soul. You know what is right, be
cause you have been taught from the word of
God ; and you know, too, that the devil and
your wicked heart will always be persuading
vou to do wrong. That is a trouble which
Jack cannot have ; but neither has he the com
fort you have ; for you can pray to our dear
Saviour for help, and he will teach you to
love and obev him alone. When you learn to
do this you will not find it difficult to be obe
dient to me ; for it will be just the same as o
beying God, who has said : 'Honor thy fath
er and thy mother ; and where we truly love it
is easy to obey."
THE MOTHER.
Scarcely a day passes that we do not hear
of the loveliness of woman, the affection of a
sister, or the devotedness of a wife; and it is
the remembrance of such things that cheers
and comforts the dreariest hour of life; yet a
mother's love far exceeds them in strength,
In disinterestedness and purity. The child
of her bosom may have forsaken her and left
her ; he may have disregarded all her instruc
tions and warnings, he may have become an
outcast from society, and none may care for
or notice him yet his mother changes not,
ncr her love weakened, and for him her pray
ers will ascend! Sickness mav weary other
friends misfortune drive away familiar ac
quaintances, and poverty leave none to lean
upon ; Tet they affect not a mother's love, but
call into exercise in a still greater degree her
tenderness and affection. The mother has du
ties to perform which are weighty and respon
sible ; the lisping infant must be taught how
to live the thoughtlesschildmust be instruct
ed in wisdom's wavs the tempted youth be
advised and warned the dangers and difficul
ties of life must be pointed out, and lessons of I
virtue must be impressed on the mind. Her
words, acts, faults, frailties and temper, are
all noticed by those that surround her, aud
impressions m tho nursery exert a more pow
erful influence in forming the character, than
do any after instruction. All passions are un
restrained if truth is not adheared to if con
sistency is not seen if there be a want of af
fection or a murmuring at the dispensations
of Providence ; the vouthful mind will re
ceive the impression, and subsequent life will
develop it; but if all is purity, sincerity,
truth, contentment and love, then will the re
sult be a blessing, and many will rejoice in the
example and influence of the pious mother.
Brownlow thus felicitously describes "the
height of impudence :" An Alabama Seces
sion paper inquires if the Border States knew
what is "The Hight of Impudence ?" We an
swer for the Border States, that it is to see
and hear a man swaggering aud swearing in
every crowd he enters, that he will go out of
the Union because he cant get his rights, by
paying the priviledge guaranteed to take slaves
n the Territories,-when, in fact, he does not
own a negro in the world, never did,;and nev
er will ; and withal cant get credit in any store
n the county where be lives, for a wool hat,
or a pair of brogans !
Ot all the annoying men in the world, de
liver us from the man who thinks himself
more righteous than bis neighbors who im
agines that his way to heaven is the only true
way, and that those who don't believe in him.
disbelieve in God. ;
The golden everlasting chain, described by
Homer as reaching from Heaven to earth, and
embracing the whole world, is no fable. That
chain is love. , - f
The mind has a certain vegetative power,
which cannot be wholly idle. If it is not laid
out and cultivated Into x beautiful garden, it
will of itself shoot up in weeds or flowers of a
wna growth.
WHO SAW THE STEER.
The richest thing of the season, says the
Newburyport Herald, camo off the other day
in the neighborhood of the market. Tho
greenest Jonathan imaginable, decked out in
a slouched hat, a long blue frock, and a pair
of cowhide shoes, big as gondolas, with a huge
whip under his arm, stalked into a billiard sa
loon, where half a dozen persons were impro
ving the time in trundling round the ivories,
and after recovering from his first surprise at
the, to him singular aspect of the room, he in
quired if "any of em had seen a stray steer,"
affirming that "tho blasted critter got away as
he came through town with his drove t'other
day, and he hadn't seen nothin' on him since."
The bloods denied all knowledge of the ani
mal in question, and with much sly winking at
each other, proceeded to condole with him in
bis loss in the most heartfelt manner. He
watched the game with much interest, as h
had evidently never seen or heard anything of
the kind before, and created much amusement
by his demonstration of applause when a good
shot was made "Jerusalem J" being a favor
ite interjection. At last be made bold to re
quest the privilege of trying his skill, when he
set the crowd m a roar by his awkward move
ments. However, he gradually got his hands
in, and played as well as could be expected
for a greenhorn. All bands now began to
praise bim, which so elated him that he actu
ally thought himself a second Phelan, and ho
offered to bet a dollar. wit h his opponent, which-,
of course he lost. The loss and the laugh so
irritated him that he offered to play another
game, and bet two dollars, which he pulled out
ot a large roll for it seems his cattlo sold well
and he was quite flush. This bet be lost as
the fool might have kuown he would; wheu
mad as a March, hare, be pulled out a fifty
spot, the largest bill he had, and offered to bet
that on another game. The crowd mustered
round Bnd raised money enough to cover it,
and at it they went again, when, by some strango
turn ot luck, the greeny won. He now offer
ed to put up the hundred he had won against
another hundred. Of course he could not
blunder into another game, so they could now
win back what they had lost, and fleece the
fellow of his own rolls beisdes. They sent
out for a famous player, who happened to have
money enough to bet with, and another game
was played, which Jonathan won. Another
hundred was also raised and bet and won; and
it was not until he had blundered through
half a dozen games and by some unaccounta
ble run of luck, won them all, draining their
pockets of about four hundred dollars, that
they began to smell a very large "mice."
When everybody got tired of playing.
gawky pulled his frock over his head, took
his whip under his arm, and walked quietly
out, turning round at the door and remarking
"Uentleraan, if you should happen to see
anything of that steer, I wish you'd let mo
know."
At last accounts they had not seen the steer.
but they came to the conclusion that they
saw the elephant.
A Well at Sea. Mr. W. A. Booth, the
coast pilot of the revenue cutter Harriet Lane,
reports the discovery of a boiling fresh water
spring at sea, off the coast of Florida. He
says the spring is situated twelve miles, north
by east, from St. Augustine", Fla., and eight
miles of shore. It boils up with great force.
and can be decried at a distance of two miles.
When first seen it has the appearance of a
breaker, and is generally avoided ; but thcro
is no danger in tho vicinity, as there is five
fathoms of water between it and the shore.
Ten fathoms of water are found to the seaward,
out no bottom can bo reached with the deep
sea lead and thirty fathoms of line at the spring
itself. The water in the spring is fresh, and
is by no means unpalatable. One peculiarity
about this phenomenon is, that when the St.
John's river is high it boils up from six to
eight feet above the level of the sea, and pre
sents rather a forbidding appearance. This
spring has doubtless deceived hundreds, who
have hastily put about from, as they thought,
imminent danger, and reported seeing a "rock
with water breaking over it." The Harriet
Lane has passed through it several times, and
water has been drawn from it by a bucket
thrown over the side, and when drank no un
pleasant taste or smell has been found. Its
position and harmless character have been
long unknown, but now the supposed danger
has become, as it were, "a well of water in a
barren land."
A strange affair is related in the Russian
journals : At Moscow, one night the occupi
ers of a vasthonse at the corner of Great West
street were awakened by a glare and cracking
of a fire, and on getting up, found that a large
pile of wood fuel, consisting of logs of fir trees
which had been collected ic the court-yard,
was in flames. The conflagration was extin
guished as quickly as possible. On examin
ing the remains of tbe fire, the calcined bones
of a female were found, and it turned out
that a widow named Theleska T , about forty
years of age, who had lived in the house, bad
disappeared. Nothing could be beard of this
womau, and ns she had repeatedly declared
that in these times the sacrifice of human vic
tims is necessary to appease the wrath of God
against sinners, the conclusion was come to
that she had lighted up the fire and placed
herself in the midst of it to be consumed.
In the Russian empire, the Moscow journals
state, self-eremation, from motives of reli
gious fanaticism, is not rare. In the prov
ince of Olonez, for example in the course of
last spring, Dot fewer than fifteen persons men
and women, burnt themselves to death in the
belief that they were performing an act pleas
ing God.
"Verv Kind or you, Ladies." A deputa
tion of ladies waited upon the officers of the
Massachusetts regiments at the Capitol, and
proposed to do their sewing. "Thank you ;
it is very kind of you, ladies, as we have tail
ors In our ranks, they do an our sewing."
"Can we not make you bread ?" "No, ladies ;
we have a baker in our ranks, and have erect
ed an even in the basement. Will you walk;
do'-rn and see it ?" The ladies were shown a
very efficient oven, and some of the finest
bread ever baked. The ladies retired, assur
ed by the officers that their kind offers were
appreciated, tnougn not required. The Mas
sachusetts men are nearly all mechanics, and
their numbers embrace artfzans in almost eve
ry department of mechanical skill. . Already
they bare been required, on the route to Wash
ington to put up and run eteani engines, lay
railways, build bridges, mm and naviato
ships, and pilot steamers.
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