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BY W. LEWIS.
THE HUNTINGDON GLOBE,
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A CARD.
OEIFERU , NEAR BROTI-XELTOW N, STATE OF
IMPROVEMENT, March. 20th, 1856.
[Correspondence of the Huntingdon Globe.]
I've got to be a doctor—regularly dedica
ted to the service of il3sculapius—scientific
ally initiated into the mysteries and miseries
of successfully administering pills and po
tions—in the healing as well as the destroy
ing art. The circumambient process of theo
retically administering the all curative, all
.powerful, never-to-be quenched restoratives
of antiquated ancestrified predominance have
been thoroughly expurgated, completely and
occultly renovated by the enterprising and
wonderfully trained genii of our day. Tragi
cally destructive and theoretically bornbasti
cal had the attenuated specimens of the
"eenus homo" arrayed under the banners of
Act] lapius become. Now, however, the
self-conceited strut, the unlawlui, er.eensti
tional, unvologet ice], disproportional erec
,tion of supernumerary head-pieces of the
premature Solomons are being brought down
to their natural level, by the übiquitous march
of that all-conquering conqueror, science—
immeasurably conducive to both mental and
physical developernent. By means of it, the
let tile resources of a highly imaginative and
deeply appreciative mind may. enable their
possessor to gain undying fame and to erect
an altar upon which his cognomen shall be
inscribed in close proximity to such memo
rable ,vorthies as Moffat, To wrisend, Jayne,
Sands, Brandreth, and Pease, together with a
host of imitators. Possessing this general
view of the profession, and being at 10e9 to
know ,- to what course of life an ignoramus
might attach himself with the best probabil
ity of success, I determined to become an
M. D. For it has become a settled fact that
however ignorant an M. D. may be, providing
he has - tact enough to conceal his ignorance,
he may immortalize. him Self. by some unex
pected freak of fortune (as unexpected to
himself in all probability as to his astonished
admirers.) So f procured two or three Med
ical Almanacs, a New England Pr imer, the
adventures of Dame Wonderful and her cat,
together with "Doctor yourself for 25 cents,"
arid in forty-eight hours came out a scientific
doctor. So that I can now conscieutionslv
affix M. D. to my name—fully conscious of
my power—satisfied that the pen that shall
hereafter trace the celebrated exploits of re
markable men will also delineate the praise•
worthy deeds of Abe Kershaw, M.
.D. For
the edification of the public in general I will
.enumerate a few of the many thousand dis
eases that yield to my superior skill, hoping
that mankind may profit by the persevering
soil and indefatigable industry spent in their
behalf.
I profess to cure anything from the longi
tudinal headache, hereditary on the mother's
side, down to • the triangular spasmodical
twitchings of the gout in the big toe, not even
excepting the parallelogrammatical confusion
of the heart caused by gum-sucking, star
gazing, moon-light walking, etc., (a serious
disorder, indeed, when once it has been deeply
seated in the le't conical hemisphere 'of the
hearts of an unmartied gent and lady), nor
the Brown Critters, (Bronchittis,) nor that
diagonal sesquipadilia of animal parapherna
lia, otherwise called the Itch, nor the pris
modical, suicidal toothache of natural descent,
:together with a great variety • of other ail
ments to which the human system is liable.
Moreover I expect in a short space of time to
be able to cure the pips in chickens; staggers
in goslins ; carniverousness in cattle; kicking
:n horses; nightmare in owls; chicken-roost
robbing in foxes; adoutolgy in dogs; squall
ing in cats, especially Thomas-cats; con
sumption in rats; influenza in mice, brought
on by-exposure to night air; lumbago in
snakes, caused by their immoderately mod
erate racing; white-swellingin hogs ; hoarse.:
ness in crows; and all other diseases that are
habitual or accidental to them kind o' vermin.
Now I might enumerate many more dis
eases and disorders that yield to my scientific
practice like misty vapors to a noon-day sun,
but that I consider the list already mentioned
sufficient to convince the most inordinate de
sire of any one that I am " Dominus Artis."
Some Professional quacks mat• say that I am
a mere automaton trying to " raise the wind"
and to dupe the people, others may say that
it is impossible for any person to glean knowl
edge sufficient for an M. D. from the books
which I have read. But in order to convince
all such that the stepping stones to imperish
able renown may be based on the foundation
of forty-eight hours hard study at such inimi
table works of science as "Dame Wonderful
and her cat," " Doctor yourself," &c., I will
insert a certificate of -my advancethents and
attainments : • -
CALL HUMBUG, RUM PINT, SWAY DOWN EAST.
Fellers & Gals & Feller Citizens : I'm jist
a going to tell yeou sumthing about this 'ere
Abe Kershaw. Yeou see he used to be a
mighty oncommin smart chap and everybody
sed he'd make sumthing big some og these ere
days. So we all wanted his dad' to send him
off to git an edication, but the old man sed it
won't no use; cause of he was going to be a
big man he'd be it any way, all creation
2 ins. 3 ins.
37; 00
1 insertion.
25
9 00 14 00 23 00
15 00 25 00 38 00
25 00 '4O 00 60 00
couldn't stop him. So we gin to think his
dae wan't a goin' to do nothin' Tor him, and
we put him to clarkm' in Tim Ragamuffin's
Shotecary Pop; and would you b'lieve it, the
little fellow lamed so fast that in a few days
he got so tarnation smart he could tell how
many ounces o' " rnitten""twould take to
cure a young feller of love, and how many
pounds 0' disappointment 'twould take to
break a gals heart. Then Tim sed to me,
says he, " Jack, you'd better make a doctor
out o' this ere chap." SO says I , " don't care
if I. do." You see the feller had got to 'have
sich a dislikin' to havin' brandy put away in
bottles for fear it might bust )em. So he drank
all Tim's brandy fist to keep it from spilin'.
I set him to studyin", and'in.4B hours he cum
out a doctor; rag'lar 'built. Pve read his
thingembob all through and it's all true:
YANKEE :TACK, M. D.
Female Education
We have of late observed in one or two pa
pers, a notice to the effect that a-Boston Lady
has been lecturing on the highly important
and interesting subject of " Female Culture."
We are not informed as to the principles
which the lady upholds, or ,the viows which
she entertains as to what constitutes a proper
system of female education in. the United
States. One thing, however, is very certain,
that there are few subjects vvhieh call more
earnestly for discussion, encouragement, and
in too many instances, reform.
The great importance of the intellectual
development of woman, is, despite all that
has been said and written on the subject, far
from being generally realized. And vet it is
beyond all question true that, so far as intel
ligence is concerned, with its hereditary trans
mission, every race owes infinitely. more to
its mothers than to its fathers .It is.popularly
said that the entrance of one safari woman'
into it family will keep the fools out of it for
half a dozen generations.
The expression " mother-wit," indicates as
well as a volume could do, the general faith
that the wit and shrewdness wich is pecu
liarly a man's own, is derived from the ma
ternal side, and even if it be , not in many
cases a matter of purely physiological origin,
it is not the less true that the early inipres
sions which most tend to form character, are
generally derived from the mother, and that
the value of- these must greatly vary accord-
Mc , to her own intelligence and eaucation.
if is for this reason that we trust that the
subject of female culture may receive a mark
ed and special attention from parents and
others. Old custom,. and to a certain degree
the wants of our unformed or transition age,
still dem a nd an old-rapituued style orenuca
tion for highly educated inert. .There must
still be the same amount of Greek and higher
mathematics doled out to all minds, without
regard to their peculiar capacity, and compa
red with which, history and literature, modern
languages, philosophy and physical science,
to say nothing as, to information of the prac
tical condition of their own country, are re
gaided as decidedly inferior studies, to be
treated as inferior to the former, both as a
means of disciplining the mind, and even as
sources of information. Those who are fa
miliar with our present college system, the
proportion of time which Greek and the high
er mathematics are expected to occupy, and
the figure which they cut in the class grades,
and who are aware of the lax and easy man
ner in which the other branches described—
with the - 4-. exception, perhaps, of physical
science or natural philosophy—are slurred
over, will admit that we have not been guilty
of exaggeration. We do not complain of the
present system of education, as it is in ac
coidance with much that we continually meet
around us. But we are glad that female edu
cation is not barred up with such ideas, and
that though it is at present in anything but a
perfect condition, it is still comparatively a
fallow field, open to improvements.
In the first place we could wish to see fe
male education more in accordance with the
requirements of the age. In society, general
information is a passport and a sure attraction
to all who are worth attracting. One of the
main elements of such knowledge is a famil
iarity with the history of literature and art,
to he studied in connection with political his
tory and geography. Such an associated and
associative course of study woul.d be found
to not only impress on the mind a far greater
amount of facts than would be retained from
a study of these branches separately, but
they would be found by this very system of
association to ripen the memory and discip
line the mind quite as effectually as any
other system at present pursued.
We have nothing but praise for instruction
in physical science. But unless it .be well
taught—and there are few female schools
where it is—it is in most cases - not very val
uable for girls, beyond the first principles of
natural philosophy. We presume that there
are many who will not credit our assertion,
so ridiculous must it seem, but we can assure
our readers that we have actually . known of
"highly respectable" and highly expensive
schools in a neighboring city where lectures
were delivered on natural philosophy, chem
istry and botany without a single experiment
or practical illustration ! How the teachers
thus contrived to drag along the play " with
the part of Hamlet left out," is to us unintel
ligible. We presume, however, that there is
no such "teaching" in our own city._ But
we imagine that no one will dissent from our
opinion when we say that the time consumed
in studying any branch in any other than a
' thorough and perfect manner had much better
be applied to acquiring that practical knowl
edge of literature t biography and history which
forms such an important part of " general
information" and which is so much neglect
ed;
We would not have any lady without a
knowledge of French—as'Hood observes, "it
is the corner stone of female education."—
But we cannot see the beauty of devoting the
energies of the scholar exclusively to it or to
any other language without inspiring any
taste for its literature or a desire to regard it
as a medium for further information. And
yet as French is too generally taught, all
that the pupil learns is the language—a very
great, and beyond question, a most •essential
HUNTINGDON, APRIL 16, 1850,
acquisition, but which might be communift
ted in such a manner as to teach the pupil
something beyond words and grammar.
Every day witnesses a popular demand for
information of a different caste from that
which is generally brought from schools; An
intelligent mind is generally one which takes
interest, and a system which is not synthetic,
which does not inspire the scholar to co-oper
ate in the work, is useless. Those who have
witnessed the degree to which certain schools
and systems inspire this interest, and the
"brighter" character of the pupils which they
turn out, will, agree with us, that the present
system of female education is sadly in need
of improvement and reform.
The Household "Good Night."
" Good night ! " A. loud, clear voice from
the stairs said it was Tommy's.. " Dood
night'! " murmurs a little something we call
Jenny, that filled a large plabe in the centre
of one or two pretty large hearts. "Good
night ! " lisps a little fellow in a plain rifle
dress, who was christened Willie about .six
years ago.
'! Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the lord my soul to keep,
If I should die—before—l—wa—"
And the small bundle in the trundle-bed has
dropped off to sleep, but the broken prayer
may go up sooner than many long petitions
that set oat a great while before it.
And so it was" good night" all around
the homestead, and very sweet music it made,
too, in the twilight, and very pleasant melo
dy it is now as we think of it, for it was not
yesterday, nor the day before, but a long time
ago, so long, that Tommy is Thomas Some
body, Esq., and has almost' forgotten that he
ever was a boy, and wore what the bravest
and richest of us can never wear but once, if
we try—the first pair of boots.
The Bop of the Times.
We like an active boy—one who has the
impulse of the age—of the steamboat in him.
A lazy, plodding, snail-paced chap, might
have got along in the world fifty years ago,
but he don't do for these times. We live in
an age.of quick ideas; men think quick, eat,
sleep, court, marry and die quick—and slow
coaches are not tolerated. "Go ahead, if
you burst your boiler ! " is the motto of ' ev
ery one—and he succeeds the.best in every
line of business who has the most of "do. or
die" in. him.
Strive, boys, to catch the spirit of the times;
be up and dressed always, not gaping and
rubbing your eyes as if you were half asleep ;
but be_ vvi de, awke _tor rractv
up, and you will be somebody before you
die.
Think, plan, reflect as much as you please
before you act, but think quickly and closely,
and when you have fixed your eye upon an
object, spring for the mark at once.
But above all things be honest. If you in
tend to be an artist, carve it in the wood s
chisel it in the marble—if a merchant, write
it in your !edger. Let honesty be your gui
ding star.
A LAWYER POSED--"William, look up
and tell us who made you, do you know ! "
William who was considered a fool, screw
ed his face and looking thoughtful, and some
what bewildered, slowly answered, " Moses,
I s'pose. "
"That will do, Now," said counseller . G.,
addressing the Court, " the witness says he
supposes it was Moses made him. This, cer
tainly, is an intelligent answer—mote so
than I supposed him capable of giving, for it
shows that he has some faint idea of Scrip
ture; but I submit, may it please the Court,
that it is not sufficient to justify him being
sworn as a witness. No, sir; it is not such
an answer as a witness qualified to testify
should give. "
" Mr. Judge, " said the fool, "may I ask
the lawyer a question ?"
" Certainly, " said the Judge, "ask him
any question you please."
" Wall, then, Mr. Lawyer, who do you
s'pose made you ?
"Aaron, I s'pose," said the counseller,
imitating the witness.
After the mirth had somewhat subsided,
the witness exclaimed, " wal, now, we, do
read in the go 4 2i i book that Aaron once made
a calf ; but wh7'd a thought that tarnal crit
ter had got in here?" The poor counsellor
was laughed down.
MISERABLE PEOPLE.—Young ladixs with
bonnets on rainy, Sundays.
A. witness in a bribery case.
A. city sportsman at the finish of one days
shooting.
A printer who publishes a paper for noth
ing and finds himself.
A. smoking nephew on a visit to an anti
smoking aunt.
A. young doctor who has just cured his first
patient, and has no prospect of any other.
A. star actress with her name in small let
ters on the bills.
An editor with nothing but cold potatoes
for a Christmas dinner.
AN INTOLERABLE PUNSTER.—Theodore
Hook ; once walking with a friend, passed a
pastry cook's shop, in the window of which
was the usual inscription: 'Water ices and
ice creams.' "Dear me," said Theodore,
"what an admirable description of the effects
of hydrophobia !" "How can that be," said
his friend; "what have water ices and ice
creams to do with hydrophobia `I" "Oh,"
replied Hook, "you do not read it right. I
read it thus: Water I sees, and I screams."
(3' Make up your own mind to accom
plish whatever you undertake ; decide upon
some particular employment, and persevere
in it. All difficulties are overcome by dili
gence and assiduity.
Rise early., "The sleeping fox catches no
poultry."
fl It is said—by some Yankees, of course
—to be an excellent plan always to measure
a man's length before you kick hiin ; for it is
better to bear an insult than to make an un
successful attempt at thrashing a and
get your eye teeth knocked aut.
MALCOLM WARREN :
OR,•
THE OLD MAN'S LESSON
"Malcolm, I wouldn't go out to night—
( Come, stay with me this evening."
"Not. this evening, Alice. I have promis
ed to meet some friends this evening, and I
must keep my word. I will be at home in
good season."
"I had hoped that I should have your com
pany. Come, why can't you try and see 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,
lice, lam • going out. What—
crying ! Nov,o what's the use of that I Can't
a fellow go out once in a while without leav
ing a crying wife ?"
"I 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 a carpenter by
trade. His wife was one of the sweetest 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 agirl, often saw
her shed tears when they were alone with
her in the snug little sitting-room, and the
boy was old enough to ask what made his
mother cry, but she dare not tell him.
Malcolm Warren owned the little cottage
in which he lived, and he had paid for it all,
out of his own hard earnings, while Alie
had borne her share of the burden by purcha
sing all the furniture. Malcolm was stout
and an excellent workman, and he had never
yet seen the hour when he needed to lay 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, bat they only
hoped their own lola might be as fortunate.
Why, then, should - a cloud come upon that
house? hy 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 indulging 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 “rw-a
C;lta/UL/d.l tnea -a glass or so once in
a. while," and then " one or two glasses a
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 all his
money with his jovial companions. Alice
saw all this, and she knew full well where it
would end if it were not stopped. She had
whispered to him her fears, and he had tried
to laugh them off as idle whims.
She had prayed to him to stop the fatal career
while he had strength, but he had been offen
ded because she should think that he would
ever become a drunkard. So Alice was
afraid to speak all her fears. Yet she saw
with a clear eye all that was coming. 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 ! ft was autumn, and she had asked
Malcolm for money to buy warmer clothes
for herself and children, and lie 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'? Alas ! poor Alice
knew two well Malcolm's face, and she saw
that its manly beauty was slowly but surely
eaten away. The large blue eyes were
growing dim, bleared and bloodshot, the
once fair cheeks were becoming swollen and
bloated, and his lips looked dry and cracked.
No wonder she knelt down by her bedside
and prayed.
Tt was now Saturday evening, and Mal
colm was going out. He was to meet some
friends, and Alice knew that he was to meet
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, bat where
would it be on the morrow I
"Malcolm, 0, do not wholly forget your
fond loving Alice when you are goner
But Malcolm did not answer. He kissed
her not as he used to do, but kissed her be
cause she had asked him to—and then he
left his cottage. After he had gone, Alice
sat down and wept. She could not help it.
Her darling boy crept by her side, and placed
his aims about her neck. He asked no ques
tions, but he asked her not to cry. His little
mind seined to haie some idea of the coming
of a calamity. It must have been vague, but
it was clear enough to preveat him from for
cing the dread thoughts upon his mother.—
Once more he asked not to cry, and then
his own little heart burst, and mother and
child wept together. This was another drop
in the poor wife's cup of affliction. Oh, how
palpable nom 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. And the little boy,
when his mother had done praying, said,
" Amen. '2
It was a 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 not drive from
his mind the fearful countenance of his fond
and faithful wife, nor could he forget the Jook
of earnest, simple anguish he had noticed
upon the face of his child. Yet he tried to
crush the thoughts that were springing into
life. "Pooh I" said he, as the image of his
wife forced itself upon him, " It's only a little
fun and frolic. Whose business 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,
and then lie hastened on. At length he
reached the tavern, and here he found his
companions. The laugh and the joke com
menced, 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 another of his
companions. "Here's confusion to the idea."
"Good ! " exclaimed Malcom Warren,
poising his glass. " Poison in the bowl—
nonsense ! look at old uncle Adam, now.—
He's used it all his lifetime, and here he is,
the oldest man in town. Come, here's to
uncle Adam 1" •
The person to whom Malcolm had thus
alluded was an old, white-haired man, who
stood at the bar with a glass of rum in his
hand. His name was Adam Stanford, and
almost ninety years had rolled over his fros
ty head. His form was bent, his limbs trem
bled, but still he lived and his mind was yet
clear. He heard the remarks which the
young'carpenter made, and having set down
his untouched liquor, he turned and gazed
upon the youthful speaker. He knew Mal
colm 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 I go with you P' he asked.
"To please an old man. mean to do you
no harm, Malcolm. Come."
Passing out of the door they moved across
the street. Near by was the village church
yard, and thither he bent his step. Arriving
at the gate be passed in. When Malcolm
hesitated to enter, the old man said--
"Come, follow me."
Malcolm went and soon they stood within
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 from one of the neighboring graves,
"not long since you pointed to me as an ex
-1m.;111- woo
smiled upon the wine cup. You pointed to
me as one who had always quaffed at the in
toxicating 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 oid man's
face and saw how solemn was the expression
that rested there, he forgot the bad company
he had left behind at the tavern, and his
thoughts became serious.
"Malcolm,"
,resumed the sexton, "I can
look back now into the past and see a score
of young men Who commenced the race life of
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 tho't not then of the dangers we were
courting. Years passed on, and I saw those
twenty men sink into the arms of death, and
I buried them all here. Malcolm Warren,
they all sleep in drunkard's grazes! One af
ter 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
laughing, loving girls who used to play with
us when we were boys ! Atid 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 lived to be gray-headed, but
their gray hairs came down in sorrow to the
grave ! See that grave there—the one with
the dark gray stone. He who sleepsbeneath
that mound was once the happiest youth in
the village. He was a carpenter by trade,
and he built the house in which you were
born. He used to sing over the wine cup
and he thought not then of harm. I once
heard his young wife beg of him to remain
at home with her, but he refused her the
boon. She told him that she was cold and
hungry, and that her children needed cloth
ing, but he heeded her not. A few short
years afterwards that wife's heart broke, and
she died and her children. The husband
and father I found one cold night lying by the
road-side, and he was dead ! These are the
graves for I buried them all together. You
can see the wife's grave beyond the gray
stone of the husband'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, and 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
birth. All the rest died on the way. They
were starved or frozen, and they dropped by
the wayside. Nov suppose some thought
less youth should point to that single living
soldier,- and 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.".
VOL, 11, NO. 43,
The youth gazed up in the face of the aged
speaker, and new emotions wers working
upon his features. , .
"Come, Malcolm, I would show you one
more spot before we go."
The old man leaned upon his staff., and mo
ved slowly on among the ("raves, and invol
untarily did the youth follow. At length
I they stopped by a spot where two graves lay,
side by side. The slabs were of marble, and
they glistened brightly in the moonlight.
" Malcolm," spoke the sexton in a deep
whisper " I remember well when I made these
two graves. There was no sorrow to fill the
beds which here I made, for they who sleep
here died amid the sweet breathings of peace
and honor. They were good, virtuous people,
and when they were gone our townsmen
mourned, for our villarre,had lost two of RS
most noble spirits. C, I love to come and
stand over those graves, for I know that God
smiles upon them There is no taint nor die.
honor there. Malcolm, do you know whoa
rests in those two graves ?"
The youth did not answer, nor did he raise
his head, but with one deep, wild cry, he sank
down, and there he lay across both graves,.
weeping and sobbing like a child. His FATHER
and MOTHER sleep there !
For a while the old man gaged tearfully
upon the scene, and then he took the youth
by the arm and aroused him up.
"Come, Malcolm," he whispered, "we will
go.away now : 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. Ilete Adam.
Stand ford stopped.
"Now, Malcolm," he said, "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 Standford, think only on
what he has told you in the church-yard, think
of what he has seen, and what he has suffer-;
ed, and of that you may in welcome speak."
The old man turned partly away, when Mal
colm sprang forward and caught him by the
atm.
"Uncle Adam," he uttered, in choked and
broken accents, "0, forgive me for what I
have now said and what I have done. I—l
cannot tell you all now. • I cannot speak, but
I shall go to the tavern no more. 0, God bless
you! God bless you !"
,The clock struck nine, and Alice Warren
folded the hands of her little boy together,
and bade him say his prayers. Her ypungest
girl was asleep in the cradle. The first words
..".rod i -- -“Our Father
who art in neaven,"—w - nen mere came e
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 kr.ees, an bending
his ear to liste:i. But the mother dared not
speak.
At last the door opened, and the husband
entered. Alice cast her eyes tremblingly up
and saw the big tears that were rolling down
the cheeks of her beloved. Instinctively she
sprang forward and clasped her arms about
her husband's neck.
"Malcolm, Malcolm !" she cried, "What'
has happened ? Tell me—O, tell me."
Malcolm Warren sank into a chair, and as
he did so he drew his wife down in his lap.
"Alice—O, Alice !" he uttered, sobbing and
weeping as he spoke. "Can you forgive me
for all that has passed ?"
The gentle wife was bewildered at first;
nay almost frightened, for the speech of her
husband was so wild and incoherent she
feared his brain was turned. But ere long he
spoke again, and as he spoke he kissed her.—
He was more calm 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 any trial he was going to make,
but he told of the iron will that had entered
his soul. The night of his temptation had
passed, and.the day of salvation had dawned..
A few moments more, and the husband
and wife were upon their knees. Their em
otions were too deep for utterance—,too wild'
and thrillinr , for speech. A moment they
struggled there, and then wept in silence.
The little boy crept to the spot, and threw
his tiny hand about the neck of his parents,-
for even his young soul had caught the spark
of new life that had been breathed into exist
ence with his happy home.
Ora the next morning Malcolm Warren
arose a better and happier man. He was
calm now and he told Alice all that had trans
pired 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 became once more the handsome
youth that had been loved and cherished by
honest men in time gone by. The flowers 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 Stand ford went no more to the tavern;
but the story of that night's lesson in the vil
lage church-yard became generally knowu
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 was cheered by knowing,
that some of the happiest families in the vil
lage blessed him for the joys that' dawned
upon them.
Among the last novelties is an
,elec
trical machine for the protection of the per
son. Should a highwayman collar you, the'
application of the hand to the pocket, gene-'
rates a steam of electricity that knocks him
into a cocked hat.
I:3' If you want to gain a wornan's affec
tions, don't appeal to her head,•- but to her
feelings. Oue squeeze of the hand, or press
of the lip, is worth a dozen speeches. Calico'
is an institution of touch, and not of logic.
El' Ladies are like watches, pretty enougli
to look at—sweet faces and delicate hands
but somewhat difficult to "regulate" whew
once set "aping."