BY W. LEWIS. REGISTER'S NOTICE NOTICE is hereby given to all persons inter. ested, that the following named 'persons have settled their accounts in the Register's 01 /ice, at luntingdon, and that the said accounts I will be presented for confirmation and allow ance, at an Orphans' Court, to be held at Hun- Ongdon, in and for said county of ffuntin,gdon, on Wednesday the 15th day of August next, to vet : 1. George Borst & Peter Burket, Executors of the last Will and Testament of Daniel Nell Into of West township, dec'd. .t.l John B. Given, surviving Executor of the last Will and Testament of Margaret Entrekiu late of Penn township, dec'd., (and interest ac count to accompany the same. 3. Account of the Administration of the Es_ tate of Margaret Entrekin, dec'd., by Thomas Enyeart, Esq., deed., (ono of her Executors filed by) James E. Glasgow, Esq., one - of the Administrators of said Thomas Enyeart, deed and Interest account accompanying the same. 4. Hance R. Campbell, Administrator of James Campbell, late of Shirley township dec'd, 5. Jacob Eby & Samuel MeVitty, Adminis trators of David Eby, late of Shirley township, deed. 6. George Guier, Jr., Administrator of Ben jamin Nearhoof, late of Warriorsmark township, dec'd. 7. Henry Brewster, Esq. Administrator of Dawson C. Smawly, late of Shirley township, dac'd . 8. John 'Oaks, Acting Executor of James Tully, late of Jackson township, dec'd. 9. James D. Myton, William Myton & James Stewart, Administrators of J. W. Myton, late of Jackson township, dec'd. 10. Jonathan P. Roberts (S• Edward R. Rob erts, Executors of the last Will and Testament of William Roberts, late of West township dec'd. 11. Moses Greenland, Acting Executor of Nathan Greenland, late of Cass township. dee'd " 1 4 2. Final account of Margaret Newell, Exec utrix of the last Will and Testament of Andrew Newell, late of West township dec'd. 13. Ann Miller, Executrix of Joseph Miller, late of Barree township, deed, 14. Elizabeth Doran, Executrix o Zachariah Koran, late of Union township, dec'd. 15. John Speck, Administrator of John Har ker, late of Walker township, dec'd. • 16. Benedict Stevens, Esq., Administrator of Samuel Flockenberry, late of Springfield town ship, dec'd 17. James Chamberlain, Administrator of Martin Gates, late of Franklin township, dee,d 18: The Trust Acount of Peter Striker, one or the Executors of William Laird, late of Por ter township, dec'd. 19. Samuel M. Stewart, Administrator of James Mitchell. late of Jackson township, dec'd. 20. Lewis Burchfield, Guardian of the Miner Children of John Patterson, dec'd. 21. James Potter, Guardian of Lueritia Pat-, ton, (formerly Lucritia _Moore) as Minor Daugh ter of Silas Moor, dce'd., now of full age. • 22. James Porter, Guardian of Thomas Moore, a minor Son of Silas Moore, deed. 23. Samuel Llagey, Administrator of Abraham .Corbin, late el' iiendersen twnsliip, dcc'd. 24. Partial Accounts of John Gi(Fort Admin istrator of Joseph Gifford, late of Shirley town ship, deed. 25. Final Accounts of James Wall, Acting Executor of John Wail, late of West township, dec'd: 26. The Supplemental Account of James Saxton,Acting Executor of the last. Will and To stament of William Foster, late of West township dec'd. HENRY GLAZIER, Register. Register's Office, Huntingdon, July 18, '55 C SHERIFF S SALES. T)Y virtue of writs of Vend. Exp. and Firm Fa. .1) issued out of the Court of Common Please of Huntingdon county, and to me directed, I will expose to public sale at the Court House in the borough of Huntingdon, on Wednesday the 15th day of August next, at 10 o'clock A. hi. ofsaid day, the following described Real Estate, to wit : A tract of land in Dublin township, Huntingdon county, situated on the road lead ing from Burnt Cabins to Shade Gap and bounded by lands of William Bratton on the north, George Kelly on the cast, Abraham Long on the south, and Sohn Atkinson on the west, containing two hundred acres more or less with about sixty acres cleared, having thereon erected a two story, log house and lot barn, with an orchard of good bearing apple and peach trees and a spring of never failing water. Seized, taken into execution and to be sold as the property of John Bingham dee'd & Manson Bingham. The interest of said dec'd being in the hands of Daniel Tague, Esq., adrn . All the right, title and interest of De. fondant of, in and to the following property to wit: a lot of land situate_ in Franklin township Huntingdon county, bounded on the south by the Juniata river, on the west by Dr. A. Me- Pherren and on the north by Abraham Weight, containing thirteen acres, morn -or less, on which arc erected two dwelling houses and a stable, one of the houses two stories high, weatherboarded and painted white, the other house one story and a halfhigh. Seized, taken in execution and to be' sold as the property of Jeremiah Wagoner ALSO, All that Certain Plantation, Tract, piece or parcel of land, situate in Shirley town ship, Huntingdon county, east of Drakes' Fer ry, adjoining the Juniata river, lands of John Sharrer, Nicholas and William Shaver, Andrew Pollock's heirs and others, containing one bun .dred and seventy-six acres, or thereabouts, on part of which the town of Mount Union is laid out, excepting and excluding from said levy, .the ground now in possession of the Pennsylva nia Rail Road Company, and the following .town lots in the recorded plan of said town of Mount Union, being numbered respectively, Numbers 3,4, 5,6, 11, 12, 15,1 8, 19, 20, 21, 22, 24,1, 2,7, 10, 13, 16, 23, 8,9, 14, 17, "33 and 74—and the lot of ground in the possession of -the Methodist Episcopal Church and on which meeting house stands and the following lots which were sold on original Vend. Exponas, to wit : lots No. 58, 59, 60 and 69, sold to J. J. M'Elhany—and lots No. 83 and 84, sold to John Bare and lots No. 95 and 96, to George W. Speer, Seized, taken in execution and to be sold as the property of John Dougherty. JOSHUA. GREENLAND, Sheriff's Office, Sheriff. litinting,clon, July 17, 1855. re, , ,-Av 01 .5;1.i ALSO. THE HUNTINGDON GLOBE, - Per annum, in advance, $1 50 ,C. if not paid i n advance, ? 0 0 No paper discontinued until all arrearagcs are paid. A failure to notify a discontinuance at the ex piration of the term subscribed for will be con_ sidered a new engagement. Terms of Advertising Six lines or less, 1 squarc, 16 lines, brevier, 50 75 100 2 Cl 100 150 205 3 44 '• • 1 50 2 25 300 3m. Gm. 12m. 1 square, " $3 00 $5 00 $BOO 2 " " 5 00 8 00 12 00 3 64 " 7 50 10 00 15 00 4 " 9 00 14 00 23 00 5 IC " 15 00 25 00 38 00 10 " " 25 00 40 00 60 00 Professional and Business Cards'not exceed lug 6 lines, one year, 64 00 r:4l2#oll***Auzi (.1121 BY BENJAMIN 8.. MITCHELL A little frock but slightly worn, Of blue and white delain, With edging round the neck and sleeves, Law folded neat and plain; Besides a little pair of shoes, With here and there a flaw ; Lay half concealed among the things In mother's bureau drawer. Summer had passed away from earth With all her sweetest tics, The birds had left their summer haunts, For more congenial skies : The twilight breezes sweetly played Among the dews of even— An angel left his some on high, To gather flowers for heaven! The angel near and nearer came, Where sister sick did lie ; Then gently fanne'd her fkdad cheek, And pointed to the sky ! The morning shone upon the bed, The autumn wind blew free, The angel moved its silvery wings, And whispered "come with me!" We gathered round her dying bed With hearts to weep and pray, And many were the tears we shed, When sister went away! No bitter tears had she to wee!), t No sin to be forgiven, But closed her little eyes in sleep, To open them in heaven. We laid her in the earth's green breast, Down by the village green, Where gently weeps the dewy grass, And summer flowers are seen ; And often when dear mother goes To get her things to use, I see her drop a silent tear On sister's frock and shoes. FROM THE HOUSEHOLD WORDS TWO NEPHEWS At the parlor window of a pretty villa near Walton on-Thames, sat, one evening at dusk, an old man and a young woman. The age of the man might be some seventy; whilst the companion had certainly not reached nineteen, Her beautiful, blooming face, and active, light and upright figure,• were in stronc , contrast with the worn countenance and bent frame of the old man; but in his eye, and in the corners of his mouth, were indi cations of a gay self-confidence, which age and suffering had damped, but not eF.tin ouished. . "No use looking any more, Mary," said he; "neither John Meede nor Peter Finch will be here before dark. Very hard that, when a sick uncle asks hiS two nephews to come and see him, they can't come at once. The duty is simple in the extreme—only to help me to die, and take what I choose to leave them in my will ! Pooh! when I was a young man, I'd have done it for my uncle with the utmost celerity. But the world's getting quite heartless." "Oh, sir!" said Mary. "And what does 'Oh, sir !' mean 1" - said he. D'ye think I shan't die I know bet ter. A little more, and there'll be an end of old Billey Collett. He'll have left this dirty world for u cleaner—to the great sorrow (and advantage ) of his affectionate relatives ! Ugh! Give me a glass of the doctor's stuff." The girl poured some medicine into a glass, an Collett; after havina b contemplated it for a moment with infinite' disgust, man aged to get it down. "I tell you what, Miss Mary Sutton," said he, "I don't by any means approve of your 'Oh, sir and 'Dear sir,' and the rest of it, when • l've told you how I hate to be called 'sir' at all. Why you couldn't be more respect ful if you were a charity girl and I a beadle in a gold-laced hat .! None of your nonsense, Mary Sutton, if you please. I've been your lawful g uardian now for six months, and you ought to know my likings asd dislike legs." 'My poor father often told me how you disliked ceremony," said Mary. "Your poor father and you are quite right" said Mr. Collett. "Fred Sutton was a man of talent—a capital fellow ! His only fault was a natural inability to keep a farthing in his pocket. Poor Fred! he loved me—l'm sure he did. He bequeathed me his only child —and it isn't every friend would do that! "A kind and generous protector you have been!" "Well, I don't .know ; I've tried not to be a brute, but I dare :Say I have been. Don't r speak xoughly to you sometimes ? Hav'nt I given you good, prudent, worldly advice 1 ins. 2 ins. 3 ins 25 374 50 HUNTINGDON, AUGUST 8, 1855. about John Meade, and made myself quite disagreeable, and like a guardian I Come, confess you love this penniless nephew of mine;" "Penniless indeed!" said Mary. "And there it is!" said Mr.'Collett. "And what business has a poor devil of an artist 1.6"fa1l in love with my ward? And what business has my ward to fall in love with a poor devil of an artist? But that's Fred Sutton's daughter all over ! Hav'n't I two nephews? Why could'nt you fall in love with the discreet one—the thriving one?— Peter Finch—considering he's an attorney— is a worthy young man. He is industrious in the extreme, 4nd attends to other people's business only when he's paid for it. He de spises sentiment, and always looks the main chance. But John Meade, my dear Mary, may spoil canvass for ever, and not grow rich. He's all for art, and truth, and social reform, and spiritual elevation, and the Lord knows what. Peter Finch will ride in: his carriage, and splash poor John Meade as he trudges on footl" The harangue was here interrupted by a ring at the gate,and. Mr. Peter Finch was an nounced. He had scarcely taken his seat when another pull at the bell was heard, and Mr. John Meade was announced. Mr. Collett eyed his two nephews with a queer sort of smile, whilst they made speech es expressiVe of sorrow at the nature of their visit. At last, stopping them, "Enough, boys, enough!" said he. "Let us find some better subject to discuss than the state of an old man's health. I want to know a little more about you both. I hav en't seen much of you - up to the present time, arid, for anything I know, you may be rogues or f 0015.% John Meade seemed rather to wince under this address; but Peter Finch sat calm and confident. "To put a case, now," said Mr. Collett : "this morning a poor wretch of a gardener came begging here. He could get no work, it seems, and said he was starving. •Well, I know something about the fellow, and I be lieve he only told the truth : so I gave him a shilling to get rid of him. Now, I'm afraid I did wrong. What reason had 1 for giving him a shilling? What claim had he on me "What claim has he on anybody?: The value of his labor in the market is all that a working man has s right to; end when his labor is of na.value, why, then he must go to the Devil; or wherever else he can. Eh, Peter?. That's my philosophy—what do you think?" "I quite agree With you, sir," said Mr. Finch; "perfectly agree with you. The value of their labor in the market is all that laborers can pretend to- 7 -all that they should have. Nothing acts more perniciously-•than the ab surd extraneous support called charity." "Hear, hear!" said Mr. Collett. "You're a clever fellow, Peter. Go on, my dear boy, , To on . 17) "What results from charitable aid?" con tinued Peter. "Ile value of labor is kept at an unnatural level. State charity is state robbery; private charity is public wrong." "That's it, Peter'." said Mr. Collett.— "What do you think of our philosophy, John 1" _ "I don't like it; I don't belive it !" said John, "You were quite right to give the man a shilling: Pd have given him a shilling my self." "Oh, you would—wou'l you !" said Mr Collett. Ycm'r very generous with your shil ling. Would you fly in the face of all ortho dog: political economy, you vandal !" . _ "Yes," said John, "as the vandals flew in the face of Rome, and destroyed what had become a falsehood and a nuisance." "Poor John !" said Mr Collet, "we shall never make anything of him, Peter. Really, we'd better talk of something else. John, tell us all about the last new novel." They conversed on various topics, until the arrival of the invalid's early bed time parted uncle and nephews for the night. Mary Sutton seized an opportunity, the next morning, after breakfast, to speak with John Meade alone. ."John," said she, "do think more of your own interest—of our interest. What occa sion for you to be so violent last night, and contradict Mr. Collett so shockingly? I saw peter Finch laughing to himself. John, you must be more careful, or we ' shall never be married." "Well, Mary, dear, do my best," said John. "It was that confounded Peter, with his chain of iron maxims, that made me fly out. I'm not an iceberg, Mary." "Thank heaven, you're not !" said Mary "but an iceberg floats—think of that, Jelin. Remember every time you offend Mr. Col lett you please Mr. Finch. "So I do," said John. "Yes; I'll remem ber that." "If you would only try to be a little mean and hard hearted," said Mary : "just a little to begin with; You would only stoop to conquer, John, and you deserve to conquer." "May I gain my deserts, then !" said John. "Are you not to be my loving wife, Mary 1 And are you not to sit at needle work in my studio, whilst I paint my great historical pic ture 2 .1 -low can this come to pass if Mr. Collett will do nothing for us?" "Ah, how indeed : 2 " said Mary. 'But here's our friend Peter Finch, coming through the gate from his walk. I leave you togeth er." And so saying she withdrew. "What, Meade !" said Peter Finch, as he entered. "Skulking indoors on a fine morning like this ! I've been all through the village. Not an ugly place—but wants lookin,g after sadly. Roads shamefully muddy ! Pigs al lowed to walk on the footpath." "Dreadful!" exclaimed John. "I say—you came out. pretty strong last night." said Peter. "Quite defied the old man ! But I like your spirit." "I have no doubt you do," thought John. "When I was a youth, I was a little that way myself," said Peter. "But the world —the world my dear sir—soon cures us of all romantic notions. I regret, of course, to see poor people miserable, but what is the use of regretting ! It's no part of the business of th superior classes to interfere with the laws of supply and demand ; poor people must be . miserable. What can't be cured must be en dured." "That is to say," returned John, we can't cute they must endure !" "Exactly so," said Peter. Ms. Collett this day was too ill to leave his bed. About noon he requested to see his nephews in his bedroom. They found him propped up by pillows looking very weak, but in good spirits, as usual. "Well, boys,?' said_he, "here I am you see; brought to an anchor at last ! The doctor will be here soon, I suppose to shake his head and write recipes. T.-.lumbug, my boys ! Patients can do as much for themselves, I be lieve, as doctors can do for them ; they're all in the dark together—the only difference is that the patients grope in English and the doctors grope in Latin. "You are too sceptical, sir," said John Meade. "Pooh !" said Mr. Collett. "Let us change the subject. I want your advice Peter and John, on a matter that concerns your inter ests. lam going to make my will to-day, and I don't know how to act about your cousin Emma Briggs. Emma disgraced us by marrying an oilman." "An oilman !" exclaimed John. "A vulgar shocking oilman !" said Mr. Collett, "a wretch who not only sold oil, but soap, candles, turpentine, black lead and birch brooms. It was a dreadful blow to the family. Her poor grandmother never got over it, and a maiden aunt turned Meth odist in despair. Well, Briggs the oilman died last week, it seems; and his widow has written to me asking for assistance. Now I have thought of leaving her a hundred a year in my will. What do you think of it? I'm afraid she don't deserve it. What right had she to marry against the advice of her friends? What have I to do with her misfortunes 1 "My mind is quite made up," said Peter Finch "no notice ought to be taken of her.— She made an obstinate and unworthy match and let her abide the 'consequences P' 'Now for your opinion John," said Mr. Collett. "Upon my word I think I must say the same," said John Meade, bracing himself up boldly for the part of a worldly man. "What right had she to marry—as you observed with great justice, sir. Let her abide the consequences—as you very properly remark ed, Finch. Can't she carry : on the oil-man's business ? I dare say it will support her very well." "Why no," said Mr. Collett; "Briggs died a bankrupt, and his widow and children are destitute." "That does not alter the question," said Peter Finch. "Let Briggs' family do some thing for her." "To be sure !" said Mr. Collett. "Briggs' family are the people to do somethinc , for her. She must not expect everything from us must she John ?" "Destitute is she 'I" said John. "With children too ! why , this is another case, sir. You surely ought to notice her—to assist her. Confound it, I am for letting her have the hundred a year." "Oh, John, John ! What a break down !" said Mr. Collett, "So you were trying to follow Peter Finch through Stony Arabia, and turn back - at the second step ! Here's a good traveller for kyou, Peter ! John, John, keep to your Arabia Felix, and leave the sterner ways to very different men. Good bye both of you. I've no voice to talk any more. Pll think over all you have said." He pressed their hands and they left the room. The old man was too weak to speak the next day, and in three days after• that, he calmly breathed his last. "As soon as the funeral was over, the will was read by a confidential man of business, who had always attended to Mr. Collett's af fairs. The group that sat around him pre served a decorus appearance of disinterested• ness ; and the usual preamble to the will hav ing been listened to with breathless attention, the man of business read the following in a clear voice : "I bequeath to my niece Emma Briggs, notwithstanging that she shocked her fami ly by marrying an oilman : the sum of four thousand pounds : being fully persuaded that her lost dignity if she could even find it again, would do nothing to provide her with food, or clothing or shelter. John Meade smiled, and Peter Finch ground his teeth—but in a quiet respectable manner. The man of business went on reading "Having always been of the opinion that woman should be rendered a rational and in dependant being—and having duly consider ed the fact that society practically denies her the right of earning her own living—l here by bequeath to Mary Sutton, the only child of my old friend Frederick Sutton, the sum of ten thousand pounds, which will enable her to marry, or to remain single, as she may prefer. John Meade gave a prodigious start upon hearing this. ' and Peter Finch ground his teeth again — but in a manner hardly respect able. Both, however, by a violent effort, kept silent. The man of business wont: on with his reading. "I" have paid some attention to the char- I acter of my nephew John Meade, and have been grieved to find him much possessed with a feeling of philantrophy, and with a general preference for whatever is noble and true over whatever is base and false. As these - tendancies are by no means such as can advance him in the world, I bequeath him the sum of ten thousand' pounds—hop ing that he will be kept out of the work house, and be enabled to paint his great historicaLpicture—which as yet he has only talked about. As for my other nephew, Peter Finch, he views all things in so sagacious and selfish a way and is so certain to get on in life, that I should only insult him by cffering him aid which he does not require; yet from his af fectionate uncle, and entirely as a testimony of admiration for his mental acuteness I ven ture to hope that he will accept a bequest of five hundred pounds towards the completion of his extensive library of law books. How Peter Finch stormed, and called names—how John Meade broke into a deliri um of joy—how Mary Sutton cried first and then laughed, and then laughed and cried to gether ; all these matters I shall not. attempt to describe. Mary Sutton is now Mrs. John Meade; and her husband has actually be gun the great historical picture; Peter Finch has taken to discouning bills and bringing actions on theirs; and drives about. in his brougham already. "what Speculation in Produce We have recently seen articles in several exchanges, in which reasons are earnestly set forth why the press should not generally desseminate the fact of the crops having been remarkably fine this year, and that it is pre judicial to the agricultural interests. ,while in one instance'a.correspondent of a Virginia coternporary plainly asks the editor when he supposes the farmer to be best capable of paying for his newspaperwhen he receives a high price for his wheat or a low one The error in this case lies in supposing that the entire crop of a vast country, whose true condition is thoroughly known, can be written up or down with as much facility as a thimble-rigger manifests in transferring his "little joker" from cup tecup. That the crops this year are generally excellent, be yond precedent, admits of but little doubt and to expect to "write up" high prices, on any ground whatever, would be like quel ling Niagara. But we aro told that by raising the cry of fine crops we frighten the farmer into at once selling his crop at a reduced price to the speculator who soon raises the price. A delicate question, and ono admitting much doubt< All 'the speculation afloat will not reduce the supply or increase the demand— there is not capital enough to grasp at and sway like a toy the destinies of the entire ag ricultural annual results of the country, and if it can in isolated instances exceed in the earlier part of the season in thus creating a reaction on the first depression in prices, this reaction cannot be durable—it can only ben efit a limited number—and the business must end -by rendering the produce in question cheaper than ever. There can be no doubt that strenuous ef forts often produce startling results in sway ing the prices, but prices after all are like water—they invariably find their own level. The recent effort of a Cincinnati paper to give an estimate of the wheat crop of the present year-as contrasted with that of past seasons, and in which under cover of an ap parent increase, the harvest of 1855 was evi dently underrated, has called forth more ac curate estimates from other papers of far more extended circulation. In fact the whole affair lies in a nut shell, which is, that whatever fluctuations may be produced, the whole will be in the end all one and the /same to the public. Supply and demand—, the great systole and diastole of the body , social will have squared prices off by the time the next crop comes in. I Whatever loss or risks the producer or consumer is exposed to, they are as nothing compared with those of the broker who manages the transfer. if he can by any de vice raise prices temporarily, he, or a limited ' number of his class gain. When the mar ket, however, is glutted by supply, it is evi -1 dent that it is not to his advantage to invest I largely during the subsequent fall. And ev ' cry year, owing to the greater diffusion of in formation—thanks to the press—it becomes a far more difficult matter to blind the produ cers as to the true state of the demand and supply. But while, thus regarding the' broker, or buyer and seller of crops, as one who derives profit from both the farmer and the consu mer, we should beware of regarding him as the enemy of both. In all times and coun tries, those who speculate in tho means of life have been regarded somewhat in the ' light of slave-dealers, and justly enough when, like the English government in India, they have locked up vast magazines of pro -1 visions amid a population dying of famine— lin order to keep up the price! But it is tan ; jest to regard' the grain merchant in our country in this light. 'Such instances as that of the British Government above cited, are impossible in the United Status, owing to I the extent and immensity of the tnalket, and eVen if they were practicable they would very soon be corrected by that popular ton ic known as "manifestations, of the will of the people." The laborer is worthy of his hire; the broker deserves his profit, and it may be seriously doubted whether those who speculate in cereal products, find it in the long run, better than any other business. If this be true it is also eyident that eventu ally the public are no losers. In France these difficulties are greatly modified, by Govern- , merit's regulating the price of bread. Such a system is inapplicable ia this country, nor will it ere long 'be needed, as it appears evi dent enough, rom such statistics as we have Chanced on, that whoever have been the lo sers of late years, they certainly have not been the farmers.—Philadelphia Bulleten. Address to Young Men There are many young men in the com munity who are inclined to pursue the prop er course in life, yet who are liable to be led away by the various delusive temptations that surround them, urged on as they are by the impulsive influence of youth, and the dangerous indulgence given to the inborn passions of their natures. To this class 1 •wish to appeal. This beautiful earth on which we live, was not created . by God as a place of amusement and pastime only, and man placed thereon to squander life in the pursuit of temporal pleasures and ;ratifications; nor were the passion and impulses of his nature given him as a means to debase his moral and physical being. If each of us could become fully irin pressed • with theie truths, there would be less of degeneracy and recklessness, and more of pure, virtuous thought and action ex isting around us. But man's proneness to err, prompts him to still the admonitions of conscience by the insiduous reasoning that the world was made for enjoyment, pleasure and licentiousness, and that a merciful Provi dence will overlook our deficiencies. Be- 4 ...„. r s ij: 41:, 3 . 4,.' :i , - . 4 .e ; 2 ' k l l . i Vg! IA VOL. ii, NO ! 8. ware of such illusive arguments. Remem ber, that that secret monitor, Conseienee, is the on;y safeguard you have to shield you from the innumerable contaminating influ ences that beset your path. Silence that —destroy the only protection left you by that Power which created you, and left at your disposal the choice of right or wrong,—or pervert it to suit the selfish motive which impel you to sin, and you annihilates the last vestige of vii tue left in your heart. Realer, pause for one moment and reflect —you to whom the gay and giddy scenes of life possess an alluring charm--whose minds are captivated by those transient pleasures which gratify only while their indulgence lasts. You are placed in the midst of a cre ated universe, surrounded by the mighty works of God. Behold the impress of the Deity, revealed in every atom of creation ! There is not a twinkling star in yonder azure canopy—nay, not an insect even, that creeps upon the earth, but forms a type of His wisdom and greatness. The world is overflowing with subjects of interest and value to your present and future welfare.— Time and eternity are for your reflection.— The design of your own creation is pregnant with import. lVhy will you loiter idly in the meshes of indolence and apathy, cr worse, pursue unmitigated follies, vitiating the mind, corrupting the fountains of thought with vile unworthy indulgences, and making your very existence a mockery You will not be always young—time, on unerring pin ions, is bearing you on to eternity,—and shall you leave no trace of your flight behind, save the indelible evidences of a fruitless or dissipated life Believe me, there is a re• , sponsibility resting upon you—there is a work for you to do, which it is a crime to shrink from. Awake, then, to a sense of your position. You certainly posses some talent—a predilec tion for some useful and honorable pursuit, which you may turn to good account. Cast off the habiliments of mental idleness, and assume the garb of industry and perseverance. Study nature—human and divine—convert your mind into a storehouse of intellectual treasures, abd so far as in you lay fulfil the purposes of your creation.- - Germantown Tel egraph. Scolding in tho Pulpit The minister who habitually scolds and raps the feelings of his church, ought to be converted to a milder course, or leave his oc cupation for one where his depravity will not do the mischief which it does in the pul pit. The following, which was written by a friend to a minister, conveys some useful hints, and therefore we print it ;—"No man was ever scolded out of sins. The heart', corrupt as it is, and because it is so, grows angry if it be not treated with management and good manners, and scolds again. A surly mastiff will bear perhaps to be poked, though he will growl even under the opera tion,—but if you touch him roughly, he- will bite. ' There is no grace that the spiiit of it. self can counterfeit with more succes than a religious zeal. A man thinks he is fight ing for his own notions. He thinks that he is skilfully searching the hearts of others,- when he is only gratifying the malignity of his own; and charitably supposes his hearers destitute of all grade that he may shine the more in his own eyes by comparison'.' When he has performed this -nobletask he wonders that they are not *converted. "He has given it to them soundly, and if they do net tremble and confess that God is in them of a truth," he gives them up as reprobate, incorrigible,' and . lost forever. .ut a man that loves me, if he sees me in an error will pity me, and endeavor calmly to convince me of it, and persuade me to forsake it. If he has great and good'news to tell me, he will not do it angrily and in much heat and discomposure of spirit. It is not therefore easy to - conceive out of what ground a minis ter can justify a conduct which only proves that he does not understand his errand. The absurdity of it would certainly strike him if he were not himself deluded."—Buffato, Christian Advocate. The Christian Religion It has been suggested, and wish peculiar force, that the Christian is the only sys. tern of religion which makes man's duties toward man parallel with his duties toward God, All humanity in every age affords un mistakable proof of the necessity to its nature of some species of worship. But that of idols and man-imagined deities, ioses sight, in its almost every phase, of what is due ;ly sub- ject to subject, in the one end of 'appeasing or propitiating their common sovereign. In. the early ages children were paSsed t . hrough fire by their parents; in latter timee Whole hecatombs of human beings were sacrificed; still later, we find the deities of refinement itself, in its most boasted superiority, sanc tioning by example, if not by precept, every kind and degree of cr . irne. In our own day the deluded but conscience-stricken fath er has thrown himself into the mangling arms of an awful death; the mother stifled her in fant's cries in the adorable mire of a sacred stream ; the son and daughter doomed the last hours of their aged parents to horrible and lingering torture. But the most determined atheists— the most apathetical sceptics have ,though( the Christian religion at least " "a good thing for society and government," "a necessity for the lower classes of the people," .Eze. A few have had the mad and egotistic confidence in human wisdom, to affirm, that any'echeol of philosophy or any ethical sagacity' of men could approach the perfection of 'that law, which, strietly obeyed, would render earth a Paradise and people it with angels—the Gol den Rule. This'is alone able to solvethe great problem of Happiness. That system, which gave it birth, can alone reconcile onr obligations to heaven and to the world, the charity we bestow and the mercy We obtain, —alone discover one word which shall em brace the whole of the law and the prophets —Love.—Country Gentlenzan. f - • Indolence is the rust of the mind and the inlet of every vice. 0 05 it . fR 71* Z 1" 517 4i - _, < ( -
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