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BY W. LEWIS.
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Front the National Era
Hope and Despair,
BY MARY FRANCIS TAYLOR
The two went out for a walk one day,
But - they couldn't keep long together ;
FOr despair full soon had commenced her tune
Of grumbling about the weather.
But Hope roamed still over heath and hill,
And low to herself kept humming ;
"Tim' the way be drear, I have naught to fear,
There's a better time a-coming."
Despair sat down in a faded gown,
And she looked both lean and lazy ;
And-'tis said that they who ' chanced that way,
Declared that she had gone crazy.
But Hope went dressed in her very be:t,
And her soft sweet voice kept hamming;
"Tho' fortune frown, I am not cast down—
' There's a better time a_coming,"
The sun shone . out ; but Despair in doubt,
. Expected a storm to-morrow ;
And so she went in her discontent,
• Bowed down in her needless sorrow.
But Hope was gay-through the live.jong day,
And with merry tones kept humming';
"Tho' the sun may set I
,will ne'er.forget,
• There's a better time atcoming."
The storm cloud came, and-Despair the same
Was greatly distressed abut it ; •
The sun, she said, had forever fled, -‘
And she could not live without it. •
Hope felt the storm, but her heart was warm u
And her voice with the winds lrePttliuMming ;
"I fear no harm, and 'no alarm—.
There's a better tiine a.:coming,"
And so my friend, until life shall end, •
• What silly .Despair deems frightful,
,In a light more true, with ,a higher view,
Will seem unto Hope delightful.
!Then let us beciare of this same Despair
And listen as Hope keeps humming;
Afid though us think for. all,
"There's a better time a-coming." •
- -bo-GooD . TO OTHERS.' ' •
„. ". FhiliP, - e,ousin Philip ! don't !?'.; ,
' The / speaker was a little gill, scarcely five
•
years old, who was sitting-on a stone step of
a farm house door, Watching very intently.
,the motions of a boy four or five years older
than herself. And. what was Philip Dale do
ing ? Why, be had founda poor little stray
kitten, which had-wandered into the court
yard,..and biiy-like was driving it hither and
thither, shouting, throwing sticks and Peb
bles at it„,witile.,.the hunted and terrified
Ile-creature ran one way and another, mew
-,ing piteously, and , every sound !went to ihe
heart of the compassionate little child Who
heard it., At . lait she could enclure . itno len
. ger -, , and running to her cousin; with 'eyes
with - tears,'and a voice which - treMbled
from its:vpry.earnestness, repeated. ,
- 41 . Don't, Philip, it is God's kitty." -
The'boy stopped, and looked in her face-in
amazement ; then *suddenly seizing the fngi
'five, which had taken .refuge in a tree, be
laid it gently in the child'S arms, and say
. ing, "there's your - kitten, Clara," he turned•
and left the yard. Little Clara ran back into
the house, showed 'her treasure to aunt and
sister Fanny, and asked and obtained per
mission to keep it. Fanny kindly took upon
herself the ,office of Making it clean. She
.
softly washed off the dirt,. brushed the; fur
dry, and. brought from the kitchen a saucer of
-milk to feedit ; and in no long timethe,kit
1 ins. 2 ills. 3 ins.
25 371- 50
50 75 1 00
100 150 200
150 225 300
6 rn. 12 m.
"' $3 00 $5 00 $8 00
500 800 -12 00
" 750 10 00 , 15 00
9 09 147.00'
" 15 00 25'00 38 00
" 25'00 40 00
ten was, lying . contentedly in Clara's lap, pur
ring Icudly, and quite as happy as the little
girl herself.
'Nothing was seen of Philip - till dinner
time, and when, he came in 119 / cast a ;Sly
glance at Cla:a.!s new .pet, as if he almost fear
ed it would. complain of him. But he was
safe from any reproof, save that of his own
conscience; for kitty. could
,not tell, Clara
would not, and no' one else knew any• thing
of the matter. After dinner he tried to make
'friends . with Clara, by offering the kitten
some bits of meat, which she took very glad
ly, and lapped his hand in gratitude, while
Clara looked up with a face so-bright and
smiling, it was plain she had forgotten the
affair of the morning. Philip set off for
school, and seeing a robin, picked up a stone
to throw 'at it, when a, sudden thought check
ed him, and the stone fell from his hand.
23 00
60 60
"I suppose Clara would say that is God's
robin too," he said half aloud; "and the
squirrels and the ^-ow•s, and every thing else.
What a queer little thing she is ! won't even
kill a fly, because she says she couldn't make
it alive if she should."
And he went on por - i'dering the malter.—
He was not a cruel boy naturally. He loved
his parents and his gentle little cousin dear
ly ; and no one could be kinder to the horse,
and the fowls, and his dog Bruno, than was
Philip Dale. But he had learned from his
companions the wicked habit of tormenting
animals, for sport, without giving a thought
to the pain he was inflicting ; , and. though his
mother's soft "Don't do so, my son," always
stopped him for a time, she was not always
present when he was indulging himself in
such amusement. Not one word said Philip
of the subject which had occupied his
thoughts all day, until evening, when Fanny
had gone to put Clara to bed, and all was
quiet. Then he came to his mother, and lay
ing his head in her lap, and looking up into
her clear loving eyes, told her of his conduct
in the morning, and of Clara's entreaty.—
And Mrs. Dale entered with ready sympathy
into her boy's thoughts and feelings, conver
sed with him about the animals, and his du
ties to them, and so deepened the impression
on his mind, that Philip resolved never again
to ill-treat any animal ; and he kept his reso
lution, too.
Some months after, when Clara had been
for some time at her city home, Mr. Dale
asked Philip one blight morning if he could
go to town for him to do some errands. They
lived within two or three miles of the town,
and it was by no mesas a long walk for a
healthy, active boy, and Philip joyfully con
sented to the proposal. He took his basket
and went merrily on, whistling the prettiest
tie knew and speaking with the numerous ac
quaintance he met, and in good time reached
his destination. As he 'went forward he
chanced to spy a boy whom be knew, cruel
ly beating a dog, which howled with pain as
Philip crossed the street.
"What is the matter, Jerry 'P' he askec.:,
"what has Polito Leen - doing 3"
Jerry glanced round at him; but Philip's
pleasant face and kind tone disarmed his an
ger, and he answered rather sullenly,
"He stole my breakfast, and I'll punish
him for it."
And leyaised his' stick again, but Philip
caught his arm.
" I wouldn't beat him, Jerry ; he was hun
gry, 'poor fellow, and did not know he was
getting your breakfast. Here's a nice lun
cheon mother gave me ;_ .take it, Jerry, for I
had my break fast •long .ago; and don't beat
Ponto any more. He is one 'of Gad's crea
tures, you• know, and we must not abuse
them."
Jerry hesitated, took the offered gift and
began to eat; for, as Philip snspected,'he was
as hungry as the. dog ;• and aMinute he
stooped down, and •patting the poor. creature,
shared his 'meal with him; while his young
friend, .leased to see it, ran merrily on to do
his errands in , town, without giving a thought
to the loss' of his luncheon. Philip - little
knew how much good .he had done. While
he was talkingwith Jetry;:tA . vci,inen passed
in different directions, otie a ragged looking
man, with a face bearing the marks of intem
perance'; the other, hanilsornely dressed, with
a pleasant, open
, conntenance, and Cheerful
smile. This was Frank, Howard, a thriving
.young merchant; the other ,was Joe Dennis,
a poor 'laborer,: who made himself•still• poorer
by westing his earnings in liquor. ' Howard
glanced- at the man as he passed with disgust
and scorn ;-and•Dennis, on his part, locked'at
the young:merchant 'with despairing envy.
might have been as well olf,as"he, per
haps," was his thought; "his fatherand o rnine
were schoolmates and playfellows once.; but
it's no use pow."
it was just as they met
. aud pressed_ each
other, at the very spot where the boys were
talking, that Philip had said the'last words
to Jerry.
" One of God's creatures," repeated Hoyv
ard, involuntarily turning to look after the
HUNTINGDON, JANUARY 31, 1855.
drunkard. "One of my brethern, then ; can
Ido nothing to save 'him 1" One instant he
hesitated, an' then slowly followed Dennis.
"One of God's creatures," said poor Joe
to himself. "Well, I suppose I'm that, only
no one seems to think - -so ; and why should
they I'm worse than that brute, for I take
the food from my wife" 2nd children." He
paused 1 for he was close_ by .a dram shop,
where he had too often stopped. •
" No lr won't," he said energetically, "I'll
try once more to leave off. One of. God's
creatures ! If he takes care of the dumb
beast, why shouldn't he of us•? I don't know
who else will."
Joe marched on with a firmer step, for his
resolve to.do right had given him courage,
and soon reached his wretched home. Mr.z.
Dennis looked up hastily, one or two chil
dren glanced timidly at their father.
" I haven't taken a drop to-day, Martha,"
said he, "and by God's help, I won't again.
Here, Josey, take this fourpence and get a
loaf of bread. Mrs. Dennis, too' happy to
speak, could only throw her arms around her
husband's neck and cry. "Don't Martha,
don't," said the poor man. "You've nothing
to be so glad about; for that's the last cent
I've got m the world, and I don't know where
the next will come from. Ah, yes I" an
swering her broken words, "it's easy for you
to say, 'Trust in the Lord,' for you're a good
woman, but it isn't so easy for me."
Just then a knock was heard at the door,
and Frank Howard walked in.. "Does not
Joseph Dennis live here?" he asked. "Are
you at liberty to-day, Mr. Dennis, and could
you do some jobs at, my store The man I
have heretofore employed has left town, and
I must get some one to supply his place.—
Will.you come today and try Perhaps we
may make some agreement."
Poor Joe Dennis ! he almost worshipped
Howard ab an angel from heaven. He look
ed one way and another, and finally burst in-
to tears
" Pll come, Mr. Howard, I'll come; it's
very good of you, for there.isn't many who
would employ a - druitkard like -me; but I
mean to be sober in feture - ." I was just tell
ing Martha that I could get no work, and ive'd
got to starve, may be; and she, good soul,
said the Lord would provide. I believe, Mr.
Howard, God sent you to us just now."
"I have no doubt he did," answered How
ard gravely, who, having followed Dennis,
had heard and seen all that had passed before
he entered: "Mr. Dennis, if you will go to
my store, and say to my clerk, Mr. Reid, that
I:sent you, he will employ you; and I will
be there directly, myself. And as soon as
Dennis had left the. house, , the yeung mer
chant turned to the happy, weeping wife, and
putting five dollars into her :hand, bade her
to regard it as a gift from heaven; and pro
vide what she most needed,. adding with' a
smile, "Your husband will return hungry, no
doubt; I should advise you to have a good
dinner ready." ' •
We need hardly to say that this advice was
followed ; and that Dennis found a s:moking,
dinner on the table when he returned at noon.
But it may be necessary to addthat their new
friend kept Joe in his employ,.and aided his
effort at amendment, until, in a few . years,
the neat, nice dwelling ; and comfortable,
happy looking family which Dennis eagerly
sought after -his day's labors, bore but slight'
resemblance to cheerless hovel, and pale,
starving faces he had left. Nor was this all.
Frank Howard having once tasted:the, pleas
ures:of benevolence, Could not resign the lux
ury of being the dispenser of bounty to oth
ers. And many were the hearts cheered,
many the homes preserved, many. the char
acters saved from ruin, by his kindly and un
sought assistance. He sought:no public no
tice of his good deeds ;- he Was pleaSed
bor•in secret. But Philip Dale often wonder
ed why Mr. Howard always spoke so kindly
to him, and invited him so frequently to' his
.pleasant home. Philip never suspected,that
:his kind'care,for a suffering animal had been
.the means of saving many human 'beings
fidiri'Werse suffering; and': just aS little did
Clara think, when ; she, played withlier kitten
•
Frisk ie, now_grown quitea cat,_that her: com
pasSionate Pleading fot her was'the first' link
in 'a long chain of benevolent actions. Only
believe that,no, gOod word or
.. .deed is'eirer
lostlarid,•ie his-own good time, God :will
make: it bring' forth rich ' fruit;—Roston
,Pkuglpnign.
'GoatiAbvzoii—Thi'Albabi(g.Y.)Knick
erbookei'say,tis The be s t Cure - for hard times
is:economy. A: shilling's • worth of white
beans will do as much feeding as fifty cents
worth of potatoes ; while six
, cent worth of
Indianlneal,w,ill make asp:molt bread as four
.teen cents worth of • flour.: Besides; this' it ie
iivice as: wholesOthe. Almost every family
in town could Cut ; down '
; theit expenses one
half if they,,only,chose.•to do so. -
The young lady who was 'buried in grief,'
is now alive and doing well..
TIIE LITTLE SISTERS
A PRETTY STORY.
"You were not here yesterday," said the
gentle teacher of the little village school, as
she-placed her hand kindly on the curly head
of one of her pupils. .It was recess time ;
but the little girl addressed had not gone to
frolic away the ten minutes, not even left
her seat, but sat absorbed in what seemed a
fruitless attempt to make herself master of a
sum in long division.
- Her face and neck crimsoned at the re
mark of her teacher ; but looking up she
seemed somewhat re-assured by the kind
glance that - met her, and answered, "No
ma'arn,,l was not, but sister Nelly was."
"I remember there was - a little girl, who
called herself Ne:ly Gray, came in yesterday,
but I did not know that she was your sister.
But why did you not come 1 You seem to
love study very much."
"It was Lot because I didn't want to," was
the earnest answer; and then paused and the
deep flush again tinged that fair brow, "but"
she continued after a moment of painful em
barrassment, "mother cannnot spare both of
us conveniently, and so we are going to take
turns, I'm going to school one day and sister
the next, and to-night Pm to teach Nelly all
I have learned to day, and to-morrow night,
she will teach me all that she learns while
here. It's the only way we can think of get
ting along, and we want to study very much,
so as to sometime keep school ourselves, and
take care of mother, because she has to work
very hard to take care of us,"
With genuine delicacy Miss M— for
bore to question the child further, but sat
down beside her, and in a moment explain
ed the rule over which she was - puzzling her
young brain, So that the difficult sum was
easily finished.
"You had better go out and take the air a
moment, you have studied very hard to-day,"
said' the' teacher, as the little girl put aside
her 'Elate.
"I,.had...rather not—l might tear my dress
—I will stand by the window and watch the
rest."
There was such apeculiar tone in the voice
of her pupil as she said, "I might tear my
dress," that Miss M— was led instinctive
ly to notice it. It was nothing but a nine
penny print of a deep hue, but it was neat
ly made and never yet had been washed.--
And while looking at it she remembered that
during the whole previous foitnight that Ma
ry Gray had attended school regularly ; she
had never seen her wear but that one dress.
- "She is a thoughtful little girl," said she to
herself, "and does not want to make her
mother any trouble—l wish I-had more such
scholars:" - _.• ,
The next morning Mary was absent, but her
sister occupied her seat. There was.some.
thing so interesting 'in the two little sisters,
the one eleven and-the other eighteen months
younger ; agreeing to attend schools by turns,
that Miss M— could not forbear observing
t hem very closely. They were pretty faced
children, of delioate forms 'and fairy-like
'hands and feet—the elder with lustrous eyes
and chesnut eurls,•the yOung,er with orbs like
the sky of June, her.
, white neck: veiled by a
wreath of oilden ringlets. She observed in
both, the same close attention to their studies,
and as Mary had tarried within during play
time so did Nelly, and upon speaking to her
as she had to her sister, she received, too, the
same answer, "I might tear my dress."
The reply' caused Miis M— to notice
the garb of "the sister.. She saw at once it
was the same piece a.S . Mary's, and upon
scrutinizing it very closely; she became cer
tain it was' the Same 'dress. It did net fit
quite so pretty on Nelly, and was' too long
for her, too, and she:was evidently ill at ease
when she noticed her teacher' looking it the
bright pink flowers that were 'so thiCkly set
on the white ground.
,
The discovery' was one that comu'notbut
interest a heart so truly , benevolent as that
which pulsated in • the boionx of the'village
school teacher. She aseertained'' the..reei
deuce of: theie mother;'::hrid though 'sorely
ShOttened lierielf- h harrow • Pufsa.,- -. that
sarne'night,:haVing at tbebnly _store,
in the place; a few yards orthe-sarne mate
rial, purchased' a dreSS "for Nelly,'and
sent it-to her in such a way that the' donor
could not . be , detected. *• -*'
Very bright and"•happy lookedi Mary'Gray
on Fridayitniarning as she entered the schtol
at an early hour. She waited only to place
her books in neat order in her desk, ere she
aPProacheil Miss and ;whispered in a
voice -, that lailglied - in. spite of her.• efforts to
make it low and deferential. "After - this
week, sister Nefy is, corning to, school-every
day, and oh, I,arn, so glad t.",„
"That is very, good news," , replied, the
teacher kindly. : . "Nelly is • fond of her books,
I see, and I am happy to know that she can
have an opportunity to study her books eve-
ry day. Then she continued, a little good I
natured, mischief encircling her eyes and
dirripling her sweet lips. "But how can
your mother spare you conveniently •
"0„ yes ma'am, yes ma'am she can now:
happened she didn't expect, and
she is glad to have us come as we are to do
so." 'She hesitated a moment, but her young I
heart was filled to the brim with joy and
when a child is happy it is as natural to tell
the cause, as it is for a bird to warble when
the sun shines. So out of the fullnes of her
heart she spoke and told her teacher this lit-
tle story :
She and her sister were the only children
of a very poor widow, whose health was so
delicate that it was almost impossible to sup
port herself and daughters. She was obliged
to keep them'out of school all winter, be
cause they had no clothes to wear, and told
them that if she could earn enough by doing
odd chores for the neighbors to buy each of
them a new dress they might go in the spring.
Very earnestly had the little girls improved
their stray chances, and very carefully hoar
ded the copper coins which had usually re
paid them. They had a calico dress, when
Nelly was taken sick, and as the mother had
no money beforehand, her own treasure had
to be expended in the purchase of medicine.
"0, I did feel so bad when school opened
and Nelly could not go, because she had no
dress," said Mary. I told Mother I wouldn't
go either, but she said I had better, for I
could teach sister some, and it would be bet
ter than no schooling. I stood it for a fort
night, but Nelly's little face seemed all the
time looking at me on the way to school,
and I couldn't be happy a bit, so 1 finally
thought of a way by which we could both
go, and I told mother I would come one day
and the next I would lend Nelly my dress
and she might come, and that's the way we
have done this week. But last night some
body sent sister a dress just like mine, and
now she can come too.. 0, if I only knew
' who it was, I would get down on my knees
and thank them, and so would Nelly. But
we don't know, and so we've done all we
could for them—we've -prayed for them—
and oh, Miss M—, we are all so glad now.
Ain't you too ?"
"Indeed lam was the emphatic answer.
And when on the following Monday, little
Nelly in the new pink dress, entered the
schoolroom,.her face radiant as a rose in sun
shine, and approaching the teacher's table ex
claimed in tones as musical as those of a
freed fountain, "I am coming to school every
day, and oh, lam so glad !" Miss M—
felt as she never felt before, that it is more
bleised to give than to receive. No million
are, when he saw his name in public prints,
lauded for his thousand dollar charities, wes
ever so happy as the poor school teacher, who
wore her gloves half a summer longer than
she ought, and thereby saved enough to buy
that poor little girl a calico dress.
What, our Young Gentlemen are made
This is a very easy matter to find out, for
upon three minute's acquaintance with any
of them you may discover their mental and
bodily composition, notwithstanding the
emphatic line of the poet Campbell. Is.
" Can hearts be read! Alas we answer
No!"
Well, if we cannot read hearts we can
road heads without being a practical phren
ologist.
In every sized community, we may find a
vast variety of young men with very curious
peculiarities, to wit :.
Anybody may know the " sap headed"
young gent. lie looks as if his brains were
marbles and continually chasing each other
through the cavities of his cranium. This
. .
young man is never burthened. with an ori
ginal: idea,: and :ever sides with everybody
else's opiniort.:—_ pass,him around I
" 'The "religious minded" young men may
be,easily known—physiognomy rather elon
gatedolosely•shaved face, shirt collar and,
neek , kerchief neat—hair tranquil--never
laughs—smiles now and fhen=takes . down
all the.text of a Sunday, and knows : nothing
about the merits of the sermonlanguage
rather effeminate, and steps aside to avoid'a
worm—deal amiably ,
• Here comes the-"funny minded". ; young
man. .A rollicking, • boistering• dancing,
whistling, fat faced fellow. Ever itching,
for . lan, IO stamp on the cat's tail, bruise old
people's corns, and make horrible faces at the
baby !—At a party he's licking the girls ; or
else .shoWing how to swallow 'the poker.—
He knows a verse of every. comic song, and
is great on good feeding. His: laugh is the
loudest and merriest, and there's no end to
his mischief. Let him have his ifin-cr;
Nobody can mistake the "literary minded"
young gentleman.• He has •always a book
soniewhere about him; and - a periodical in his
ctn his tables, are.papers and pamphlets
strewn around.' He feeds on literature. He
for
VOL. 10, NO. 33.
is not a' general' talker, but if he can get' ay
friend in
,company to themselves, then
warms up the merits of his favorite authors,;
He's no hand at making an extempore-sP'6elli;
and his writing does not flow with original
ease, from the fact. of his anxiety to - imitate
the style of the classic, writers-. -Bufy him
in a Library. •• •
The' "blowine - young,,g,entleman is heard
from in every assembly. Everythingled_las
a hand in is the' best of its kind I3e"is ac.
quainted with the ".biggest bugs" .and.inti
mate with the most _beautiful ladies. Every
thing pertaining to him and his, is of a su
perlative nature. He tells how he walked the
farthest, danced the longest, rode the fastest,.
kissed the greatest number..of ladies, and was
the best Ella. His tailor is the best and his
bootmaker cannot be equalled. For the sake
of being superlative in . all things he'll admit
Ihe is the greatest ass! Let his.ears grow !"
You are surely acquainted with the " bash
ful" young gentleman, rather tall and deli
cate looking, has a timid voice, and startles
if 'he hears himself speak above a whisper.—
..
He is always ready to birtSll:ltillthifraid to be
seen near a woman sits quietly in
some corner anti never has confidence in
himself to broach a. topic. In a quadrille
party, be is in awful tripidation for fear of
doing something - wrong, and is terrified at
the carelesialities of funny young gentlemen.
Perhaps after wondering for a long spell of
silence to know what to:say to his partner,
he may ask her if she's " fond of swim
ming !" and on getting a blunt negative,
holds his tongue forever y after !: Have mercy
on him!.
The 'about town' young gentleman is sel
dom seen in ladies society- He isSornewhat
hairy abaut the face, dresses in alarming
patterns, big buttoned coats and fancy color
ed vests. He's great at whistling and ut
toddies, while his cigar is ever in his mouth.
A jolly loud oath adds emphasis to his lan
guage, and slang expressions are his great
delight's. He designates a woman as a "pet
ticoat," and a man as "shanks. "His watch
is a "turnip" his hat a "tile" and his boots
are "kickers." He knows all the fast horses,-
fast saloons, theatrical and fighting men and .
women, and introduces himself as "one Of
'em." Give him rope enough !
"The poetical young gentleman is a fa-vOi
ite with candy eating school girls. His hair'
is long, sometimes parted in the middle, his'
collar ala Byron, and his hands generally
very neat; with. remainder dr-::difesat rather
careless. Everything suggest a _ poetical
idea to him, and in impulsive moments, his
fingers rush o'er his poetic brow to his locks.
He can compose sonnets to a lady's lost toe- -
nail,—or lines on the death of a froien frog;
while in an ode to the moon, he is' all ecstat- -
ie. -Hd has always a piece of his own to read'
or repeat for you, and perhaps, if he noticed
you gape and yawn, would compose a stanza
on the loss of breath: His favorite ladies are
called by him the "soulsof poetry," and any
thing harsh or out of tune shocks his nerves.
Let him win the lays !
Lest we might be considered a tedious
young gentlemen, we shall continue the cat
alogue on some other day.
A-, Home Item;
We have probably all of us met with' in
stances in which a word lieedlesly spoken
against the reputation•of -a -female has been
magnified by malicious minds until the cloud
has become dark enough' to'overshadow her
whole existence. To those who are amis . -
tented—not necessarily froth bad motives but
.from thoughtlessness—=to speak lightly of fe
males,: we recommend the following 'hints'
as worthy of consideration
" Never use a-jady!s name in an improper
place, at anirnproper time, or in mixed 'corn,
parry. Never make assertions about her that
yon . think are untrue, or alluSionS that
:feet,she herself wonld blush, to hear.. When
you meet- with men who do not acruplelo
make use ofa' woman's nam'e in a reckless
and trePrincipledrrianner, shun them for they
are the, very worst members of the communi
ty—men lost:to every sense of honor 7 =eveiy
feeling or" . h r tirrianity:: ' Many a goadand Way
thy' womarr'S,Oharaccer -has forter been ru
ined and her heart broken: by .a lie,. trranufae
tured by some villian and repeated *fiet'e it
should not have been . , and in the presence of
thoSe whose little judgement eon-Id:mit defer
them from circulating the foul and bragging
report: . A slander is -sOciti'
.propegated,aad
the smallest thing derogatory .to a WOrn . ar 3 S
character, will fly on the wings.of the wind,
and magnify as , it circulates. -unfiVitS:inon
strous weight crushes the
,pebt unconseiousr
victim.: Respect the name _of women, and
as you would hate their fair name untarnish
ed, and their lives unembittered by - the elan:
deree'Sbiting tonge,- heed the ill that your
own words may bring upon their
.mother;
the sister,- or the wife of some fellow-cret-
ture.' • - •
Q Charity 'is the perketiop of trait!to.-
GI