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Li t ........,... . .. . .. ...... •.• ...... • • , ...••, •.... .•., .. . . ....r . ... , . ... ... .. e.., ..„ ._ •....:• ••• ~..:.•. .• . , •••• ..,:_• ~.. ..•.. \.... ........".;::...... . i .i . .. - :! . ..: - ; • :..' . .'.1_: . ,..... : ,.„-....:..... --- _,'• . ! .....'...,,..-_':.......:..:...-:... .....:-,...-..': .. .... •...,.... ~. ... ..... . .......:.„.....: _.,... -..--......:.. :::,./..f...-.:•. , ,•;„.. U .?:,:..::,....,....,•..-...„....,:...., ,•-•,... ~ ~ ~ ~ . ~ . .., A1. _..;. : .... i. ,......,. ....,_.. ....„, r . ~ ... ......., _. ..,.... ~..,• ... . . . .. , . .. . ___...._._....._:_.___. ~ . ~ . . . _ ... BY W. LEWIS. THE HUNTINGDON - GLOBE," , Per annum; in advance,, , 50 " if not - paid 1n advance, 2'oo No paper discontinued until all arrearages 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 Agvertising • , • -- , ins. 2 ins. 3 ins Six lines or less, - 25 • 374 50 1 • square, 16 lines,.brevier, 50' 75' 100 2 " ' • "'" "1 205 3 • 1-50- 2 25 3 00 • . m. 12 m. 1 square, •• • $3 00 $5 00 $BOO :•ci • • • " - " "5 00 '• 8 00. .12 00 3 "• - " 750 40- 00 15 00 4 • • • 9 .00 = - 14' 00 ..23 00 5 " • . • 15.00 25',00 38.00 10 " , ,; " 25..00: 40- 00. 60.00 Professional and Business. Cards not exceed ing 6 lines., one year, 4 .00 , What I Live For, BY G. LINN/BUS BOMB. •I live for those who love me, Whose hearts are kind and true ; For the heaven that smiles` above me, Arid awaits , my spirit too ; For all human ties that bind me, For the task by God assigned me ; For the bright hopes left behind me, And the good that I can do. I live to learn their story, Who've suffered for my sake ; To emulate their glory, And follow in their. wake ; Bards, patrit.ts, martyrs,-sages, '- The noble of all ages, Whose deeds crowd history's pages, And time's great volume make., I live to - hold communion, ~ With all that is divine ; — !To feel there is a Union, - 'Twixt Nature's heart and mine ; To profit by affliction, - Keep truth - from fields of fiction, ,Prow wiser from conviction, - --And fulfil each grand design. I live to hail the season, By the gifted minds foretold, When men shall live by reason, And not by gold alone ; 'When man to man united, And every wrong thing righted, The whole world shall be lighted As Eden was - of old. l'live for those thlt,lolfe me, For those who know me. true ; For the 1-leaven that smiles above, me', And" awaitsmy spirit too ; For the cause that racks assistance, For the wrong-that needs resistance ; For the futnrein the distance, And the good that I can do. TELE LOST BOY An Incident in The Ohio Penitentiary BX THE WARDE\., I had been but a few months 'in charge of the prison, w hen my attention was attracted to, and deep interest - felt in, the numerous boys and young' men who' 'were •confined therein and permitted to work in the shops with old and hardened convicts. The interest was increased on every evening s as I saw them congregated in gangs, march ing to their silent meals, and thence to their gloomy bed rooms, which are more like liv ing sepulchres, with iron shrouds, than 'sleep. ing apartments. These youttg men and boys, being generally the shortest in height, brought up the - rear 6f the _companies, as they Marched to the terrible "hick step," and consequently more easily attracted atten tion. To see many youthful forms and bright countenances mingled with the' old and harL dened scoundrels, whose visages betokened Vice, malice and crime, was•sickening to the soul. But there, was one 'among the boys, a lad about seventeen.' years of age, who had particulurly attracted my attention ; riot from anything superior in his-coulitenance or gen eral-appearance but . by the look of utter despair which ever set upon his brow, and the silent,;uncomplaining manner in which he submitted to all' the hardships and degre; dations of prison life. He was often com plained of, by both officers and men, and I thought unnecessarily,• for light and-trivial offences against the rules -of propriety ; yet he seldom had any excuse . or apology, and never denied a charge. He took the repri mand, and once a. punishment, Withou, a tear or , a 'Murmur, almost as a matter of course; .seeniing ,thankful that it` was 'no . Woi-Se. He had evidently Seen - . better'days; and enjoyed the light ,01* - home, parents and friends, if not the , luktiries •Of life: But the light of hope seemed to 'have gone out, his health was poor—hiS2 face was pale—his frame fragile—and no fire beamed in his dark grey eye, l I thought every night, air - I saw him mareh•to his . gloomy bed, that . I would go to him and leam his history—but , there was so' many duties to perform,' So Much to learn and to do, that day after-day passed, and. I 'would neglect him—having, merely learned that his name was Arthur Lamb, and that his crime was burglary ar.d larceny, indicating a very, bad •boy for one so young. He had already been there a year, and bad two more to serve 1, He never could outlive his sentence, and his countenance in dicated that he felt it. He worked at stone cutting on the. State house—hence my oppor tunities for seeing him were less than though he had worked in the prison yard=still his pale face • haunted me day and night—and I resolved that on the next Sabbath as he came; 'frem School, I would send for him and learn 'his history. • ' 'ft happened, however, that I was one day in a store ) waiting for the transaction of some business., and having - :picked up an (Ltd newspaper tread and re-read, while delayed . , until et last my eyelell upon 'an advertise ment of "A Lost Boy' ! 7 —lnformatfon wanted of a boy named Arthur (I will not give his real name, for-perhaps he is still liv ing,) and then followed a description of 'the ,boy-exactly corresponding with that_of the young _ convict—Arthur Lamb I Then there was 'somebody who cared 'for the poor boy,• 'if, indeed, it - was him; -perhaps his mother,. his father, his brothers and._ sisters, who-were searching for him. The adver 7 tisement was nearly a year old-L--Yet - I doubt ed not—and as soon as tha convicts' were locked up I sent for Arthur Lamb. Hebanie as a matter of course; 'with • the• same pale, •unComplaining face and hopeless gait—think ing, no doubt, that 'something had gone wrong, and had been laid to his charge': ' '-•I was examining - ,the 'Convict's Register, when he came in ; and-when L looked up, there he stood a perfect image of despair. I asked him his name.— He replied, "Arthur." "Arthur 'what 'I" 'said I sternly. "Arthur 'Lamb," he antwered •hesita tingly. . "Have you a father or mother living 'I" His eyes brightened—his voice quivered, as, he exclaimed : "0 I have you heard from mother Ts she alive Is she well 1" and tears, which I never had seen him shed before, ran like rain drops down his cheeks. •As he became calm from suspense, I told him I had not heard from his parents, but that I had a pa per I-wished him to read. He took the ad vertisement. which I had cut from the paper, and as he read it he exclaimed. "That's me ! that's me !" and again sobs and tears choked his utterance. I assured him that the advertisement was all that I could tell him about his parents— and that it requested information, I desired to know what I should 'write in reply. The advertisement directed information • to be sent to the editor of the Christian Chronicle, New York. • "Oh, do not write I" he said, "it will break poor mother's heart." I told him f must write, and that it would be a lighter blow to his mother's feelings to know where he was than the terrible uncer tainty which must haunt her .mind day and night. So he consented ; and taking him to my room, 1 drew from him.in substance the following story : , • :His father was a respectable and wealthy mechanic in , an- interior town in the State of New York. That ,at the holding of the tate. Agricultural Fair in his native town, he got acquainted with two stranger boys, older than himself, who persuaded him to. run away from home and go to the West:, He foolishly consented ; and with light hopes of happy times, new scenes and great 'fortune ! They- came as far as Cleveland, where. they remained several days. One morning the otherd.wwboys came to his room -early, and showed.him a large amount of jewelry, &c., which they, said they had wan at cards du ring the night. knowing that .he was in need of funds to pay Ins board, they pressed him to take some of it for means to pay his landlord. But before he had dispoSed of any of it they were all three arrested for burgla ry, and as a portion of the property taken from the store which had been robbed was found in his possession, he too was tried con victed and sentenced. Ile had no'friends, no money, and dared not to- write home ; so hope sank within _him ; he resigned himself Co his fate, never expecting to get out of pris on, or seehis parents again. - ..'.Upon inquiring of the two convicts who came with him on . the same charge, I. learn ed that what Arthur had stated was strictly true, and that his only crime" Was' keeping bad :company, leaving his home, and un knowingly receiving stolen goods. Ques tioned separately they told the same sto:y, and left noedeubt in . my ,mind., of the boy's inneeeriee. nil! of compassion for the on.; fortunate little fellow, I sat dnwri 'and wrote a full description of , -Arthur,. condition and history, as I, obtained. it from hirn,,paint ing the horrors of the rilace,,thehiipelessness of his'beinir reformed there; if guilty, and 'the probability of his ;never living out his sentence-and describingahe.process to be used to gain his pardon.: .This I sent ..ac cording to the directions of the advertise- Meta. But week after week passed, and no answer came. The boy daily inquired if I had heard from his mother, mild at last, "hope deferred seemed to make : his heart sick," and again he,dinoPed arid .pined.•. • At last a letter came—such av letter I It ivas from the Rev. Dr. Bellow*, of New - York. He had been absent to a distant city, but the moment he read my letter the good' man re sponded. The father of the poor boy had be- Come'almest inSaneen accoMit of his son's mystOriOns absente. "Ife'had left his former plaee of resideriCe, had, s moved from city to fromcitY;'dewei, and travelled' up and dovin the country seeking the loved _and the t !,' " had spent the. most of a hand mime fortue,eihis wife, the' boY's mother, VOas'Orf the'briitk of the grave, "pining 'for her first both, ;and would not be - comforted:?! They then lived in a western city; whither they had gone in'the hope of finding or for getting their - boy—or that a"charige ; of scene might assuage their .grief. thanked. me for my letter, which he 'had Sent to thefath er, and' promised his assistance" to procure the young convict's pardon. , This news' I. gave to Arthur ; he seemed pained and pleased—hope and tear, joy and arief filled his heart alternately, but from thence his eye beamed brighter, his step was. lighter, and hope seemed to dance in'every nerve. Days pissed—and at last, there came 'a man to the' prison, rushing frantiCally 'into the, office, demanding to see his boy. ' "My boy my boy ! 'Oh, let me. see him!" The clerk who knew nothing of the pat rer, calmly asked him the name .of his son. "Arthur "No.such name 'on our 'books;' your eon HUNTINGDON, - I,[: . G.l:Sta'. 29, 1855-. cannot be here And away went this unbidden guest. ' "He is here :" ! Show him to me Her Mr. Gusset was then engaged in stammer sir, is your'own - letter ! Why do you m •ng out a denial of all knowledge of the vire mei,' • go, when the parlor door again opened, a lit- The clerk looked over the"letter,-saw at Ile black-eyed, hatchet-faced women, in a 'once that Arthur Lamb was the convict wan- - flashy silk gown and a cap with many rib ted, and rang the bell for the messenger., • brine, perched on the top of her head, invaded "ThereeiS the•warden, sir; it was his letter tthe•aanctity of the parlor. he showed." 'ls he'herel she cried, in a decided French Too much of agoadthing is• often unpleas- Accent.. ,Then' she added, with a scream, ant,. This old man embraced me. and _Wept - ‘A.Et mon' diet)! le voila! Zere he is. Traitre! like a child. A'theusand times he thanked rnenster l Vat for you run away from me? me, - and in the name - of- his :wife, heaped `Dis :two tree years I never see - you—nev blessing§ - upon my head. But the rattling of , - air—and my heart broke very bad entire the great iron door, and ihe grating. sound of ly.' its htoges _indicated the appearance of Ar- 'Who are you 2 cried Gusset, his eyes star thur,'and I conducted the exciled parent in - - ting out of • his head and shivering from to a side parler. then led his son to'his •head to foot. embrace. Such a' half shriek and agonizing 'He asks Me who I am. 0, you var re groan as the old man gave, when he beheld spectable'old gen tilhomme! hear : vat he ask the altered appearance of the boy, as he stood —Who I am, perfide! ah!—l am your wife!' 'clad in the degrading stripes, and hcilding a 'l'never see 'fore—so help me Bob,' cried convicts cap in his hand, 'I never heard be- -Gusset, energetically.• fore. I have seen many,similar scenes since, • ','Don't you swear!' said the old deacon and become inured to them ; but this 'one -Peabody; ‘if you do Pll KICK you into fits, I seemed as if it would burst my brain ! - won't have no profane or vulgar language in I drew up and 'signed a' petitiim for the my house.' pardon of the young convict ; and such a ' 'o_ bless you, bless you, respectable old deep and favorable impression did the peru- mane Tell him he must come viz me—tell sal of the letter I wrote in answer to the ad- him I have spake to ze constable—tell him.' vertisement make upon the directors, that Sobs interrupted her , utterance. they readily joined in the petition, though it 'lt's pesky bad-business,' said the deacon, was a long time before McLean' consented. shafing evitheinwonted ire—'Gusset, you're He was exceedingly cautious - and prudent; a rascal.' but the old man clung to_him-efollowed - him 'Take care,' Deacon Peabody! take- care,' from his office - to his Country residense, and said the unfortunate shopkeeper. there in the presence of his fainily 'plead 'I remarked ye was a rascal, Gusset.— anew his cause. At' length, excited by the You've gone and married two wives, and that earnest appeal of his - father, the director look- 'ere's flat -burglary, ef I• know anything ed over his papers again—his wife, becom- 'beout the Revised Statoots.' ing interested, •picked up the answer to-the 'Two wives!' shrieked the French worn advertisement, read it, and then tears came an. to the rescue.. Mac said, rather harshly, that 'Half a dozen, for aught I know to the the warden would let all those young rascals contrary,' said the deacon , . 'Now you clear out if he could. Those who knew Govenor I out of nhy house, go away to the station and Wood will not wonder that he was easily 1 clear out into Boston—l won't have nothing prevailed in, such a case, and, the par- i more to do with you.' .don was granted. 'But, deacon ! hear me. Need Idescribe the old man's joy—now don't want to hear you, ye serpint,' he laughed,and wept—walked and ran—all cried. the deacon, stopping ears with his impatient to see his son free. When the lad ' hands, 'margin' two wives, and comin' eour came out in citizen's dress, theset - Aed parent tin' third. Go long ! .Clear out. was too full for utterance, :-Ha-bugged -the Even Mrs. Peabody,. Who was•inelined to released convict to his hasettite4isscd. him— put in ,a word fOr•the culprit was silenced. wept and prayed ! - Grasping qny t ehertt.l . , he Susan,turned from, him in horror; and in de tendered me his -farm-4iiewatch-,--a4thing spair he fled to •the railway . station, hotly I would take. Pained it.the t t houghtt Of t 'pe- I pur`S . ued by the clamorous and indignant cuniary reward, I took the oldipan's arm in French woman. mine, and his boy by the bandit end escorted That afternoon, as _Miss Susan Peabody them to the gate—literally bowing them' was walking towards- the village, she was away. overtaken •by _Mr., jonathau Doubikins, I never saw them more! - But the young dressed in his best, and driving his fast-going man is doing well; and long may -he live to horses-beforetis Sunday go-to meeting chaise reward the filial affection of his parents. —he reined up, and accosted her. . This case may be but cine'among a •hun- Suke,!.get in and take a ride dred. • Where guilt is not clear, them should 'Don't keer if I do, Jonathan,' replied the be pity for youth, and some proper means ta- young lady / accepting the preferred seat.. ken to restore them to - the paths of rectitude say, you,' said Jonathan , grinning, 'that and honor.—Sandusky- (Ohio Mirror. - ere city feller's turned our a.poorty pup, ain't . _ .Another Yankee Trick. -'It's dreadful, if it's true,' replied the young 'The critter loves me ! I • knotv . sheloves - - me I' said Jonathan Doubikins, as . he,sat up on the corn- field fence, meditating on the course of his true love, that was running just as Shakespeare said it did—rather roughly.— 'lf Suke Peabody -has .taken a-shine to that gawky, long-tsnakssq, stanimerin' shy ,ctitter Gusset, jest qaueefie.'s a city feller, she ain't the girl,l took her for, that's sartin. No ! it's the old, folks; darn their, ugly .picters! Old Mts., Peabody was allers a. dreadful highfalu tin' critter, full of big notions: and the old man's , a reg'lar soft7head, driven 'about by his wife, Justeas t eur old one-eyed rooster is drove about by our catankerous five:eoed Dolkin hen.,.But if I don'e. spite-his fun, -my name ain'tlinathap. goin' ,down to the city by the railroad next week e --and when I come hack,'weke snakes! that's all. _ The above soliloquy may serve to give the reader some slight idea of the 'land, : in the plearant rustic village' where the - speaker re- sided., . , - - Mr. Jonathon Doubiklu .WaS. a young far mer, well to de in the'world, andlooking out for, a wife a and had been paying his addresses to Miss Susan ,Peabody, the only' and of Deacon Elderberry Peabody, of that ilk, with a fair Rrospecf of success, when.. a city ac quaintance of the Peabody's, one Mr. Cor n elide ,GuSsel, Who kept a retail dry goods shop in Hanover street, Boston, suddenly Made his appearance in the field and com menced the cutting out game. Dazzled with the prospect ,of .becoming fe• gentleman's wife, and pestered by the importunities of • her aspiring mamma, the yillage beauty had begun to waver; when her old lover' detteini ned Ofi a hit andboldStroke to foil his rival, He went to the city,,ano returned, of hie be ness' there he, said nothing=-not 'even to a pumping maided aunt who kept •house for' him.., HO went not near the Peabodys, but labored in his:Cornfield, patiently awaiting the result of his maehinations. the next :clay . 'MI Gusset was seated with the old folks and their daughter, in. that best room of the 'Peabody' mansion. chattering • as pleasantly as may be, when the door opened, and in rushed a very dirty and furious Irish Women. "Is it there ye.are, Mr. Cornelius Gusset! Come out of that ? before I fetch ye, ye spal peer, !, Is that what ye , promised me afore the paste,' ye,hathan,nagarißunning away from rrie and the children—forsakin' yer larful Wedded wife, and runnia' after the Yankee gals,ye infiaential." • 'Woman' there must be some mistake here,' stanannered Gusset taken all aback by this charge... 'Devil a-bit of a mistake, ,ye sarpint! Oh, wirra !' wirra! was for , the likee of ye . I sacked , Dinner McCarthy—who loved the ground trod. on, and all bekase ye promised to make . a lady of; me—ye dirty . thief of the wurruld ' Will 'ye come along to tile railroad station, where I left little Patrick, because he was too sick with the small pox to come any furder—or will ye wait till I drag ye 'Go—go—alOng,' gasped Gusset, and I'll follow you.' He thought it best to temporize.' give you tin minutes,', said the virago. 7--- If ye ain't there, it's me cousin, Mr. Thabby Mulgruddery, will be s afther ye, yea'thief lady. , 'You had'a narrer escape, didn't ye?' pur sued the old lover. 'But he warn't never of no account, anyhow. What do the folks think about it 1' 'They hain't said a word since he cleared out.' 'Forget that night I rode you home from singing-school V asked Jonathan, suddenly branching off. , 'No, I hain't,' replied the young lady, blushing and smiling at' the same time. 'Remember them apples I gin you?' 'Oh, yes.' . 'Well, they was good, wasn't they?' 'First rate, Jonathan.' . 'Got a hull orchard full of them kind ere fruit, Suke,' said Jonathan, suggestively. • Susan was silent. 'G'lang! exclaimed Jonathan,, putting the braid on the' black horse. -'Have ryou any .idea where we're going, Suke? ' 'Pm going, to the village' 'No you hain't---your going along with me.' 'Where to V 'Providence; and you don't come back till you're Mrs. Doubikms—no how you can fix it' 'How you talk, Jonathan.' 'Darn the old folks' said Jonathan, putting on the string again, 'ef I was to leave yon with-them much longer, they'd be traden y,ou off on to some city feller with half a dozen wives already.' The next clay, as Mr. and Mrs. -Donbikins were returning homelnlheir chaise, Jonathan said confidentially: . ','May as well tell you. now, Sake, for I haiet any secrets from you, that Gusset nev er see ,them women afore they came stophin' into your house and blowed him up. I had . though. Cost me ten dollars, thunder! I teached - 'em • what to say, and I expect they done ii well ! 01(1• Gusset may-be a shop-kee pi>r,but if to expects to go ahead of Jonathan boubikins, he must get : up a plaguier.sight adier a morningsV TWendships Friendships are too valuable to be Unappre ciated. They-need to be cultivated, by faith fully showing ourselves friendly, according to the best of our, ability, in a thousand Ways. By respect - for our, seniors, by kindness to our juniors, by deference for station; by care for reputation, by, improving character, by cour tesy, to our equals, by honorable sod gracioti,s intelligence of rivalry, by encouraging art and industry-, by all ,the abounding reciprities of good neighborhood,:and' bY mutual trust in the blessing of the' Most High; in such ways we can multiply and adorn friendships, and give them that scope s which is connected with fullness of joy. Cicero celebrates Friendship delightfully : and it celebrates it self in . every friendly heart. .It finds:healing words for wounded spirits. It separates pleasing from unhappy rerriembrances, weighs their import and conveys the latter to the wilderness of forgetfulness, and garnish es and preserves the fernier . in encanting and vivid . recollections. It makes enchanting inueic irt.sitent solitude; and in those quiet hours" when the heart communes 'with itself, it aids the efforts of faith to believe in a com mon and eternal Father. What is the Trne Road to Respects bilit3t. There exists in all of us, men and woman, in a greater or less decree, a desire to secure the notice and respect of those with whom we associate, and of society at large. In _what way this object maybe most readily ee cured is an important question. Though the methods adopted in practical life are, in some respects, of considerable diversity, yet they may all be easily brought under, ~one or ,the other of two classes. - One of these includes nhOse who hope to gain respect by deserving ,it—by the possession of that true worth, and weight of character which ought, at any time and among any people, to command the most heartfelt and genuine respect; The other class is of those who would attain it by means of outward wealth or the appearance of it. The various , by-ways to respectabil ity Which are based on this latter idea, and the frequenters of which are Jed on by this delusive hope, and the ones, nevertheless, which are altogether the most walked in. At some period in every one's life, and in some cases, often in the course of a life-time the choice has to be made between these two very-diverse paths. While in mere talk and in one's own ,calm judgment, most men will readily acknowledge that a man ought to be esteemed for his virtue, intelligence, goodness, honesty, or for what he is in men tal and moral worth, yet in practice these :fiery persons will decide,to follow the path which in their hearts and with their tongues they perhaps very earnestly or eloquently condemn. Let ,us look at the consequences of walking in this wrong road, as they re gard our agricultural population. An idea, although an exceedingly unreasonable one, has obtained considerable prevalence, to the effect that the business or employment of the farmer is lower, in point of respectability, than most other employments. The conse quence of this is that many once engaged. in agricultural pursuits have sold, their farms and gone to peddling notions, or working a little while at one thing and a little while at another, unfitted probably for anything the) try, and taking no comfort in their new em ployments, Within five or six years we have known two, or more such cases as these hi One school district, and several in a single township.. Even:when the "old folks" stick to the farm', the ions and the daughters, do their utmost to escape from the agricultural tanks. The 'charms and the superior claims I of a country.life are all hidden out of view by the one false idea of its want of respecta bility,. Through the influence of this false notion men forget that.' there is no •deeart ment of labor, no pursuit or calling which contributes as ninon as agriculture to' the prosperity of a .nation, . or the health, , inde pendence, innocence, and moral worth 'of in dividuals. The cultivation of the soil was the first employment of man, and the first duty enjoined by his Creator. In all ages since j the comfort, happiness, prosperity and glory of nations and of individuals have been intimately connected with the performance of this duty, and the industrious practice of this pursuit. When it has been neglected, as of late years . ; there soon follows scarcity, want, high prices, depression of business, and wide-spread destitution. The agricul tural interest being the foundation on which 'all others are built, commerce and manufactures decline with it. For the effects, look.at the state of the country at the -present time.— While hundreds and thousands are fleeing from the country, leaving thousands of acres which cannot be 'cultivated for, want of help, and makins , every article of farm produce scarce, and consequently dear, thousands are rushing into employments but a little more productive than absolute idleness, or produc tive only of articles of mere show and luxu ry. Tlie numerous advertisements in our city papers show the abundance of the arts, devices, make-shifts, of hundreds of drones and shirks who would be better employed en a farm. and would be there probably but' for the false and irrational ideas which prevail in regard to the diverse roads to respectabili ty._ What will the end of these things be' —Countrj/ Ge'ntle man.. From the Germantown Telegraph Hints for die Farmer. brarr.—Avoid debt as you would a pest house. The farmer who is perpetually in creasing his liabilities, will always be ham pered 3 he can never exert his energies to good advantage, and oppressed by a sense of his helplessness, will rarely attempt to do so. ft should ever be an object with the farmer "to live styietly within his means." All that is required for the support, comfort and convenience,of his family he should endeav or to produce from the farm. With luxuries, properly so-called, he should have nothing to do, because he is better off, and more happy without them. The simplicity of primitive times afforded a most delightful picture of rural life. - All the members of the houshold were then united and banded together in pursuit of a common object—happiness, and this they sought arid obtained- by the adop tion of the most homely,and rational means. That their•efforts should have, been eminent ly successful, creates no astonishment in a rational mind. STONE.,WALL.—There is no species of fence more valuable than stone wall. Not only is the material indestructable, but, when it is properly constructed, on land that does not heave, it is very durable, and net . likely to be thrown down or otherwise injured by ordinary causes. If- the stor.es are of good size and properly laid, there is no reason why it should not endure for ages. Lands that ate encumbered with- stones, ,should be cleared nff, and enclosed with them. The time will shortly come when lands which af ford rocks enough to fence them will be con sidered the more valuable on that - account. • LIVE FENCES—Every season and ,every experiment but serves to illustrate the value of this species of enclosure. The men of refined and cultivated taste will of course prefer hedge to all other species of fence for its romantic and graceful beauty, while the economical farmer, acquainted with its mer-, its, will appreciate it for its durability, effi ciency, and .superior economy., Hedges of thorn, well set, and properly managed,_will VOL. 11, NO. . be found to be the best defence against cattle that can be had. No animal, however Guru ly , Zvi II attempt to break through more than once. The effect too, upon the scenic au tractions of the farm, is magnificent. If the thorns cannot•be procured, other shrubs may be substituted in its place, such as the Osage orange, Accacea; Tile way to meet Adversity, In this changing world we are all liable to be disappointed, in our best laid schemes for gain. "The race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, nor 'riches to men of understanding." Poverty, if it overtakes you pursuing the even tenor of your way, in an honest, industrious calling, involves, no crime. The cup may be bitter, but if your Heavenly Father bath put it to your lips, drink it. It will prove a needful_medicine 'to purge off in-dwelling impe - rfect ions. Ma ny of the best benefactors of earth, of whom the world was not worthy, were bouseless and homeless pilgrims here. If it be the will of God that you should descend and dwell in the lowly vale, be sure that you carry with you a good conscience, an unsullied rep , utation, and the approbation of heaven, and von will not be left comfortless. With a mind stayed on God, rich in faith, with your treasure in heaven, you will rind in all that valley many a cooling fountain, many a vine with its rich clusters. Choice flowers will perfume your path, songs of celestial melo , ,ly will regale your ear—manna from heaven and water from the river of life will satisfy your hungerings and thirstings after righ teousness. But if you are driven there by the scourges of outraged justice ; and follow ed by the scorn of an abused community, be assured, your way thither will be strewed with thorns, and your resting place a bed of living embers. Nor will your woe be essen tially mitigated by carrying with you any amount clandestinely kept back from its rightful claimants. " Your gold and silver thus gathered up will become cankered, and the rest of them will be a witness against you, and Will eat your flesh as if it were fire." REV. T. SHEPARD, D. D. Physical Exercise One of the .principal causes, if not the cause, of the attenuated and pallid appear ance of Americans, is doubtless the neglect, or rather the violation—the habitual rules laid down by Nature for muscular clevelope rrient. The class of men in this country whose occupations are such as almost neces , s4rily lead to the formation of sedentary habits is very large, larger perhaps in pro portion, than that of any other commercial 'ration. And this will acco - ont in a measure for the fact that the various complaints i gen erally concomitants of insufficient phisical exercise, are more prevalent here than else where. Our young men become clerks at an early age, and being thus confined to the counting room at - a lime of life when' the open air and constant motion of the body are indispensible, it is not surprising that they should be in their manhood so sadly deficient in muscular vigor and exhibit so little of the developement that is looked for in the sterner sex. With many such their lot is their fate, or is imposed as - a necessity from which there is no escape, and for these there is some excuse for the loss of health and life: But what shall be said of those who' make no effort to ameliorate their condition, or of that sti:l more culpable class, who - , from mere indolence, suffer their bodies to• waste away, to sink into premature old age —actually paying a premium for crooked spines, humped backs, round shoulders, at tenuated limbs, and drooping bodies. Such persons are guilty of a species of - suicide, which inasmuch as it is more deliberate, may be equally if not more criminal than when the "brittle thread" is severed in an instant by the victim of misfortune or delirium. The Saivted Dead. • They a:e treasures—changeless and ning treasures. Let us look hopefnlly. Not lost, but gorse before, Lost only like stars of the morning, that have faded into the light of a brighter heaven. Lost to earth,- but - not to us. SV hen the earth is dark, then the hea vens are bright; when objeets around become indistinct and invisible in the.shades of night, then objects above us are more clearly-seen. So is the night of sorrow and'mourning.; it settles down upon us like a lonely"twilight at the graves of our friends, but then - already they shine on high. While we weep ; . - the3r sing. ' While they are with us' upon earth, they lie upon our heerts refreshingly, like the dew upon the flowers; when they disappear; it is by a power from above that has drawn therh upward; and, though lost on earth, they float in the skies. Like the dew that is ab sorbed from the flowers; that will not return to us; but ; like the flowers themselves, we will (tie, yet only to bloom again in the Eden above. Then those whom the heaVens have absorbed and removed from . iis, by the sweet attraction of their love, made holier and love lier in light, will draw towards ns'again by holy affinity, and rest on our hearts as before. They are our treasureslovina ones—the sainted dead.—Harbaugh Heavenly Reeogni tion: • The Root of Evfl We clip the following sensible paragraph from the Newark Daily Advertiser "One thing is as clear as the sun; that the absorbing ambition to seize the glittering prize of gold was never before so prolific a root of evil as it is now. We do not know which is working t hegreater mischief among us, the lust for political power or the lust for pelf. When -you come to add to this burn tog appetite in so many men the powerful, almost supernatural energy communicated to it by the viscious tastes and demands of fern- Hies for luxury, show, and extravagance, to rival other families and win an absurd dis tinction, founded upon nothing better than money, it is not difficult to account for many of those astounding falls from virtue and high moral position, and their accompanying, defalcations, which occasionally convulse society." • CHELTENHAM
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers