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They Say that Thou art Poor.
They say that thou art poor, Louise,
And so I know thou art;
But what is wealth to noble minds,
Or riches to the heart?
With all the wealth of India's mines,
Con one great deed he bought;
Or can a kingdom's ransom bring
One pore and hole thought?
No: vain your boasted treasure.
Though earth to gold is given,
Ordd cannot stretch to measure,
The LOVE bestowed by heaven.
They say that than art poor, Louise,
And so i know than art;
But why should lark of sordid pelf
Throat thee and me apart?
The pearls that sparkle an the lawn
• jewels bright shall he ;
The gold that frets the early dawn
Shall fill oar treasury !
Ask ye the proudest minion •
Whom gold gives rule o'er earth,.
Doth not our broad dominion
Out-beggar all he's worth?
We'll rove beside the brook at eve,
When hirds their vesper song
Of gentle troth and guileless love,
To woods and winds prolong!
And from the morning's jeweler] cup
Such healthful draught we'll have,
As never met the fevered lips
Of fortunes gilded slave.
• Could Lydian Crorstut. dearest,
As wide a kingdom see
As the fair realm thou !merest
Belongs to thee and me?
I know that thou art poor, Louise,
And so indeed am I;
But not the hoards of ocean's caves
Our poverty could buy !
For wealth beyond the miser's thought
We both alike control—
The treasure of a priceless love,
The riches of the noel!
Then at this hour divine, love,
To holy echoes given,
Let thy true vows and mine, love,
Be registered in heaven !
[From the Bhaton Olive Branch,
Shadows and Sunbeams.
DT MINNIE MINOT.
Nora Atherton sat at her . window gazing
Out at the occasional passers-by, now and
then turning to watch her darling little
Willie, or answer some childish question.
An old lady sat near her, but her work
bad fallen from her hands, and she too was
looking at Willie with a proud, happy ex
pression on her venerable face, and when
he would ask any question, she would turn
to Nora and sinile,ns touch as to say, "Did
you ever hear anything like that I
The little wicket gate hung On
gee, and Nora turned hastily to the wind
ow as a heavy footfall sounded on the walk.
• "There is the minister, mother, I an► a)
glad he has come; he alwayti brings news
from William," said Nora, and She went. to
the door to welcome him, while the old la
dy smoothed the folds of her snowy cap;
and rose to give him her rocking chair;
with an air of respect, which in a country
village is a!ways shown to 'the minister' by
old and young. There was an expression
of sadness on the face of good Mr. Duntim
as ho entered the humble apartments and
seated himself near the old lady; after de
clining her proffered chair. There was a
mournful cadence in his voice, as he re
turned their greeting, and the pressure of
his hand was warmer, and his eyes moisten
ed with unshed. tears of sympathy, ati he
stooped to kiss little Willie.
"There are no lettere for me, are there
Mr. Minton 1" asked Nora.
"No, my daughter," he answered, and
then turned hastily to the old lady, and
began to talk of other things.
"I suppose the mail has not arrived yet,
but I shall certainly get one when it conies,
for he promised to write every mail, and I
have not got a lino yet," and a c:ond pass
ed over her bright fade as she added, "X
hope nothing has happened to him.",
The shadow deepened on the minister's
face, and he walked to the window to hide
the tears that would come ; for it grieved
his kind heart to sae the suffering of 'oth
ers, and he knew before lie left the house
one heart that now beat joyously and hope_
fully would be torn and desolate, and an
other wounded and broken.
“Dear Mr. Dunton, you will stay to tea
with us to-night V' asked Nora, rousing
herself from her reverie.
The minister assented, and Nora left the
room to prepare the simple repast.
As soon as she was gone, Mr. Dunton
drew his chair yet nearer the old lady, and
"Those whom the Lord loveth he alias
teneth, and in the hour of trial, turn unto
him and he will not desert us."
The old lady turned her meek eyes up
ward and murmured, "even so."
"I would speak of your son, Mrs. Ath
citen. I have sad news for you and Nora."
The old lady looked at hit;, and while
the tears rolled down her withered cheeks,
her mother's heart foreboded the truth,
though she feared to speak it : she only
"0! William, my son."
The minister drew a paper from his pock
et, and handed it to her; but she pressed
it aside, and with a gesture signified for
him to read to her.
With a voice husky and mournful, he
read an account of the total wreck of the
vessel in which William had sailed, then
dropping it on the floor he bowed his head
and prayed fervently for strength for that
aged mother, to bear the Ali( tion which
had been sent upon her in her declining
years. 11 hen he had concluded, the old
lady uttered an earnest amen, and then for
getful of her own great sorrow, she spoke
of Nora, and the good minister's heart
sunk when he thought of her.
Then they glanced at Willie, who sat in
his litte chair, with the newspaper that had
fallen, with childish brows knit, intently
At last, with a gay laugh and shout, he
started from the room, crying,—
•Olamma, mamma, I can do it now," and
as his merry voice was heard in the next
apartment, the grandmother covered her
face with her bands and wept again.
Nora was pt °paring tea, but Willie was
used to being paid' attention to before eve
ry thing else, and pulling his mother to a
chair, he exclaimed,—
"Mamma, do hear me now."
"What darling," said Nora.
"I can spell here papa has gone, and
you said I was a bright boy if I could
NOra took the paper, and pointing to the
word in large letters at the he..d pf a col
own, Willie began to spell. Her eyes
glanced below the heading and hastily rais
ing it she read the account the minister
bud read to her mother.
With the paper in her hand she rushed
into the other foote, and holding it out,
gasped;— "read mother," and sunk into a
"The old lady rose feebly; and taking
her hand said,—
"Do not grieve so, Nora, for the Lord
giveth and the Lord taketh away."
"He was all, everything to lue, mother,
do not try to comfort me, my heart is
breaking," sobbed poor Nora. .
He was my only son, the solace of my
old age, but it .was His pletiettre to call him
Ito Himself, whose love passeth even the
love of a mother." •
"You did not love him as I did, mother,
the world seems all dreary and desolate
now he is gone."
The old lady east a half reproachful Took
at Nora, but she thought of her, so yohng
and lovely, left alone in the world, and
with a sweet unselfishness, shO forgot her
own suffering, and tried to soothe her, but
in vain, and at last she sighed and turned
despairingly to the minister who had been
silently looking on.
"Try and comfort her, dear Mr. Dunton,
it is no matter about me, I am old and shall
soon inset hint in another world; but she is
young; and cannot bond beneath the rod."
The good man rose to go to her, buy lit
tle Willie, with tears in his bright,
blue even, stole to her, twining his arms
around her neck, with an idea that some
had happened, and said,
• , Dcar mamma, do not cry, I will be vo=
ry good;" and laying his rosy cheek lov ,
Inglyto . hers, burst into tears.
Nora started up, and opening her arms,
drew him to her bosom and said,
"Dear mother and kind Mr. Dunton,
have been very selfish to trouble you so,
with my grief, but if it was not for Willie,
my heart would break. I have yet some
thing to live for ; but leave me to myself
to-night, I have need to be alone.
HUNTINGDON, PA., WEDNESDAY, APRIL 20, 1853.
Many days •and ,weeks passed away be
fore the smile returned to the lips of Nora,
but she was resigned and cheerfulo Her
yery existence seemed bound up in Willie,
and she watched him, if possible, more
than her former care and solicitude.
The world, with, all its vast and varied
countries and climates, has none that offers
so many inducements for emigration as our
land of gold, California. And thousands
of that eager-hearted multitude, that, press
onward towards ity find there only a. grave,
or return weary hearted and travel-worn,
in mind and body, to their homes and
friends. Atherton started, full
of hope and ambition, prepared to face
dangers and dare impossibilities, for the
sake of obtaining a competency for the
loved ones at home.
His lonely hearted wife, who was for
two long years by her cheerless fireside,
mourning for the one she had hoped to
tread the path of life with, is only one
among the many of those who have their
nearest and dearest friends die in that
land of wealth.
As Nora sat by her fire one chilly day
in early autumn, thinking of her husband,
her reverie iva.l broken by the entrance of
Ile brought some bright, fall flowers he
had gathered, and throwing them in her
lap, he sat down wearily in a chair, and
leaning back as if he was very tired; he
"Are they not very beautiful, mamma?
I gathered them for you, for • you love
flowers; don't you mamma?"
Nora stArted at the listless tone in Arita
he spoke, so different from his usual joy
ous, boyish voice.
"Are you sick, 'Willie ?" she asked,
anxiously gazihg at hint, to see if he show
ed any symptoms of illness.
"No mamma, only 1 ant very tired, and
my head aches."
Nora glanced uneasily at his hot fltvihed
elteekS, and after tea she made him go to
After he was gone she leaned her head
upon her hand, and thought, if Willie
should be taken from her! but the idea
was too dreadful, and she took up her
work and tried to sew. It would not do,
and Ctealing hits the next room, she stoop
ed over NVillie, and pressed het• lips to his
'forehead. It was very hot, and Nora
brought the light, and sat down to watch
the slumbers of her darling. At last, re
assured by his regular breathing, she re
tired to rest.
The next morning she rose and went
down stairs, thinking as Willie was so tir
ed, she would not wake him till breakfast.
When everything was ready, she went
up and opened the door softly, and saw
Willie sitting up in bed talking and laugh
ing: and when she spoke to him he took no
noti.e, but went on talking just the same.
All that duy and night Willie. went on
rambling and and Nora, with a
cheek that was death-like in its huo, tend
ed to his every wish and want, and would
not allow any of the kiwi neighbors to do
anything that would relieve them, nor
would she give herself one moment's re
spite.' Yet Willie grew worse, and the .
village doctor's face was very sorrowful,
and he only answered evasively when spo
ken to concerning him.
At, length the fever reached its heiTht,
and the doctor stool at one side of the bed,
and Nora, her eyes heavy with watching
and. tears, by the other, gazing into his
face with an *pression so imploring, that
although used to suffering, he was moved
to tears by it, and his hand,. that held one
of Willie's, trembled in spite of himself.
Willie's blue eyes were, distended awl fear
fully bril bent, end as he tossed his hands
about, ho exclaimed,
, •Ilere, dear, mamma, you shall have
all the flowers;, but do not go away; for I
am very tired nod my head aches;" and the
little sufferer,., unconseio:ts that she was
bending over hint, incessantly called upon
her not to leave him: while poor
would have given her life for the dear one,
would turn to the doctor and hitplore hint
to save him.
Towards evening, the little hands tell
upon the coverlet, and the bright eyes clo
sed wearily, and Willie slept, while the
doctor and Nora eat by his side with al
most suspended breath.
At length Willie opened his eyes, and
feebly and s'owly murmured, "mamma,"
in a tone that told that reason had re
Nora bent, forward and pressed her lips
to the wan cheek of her darling, and turn
ing, saw the doctor wiping his ayes. She
flew to bile, and seizing his : hand, cried,
"For tie love of mercy, is, he dying
The worthy man, after in vain trying to
clear his voiue, said; "He is doing well,
and with care will re3over," and started 4
leave the room; but Nora seized him and
looking up in his honest face,
thank him, but the words aiouldnot cone,
for ber heart was too full. Murmuring
"God bless you," and overcome with
watching and anxiety. ph6 would have fal-
len if smile one had not caught her in his
When she opened her eyes, oho saw a
' countenance that seemed strangely familiar
gazing at Ler: and starting, .she looked
steadily a moment, and then with a cry of
joy she threw herself into the arms of her
The good dortor with a sly laugh, slip
ped out, muttering, "I don't think she
needs um any longer;" and when, a few
minutes after, some one said his eyes look
ed red, he said they always did in damp
1. illiam Atherton and many of the pas
sengers were saved when the vessel was
wrecked; they escaped in a boat, and
reached an island where he stayed ever
since, unable to reach home.
He returned as poor as he started, and
pith as good a will, went to work with his
labor brown hands, for those he once left
to brave the perils of a voyage to Cali
Nora Atherton !snow a happy wife and
mother, but she never thinks of the day
that her husband and child were restored
to, her, though in different ways, that her
heeit does not rise in thankfulness to him
"who doeth all thingi well."
The Throne of Sol Onion.
The following account of a remarkable
piece of mechanism is taken from a Persian
manuscript called "The History of .Jerusa
lem." It purports to be a description of
the throne of King Solomon, and if the de
tails are correctly given, it midonbtedly
surpassed any specimen of mechanistn.pro
duced in modern times, notwithstanding the
wonderful inventions and improvethnnts
which have lately takeroplace in, every
branch of science :—"The sides of it were
of pure gold, the feet of emerald and ru
bies, intermingled with pearls, each of
which was as big as an ostrich egg. The
throne had seven steps; on each side were
delineated orchards full of trees, the
branches of which were composed of pre
cious stones, rnpresenting fruit, ripe or un
ripe; on the top of the trees were to be
seen figures of beautiful plumaged birds,
particularly the peacock, the etaub, and
th; kurges. All these birds were hollow
ed within artificially, so as occasionally to
utter a thousand melodious notes, such as
the ear of mortal has never heard. On the
first step were delineated vine branches,
having bunches of grapes, composed of va
rious sorts of precious stones, fashioned in
such a manner as to represent the different
colors of purple, violet, green Mid red, An
as to render the appearance of ; real fruit.
On the second step, on each side of the
throne, were tyro lions, of terrible aspect.,
as large as life; and formed of cast gold.—
The nature of this remarkable throne was
such, that when the prophet Solomon pla
ced his fret on the first step, the birds
spread for th their wings and made a flut
tering noiso in the air. On his touching
the second step, the two lions expand 'd
their claws. On his reaching the third
step, the whole assem%ly of demons and
fliries and men repeated the praises of the
Deity. When he arrived at the fourth
step, voices were heard addressing hint in,
the following manner : —"Son of David, he
thankful for the blessings the Almighty'
has bestowed upon you." The same was
repeated on his reaching the fifth step.—
On his touching the sixth, all the children
of Israel joined them; and on his arrival at
the seventh,,all the throne, birds and Ani
mals, became in motion, and ceased not un
til he had placed himself in the roya) seat,
when the birdp; lions and other anbcals, by
secret springs, discharged a shower of the
most precious perfumes on the prophet,
after which two of the kurgeses descended
and platted a golden crown upon his head.
Before the throne was a column of burnish
ed gold, Mt the top of which was a golden
dove, which held in its beak a volume
bound in silver. In this book were writ
ten the Psalms of David; and the dove hav
ing presented the book to the King, he read
aloud a portion of it to the children of Is
rael. It further related, that on the
approach of wicked persons to the throne,
the limis were wont to set up a terrible
roaring; and lash their, tails with violence;
the birds .also began to blistle up their
featherti . ; And the asseini4 Also of demons
and genii to utter horrid erica,. so that for
fear of them no person dared be guilty of
falsehood, but confessedtbeir crimes. Such
was the throne of Solomon, the son of Da
r? ""Madam," seitf..a cress-tempered
physician to a patient, "if women were ad
mitted to paradise, , their. tengues would
make it a purgatory." "And some phy
sicians, if allowed to, practice there," re
plied the lady, "would soon make it a des
"The fish "most out of water," in
the "wide world,!' is a bashful man at a
party, whore ho has but one acquintanoe,
and that acquaintance quite as modest a
waaouline as himself. What a pair!
Ti Make hay while the MI) shines.
G- \ r
The following beautiful comparison is
from a lecture recently delivered at St.
Loris by T. F. Meagher on Australia:
One fair morning, towards the close of,
this summer, I stood in a field that over-,
looked the Hudson. I was struck with
the glowing ripeness of the fruit which
waved around me, and broke into an ex
pression of delight. It seemed to me the
most glorious I had seen in any clime—the
most glorious the earth could bring forth.
“Toat seed" said one who stood by,
"came from Eg!pt." . _
It had been buried in the tombs of
Kingo—had lain with the dead for three
thousand years. But though wrapped in
the shroud, and looked within the pyramids,
it died not. It lived in silence—lived in
darkness—lived under the mighty mass of
stone, r liyed with death itself—and now
the dust of the Kings has been disturbed—
that they have been called and move not
—that.,. the bandages have been removed,
and they. open not their eyes—behold the
seed giyes forth life and the fields rejoice
in its glory.
And thus it is that the energies, the in
stincts, the faith, all the victims which
have been crushed elsewhere, have been
entombed. elsewhere, in these virgin soils
revive, and that which seemed mortal be
conies. imperishable. And thus it is that
reviving here, the seed will multiply, and,
borne.back.to the ancient lands, will pea
-1 ple the..plapes that are desolate ; and with
the song pf the harvest, wildernesss
shall be made glad.
Children of the old world, be of good
Whilst in the homea—by the Rhine, the
Seine, the Danube and the Arno, the
Shannon and the Suir, in the homes you
have left, the wicked seem to prosper, and
spurious Senates provide for the offspring
of the tyrant, even to the third and fourth
generations. Freedom strengthens herself
in these lands, and, in the midst of count
less hosts, concentrates the power by which
the captive shall be redeemed, and the
evil lord dethroned.
This shall he the glory of Australia!—
this shall be the glory of America.
Territory of Washington,
The recent territory organized at the
late session of Congress comprises all that
portion of Oregon Territory lying and be
ing south of the forty-ninth degree of
north latitude, and north of the middle of
the north channel of the Columbia river,
from its mouth to where the forty-sixth
degree of north latitude crosses said river
near Fort Wallawalla, thence north of said
forty-sixth degree of latitude to the Rooky
Mountains. The title to the land within
these limits, not exceeding 640 acres, oc
cupied ad missionary stations among the
Indians, or which were so occupied before
Oregon w,s organized into a territory, is
confirmed to the religious societies to which
the missionaries belong. The President
of the United States appoints the Gover
nor, secretary and, judicial authorities.—
The Legislature is to consist of a council
of nine members elected for three years,
and a I louse of Representatives of eighteen
members elected fur one year..,,The num
ber of representatives may be increased to
thirty by uct of . the Legislature. Every
white male inhobitant over 21 years of age,
who was a resident of the territory. on the
2tl instant, not clonging to the army and
navy, and who ; if not a citizen of the
United States, has declared on oath his
intention to become such, is entitled to
vote at the first election of which the Gov
ernor is to aupoint time and places; but
the Legislature is to prescribe the qualifi
cation of voters at subsequent elections.
United States property cannot be taxed;
nor can any higher tax be levied on the
property of non-residents than residents.—
Congress has a veto on all laws passed by
the Legislature. Tho Territorial Legisla
ture is expressly prohibited from granting
banking powers or privileges , and from is
suing scrip or other evidence of debt.—
The territory is to be represented, like
other territories, by a delegate in Con
gress. Section 16 and 36 of the Public
Lands, when surveyed, are to be ;reserved
for the a‘ipport of Common Schools in the
Mackey, in his entertaining work .on
American Life and Manners, tolls the fol
lowing story of the Mississippi fashions:
dispute baying arisen between two
gambler'', one of them drow,from his belt
a huge ,Bowie knife, and flourished it before
his antagonist, directing his attention to
the words etched upon the steel, which
were “Ilark front the toutim." •
The ether, without being at all alarmed,
drew forth one of ctolt!s,six barreled revol
vers, and putting it before the eyes pf his
opponent, pointed to the motto upon the
cylinder—"A doleful sound."
These two quotations form together a
part of a well known hymn; and the 00-in
cidenee so surprised the heligerents that
they settled their dispute without resort to
the nutinour oracles in question.
ft arf cultural.
We recollect well, when upon a farm,
some years ago. in the fall, a fine cow got
choked, as cattle often do, upon apples and
potatoes, and would have died, if the ob
stacles bad not been removed front the
passage to the stomach where it was lodged.
Various old remedies were tried to no put.
pose... Presently one recollected a remedy
propend in an Agricultural paper a few•
weeks before. It is to put a stout line
around the neck just below the ,substance,
which can be felt with the hand on the
outside, and draw it close... This prevents
the piece of apple or potato, or whatever it
may be, from falling back when the animal
makes an effort to throw it out, which it
will almost always do directly, when assis
ted in this way. The remedy was at once
successful. '1 he offending morsel proved
to be the half of a bard apple. So this
little scrap of newspaper kiowledge• was
in this instance, worth a fine cow of thirty
or forty dollars. Ho* can we know before
hand, what kind of knowledge is going to
be most beneficial to us 7 We cannot.—
And there is hardly any information, es
pecially in our owo business, that will not
sometime or other, in the long tun, turn
out to be of great value to us.—Ha.
Gems for Farmers.
To raise good cattle, a farm should
in such a state that it would produce good
corn, good cabbages, or good clover. .
An increase ci! farm products lessens the
market price, and the consumer is more
benefitted than the producer. Therefore
the enconrage.i.ent of agriculture is the
interest of the whole people. It is the
first duty of States to encourage agricultu
The brightness of the plow-share will
prove a better security to our republican
institutions than all the windy patriotism
of long speeches in Congress.
Tie who encourages young men in the
ptirsuit of agriculture, is doing a -good
work for ,the morals of society a hundred
years hence. •
All the true honorer happiness there is
in this world follows labor. Wore it not
for workine-men there could be no pro
gress in either science or 'art. Working,
men are earth's true nobility. Those who
live without work are all paupers.
To PREVENT 1100 s ROOTING.—AIways
keep them in a close pen, with a plank floor,
where they will make enough of manure,
if furnished with materials, to pay for keep
ing, besides the constant gain in flesh at
tendant upon the animal in a state of con
finement. But if you are still groping in
that heathenish darkness which prevents
you from seeing how uncivilized the prac
tice of letting your swine roam over your
farm like the evil one, going to and fm over
the world, seeking whom he may devour,
and really desire to prevent them from
rooting up the meadows, you may do so by
a out across the nose, down to the bone just
above the gristle of the snout, by which
you sever the nossal, tendon, without seri
ously injuring his beauty. Sometimes, in
in healing, the tendon will unite and re
store his mischievous power. In that ease
you must cut again.
SIMPRER FOR LICE ON CALVES, &O.—
The September number of the Sleek. Re
gister, quoting from the Genesee Farmer,
reeconuended sulpher fed• to animals as
death to all such vermin. 1 tried it on
some calves so covered with lice that the
outer ends of their hairs were thick with
thent:i Tobacco and other remedies had
but Little effect. I fed in salt and meal.
giving a spoonful to each calf about twice
a week. In two weeks not a louse could
be found. A neighbor who has often used
this same remedy on all kinds of animals,
with perfect success, assures me it should
be given in fair weather as the animals
housed, else there is *liability to taking
cold and injury being done to the animal.
; BAKED HAM.—Moot persons boil ham.
It is touch better baked, if baked right.—
Soak it for an hour in clean water and wipe
it dry, and then spriad it all over with
thin batter, and then put into a deep dish,
with sticks underit to keep it out of the
gravy. When it is fully done, take off
the skin and batter crusted upon the flesh
side, and set it away to cool. You
will find it very delicious, but too rich for
To FA Mt Mir --The Hartford MSC:
mentions a farmer who took up a fence af
ter it had been standing fourteen years,
and found some of the poets nearly sound,
and others rotted off at the bottom. Look
ing for the cause he discovered that the
posts •hioh had been inverted from the
way they grew were solid and those which
bad been set as they grew were rotted off.
This is certainly au incident worthy of be_
ing noted by our farmers.
reThe AID ie never the worse fur ebs
Ding nn a dungbill.