IMEI
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HOME.
BY w: 'WEBSTER CLAFLIN
Earth may boast her ruined scenes
Of beauty, rich and rare,
Her boards of wealth and glitfring gems
That spar:file everywhere;
But steered by fortune's hand along,
hicheVer Way I' roam i •
I find no spot so dear to*me
As - m . 11,01d cottage home.
Ft is net hard lo gather friends
Our journeyings to cheer--
Friends for a day, but friends in name
Unlike the near and clear,
The cherished few . w'ho ciente: round
The old ancest'r'al scat,
Where, tired of all the od.res of lift,
We rest our weary feet.
The heart will own'no intercourse
With flattering smile and word,'
But. turns to a more genial place
Where Love's soft tones are heard.
A mother's smiles arc not forgot.=- ,
A father's lessons kind.
,Such love and kindness we may .earch
The world in vain to find.
15e,ir home! though I may wanderfar,
And traverse htrid nnd sea,
Thoulit ever be the dearest spot
In this wide wurld to me,
I•'ll not forget those cherished
The constant and'the
irt3L, -
Who shared by early cares and jdys, -
Thongh o:t.en finding new.
MACOLM WARREN :
OR,
THE OLD MAN'S LESSON,
"Malcolm, I wouldn't go out to night.—
Coriie,•Stay With me this evening."
"Not this - evening, Alice. I have promis
ed to meet. some friends this evening, and 1
mast keep my word: I will-be at home in
good season."
"I had hoped that I should have ycur com
pany. Come, why can't you try and bee if I
cannot make you as happy as those compan
ions whom you are to meet ?. Just this once,
Malcolm. 0, this once!''
No, no, Alice, t am' going out'. What—
crying Nuw i , what's the use of that
Can't a fellow go out oitCe.and awhile with
out leavin g a cryilig ife
can't help it Malcolm:' But here, kiss
me before you go."
Thus spoke ,Malcolm Warren and his
young wife. Malcolm was a young man,
twenty-seven years of age, and e carpenter
by trade. His wife was one of the best-dis
positioned girls in town, and she made one
of the best of wives. She loved her husband
with the whole energy of her pure soul, and
she knew that she was beloved in heart.—
Her two children, a boy and a girl, often saw
her shed tears when they were alone with
her in-
. the snug little sitting-room, arid the
boy was old enough to ask what made his
mother cry, but she dare not tell him.
Malcolm Warren own.e.ci the little cottage
in which he lived,- and he had paid for it all,
out-of his own hard earnings,
.while Alice
had borne her share of the burden by pur
chasing all the. 'furniture'. Malcolm was
stoilt and an excellent - , workman; and he had
-never yet seen the hour . when . he needed to
y~ idle for the want of work. A better.
.hearted youth lived not in the town, and When
he took, the gentle Alice for his wife there
was many a- fair maiden, whose bosom - gave ,
place to a kindly, wistful envy. They
would not have robbed Alice of her prize, but
they only hoped their own lot
,'.might be as
fortunate. Why, then, should a cloud come
upon that house 1 Why should Alice weep?
Ah, for-the same. reason that thousands of
our fairest . . daughters weep. For the same
reason That hot tears are ever crying out
their appeals for mercy—tears that run until
they make a - flood that fairly shrieks as it
rolls over the land:
. Malcolm Warren had a high social nature
'—his society was prized by all who could se
cure it—and he had been induWing in the
false smiles of the wine cup. For -the last
year he had been allowing his appetite to
gain strength. At first it_was only an "occa
sional glass,",then -"a glass or so once irra
while," and ten "one or two glassesa day."
But lately he had gone so far as to spend his
. earnings away from. home, and for nearly two
months-Past he had spent alibis money with'
his jovial companions.' Alice saw all this,
'and she-knew full' well where it would end
if it wereTiOt stopped. - She had whispered
to him her fears, and he tried to •laugh them
off as idle whims. She had prayed , to him to
stop, the fatal career while he had'stringth,
but he had been Offended because . she should
think that he would ever become a drunkard.
So Alice was.afraid to speak all herlears.z—,
Yet she saw with a clear eye all that was
coating. She saw the broad road upon
which her beloved was travelling, and her
heart was aching. She knew that even want
was staring them in the face! It was au
tumn, and she asked Malcolm for money to•
buy warmer clothes for herself and children,
and he had none to give her. Only a day
before, he had brought home a bucket-full of
flour instead of sending home a barrel as he
used to do, He earned money, and where
was it 't Alas!. poor Alice knew too well
Malcolm's face,.and she saw that its manly
beauty was slowly but surely eaten away.—
The large blue eyes' were growing dim, blear
ed and bloodshot, the once fair cheeks was
becoming swollen and bloated,•and his lips
looked dry and cracked - . No wonder she
knelt down by her bedside and prayed.
It was - now Saturday evening, and Mal
colm was going out. He was to meet some
friends,-and Alice knew that he was to meet
1 them at the- tavern. He had worked only
three days the past week, and he had the pay
for these three days - work in his pocket.—
That money was needed at home, but where
would it be on the morrow 1
"Malcolm, 0, do not-wholly forget your
I
I fond loving Alice when you are gone?"
But Malcolm did not answer. He kissed
her not as he used to do, but' kissed her be
, cause she had asked him to—arid then he
left his cottage. After he had gone, • Alice
i sat down and wept. She could not help it.
Her darling boy crept by her side, and placed
1 his arms about her neck. He asked nooquesa
-1 tionse but he asked her not to cry. His little
Mind seemed to have some idea of the eon]-
, ing - of a calamity. It must have been vague,
but it e,:as clear enough to prevent him from
forcing the dread thoughts upon his mother.
Once more he asked her riot to cry, and then
his own little heart burst, arid mother and
child wept together. This was another drop
in the poor wife's cup of affliction. Oh, bow
palpable now must be the husband's course
when even the prattling child saw and knew
the danger ! But she could only clasp and
pray more fervently. Arid the little boy,
when his mother had clone praying said,
"Amen."
It was as clear, cool evening, and as Mal
colm Warren stepped out into the street, he
seemed to shake himself as though he would
shake off the influence of the dear place he
was leaving. But he could mot drive from
his mind the fearful countenance of his fond
and faithful wife, nor could he cornet the
look of earnest,h simple anguish he had no
ticed 'Von the face of' his child. Yet he
tried to crush the thoughts that were spinga
in,g into life. "Podh !" said he, as' the im-'
ege of his wife forced itself upon him, "It's
only a little fun and - frolic. Whose business
I is it ? Get out with your nonsense.'" -
And thus speaking, the young husband and,
father closed his hands as though he would
hold down the feelings he had tried to repress,
I and then he haslened on. At length he
retooled the tavern, and here he found his
compaidens. The laugh and joke commen
ced, and ere long Malcolm forgot all about
home. He sat in the bar-room, and his
sharp wit made food for much merriment.
"Who says there's danger in the bowl,"
cried a young man, as he raised the glass to
his lips.
"It's the raven croak," said anothei of his,
companions. " Here's confusion to the
idea: ,
"Good !" exclaimed MillcOlm Warren, poi
sing his glass. "Poison in the bolo!—non
sense!- look at old uncle Adam, now. lie's
used it all his lifet line. , and here - he is, the
oldest man in town. Curneehere'a to uncle
Adam !"
The- presbli le whom llYaldcilin had tlins
alluded' was art old, white-haired mane who
stood at the bar with a glass of rurn in his
hand. His name was Adam Stanford, and
almost ninety years had rolled over his fros
ty head. His foam was Lent, his limbs trei,n, -
bled, but still he lived and his mind was yet
clear. He heard the remarks which :he
young carpenter made, and having set down
his untouched liquor,he turned and gazed up
on the youthful speaker. He knew Malcolm
Warren well.
"Malcolm," he said, "come with me.—
Come alone, for I alone would speak with
.you. Come." ,
There was something very deep and mean
ing in the old man's voice, - and as he turned
towards the door Malcolm arose to follow.
"Detain him not." said Adam, as some of
' his companions sought to hinder him.
"Why should Igo with you?" he asked.
"To please an old man. I mean to do you
no harm, Malcolm. Come."
Passing out the door they moved across the
street. = Near by was the village churchyard,
and thither he bent his steps.' Arriving at
the gate -he passed in. When Malcolm hesi
tated 'to enter, the old man said—" Come, fol
low me."
:Malcolm went, and soon 'they stood with
in the village churchyard! And this white
haired guide was the sexton, who for more
than sixty years had made those beds for the
immortality. The pale moon shed its beams
upon the place, and the chill air sighed
mournfully among the weeping willows that
grew by the hedge. The grave-stones stood
up like spectres among 'the faded 'grass, and
here and there rose a white monument, like
some more powerful.spirit that watched the
sanctity 'of "the place,
• "Malcolm Warren," spoke the old man, in
a voice so deep that it seemed almost to come
t froth one of the neighboring graves, "not
I'long since you pointed'to 'me as an example
of how long a man might live who smiled
upon the wine cup. You pointed to'. me as
one • who had always craffed at the intoxica
ting. bowl. Perhaps you spoke truly, but
you did, not speak the whole truth, for the
;whole truth you
,did not 'know,- and I have
brought you here to whisper - that truth' in
your ear." '
Malcolm,.Warren gazed up , in the old
man's face and Saw how seleinn w,asthe-ex
.
pressionthat rested' there, he forgot the bad
company he had left behind at the tavern,
and his thoughts became serious.- _
"Mal Colin," resumed the sexton, "I can
look back how' into the past and see a score
of' young Men who commenced the' rahelife
8 00 12 00
UTV
HT 1V AEC-MST 15. 1855.
with me. We went to school together, and
together we sat in church. We loved to learn
the excitement of the intoxicating cup, and
we thought not then of the dangers we were
courting. 'rears passed an, and I saw those
twenty men sink into the arms of death, and
I buried them all here. Malcolm Warren,'
-they all sleep in drunkards graves I One
after another I, saw them fall, and at length
I was left alone of the party who were • wont
to assemble around the barroom fire.
A deep groan • escaped from the young
man's lips, and a shudder ran through his
frame.
"All gone?" he asked:
"Yes—all !" the old man uttered. "But
this is not half, Malcolm. Their wives and
children died, and they, too,. lie here! 0, 'how
well 'can I remember the. bright-eyed laugh
ing, loving girls who used-to play with us
when we were boys ! And how well 'I can
remember when I saw them standing at the
altar—and when they turned away from the
place they were blushing brides. But a few
short years, and I began to gather them into
the folds of death. They sank down with
broken hearts and crushed hopes Some of
them liv'ed' to be Way headed ; -but their gray
hairs came down in sorrow 'to the grave !-.
See that grave therethe one with the dark
gray stone. Fle who sleeps beneath that
Mound was once the happiest yOtith in the
village. He was a carpenter by trade, - and
he built the house in which you were horn.
He used to sing over the wine cup and he
thotight not then of harm. Ponce heard his
young wife beg of him to remain it home
with her, but he refused her the boon. She
told him that she was cold and hungry, and that
her children needed clothing, but he heeded
her not. A few short years afterwards that
wife's heart broke, and - she died and her chil
dren. The husband and fathervllound one
cold night lying by the road-side, and lie was
dead ! These are the graves" for Fbtiried
them all together. You can seethe wife's,
grave beyond the cr - ray stone Of the hitsband's•
and those two little graves are where lie the
frozen boy and girl !"
The old man drew his sleeves across his
eyes to wipe away the tears, and while he
did so Malcolm bOwed his head, . groaned
mournfully.-
"Malcolm Warren," he said, "there was
once a full regiment of stout soldiers follow.
ed Napoleon Bonaparte into- Russia. There
were many other regiments went also, but of
this' one in particular have I read. Of the
whole company of men only one solitary in
dividual lived to return to the home of his
bii-tb. All the rest died on - the way. They
were starved or frozen, - and they dropped by
the wayside. Now suppose some thought
less youth should point to that single living
soldier, arid say that amid the eternal snows
of Russia there was no danger, because that
man had - passed them all and still lived !
Like that single fragment of the regiment do
I stand here a living man."
The youth gazed up in the face of the aged
speaker, and new emotions were working
upon his features.
"Come, Malcolm, I would show you one
more spot before we go."
The old man leaned upon his staff, and
moved slowly on among the graves, and in-.
voluntarily did - the youth follow. At length
they stopped by a spot where two graves
lay side by side. The slabs Were of marble,
and they glistened brighty in the moonlight.
"Malcolm," spoke the sexton in a deep
whisper "I remember well wheni made these
twograves.. There was no sorrow to.fill . the
beds which here I made, for ihey . who - sleep
'here died amid the sweet breathings'of peace
:and honor. They were good, virtuous peo
ple, and when they were gone our townsmen
'mourned, for our village had lost tw,o of its
most noble spirits. 0, I love to come and
tan:l over those gi,aves, for I know that God
smiles upon them!' There is nn. taint nor
dishonor here. Malcolm, - d&yon know who
rests in those two grave?-
The youth did not answer nor did he raise
his head, but with ()fie deep,: wild .cry, he
sank down,- and there he lay across both
„raves, weeping di - id - sobbing
. like a
His FATHER and moniert sleep there I-
For a while the olt.t. man gazed tearfully
upon the scene,
and then he took the youth,
by the arm and aroused him up.
"Come, Malcolin," he whispered, "we
will go away new: I can show you no
more.
The youth followed his guide out from the
church-yard, and after the gate was closed
they passed on to the street. 'Here Adam
Stafford stopped.
"Now, Malcolm," hesaid, "you can return
to your companions - at the tavern, but let me
pray you never use my name again as you
did this evening. When you again think of
poor old Adam Stanford, think only on what
he has told you in the church-yard . think
of what he has seen, and -of• what he
has'suffered, and of that you may in wel-
Come speak."
The old man turned partly away, when
Malcolm sprang forward and caught him by
the arm.
"Uncle Adam," he uttered, in chocked
and broken accents, "0, forgive me for what
I have now said and what I have done. 1—
I 'cannot tell you all now. I cannot speak,
buff shall go to the tavern no more. 0, God
bless you! God bless you!"
* s. - '*
The clock struck nine, and Allice Warren
folded the hands of her little" boy together,
and bade him say his - prayers. der young
est girl was asleep in the cradle. The first
words of the prayer was uttered,—"Our lath
er 'who art in heaven,"-_-when there came
the sound of footsteps upon the plank Walk
in the little front garden.
"It's papa," said the boy, letting his hands
drop upon his mother's knees, and bending
his ear: to listen. But the' mother dared not .
speak.
At last the door opened, and the husband
entered. Alice cast her eyes trembling up,
and saw the bigiears that were rolling'down
the cheeks of her Beloved. " Instinctively
she sprang forward and clasped her arm about
her husband's tieek.
` "Malcolm; Malcolm !" she cried, "What
has happened=? Tell me-0, tell'me."
Malcolm Warren sank filth a chair, and as
he did 'so he drew his wife - down in his lap.
cAlice—O, Alice P 2 he uttered, sobbing
and weeping as he spoke. Can yctl forcive
me for al
,that is past ?"
The gentle wile was bewildered at first,
`nay almost frightened, for the speech of her
husband was, so wild and incoherent she fear
ed his brain was turned.
,But ere long he
spoke again, and as he spoke he kissed her.
He was more cairn and his voice was more'
low. He told where he had been—and he
spoke of the resolution he had made. He
did not tell of arty trial he was going to make,
but he told of the iron will that,had entered his
soul. The night of his temptation had pas
sed, and the day of salvation had dawned.,
few moments more, and the husband
and wife were upon their knees. Their
emotions were too deep for utterance—too
wild and thrilling for speech. A moment
,they struggled there, and then wept in si
lence.
The little boy crept to the spot, and threw
his tiny hands about the neck of his parents,„
for even his young soul had caught the spark
of new life that had been breathed into exis-
Jence with his happy home.
On the next morning Malcolm Warren
:arose a better and happier man. He was
calm now and he told Allice all that had
transpired the night before, and when it was
all told they prayed as redeemed souls alone
can pray.
Days, weeks and months passed away,
and Malcolm Warren became once more the
handsome youth that had been loved and
cherished by honest men in time gone by.—
Thellowers of affection bloomed again about
his hearthstone, and the angel of peace and
joy made a home beneath his roof.
People 'wondered when they noticed that
Adam Stanford went no more to the tavern;
but the story of that night's lesson in the
village church-yard became generally known
and other men took it to their hearts and
profited by it. it was a good seed sown in a
'fertile spot, and the fruit was abundant. The
good old sexton never gave his example
again on the side of moral ruin, but to the
last day of his life were cheered by knowing
that some of the happiest families in the vil
lage blessed him for the joys that dawned
upon them.
Sawing off a Lovers Leg.
The following story, which is calculated to
make "each particular hair to stand like
quills upon the fretful porcupine," is said to
have happened in St. Lawrence county, New
York, and is given on the authority of a gen
tleman of undoubted varacity :
"A young man addicted to intemperate hab
its, during one of his periodical 'sprees' took
a sudden notion to pay a visit to his 'sweet
heart.' - Ork the evening alluded to, the young
lady and a female associate were the only oc
cupants of the house where she resided.—
About ten o'clock in the evening the young
man arrived at the house, cousiderably , worse
from the use of 'beverages.' His strange
manner in approaching the door excited the
suspicions - of the young ladies, who suppo
sed the house was attacked by robbers. He
knocked at the door, and demanded admis
sion; but his voice not being recognised, from
the thickness of his tongue, the ladies refused
to comply with the demand. Determined to
force an entrance he comeneneed a series of
assaults , upon barred and bolted door by
kicking and pounding. After a number of
desperate kicks, the pannel of the door gave
way, and the leg of the besieger went through
-the aperture, and was immediately seized by
one of theladies and firmly held, while the oth
er, 'armed
. with a saw, commenced the work
of amputation? The grasp was firmly main
tained, and the saw vigorously plied, until
the leg was completely severed from the body!
%Vith • the loss of his leg, the intoxicated
wretch fell'back, and in that condition lay
the remainder of the night. in the mean
time
the ladies were frightened almost to
death. With the dawn of morning the. reve,
lation was made that one of the ladies had
participated in the amputation of her loser's
leg. The wretched man was still alive,—
His
friends were immediately sent for, and
he was conveyed to his home where, with
proper treatment he gradually and miracu
lously recovered, and is now alive and well.
We hardly credited," says the editor of the
journal from which we quote, "the latter part
of the story, and contended that the man
must have bled to death on the spot, insist='
ing, indeed, that it could not be otherwise.—
But we were mistaken. The leg was a
wooden one."
"Bah 'tis perfectly absurd to say you
can't for you know well that "where there's
a will there's a way." The Irishman who
was asked to play - the fiddle didn't say "I
can't ;" no, he had more spirit ; he said, 4 .'1
don't 'know till I try?? Can't never helped
one through life; it neither discovered Geor
gium Shins, nor peeled an orange. Can't is
first cousin to Despair. It has pushed many
a man. down the hill, but never helped him
up one inch.- It is a beggarly companion;
who will stick to you till you havn't a single
stiver of resolution left. Failure is no rea
son why you should say you can't; for didn't
you read in your primer a nice moral story
telling you to "try again?" Pont think that
what your primer said was nonsense; you
just follow its many instructions and ad vices,
and can't will never cross your mind. 'rake
courage; it is a cheerless thing to say or
think you can'[ do anything. Sot yourself
resolutely -to work, and unless the thing
be altogether superhuman, yor. will undoubt
ably succeed. Many in the last stage of
despair have plucked up spirit and frightened
away the doubts and difficulties besetting
them. , You may do so also, knowing that
"WHAT MAN HAS DONE, MAN MAY DO."
LICE ON FOWLS.—A. teaspoon of turpentine
to three pr four of sweet oil—(the turpentine
alone, would probably take the feathers off
the 'poor birds,)—grease them freely with
this, and let the rural readers know, if the
vermin do not "varnose." I have no doubt
the free use of turpentine in hen-housei,
would rid then and their inmates of these
pests.
"Can,t"
Educatioh of the Youth
great error pervades the community in
reference fo the kind of an education the
young should receive; Too much attention
is bestowed upon showy accomplishments.
Education is valuable just in proportion to
its usefulness. The principles of truth and
virtue impressed, with an abiding sense of
christian duty, upon the youthful mind, will
nece'ssatily produce uprightness of conduct
and correct principles of aCtino• Nothing is
really noble, in the conduct of men, that is
not the result of choice, produced by a cor
rect system of enlightenment. The plodding
automaton may, by a force of circumstances
and fixed habit, move in - the path of recti
tude; but this is the result of accident, not
of choice. . The divine spark that should an
imate the breast is wanting. There is none
of that soul elevating sentiment which per
vades the heart of every freeman, causing
him to perceive the. truth and to adhere with
unwavering-firmness to its dictates. An
educated man feels a stinging remorse when
ever his actions do not correspond to the dic
tates of conscience. The prison statistics of
the :United States show that about three
fourths of the convicts cannot read or write.
Observation everywhere 'Noyes that it is the
uneducated that idle away their time and
plunge into all manner of excesses and bru
tal habits. Money and time expended in
acquiring an education is so much capital in
vested towards the future and enduring glo
ry of our country. Every minute spent in
cultivating the mind adds to the pk!cuniary
resources of the individual. The following
eloquent remarks from an eminent_ scholar
(Dr. Channing,) will meet with a hearty re
sponse from every friend of popular-educa
tion :
"l am not discouraged by the objection,
that the laborer, if encouraged to give time
and strength to the elevation of his mind,
will starve himself and impoverish the coun
try, when I consider the energy and efficien
cy- of the mind.. The highest force in the
universe is mind. This- has changed the
wilderness into fruitfulness, and linked dis
tant countries in a beneficent ministry to
one another's wants. Et is riot to brute force. ;
td physical strength, so much• as to art, to
skill, to intellectual and moral energy, that
men otve their mastery over the world. It is
mind which, has conquered matter. To fear
then that, by calling forth a. people's mind,
we shall impoverish and starve them, is to
be frightened at a shadow. I believe, that
with the growth of intellectual and moral pow
er to the community, its productive power
will increase, that industry will become
more efficient, that a wiser economy will ac
cumulate wealth, that unimagined resources
of tut and nature will be discovered. 1 be
lieve, that the means of living will grow, ea
sier, in proportion ,as a people shall become
enlightened, self-respecting, resolute and
just. Bodily or 'material forces can be meas
ured, but not the forces of the soul, nor can
the resn'As of increased mental energy be
foretold. Such a community will tread down
obstacles ; now deemed invincible, and turn
them into helps. The inward moulds the
outward. The power of a people lies in its
mind; and its mind, if fortified and enlarged,
will bring external things into harmony with
Jl_ Jrin extert. 211hgs ~armory
itself. If, however, I err in this belief, if,
by securing time and means for improvement
of the multitude, industry and capital should
become less productive, I will say, sacrifice
the wealth, and not the mind of a people.
"Nor do I believe that the physical good of
a community would in this way be impaired ;
The diminution of a country's wealth, occa
sioned. by general attention to intellectual
and moral culture, would be followed by
very many different efforts from those which
would attend an equal diminution brupglit
about by sloth, intemperence and ignorance.
There would, indeed, be less production in
such a country, but the character and spirit
of the people would effect a much more equal
distribution of what woold 'be produced; and
the happiness of a community depends vast
ly more on the distribution than on the
amount of its wealth. In, thus speaking of
the future, I do not claim any special pro
phetical gift. As a general role, no man is
able to foretell, distinctly : the ultimate per
manent results of any great change. Dui as
to the case before us we oueht not to doubt.
It is a part of our duty to believe, that by
nothing can a country so effectually gain hap
piness and lasting prosperity, as by the ele
vation of all classes of its citizens. To ques
tion this seem an approach to the end of time.
this fall,
The pillared firmanent is rottenness,
And earth's base built on stubble."
Let no one bring forward the plea that pov
erty prevents him from storing his mind with
useful knowledge. He might just with as
much propriety say that he was too poor to
follow his daily vocation. An educated la
borer becomes a more successful producer.—
A farmer that adapts his , Train to its proper
soil, and applies the right kind'' of nourishing,
stimulants to that soil, will ,earn far more,
than he who prepares and sows his fields
without intelligence:—Elevator.
CREDlT.—Credit is one of the b&st things
man has devised, and about the worst thing
abused. Thousands live on credit who have
no right to any such a thing. None but an
honest roan ought to be able to pass his word
instead of a coin-- a ro" ue's word is not
worth its face, no matter bow rich he may,
be. No one should have facility to run in
debt for the means of ostentatious display of
sensual gratification or of hazardus adventure.
"Earn b efore you spend" should be the gen
eral rule, credit should be extended mainly
to those who use it to fill themselves with the O There are people with Very .good'-re
means and implements of useful productive
P whose only merit are the vices which
labor.—R. Grecis.
help to .c.arry' on the business of life.--Roche-
Consumers of "f:ne cut" will please foucault.
"chaw" the following from the Worcester I Is if-Very sickle here'!" said a son of
Transcript :—We noticed a man about our ,The Emerald Isle the other day, to another.—
streets, collecting into a bag, old stumps of , "Yes," replied his companion, "a great many
segars. In our large cities, the collecting, of '• have died this year who never. died before."
old segars is made a lucrative business, as 1
they are readily purchased by tabaconists "Jim, how does the thermometer stand
and manufactured
,into fine cut ,chooinrc tobac- to-day !" "Ours stands on the mantel-piece,
co! right agin the plastering."
The power of thought has accomplished
wonders. It has - enabled the student to learn
the languages, and solve the most obtruse
mathematical proh:cms. It has taught the
farmer the att of ag,ticulture, that he may
adapt his seed to the soil, that it may produce
a bountiful harvest. It has taught the me
chanic the rules which govern phisical sub
stances, that he may apply it to the best ad
vantage. It has taught the merchant rates
of exchange, that he may make a profit him
self and benefit the community at large. It
has taught the lawyer principles of equity,
by which mankind must be governed. It
has called the lightning from the skies.—
Such ate some of the accomplishments of
thought. -
Thought, wrapt in the mystic mantle of
high order, passes and repasses the fiery or
deal, yet cannot unfold to man itsi surpassin
loveliness in the -language of earth. It in
the life of the mind, the ever gushing fauns
tain of all sciences, and the perfection of all
art. It has been shattered by the winds of
Heaven, and its embers shall glow when all
others are extinguished. It has picked from
fame's ethetial bower the fairest flowers and
twined them in a wreath to crown the brow
of Milton. It was his delight under the in
fluence of that sacred blessing, thought, to
write that admirable poem, 'Paradise Lost.,"
it was his greatest conquest to write "Para-
dise Regained."
Thou , ht teaches us that the grave is a
dark and gloomy world, with no light to il
_tome the night; but abetter philosophy whis
pers to us that the grave is not the end ;
that a cloud of darkness may gather round
the closing scene ; and the paleness of death
be our winding sheet. But a brighter dawn
than ever was seen raising on the spirit, and
thought links its immortality to the blessings
of heaven. Thought,•looking down through
the lapse of ages, working with untiring
efforts beneath the decaying wreck of the
past, shades of dark oblivion, beholds thought
bounding into futurity. Thus the power of
thought has donemuch, and has much yet
to do. What •it has done are real triumphs.
What it may do will OP done; for, with the im
mortal soul, - whatever is possible is certain.
Without thought,• the world of Mind would
be as day without the sun, or as a dark night
without the moon or stars—lris.
ELM' t is the price of success in every de
partment of human action. From the attain
ment of rudimental knoWledge to the salva
tion of t:ie soul, every step in our progress,
is made by undaunted toil. The boy drdnes
over his book, a slave to listless laziness,
thereby securing fir' himself' a place at the
feet of soviet}'. The Christian who, like
Ptinynn's . Timorous and Mistrust, flees at the
voice of 'inns, is undone. The man who
shrinks from difficulty in his business or
profession,- who4eftises`to Climb because the
rock is sharp, and . the way steep, must make
up his mind to slide back and to lie in the
shadows below, while others use him as
a stepping stone to their own rising.—
For this, such is the• constitution of soiety,
there is no help. The poet wrote truely
who said—
"Thou must eillier'sOak or stoop;
Fall or triumph, stand or droom• _
Thou must either serve or govern;
Must be slave or must be sovereign;
Must, in Fne, be block or wedge, -
gust be anvil or be slecrze."
.
To, shake off an indolent spirit, - dr stir
one's self to exertion, to reach Constantly up
ward; to struggle for a firm foothold* On-the
most slippery places, to' wrestle Mai - 011y,
even when principalities and pOwers'are our
foes, to refuse submission to any evils, how
ever frowning, are conditions v‘e must either
fulfil, pr sink to littleness, to uselessness—
perchance to ruin. Therefore, with a brave
heart and an unconquerable spirit,•eVery man
should address himself to the Wotk of the day;
striving with pure views and reliiinis trust
for - an increase of his talent, and' fiir a victo
ry, which will enable him to stand unabash
ed in the last* day. fl'e who thus 'strives need
fear no failure. His triumph,- tliciugh decay
ed for a time, shall come at last:'
Nothing Done without Labor
There is an important principle slated in a
;mat k which we find, occurrni ,, :ih a sketch
of the ,history of Whitney's 'Cotton Gin.--
The writer, referring to the labeeand toil
which the invention cost, says
"There is a theory much in favor With in
ventors and the public, and often enforced
with many plausible instances, that brilliant
discoveries are made by accident;, aid.
indeed it is easy to collect examples, where
chance has given birth to every wonder real
ities. But if we could' institute .more care
ful inquiries, we should learn that the for
tunate accident only set in motion a train to
receive it. Such accidents never happen to
fools. A majority of cases show us the-new
discovery elaborated by repeated trialS, and
each improvement won at the Coal of unre
mitting experiment and thought."
I•George Washington, in one of his
messages to Congress, uses the following
language
"To every description of Citizens, 'indeed,
;et•praise be given. But let them persevere
in their affectionate vigilance over that pre
cious depository of Aineriean happineSs, the
Constitation of the United State - s 1 Let them
cherish it, to for the sake of those 'who 4R ill'
EVERY CLIME are daily seekinz
our land."
7
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VOL. 11, NO, 9,
Thought
The . Price . of Suoaesi3