l1
I
i
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i
j.TODtt IIUTCIIIXSOX, Publisher.
I WOULD RATHER BE RIGHT THAN PRESIDENT. Hkxry Clay.
TERMS
1.50 IX ADVAACL.
VOLUME 2.
DIRECTORY.
P3SPABED EXPRESSLY FOB TH K ALLEUUA.VUK."
1 1ST O
p,,t Oftce
Isatt'i Creek,
BeiUel Station,
Cirrolltown,
i:iea Timber,
F l'OST OFFICES.
Post Matters. Districts.
Joseph Graham, Yoder.
Joseph S Mardis, Blacklick.
Benjamin Winner, Carroll.
Danl. Litzinger, Chedt.
John J. Troxill, Washint'u.
Mrs. II. M'Cague, Ebcnsburg.
Isaac Thompson, White.
J. M. Christy, Gallitzin.
Joseph Gill, Chest.
Hitr.iu.
1 t!ea Connell,
fLnilxk,
."obm'.own,
i.orctto.
Win. M'Gouirh, Washt'n.
H. A. BojfKS,
Wm. Gwinn,
K. Wissinger,
A. Durbin,
Johnst'wn.
Lorctto.
Conem'gh.
Munster.
11IiaMl Point,
Hjnstcr,
fVshins,
py.'.jville,
3u Aan':itine,
S.i'.p Level,
Seaman,
Saamerhill,
Summit,
'.ViUare,
Francis Clement, Coneni'gh.
Andrew J. Ferra! Susn'han.
G. . Bowman,
Win. Ryan, Sr.,
George Conrad,
B. M'Colgan,
Wm. Murray,
White.
Clearfield.
Richland.
Washt'n.
Crovle.
Miss M. Gillespie Washt'n.
Andrew Beck, S'mnierhill.
(IH'RCIICS, 3IIXISTERS, &c.
I'rishyttrian Usv. D. Harbison, Pastor.
r.ticbin'j; every Sabbath morning nt 10$
t'-lock. and ia the evening at 6 o'clock. Sab
ciiK S-ho l at 9 o'clock, A. M. Prayer raeet
.ii trery Thursday evening nt 6 o'clock.
Xdktkitt Episcopal Church Rkv. J. Shane,
Preacker in charge. Rev J. M. Smith, As
i.iitnt. Preaching every Sabbath, alternately
st o'clock n the morning, or 7 in the
ireaioir. Sabbath School at o'clock, A. M.
Priver meeting every Thursday evening at 7
a cluck.
Wdch Independent Rev. Ll. R. PounLL,
Pa!or. Preaching every SahbiUh morning at
;j o'clock, anil in the evening at 6 o'clock.
.Sijhvth School at 1 o'clock, P. M. Prayer
-:i.-titi on the first Monday evening of each
an'.h: and on every Tuesday, Thursday
12 i Friday evening, excepting the first week
;a nch mouth.
Ci.'nnij.'fc Methodist Rkv. Jon Williams,
TxiUn Preaching every Sabbath evening at
2 nl 6 o'clock. Sabbath School at 10 o'clock.
A M. Prayer meeting every Friday evening
r. T o'clock. Society every Tuesday evening
a; T o'clock.
i.ciyi;'fji He v. Wit. Lloyd. Pastor Preach
isievrrv Sabbath morning at 10 o'clock.
i'irtir.i!.jr liiptists Rtr. l).vir JESKIS9,
Paster. Preaching every Sabbath evening at
Jsclo.k. Sabbath School at 1 o'clock, P.M.
OiMi.'ic IUv. M. J. Mitchell, Pastor
Swires cvrry Sabbath morning at 10$ o'clock
ul Vt.ijicri iit 4 o'clock in the evening.
i:siSL itci jiaies.
MAILS ARRIVE.
-;rn. daily, at 12 o'clock,
Woueru. ""at 10 "
MAILS CLOSE.
S'.orn. daily, at 4j o'clock
-s'.ern. " at 6 '
A. M.
P. M.
P. M.
A. M.
fcsT The Mails from Butler,Indiana,Str.,ng3
iswa, Ac. arrive on Thursday of each week,
: 5 o'clock, P. M.
I.ev Ebensburg on Fridav of each week,
'. 1'. M.
The Mails from Xcnrnnn's Mill". Car
ri'.::.wn, Jtc, arrive on Monday, Wednesday
l Friday of each week, at 3 o'clock, P. M.
'-iv Ebensburg on Tuesdays, Thursdays
'l SiturJays. at 7 a clock, A. M.
Post Oflice open on Sundays from 9
ti I'.Vdock, A. M.
itiii.nov!) sciieih "LC.
WILMOilE STATION.
"fit I!i.ress Train, leaves at
" Mail Train, "
Ekt Express Train, "
Fast Line, "
" Mail Train, "
8.r5 A. M.
P. M.
7.18 P. M.
12.12 P. M.
6.08 A. M.
COrXTY OFFICERS.
Jul-jr ,,f the Courts. President, Hon. Geo.
;"!fT, Huntingdon ; Associates, GeorgeW.
i.lev. l;ii-hard Jones, Jr.
''th.jnotary. Joseph M' Donald.
V""r and Recorder. Michael Hassor..
ft-nuty Ufjisirr and Recorder. Juhn Scan-
W'njT. Uohert p. Linton.
J'7"'y Sheriff. William Linton.
J' friet Attorney. Philip S. Noon.
f.vint,, Commissioner. John Bearer, Abel
David T. Storm.
r'nk t Commissioners. George C. K. Znhm.
''untel to Commissioners. John S. Rhey.
Treasurer. John A. Blair.
.JW IIovsk Directors. David O'Harro,
11 ''iul M'Guire, Jacub Horner
Jf jHse Treasurer. George C. K. Zabm.
l' -r House Steward. James J. Kuylor.
Htrrantile, Appraiser. Thomas M'Conuell.
iudiiors. Henry Hawk, John F. Stull. E.
Lytle.
t'unty Surveyor. K. A. Vickroy.
''nron'r. James S. Todd.
Syrintcndent of Common Schools. T. A.
Eni:xsiiin noit. officers.
Justices of the Peace. David H. Roberts,
'orison Kinkead.
r-c. Andrew Lewis.
. 7Wn Council William Kittell. William K.
Charles Owens. J. C. Noon, Edward
uotniaker.
Jf k to Council. T. D. Litzinger.
trough Treasurer. George Gurley.
'ijh Master. William Davis.
'fA-W Directors. Edward GlrtS9, William
YVU, Reese S. Llovd, John J. Lloyd, Morrii
'"", i nomas J . Davis.
Trtaturer of School Hoard Evan Morgan
nitable . George Gurley.
T Colttctor. Georgr Gurley.
Auntur. r;, v.Mr,i t riM
Judy, uf Election. sn.tiC Evan.
''. r$ Jvl:c F ., J.l. u J Kstii.
EBENSBURG, PA., THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER (5, J8G0.
The Evergreen.
Love cannot be the aloe tree,
Whose bloom but once was seen ;
Go search the grove the tree of Iov
Is sure the evergreen :
For that's the same, in leaf or fame,
'JJeath cold or sunny skies ;
You take the ground its roots have bound
Or it, transplanted, dies.
That love thns shoots, and firmly roots
In women's heart, we see ;
Thro' smiles and tears in after years
It grows a fadeless tree.
The tree of love, all trees above,
Forever may be seen,
In Summer's bloom or Winter's gloom,
A hardy evergreen.
Jolin Alcoliol.
John Alcohol my Joe, John,
When first wc were acquaint,
I had money in my pocket, John
But now, you know, I hain't!
I've spent it all in treating you,
Because I love you so,
But mark how you have treated me,
John Alcohol, my Joe.
John Alcohol ray Joe, John,
We've been too long together ;
You must take one road, John,
And I will take another.
For we must tumble down, John,
If hand in hand we go,
And I -will have to foot your bill3,
John Alcohol my Joe.
A LITTLE BOUND BOY'S DREAM.
A little fair-haired child laifi its pale
cheek against a pillow of straw
It had toiled up three pairs of narrow
dark stairs to gain its miserable garret, for
it was a little "bound child, that had
neither father or mother ; so no soft bed
awaited its tired limbs, but a miserable
pallet with one thin coverlet.
It had neither lamp or caudle to light
en the room if such it might be called ;
still that wa3 not bo bad, for the beautiful
round moon smiled in upon the poor
bouud boy, and almost kissed his fore
head, as his sad eyes closed dreaming-
But after a while, as he lay there,
what a wondrous change came over the
place. A great light shone down, the
huge black rafters" turned to solid gold,
and these seemed all studded with tiny
precious, sparkling Ftones. The broken
floor, too, was encrusted with shiuing
crvstals. and the child raised himself up
on his elbow, and gazed with a half fear
ing, half delighted look upon the glorious
spectacle.
One srot on the wall secinea too orignt
f,r his vision to endure, but presently, as
if emerging from it, came a soft, white
figure, that .stood by the poor bound boy's
bedside.
The child shut his eves : he was a lit
tle, only a little, frightened and his heart
boat quickly, but he found breath to mur
mur "Tell me who arc you ?
"Look up, be not afraid," said a sweet
voice tnat sounucu imt; uaia w
Heaven: "luok up. darling I am your
brother Willie, sent down from the angels
to peak with you ; and tell you to bear
all your tprrow patiently, foi you will soon
be with us."
"What, arc you my brother line r
Oh, no, no, that cannot be. -My brotuer
Willie was very pale, and his domes
were patched and torn ; and there was a
hump on his back, and he used to go into
tho muddy streets an I pick up bits of
wood and chips. But your face is quite
too handsome, and your clothes prettier
than I ever saw before ; and there is no
ugly hump on your back. Besides, my
brother Willie is dead, long ago."
"I am your brother Willie, your im
mortal brother ; my body with the ugly
hump is dead and turned to ashes ; but
just as that died I went up to the great
heavens, and saw lights that I cannot tell
r-mi about now. thev were so very, very
beautiful. But God, who is your Father
tbft holv one of Eternity, gave me
these bright garments that never get soil-
,1 nn,l I was so happy that 1 expeci my
face was chingcd very much, and I grew
tall and straight ; so it is no wonder you
.lrt nnt. know me
And now the little bound child's tears
tn fall
"Oh 1" he exclaimed, "if I, too, could
irk hfnvn i
"lou can go,
a smile
L r.f ineffable sweetness ; "you have
r - -
learned to read ?"
Ys. a little."
"Well to-morrow tret you Bible, and
find very reverently for it is God's most
holy book these words oi tuclioru Jesus
'But I iay unto you, love your enemies ;
bless them tliat curse
you,
do good to
them tliat hate you, and pray for them
that despitefully use and persecute you.'
"Do all these, and you shall be the
child ot your Father which is above."
"Even if they beat me !" murmured
the little boy with quivering lip.
A ray of hope flashed across the angel's
face as he replied, "the more you forgive,
the nearer you will be to heaven."
In another moment the vision had gone,
but etill the room was all blazing with un
earthly radiance.
As the little boy fell back upon the pil
low his wait face reflected the angel's
smile, and he thought, "I will forgive
them, even
though
they should beat
me.
Suddenly a more musical voice than
the former fell upon his ear. This time
he was not afraid, but sitting up in his
miserable couch, he saw a figure that
seemed to lift itself to the wall ; a ray of
intense brightness outlined all its form; its
eyes blazed, yet there was a mild beauty
in them every time they looked into his
own.
"Little one, I am your father," said
the form in melting accents.
"I do not thinkyou can be my father,"
whispered the boy timidly. "My father
used to look very old indeed ; and he got
hurt and wore a crutch, there were wrin
kles on his face, and all over his fore
head, and his hair was short and white ;
not fo long like yours. And my father
used to stoop over, and wear a little black
apron, and put patches ou shoes in a lit
tle dark room.
"And what eke?"
"lie used to pray and sing very sweetly,
but I never hear any praying audsingin
now," sobbed the child.
"Don't cry, dear little boy, but listen to
me. I am your father, your immortal
father ; that poor lame body is gone now,
mingled, with the dust ot the grave yard.
As soon as the breath left that deformed
body, I was with the shining angels, hosts
and hosts of them bore me up to heaven;
and the King of that glorious place clothed
me in these robes, white and stainless, and
gave me this tall, beautiful body, which
shall never feel corruption. And this
was the reason, dear little orphan, because
I loved Ilim, and my ehief delight was in
praying to Him, and talking about Him,
and although I was very poor, 1 tried to
be honest, and many times went hungry
rather than do wrong."
''And you, you never forget to say your
little prayers that I taught you if you
will keep God's holy commandments, and
trust in him always you shall soou be with
me in my sweet heavenly home."
Once more the child was left alone, but
still the rafters were irolden, the walls
pearly, the old floor studded with brilliants
and the same soft, mysterious light over
all. A strain of holy music fell faintly
upon his enraptured senses; it grew loud
er and came near to the head of his little
bed. And then a voice oh, far sweeter
than either of the others, sang:
My child, my little earth child, look
T .1 .1 ,f
upon me, l am tny mother.
In a moment what emotions swelled the
bosom of the lonely boy. He thought of
her cherished tenderness to him long ago,
of her soft arms round his neck, her gea
tle lips pressing his forehead then came
up the cruelties of strangers, who, after
she had been put away in the deep ground
treated him harshly.
lie turned towards her; oh, what a glo
rious being ; her eyes were like stars, her
hair like the most precious gold; but there
was that in her face that no other might
so truly know.
He had doubted it the hist was his
brother, if the second was his father,
but not once did he doubt this beautiful
being was his owu dear mother.
A little while he kept down his strong
feeling, but the thought of the past and
the present overpowered him.
"O, mother, mother, mother," he cried,
stretching forth his hands, "let me come
to you, let me come; there is nobody in
this world like you ; no one kisses me now,
no one loves me ; oh, mother, mother, let
me come," and the hot tears rained down
his cheeks.
"My orphan child," she said, in low
tones that thrilled him to the heart, "you
eannot come to me now, but listen to me.
I am very often near you when you know
it not. Every day I am by your side, and
when you come to this loue!y room to
weep, my w ings encircle you. I behold
you s'uffer, but I know that God will not
give you more sorrow than you can bear.
When you resist the evil, I whisper calm
and tender thoughts unto your soul ; but
when you give way to anger, or when you
cherish a spirit of revenge, you displease
the great and holy God.
"Be good, be happy even in tho midst
of your trials; and, if that is a. consolation,
Vnow that thy immortal mother often com
munes with thy soul. And further, thou
shalt soon be with me."
"Oh ! mother, mother, mother," cried
the boy, springing from his bed, and stri
ving to leap towards her. The keen air
chilled him; he looked eagerly around
there was no light solemn stillness reign
ed; the radiance, the rafters of gold, the
silver beams, the music, the angels, all
were gone. And then he knew he had
been dreaming; but oh! what a dream
how strengthening, how cheering; never,
never would he forjret it.
The next irorning, when he went down
to his scant breakfast, there was such a
beautiful serenity upon his face, such a
sweet gladness in his eyes, that all who
looked upon him forebore to taunt or
chide him.
He told his dream, and the hearts that
listened were softened; and the mother
who held her own babe was so choked by
her tears that she could not eat; and the
father said inwardly that henceforth he
would be kind to the poor littie orphan
bouud boy, and eo he was. The child
found his way into their affections; he was
so meek, so powerful, and at the end of a
twelvemonth, when the angels did, in very
deed, take him to heaven, the whole fam
ily wept around the little coffin as if he
were one of their own. But they all felt
that he was iu the bright heavens with
his brother, his father, and his dear angel
mother.
Happiness.
Written for The AUeghanian, ly Alpha.
It matters not in what sphere of life
man may be placed, his great aim is to
obtain that priceless gem, Happiness. In
this world at least he is always endeavor
ing to attain it, and cherishes a hope of
enjoying it in a future state of existence.
To show how earnestly he desires this
great boou, notice but the zeal which he
displays, the sincerity which he manifests
while in the pursuit of it. He cheerfully
undergoes labors and toils both of the
body and mind, sacrifices either of health
or comfort are willingly made, but how
very few after all these things have been
done obtain it ! What, then, is the cause
of this failure ? Is Happiness of such a
nature that only those possessed of giant
intellects, of immense riches, of vast pow
er, of wide-world fame, can seize it ; or is
it dim, undefined or uncertain ? The
Happiness the world seeks after is far
different from true Happiness. Like the
bubble when about to burst and vanish
into mist, it displays ten thousand glorious
hues to dazzle and captivate the imagina
tion. True Happiness is fixed, certain and
within the reach of all, but we use not the
proper means to find it. Wo vainly seek
for it where it is not to be found. In the
monastery, where everything wears a holy,
sombre aspect, where quietness and peace
reign ; where naught is heard but the
solemn hymn and heartfelt prayer, and
whose floors are often bedewed with pen
itential tears, even there wc find not Hap
piness ; for those very tears tell us it can
no: be there. In the closet of the stu
dent, where secret converse is held with
the wise and the good of the past ages, the
thoughtful brow plainly shows it is not
there. Iu the palace of the king, where
luxury and wealth abound, while we gaze
upon the crown adorned with brilliant
irems and costly diamonds, while we ad-
mire the flowing robes and pompous pa
geantry, the hypocrisy within convinces
us that it is not there. The haunted pal
ace is guarded with terrcr. The gemmed
crowu is one of the thorns. The gorgeous
pomp is but a veil to conceal the hollow
ness within.
We may seek for true Happiness on the
earth, but never will we find it. In ages
past it grew in Iden's Bower ere sin had
blighted all that was heaven-like in this
then happy world. No more can Earth's
barren soil produce it. Travel round the
Earth, visit its sacred and lovely spots,
search among all its beauty and luxuriance,
in royal garden and romantic dale, never
will we be able to find this Celestial Plant.
Origin of tiik Upas Tree Stout.
A real valley of death exists in Java; it is
termed the valley of poison, and is filled
to a considerable height with carbonic acid
gas. which is exhaled from crevices in the
ground. If a man or any animal enters it
he cannot return; and he is not sensible
of his danger until he feels himself sink-
in under the influence of the atmosphere
which surrounds him, the carbonic acid,
of which it chiefly consists, rising to the
height of eighteen feet from the bottom of
the valley. Birds which fly into this at
mosphere drop down dead ; and a fowl
thrown into it, dies before reaching the
bottom, which is strewed with carcasses
various animals that have perished in
the disastrous gas.
j Subscribe for Th Allsghamai;.
From theXeic York Independent, Auj. 23.
TIic Ilcarsc on Ie 3Iounlain.
BT GRACE QREBXWO0D.
One bright, still noon of last week,
Death suddenly descended upon our moun
tain, like a thunderbolt out of a clear sky.
Our nearest neighbor, an old man of
nearly seventy years, while harvesting,
was thrown down by his horses and mor
tally hurt by their trampling hoofs and
the heavy wheels of his wagon. He was
lifted up and carried into his hourso, mur
muring, "Lord have mercy on my soul !"
Then some one dashed otf at mad speed
for the doctor, who came, and to the joy
of friends and kindred, pronounced an
opinion that the injuries were not so se
rious :uj had been suppo.-ed, and that the
patient would soon recover and perhaps
be as hale and hearty as ever. For the
honor of science, the old faimer should
have rallied, but, like the poor mother of
little 1'aul Dombey, he proved to be not
equal to the ehort. Exhausted by pain
he fell into a sleep, and did not wake
again. Ills kind old wife, who watched
over him, did not know when he ceased to
breathe, so softly and imperceptibly had
life ebbed away in the profouud calm of
that last earthly eluruber.
The priest came too late to bid the has
ting soul God-speed ; it had gone forth
unuueled had touched the eternal shore
with uuanointed feet.
Yet surely not alone had it gone. Th
mercy of the Lord, so humbly invoked iu
the hour of extremest need, had not left
it companiouless and forsaken. All uncon
scious, perchance, it had passed through
the mighty change from the mortal to the
immortal borne like a sleeping child iu
the arms of a strong benignant angel
through the valley of shadows and mys
tcries, and over the fearful river, to be
laid softly down in the "green pastures
and beside the "still waters" of the better
land.
Iu primitive country-places people seem
to be in strange haste to "bury their dead
out of their sight." That night there was
a "wake" in the brown farm-house under
the hill, and the next day, hardly twenty-
four hours from the time wheu news of
the fearful accident had struck a sudder.
horror through our veins, we looked ou
upon a hearse slowly moving by, bearing
the tired old laborer home, from the har
vest-fields he would reapjno more. A Ion
procession followed that grim car of the
great conqueror country vehicles of ev
ery description, and a large number of
men and women on horseback. The aged
farmer had beeu much respected, and even
in this Ousy harvest-time menus and
neighbors, for many miles around, had
gathered to do honor to his honest mem
orv.
A little below us, at a cross-road, tl
le
train paused, to say prayers then creri
on, along the pleasant forest-way, up the
mountain, to the summit, where stands
the cross-crowned church, and where in
its shadow lie clustered together an ever
growing flock of the faithful, through bal
1113' summers and stormy winters sleeping
the same deep, quiet sleep.
Stiange it was that the passing of that
hearse, bearing by a stranger, whom we
had but looked upon casually once or
twice, in our walks, should suddenly have
clouded for us the radiant heavens and
shadowed the smiling earth. Nature, but
a brief while before so joyous and glow
ing, iu her sumptuous festive appareling,
crowned with her summer beaut y and
flashing with a thousand ardent lights,
seemed mysteriously to . sympathize with
the sight. The regal quietude softened
into tender melancholy the clouds of
heaven seemed brooding over the sorrow
ful procession the forest-trees gave forth
awe-struck murmurs as it passed the tall
hemlocks bowed solemnly before it the
pines, those strange, sad trees, that on the
wild sea-shore catch up the moan of the
great deep, and pass it from mountain-top
to mountain-top around the world, seemed
now to breathe a human pity in their fra
grant sighs. All else was still no wood
man's ax pained the religious silence of
the forest scarce a merry little bird ol-
fended by the sweet beartlessness ot its
happy song.
Up the long ascent it moved, that shad
ow of our mortil sorrow and perishable
earthly estate, that shadow of the dead
man's hearse along the way his feet had
often trod, past the spring over whose
brink he may have often bent with thirst
ing lip, past lovely green glades, mossy
banks, and fairy forests of waving ferns,
on which his eye had often dwelt with a
vague and soft delight, and so passed out
ot our view. But its memory went not
out of our hearts that day.
In this pure, healthful region, where
nature Feems so unworn, so youthful and
' vicorous where dwell simplicity, humble
i comfort, and qujet happiness, death ha
NUMBER 3.
startled us as something strange and
un-
natural. Here, where the nhvsicinn hum
eemed to us as a sort of elegant luxurv.
an undertaker seems a monstrous anomaly.
How different is it in the city ! There
mourners m their weeds, the somber ad
vertisement of their sorrow, mingle every
where with the gay promenaders or busy
crow us oi our srreets there in almost
every square one sees depending from tho
door and window of some house the tell
tale crape Death's mournful pennons
fluttering in the wind. There, ou many
a corner, one is confronted with the black.
signiaeantf-ign ot the undertaker s "dread
ful trade," or comes upon some marble-
yard, filled with a ghostly assemblage of
anticipatory rave-stones and monuments
graceful broken columns, which are to
typety the lovely incompleteness of some
young life, now full of beauty and promise
meiancuoiy, Uiooping hgures, types of
grief forever inconsolable, destined. r,r.
laps, to stand proxy fur mourning voune-
widows, now happy wives sculptured
lambs, patiently waiting to take their pla-
ces
auove tue graves ot little children.
whom yet smiling mothers nightly lay to
sleep in soft cribs, without the thought of
a uecper dark and silence of a night not
far awa', or cf the dreary beds 60on to be
prepared for their darlings, "i' the earth."
Then we make magnificent provision
for our dead. No cathtlral were vast
enough to shadow their rest. We appro
priate acres of pleasaut land, woods, river-banks,
hills, and quiet glens, to tho
goodly company ; and every year the si
lent settlement widens and thickens.
Tombs, columns, lambs, mourning-figures,
weeping willows, broken lilies, and rose
buds multiply. Soon every tree must
shade a circle of graves ; even now, the
flowers on every bit of unbroken turf seem
to say to us "We occupy till you come."
There a sadly familiar vehicle is tha
hearse, with its steeds and melancholy
cortege. Sometimes, while waiting at tho
corner of a street till the way should be
clear, we have indulged in pensive con
jectures as to who or what was the still
occupant of the gloomy state-carriage in
which sooner or later we must all take a
place. Sometimes, when the coffin under
the waving plumes was small, I have
clasped closer my little daughter's hand,
and quickly turned my eyes away not
daring to glace into the mourning-coach
that followed, where perchance sat a moth
er, in the awful sacredness of her sorrow ;
but ere the day was over, the incident
was forgotten. If it were not for the pow
er to throw off the sad impression of such
sights, and to narrow down our gent
lest sympathies to the little circle of im
mediate friends and acquaintances, our
days at home would all pass like a funer
al procession death-knells would deaden
our ears to the sweet home-music of life
ever would we "smell the mould above
the rose.
Iu the country the simple ties of hu
man brotherhood are stronger. We take
home the startling lesson of our neighbor's
sudden death. In spirit, we sit down
with his stricken household, and put our
lips to their bitter cup, in sorrowful com
munion. Ihc mourning clothes of his
wife and children shadow our thoughts
his funeral knell saddens for us the sum
mer air our hearts echo the desolate
sound of the earth descending ou his cof
fin and at night, when we lay ourselves
down to sleep, we think of him in his low
ly bed, over which kindly Nature will
soon draw a coverlet of daisies.
Be Sustained. There are always many
who are already, even in their tender year
fighting with a mature and manful cour
age the battle of life. When they frel
themselves lonely amidst the crowd
when they are for a few moments disheart
ened by that difficulty which is the rude
rocking-cradle of kind of excellence
when thejT are conscious of the pinch of
poverty and self-denial let them be con
scious, too, that a sleepless eye is watch
ing them from above that their honest
efforts are assisted, their humble prayers
are heard, and all things are working to
gether for their good. Is not this the
life of faith, which walks by your side
from your rising in the morning to your
lying down at night which lights up for
you the cheerless world, and transfigures
all that you encounter, whatever be its
outward form, with hues brought down
from Heaven ? Uhuhfune.
Ctsf-The following colloqu is said to
have taken place betweeu a New Ilaron
merchant and one of his customers:
" Your account has been standing for
two years, and I must have it settled im
mediately." To which the customer replied:
"Sir Things usually do settle by stand
ing; I regret that my account is an excep
tion. If it has been standing too long
suppoie you let it run awhile."
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