VOL. 18.
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POETICAL,
The Old Elm Tree.
fly L. H. DAVIS.
In childhood's happy, happy hours,
Oh, I remember well,
I gathered wild, uncultur'd flowers
O'er many a granny dell;
And dearly, dearly did I love,
With heart an light and free,
To rest me in that shady grove,
Or 'neath that old Elm Tree.
That old Elm Tree, that old Elm Tree,
That threw its shades around,
It stands no more where it did of yore,
For the woodman cut it down.
Oh, those were dreamy, dreamy days,
My heart shall ne'er forget,
I'll ever think on childhood's plays,
With fondness and regret;
Oh merry, merry, were we when
My brothers played with me,
We'd wander far and rest us then,
Beneath that old Elm Tree.
That Old Elm Tree, &e.!
They're fled, those sunny, sunny scenes,
To me they'll never come,
Bnt still they float along in dreams
Of childhood's happy home,
I scarcely, scarcely now would know
That home so dear to me,
The cottar's axe bath long ago,
Cut down that old Ellll Tree.
That Old Elm Tree, &c.
Farewell each fairy, fairy spot,
Which early childhood knew,
Tears will bring me many a thought,
And many n dream of you;
_And never, never will they fade,
They're stamped on memory,
These times we had when oft we play'd
Around that old Elm Tree.
That Old Elm Tree, &e.
SABBATH READING.
Prayer.
The pearly gate of heaven is prayer—
Yes, 'tis Ole very entrance there.
The child of flaxen hair and azure eves,
kneels when the day is done, and prays 'this
simple prayer,—" Jesus, make me gone Is
he far from heaven? Nay, its bright
tints look down with interest deep to see so fair
a sight. And should that breath, that just
heaved his little hosom, and now presses Ida
ruby lips for exit, be the last, seraphs would
bear him home. Another chill clasps her
burning hands end rays, then exclaims, "I
am going to heaven,"—and lot she enters.—
And was not prayer the gate ?
I have seen a maiden,—bitter tears had
.drank the brightness of her eye, and left the
cold fixed look of agony in her cold dark orb..
She knelt. Her lips opened with, "My Father
—though I claim no earthly father, neither a
mothers love nor soothing hand, yet thou tart
my Father and knowest all my sorrows, and I
come to thee. Bless now thy child, and give
me grace to bear this deep affliction without a
murmur. And when I have Fulfilled thy will
on earth, receive me whore no sorrow is." She
rose, and tears ofjey were gathering is her
eves, and smiles gleamed on her eountenance.
that Heawinly Father had unveiled a smiling
face, and given a glimpse of heaven through
Iluitrance—Trayer.
. .
I have seen the 'aged man in his devotion.—
As Ms tremulous voice of age, that trembled
i•.et again with feeling, went up, I felt as if his
feet were on the threshold of the “better World."
tr ,prayer I thou comforter,—soother of all ear
rows;—healer of all wounds—gate of heaven—
I love thee. And if I might defer to seek my
t out's salvation, without ono risk, till frosty age
with furrowed cheek had come, yet would I
toot; for many prayers that sweeten now life's
Litter cup; were then es naught.
Oh, child of praying parents, dost thine aged
father daily pray for thee ? Thank tied. And
lost thy mother, weeping, nightly importune
sin thy behalf? Rejoice. Or is that mother
sleeping in the home of the dead, who gave
thee up to God, and sealed that covenant with
a daily prayer as long as life be given? lle
comforted—nor prize thy birth-right lightly;—
for those pure petitions shall aid thy prayer—
thy entrance into heaven.
Thoughts of Home.
ITome, how sweet the name I What reeol
lections are awakened by it—recollections of
all that is near and dear to the heart. It nerves
the arm of the soldier, on the field of battle !
One thought of home—of "wife and children—
of an aged father or mother—a lovely sister--
or, it may be, of a gentle being whose young
affections are twined around him. One thought
of these comes to his mind, and he seeks on the
►tattle-field, honor and renown.
The sailor on the trackless deep, far from
land-tossed by tumultous waves, surrounded
by dangers that make his Ina* heart quake—
thinks of the lowed ones at home, and file's a
warm emotion at his heart. And even in his
last agony, while breathing a silent prayer,
his
heart is lingering around the lowly cot of Mt
birth, and he feels a yearning desire to tread
ones more the paths arotmethe home-stead,
awl listen again to their kindly greetings I
See the sturdy emigrant as he walks our
streets; you would deem hint cold and callotis
eFtuutiugbeu nu ruai
"I STIP. NO STAR. ABOVE THE HORIZON, PROMISING LIGHT TO GUIDE US, BUT THE INTELLIGENT, PATRIOTIC, UNITED WHIG PARTY OF THE UNITED STATES.".
magic word, Home, and how quickly the strong
man is melted even to tears. That little word
has unlocked the f;ntntains of his heart, and
memory flies quickly back to "father-land."—
lie sees, in fancy, the lowly cot, and the group
of warm, honest hearts assembled there, and
with this tide of tender recollections, crimes the
thought that he is a stranger now, in a strange
land, tin• from his own green isle.
Yes, Home, is a sweet name, connected with
all the heart holds dear; but to the Christian,
it has a higher, holier meaning. lbe looks for
ward to a blissful home in heaven, when earth
ly re-onions have ceased. In the holy 1300 k he
reads of that dome—of its boality—its glory,
and his heart throbs with 4light as he roads
his title to that blest abode.
He reads of the golden streets—of the river
of life that flows eternally through that fair
land, of the multitude clothed in white robes,
who, with crowns upon their heads, and golden
harps in their hands, are continually praising
Clod. He reads of the brightness orthat home,
where there is no night, and of its exemption
from all sorrow: for there, all tears are wiped
away. All this he reads. and his heart thrills
with delight, as he exclaims, "My Home is
]leaven."
SELECT TALE.
[A Leaf from the Jour.] of a Volunteer.]
The Forlorn Hope.
We were encamped hefbre Monterey. The
night was far advanced. Stretched at full
length before the camp•fire I was endeavoring
to snatch a short repose to prepare me fin the
assault, which was to take place at daybreak.
The attempt was useless; slumber gave me
the cold shudder, and I fimml myself intently
observing my captain, who occupied the other
side of the fire.
He was sitting on an obi box, wrapped in his
cloak, and gazing among the smouldering em
bers with an expre,ion of countenance so in
tensely mournful that my srmpathy was at
once frresistably drawn I.,wasls him.
His face was of an ashy pal s, contrast
ing strongly with his jetty hair and e y e , lit : ,
heard had been suffered to grow for weeks, un
checked by the edge of a razor, and its exuben
once increased his haggard look.
Captain Archer Was a mystery to the whole
regiment. Young, finely thrmol, endowed by
nature with a face of classic beauty, he seemed
born to enjoy every happiness, yet a constant
melancholy pervaded his every action. He
seemed devoured by the remembrance of some
never-to-be-forgotten grief; he made no one his
companion—studiously avoided nil intercourse
with his brother officers—A(lnm spoke, unless
it was on ditty. The life he led was one of ex
treme desolation.
Notwithstanding the solitary habits of Arch
er, he was respected by all his brother officers.
for he was brave to rashness on the battle-field
and treated all who approached hint with gen
tlemanly courtesv.
Being his trot lieutenant, T was slightly ex-
empted from the formal manner he adopted to•!
wards others, our dote twinging us in constant
contact. I never had intruded upon his sorrow
with any inquisitive questioning; he felt and
appreciated the delicaey. And t hot tgli he spoke
not Ho thanks, his eyes expre,:cd them. Hav
ing secur e d Hs gaol opinion, I was careful
enough to retainjr.
Having nothing better to do, I lay with eves
rivetted upon his face, while nn- imagination
ran riot in speculatittg over his history.
As I gazed, a deep sigh issued from his lips,
and aroused hint front his abstraction. (Inc
eyes met, he studied my molten:oleo for a mo
ment, as if intent nn reading my thoughts.—
He seemed satisfied with the serutiny, for he
said immediately, with that eonstant tinge of
melancholy which everaceompanied his voice—
'You are not asleep, Lieutenant George?
'No, Captain.'
'What prevents you from sleeping—anxiety
for tomorrow?'
‘l l ,,,ilily that may be one of the causes, I
replied.
'A dangerous duty was asigned to our regi
ment.'
'Might I empire ,vhat it i,?'
'Certainty. Do you see yonder tall building
looming above the walls of Monterey, through
the (Uric:less?'
`Lou mean the Bishop's Castle?'
'Yes—that is to be our point of attack. We
storm it at day-break.
'lt is a dangerous undertaking'
'True, lieutenant, we have the honor of being
selected for is %dont hope.' You understand
Oust term; we shall march to almost certain
death—we shall find a grave beneath those
walls. I shall at last meet the death I have so
often sought in vain'
'Sought, Captain, I repeated in astonish.
meat, gazing in his face, which wore a look of
calm, sad resignation.
'You are surprised that I should wish to die,'
he continned, in the same mournful strain. 'lt
excites your wonder that one so young as I am
—for I ass only twenty-five—shoutdhave grown
weary of his life. Alt! my friend, the Immunity
grow aged in a day, and when such is the ease,
the young frame that enshrines it cannot ree•
oncile it to the world.
'You have met with some bitter disappoint
ment,' I suggested, • which long brooding over
has tainted your mind. Banish it from your
Ilappines is yet within your reach
if von will but strive to clasp it.'
'Alas! my friend; he cried, 'you know not
what I have lost. You would fain administer
comfort to me, you know not the extent of the
wound you would probe. I lbel that to-morrow
will bring the crisis of my fate. We can neith
er of us sleep; if you will have patience to list
en, I will relate to you the events which have
so changed my being, and should you ever re
turn to our native soil, you can tell my friends
me story and my thte.
I expressed my willingness to listen and A,
cher proceeded at once:
ant a native of Boston; my profession is
that of a lawyer, vet I hail no necessity to prac
tice it, Ilu• I was left an orphan at twenty, with
an ample II al line.
1 did not fan into that course of dissipation
COllllllOll to yolillg 111111 when left theirown mas
ter at an early age. Reared in tie path of hon
or null integrity liv a WI, tattier, I remember.
esl and treasured Lis counsels lens after the lips
that had uttered them were ertouliling into 'lust
The old lawyer, under whom I studied, had
a niece; she was the heiress of a line estate,
which was unjustly held from her by a male
relative, Iler uncle had given her a home,and
instituted a suit to recover her property,
Delia HAM was seventeen when I first be
held her, and I thought her the loveliest of her
sex. I will not attempt to describe the charms
which made me her slave, suffice to say 1 lov.
ed her with my whole being,
I sought every opportunity of securing her
society, und our acquaintance soon ripened in
to intimacy; my hive was told and neeepted.—
Delia proinised to he my wife an condition,and
that was it' slut gained her law-suit, as her for
tune would then nearly equal my own.
I endeavored in vain to combat this resolu
tion. She was firm against all my entreaties;
HUNTINGDON, PA., WEDNESDAY, JUNE 8, 1853.
same breath told me I should never call her
mine, so long as she remained a beggar.
I left her with the determination to exert all
me energies in -her cause. I would prove my ,
self worthy of LeP , T thought, by winning her.
Animated by this 'Wee, I at once offered my
services to her gime : Jinn; they were joyfully ac
cepted. We labored together. The trial day
came—the, case was severely contested—the re•
suit gave us the most decided victory. I bore
the news of our success to Delia.
'I have no thanks to speak,' she said, laying
her hand in 'llium' this is your reward.
Tlie wedding day was fixed. With joy I
awaited the approach of this eventful period.—
Time passed slowly to my eager anticipation.
The eve of the day came. I was sitting mmy
office, when a servant brought me the dlprm
ing intelligence that Delia had disappeared, no
one knew whither. At the same time he pla
ced in my hand a note addessed to me, in her
well known hand-writing.
I tore it open with trembling hands. It con
tained these flow words, which since then have
been engraved indelibly on my heart.
'Edward—Forgive me for having so longde
ceived you. I ant about to elope with him who
alone possesses my heart. Pardon her whom
you have so often called your DELtA.
I sat in my chair in a state of stupor, with
the fittal paper firmly clenched in my hand,
while the moments passed unheeded. Heaven
only knows how long I should have remained
thus if I hail not been disturbed by the entrance
of her guardian.
Ho noticed my distraction at once and inqui
red the cause. I gave him the letter silently.
I could not speak, my heart was in my throat,
and ehbakcd my utterance. Could I have
wept, I should be relieved.
He read the note, as he did so, the greatest
astonishment was depicted on his face. When
ho had finished, he exclaimed
qt is impossible! she never would have act.
ed thus:
'ls it not her hand-writing? T gasped.
He serutinzed the note, word for word and
his countenance fell as he replied—
'lt is very like it.'
'Yon cannot deny it.'
'The resemblance is very great, yet let us
not be too hasty, Edward. I will hasten home
and ascertain it'll truth: lie said, as he prepa
red to depart, 'wait until I return.'
He was gone. I had no intention of wait
ing his return. The demon of despair was in
my soul, and I could not bear to lookon famil
iar things. I wrote a line to my tutor, leaving
my property to his charge, and gathering up
what money I had in the Mike, I hurried away.
That afternoon I took the carsforNew-York.
On my arrival there, I found the city filled with
volunteers for the army in Mexico. I joined
them and obtained a captain's commission.
I have little more to tell. Since then, Ihave
led a soldier's life. I have courted death in
many a fray, and escaped without a wound.—
I cannot drive the image of her whom I so
fondly loved, and who so basely deceived me,
froni'my mind. She has been the cause of the
ev,rla,ling grief that consumes Inc. Some
thing hdls me that to-morrow my heart will
be at ',A,
ITc cea , cd speaking. wrapped his cloak clo
ser shout. him. and laid down to sleep. I re
flected over his singular story, but before I
could come to any definite conclusion, slumber
stkrprked
Day was just breaking as I awoke from my
short nap. I had bees dreaming. I thought
T had uncovered the runaway Delia—restored
her to the arms of the distracted Archer, and
was reefiving his grateful thanks, when as I
opened my eyes I discovered a young lad sha
king me by the 8110Ukber.
I sprang to my feet asked him what he want
ed. lie was an effeminate looking little fel
low, with curly brown hair, and the prettiest
blue evs I ever saw. ITis smooth forehead
looketfeare-worn, and there was an expression
of deep sorrow upon his youthful face.
'Where is Captaiti Archer?' he said, ih an
swer to my interrogation.
Towilei.,' I replied. pointing with mr sword
towards the 'forlorn hope,' which was forming
for the attack.
'Can I speak with him?' he inquired.
Before I could answer, the word was given
to advance.
'After the battle, I cried, as I hurried for.
ward to Utica my plaeeinthe advapeingeohenn.
'That will 1)6 too late I heard hi;l 7 l scream
as I hurried away.
The assault was over. The remnant of the
'forlorn hope' was gathoged around a table in
the castle of the Bisbop,whieh was coveredwith
flasks of generous wine. Archer and myself
were the only officers surviving. By my side
stood the boy, who had sealed the walls after
me, and passed through the iron hail storm of
war unscathed. Archer and myself had fought
side by side, and the courageous little fellow
had closely followed our footsteps.
The boy was gazing intently upon Archer's
fitce as if desirous of attracting his attention.—
Supposing he wished to be praised for his bra
very, I turned to Archer and said—
'Captain Arehrr, you have not yet noticed
our young yolunteer.'..
words aromled him from the revery into
which he had fidlen; be raised his eyes and
looked towards the lad, The moment their
eyes met, he sprang wildly to his feet, exclaim
i ng—
'Delia 1'
'Edward WM the reply, and they were
locked in each others arras, lie did nut pause
to question her truth—he asked for no expla
nation. Al: was forgotten in the joy of the re
union.
I was made acquainted with all afterwards.
The mystery was easily solved. The note had
been forged by the relative who had lost the
law suit, and he had abducted Delia and con
veyed her to a country house to give color to
the fabrication. He did this to revenge him
self for the loss of the property.
Delia succeeded in making her escape, and
returned home. Her guardian informed
her of the departure of Archer and the cause.
She determined to follow him and convince
hint of her truth. She made her preparation
secretly, and len home in male attire.
To New Yook she discovered that Archer
had joined the army in Mexico, Nothing
daunted at the length of the journey, she serur•
ml a panYkl` and nailed the next day. After
many perils and hard•ahips, her devotion was
rewarded its finding Archer at Monterey,
Archer bad pro p hesied rightly when 11e said,
Lis lietert would be at rest' that day. That
Bice, which hail in long been a stranger to a
smile, beenme radiant with them. Determin
ed uotto be deprived of his bride a second time,
as soon as his duty would permit, lie summon
ed in a priest, soil I, iseting the part of a fath
er, placed the hand or Delia within his own,
and gave bins a jewel of a wife.
tike bore her husband company throughout
the remainder of the campaign, and when this
war was over, returned with him to Boston.
The relative who made bimeell' sn bum. in
eoneocting vilhiny, had evaded panielnueni. by
fli _llt.
.
The last time I had the pleasure of seeing
Archer and his witi•, they were enjoying the
happier,. thee ,o rig lOy deserve. May it nee•
MISCELLANEOUS,
The Dollar.
JACQUE..
Befbre me lies a silver dollar, which bears
upon its reverse the pillar,' shield of haughty
Spain. Years ago in the dark eaves of Potosi
the swarthy Aztec delved from the unwilling
earth the glittering ore, which was never more
to be his own; and smelted, purified and stamp
ed with the insignia of tyranny, it has gone
forth front age to age, and from generation to
generation, an entailed curse or •a bequeathed
blessings.
The lean and shrivelled miser has toiled for
it penny by penny; for he has wronged the
widow and the fatherless, and spoiled the hap
py home of the virtuous; and to possess it he
has denied himself even the necessaries of life;
and pinched by hunger and want, he has hug
ged it to his dying bosom, and relinquished it
only when the icy hand of death has opened
his clutched fingers. And then what it coot
the old man a long life-time of weary toil and
want to accumulate, was quickly scattered to
profligate heirs, who in their turn, were bring.
mg upon themselves the curse of the miser's
ill-gotten wealth.
_ .
f'or this poor bit of ringing metal has the
seamstress in her dismal garret,
"With eye-lids heavy and red,
And fingers weary and wore,"
stitched on for dear life; and when the miser
able dollar had passed through her toil-worn
fingers, it was but to he squandered from the
snowy hand of beauty in the marts of fashion
able trade. Rich, dry old men of business—
men," and substantial seen of Boston have fin
gered it lovingly, as if its mellow ring were
music to their ears; and then again, it has nes
tled in the hand of innocent children, and been
treasured up among its hoard of precious
things—gazed at day by day, teaching the lit
tle one to learn too soon, alas! to love . the
"root of all evil."•
Within this shining circle have centred all
the ends and aims of the sordid man of the
world; who found, when too late, that his migh
ty dollar could not.
"Minister to the Mind diseased.
Pluck from the memory rtToteilfeyrow,
Raze out the written troubles or the bruin,"
orgive the soul a passport to that realm beyond
the earth, beyond the skies.
The chubby school-boy, with his growing av
arice, has hoarded op the dollar in his little
pocket book, against the fourth of July jolifica
tient and then how gladly hat it gone to the
vender of apple tarts and ginger beer, or gun
powder and fire crackers, though diverse and
terrible, during the long, long months of wait
ing, were the temptations to violate its unbro
ken repose.
This typo of Yankee ambition—the Almigh
ty Dollar—has been the prim of that patriotism
which political sham patriots buy and sell in
the market place—the tmecessful bait and
tempted virtue and the reward of crime. lle.
nevelenee lead ennverted the heathen with it,
and stingilyvl has rewarded the preserver of
his life with the same identical coin.
One day it has been dropped into the foul till
oldie low grog„gery, and the next day it has
gone on a mission to the Sandwich islands,
along with sonic thousand casks of New Vitg
land runt, and it only returned to buy the s•ml
of a curb stone broken into the Contribution
box, and the m•xt (lay it was sold at six per
cent. on State street: and after crossing the
Atlantic, and flourishing among titled puppets
of the Court of St. James, it returned to pur
chase the complete works of William Slinks.
peare, and then bribed an independent editor
of modern Athens to hold his tongue.
But it would be in vain to attempt to follow
this erratic coin in its wanderings up and down
the earth, doing good one day, and upsetting it
the next; but, oh! friend of humanity, add not
another to its manifold sins, but use it RA not
abusing it; and when it shall leave your hand,
send it forth upon a good mission.
Almighty Dollar! go forth upon your way.
Pull 'down and build up; destroy and repair;
comfort and succour; and wound, but your pro
gress around the world shall woar you smooth
er, and one day you ton shall fall to the fate of
our humanity, and shall die!
Joaquin, the Mexican Robber.
The San Franeisco Herald gives a romantic
account of Joaquin, the Mexican robber. He
recently stopped on the Salinas Plains, and the
owner of the house asking him, in the course of
the conversation, if he hail heard of Joaquin,
the person addressed, put his band to his heart,
and with grave politeness and penetrating
glance, replied
"Sir, I ion that Joaquin, and no man takes
me alive, or comes within one hundred yards
of me, with these good weapons."
Without any further ceremony, and perfect
ly unexcited, the robber went. on to relate the
reason aids conduct in his late career; he had
been oppressed, robbed, and persecuted by the
Americans in the . placers;had lost SlO,OOO been
driven from a piece of land, which he was
working with an American companion; had
been insulted and grossly maltreated without
justice; had been flogged—and he was deter
mined to he revenged for his wrongs, four-fold.
Ile had robbed many, killed many, and more
should suffer in the same way. hie appeared
then to grow very serious. and become excited.
9 was once a great admirer of the Ameri
cans, and thought them the most generous, no
lite, and liberal people in the world, from hay
ing seen so many of them in my own country
and here, who were men of the most generous
and honorable principles, to whom tyranny and
injustice were as hateful as the rule of Hach
upinns to the Mexicans. I hated the insecuri
ty and revolutions of Mexico, and canto here,
thinking, to end ray days in California, in peace,
as a citizen of the United SLAMS. With an
American friend, I took up a piece of land not
far from Stockton, and was getting a fine lit
tle farm under way, when I was annoyed, in
sulted and injured to such a degree, by my
neighbors, that I could not live in peace. I
then went in the placers, and was getting on
very well, when T was driven from my hold by
some of my lawless neighbors. I was in trade
and business there, and was wronged and
cheated by every one I trusted. At every
turn I took,l lost, or sets swindled and rohheii,
awl that too, by the very men for whom I had
the greatest friendship and admiration. I saw
them daily commit acts of the most outrageous
and lawless injustice or of canning and mean
duplicity, hateful to every honorable mind. I
then said to myself, I will avenge my wrongs,
and take the law in my own hands—those win,
have injured nut slay, and those who - have
not, I'll rob—my track shall leave a trail of
blood, and he that seeks me :limn hit, the dust,
or I will die in the struggle. I will get my
money back some way or other, and I at least
will not submit imrevenging to outrage."
Joaquin said that hearing a large reward
was offered for his head or his living hAv.
rode into Stockton, disguised, walked leisurdy
around, with his serape threwn (worlds should ,
ors, reading tha different hand hills posted up
about town. Coming to one of these in a pub
lic thoroughfare, where $5,000 was offered for
his capture. ho wrote to pencil underneath:
I will give $lO,OOO my,rlf—Joaquin"—and
deutti or th
Persevere.
How many young men in our land are wish.
inc and sighing to lie great, who nevertheless,
will pass away buried in obscurity'? And the
reason is a simple one and soon told. They
fail in perseverance. There are two princi
ples, which if we possess, we may succeed in
any undertaking. They are industry and
perseverance. Do you live secluded from the
world, and wish to rise in the estimation and
command their admiration ? Set your brains
to studying and reflecting, and you may scat
ter your influence over the world. But you
must persist.
. . .
Learning, riches, honor are yours if you will
get to work in earnest and never suffer your
steps to flag. Drop by drop the ocean may be
drained. Grain after grain the mountain may
be levelled. So a little knowledge acquired
every day soon swells to a vast amount. The
diffiCulty is not so great by tier as you imagine.
What others can do, why may not you ? The
trouble is, you see the knowledge others pos
sess, and you wish to get all at once. You
cannot do this, therefore you are discouraged.
You forget that the road to wisdom is up hill—
that all who are there travelled it step by step;
and if you would get there you must do it in
the same manner. There are thorns in the
way which will tax your patience, but every
one you pass makes the next seem less fright
ful nod difficult. Then do not go with your
head bowed down murmuring and complaining
of your poverty, your circumstances, or you
don't know what. But if von have any ener
gv, and perseverance, which is the brightest
jewel, you will surmount to last obstacle. Con
staid effort will succeed. How ninny are toil
ing, sweating, bleeding for gold, who it' they
had made the same exertions to obtain knowl
edge, might sit with Pirklin.—lntlependence.
A Mother's Soliloquy.
"'Tis mine! Bound to me tiy .. a tie that
death itself cannot sever. That little heart
shall never thrill with pleasure, or throb with
pain, without a quick response front mine. I
ant the centre of its little world; its very life
depends on my faithful care. It is my sweet
duty to deck those dimpled limbs. to poise that
tiny trembling foot; yet stay! My duty ends
not here! A soul looks forth from those blue
eyes! An undying spirit, that shall plume its
wing for a ceaseless flight, guided by my erring
hand.
The hot blood of anger mar not poison the
Bunt whence it draws its 11th; or the hasty
words esoapo my lips, in that pare presence.—
Wayward, passionate, impulsive; “how shall I
approach it" but with a hush upon my spirit
and a silent prayer!
Oh, careless sentinel ! slumber not at thy
post over its trusting innocence I
Oh, reckless "sower of the seed," let not "the
tares" spring upl
. _ _
Oh, l'insklyii/ helmsman! how shalt thou pi.
lot that little bark o'er life's tempestuous sea,
safely to the eternal shore!
"'Tis 0117 . * P'
A father bends proudly over that little era•
die!
A father's love ! how strong ! how true !
Butt oh I not to tender RA hurts, whose heart kirt
Lab,. bath lain beneath
Fit tµe for the holy trust, flood Shepherd, or
fold it early to thy loving bosom
FANNY FERN.
A Slight Mistake.
Not long after Mr. Balloted settlement in
Boston, he received a pressing invitation to
visit the Island of Nantucket. The inconveni
ence of communication between the island and
the main land was considerable, but ho consen ,
ted, and passed sonic ten days there, preaching
every 811CePSSIVe day and evening to large and
interested audiences, creating a vory earliest
movement in the matter of religion. On his
return, arriving at New Bedford, he took the
stage coach for Boston, and in it found but one
other person. Scarcely had the journey coin
menced, when his fellow-passenger opened the
conversation by saying:—
"You are just from the island, I suppose ?"
"Yes, sir," was the reply.
, .
"Well, they say oldHalloo is over there,
preaehimr his heresy. Did you see him 7'
saw him," was the calm reply.
••Well he's a rough old fellow. I don't like
him."
••Why not ?" asked Mr. II:Ohm
"lte,anse he preaches that all men will lie
savt.,l awl go to heaven in their sins, and .no
Inait in his sense can believe that."
-But, sir, did you ever hear hint preach?"
'No; I hope nut," said the man.
"Then yon may be misinformed no to what
he does preach," said Mr. 13allou,
"Now I think he would say, if he were here,
that he did not believe nor preach as you have
represented."
"But what does he believe, then ?" said the
stranger, somewhat earnestly.
"I think he would say that sinners are to be
saved front their sins, not is their sins. Christ
came to save the world from sin, not in sin;
and furthromore we are told in the Scriptures
that "he that is dead is free from sin," and he
that is freed from sin must surely be holy, and
consequently happy."
"Sir, if! may he so bold," said the stranger,
after looklug for a moment somewhat critically,
"where do you live when at home?"
"I live in Boston, sir."
"Whose church do von attend?"
"Mr. Ballots chur(i,
"What is your name
"My woe is Ballot'," he replied, pleas
antly.
The man was confounded. Its stammered
forth some excuse; but though he listened to
Mr. Ballou's kindly-meant remarks with the
utmost attention, yet ho was evidently very ill
at ease, and watching his opportunity, left the
stage at the next stopping-place.—Loi; (ilv Ho
sea Ballots.
Something for the Girls.
Men trim are worth having, want women fur
their wives. A bundle of gewgaws, hound
with a string of flats and quavers, sprinkled
with Cologne, and set in a carmine saucer—
this is no help fur a man who expects to raise
a flintily of boys on veritable bread and limit.
The piano an the lace frame are good in their
places; and so are ribbons, frills and tinsel, but
you cannot make a dinner of the former, nor a
blanket of the latter. And awful as the matter
may seem to you, both dinners and blankets
are necessary to domestic happiness. Suppose
a young man of good Senile, and of course,
good prospects, to be looking for me wife—what
chance have you to be chosen ? . You'may cap
him, or trap him, or catch hint;. but how much
better to make it an object for him to catch
you ? Render yourself worthy of catching, and
you wilt need ate shrewd mother or managing
brothers to help you to find a market.
Se. Marriage is the rdriekest tie of rerpett,
xl friendship , there can be nu friend:hip
without confidence, nu euttiidence without in.
tegrity.—Johnston.
When religion is made a science, there
is nothing more intricate; a hen made a duty.
nothing is morn easy.
tlEgtu. When a Tennessee girl is kissed, she
exclaim:: “Now put that ri,tht hack where von
' -[IVEBSTER,
Dialogue in a Court of Justice.
The attorney in the case attempted to inval
idate the testimony of the witness, by declaring
him to he too ignorant to be a competent one;
said he to the Judge, I can convince your bon
or of the incompetency of the witness in a very
few moments; he has been reared in the coun
try, he has never been out of night of his fath
er's barn, never sow a school house, and your
honor permitting, I will propound a few que,
lions and upon his answers your honor can
decide.
The judge assenting. lie turned to the witness
and itsiced—"Who made you 7"
Witness—"l don't kinitr, reckon it woe 1110-
Attorney—" There 1 your honor, to the satis
faction of yourself and jury, I have proved the
'witness a non moms nvotig, totally unquali
fied to decide upon the serious nature of his
oath."
Witness—" Now, Mr. Lawyer, may I ask you
one question, I've answered y9urs." . _ _
Attorney—"A thousand, Sir, a•thousand, if
you please."
Witness—" Who made you?"
Attorney—" Why, I don't know, reckon it
waq Aaron."
11 nnens, turning to the jury—" Weld, now, I
have read in the good book thnt Aaron made a
calf, but I did'att know the darned fool got
here!"
The court was convulsed with laughter.
Scene in a School Room.
FUS3 elass'n jograree
Scholars—"Yetlent."
Niaster—"Tomtnus, what's the biggest river
in Atnernicy ?"
'The 'rontbighee, zur—lke, he keeps pinch•
in' me."
"He pinched me fast, and I pinched hint back
again.'
"Take your scat—fast class in pandit l"
"Yeth'in."
"A .1 , 1; ark, n-n•F4 arkanu. .I,•kanßas."
'Pronounce it Arkansaw—hut 'Animus, you
ain't spellin', you're parsin, _
;,
Hatkansrm • is a noun, "objec
tive case, indicative mond, comparative degree,
third person. and motive to scissors."
"You hav'ut said what gender, Tommus."
"Feminine gender."
"Why ?"
"Cos its---"
"Next."
"Cos its a she.male."
"Dollno, num"
"Come, David, you know."
"Yeth'in—why eos its got Miss Sonri on the
norf, Louisa Anna on the roof, 'Mrs. Sippi on
the east, and ever so many she•males on the
west."
nrery well, Da id, you may an to the head
—you're a rising genius, mall make a mnn
before your mother." •
"Ye
VERY Itrcu.—The 'Spiritual ITarbing
or," a paper printed in Rochester; N. Y.,
and advocating the spiritual rapping mania
has the following :
"In the twelfth hour, the glory of God,
the life of God, the Lord of God, the Ho
ly procedure, shall crown the Triune
Creator with the perfect diselosive illumi
nation. Then shall the Creation, in ef
fulgence above the divine seraphireal, arise
into the dome of the disclosure in one
comprehensive revolving galaxy of su
preme created Beautitudes." _ _
After copying the above paragraph, the
Cayuga Chief responds as follows.:
"Then shall blockheads in the Jackas
cleat dome of disclosive procedure, above
the all-fired great leatherfungusbf Peter
Nipninny-go, the Gooseberry Grinder, rise
into the dome of this disclosure, until co
equal and co-extensive and conglomerated
lumuxes, in one comprehensive ma ' shall
assimilate into nothing and revolve like a
bob-tailed pussey-cat after the space where
the tail was ! Can the 'Harbinger' under
stand our spiritual manifestations ?"
HOUSE ANTS.- The best way to get
rid of ants is to set a quantity of cracked
walnuts or shell barks on plates, and put
them in the closet and places where the
ants 'most do congregate.' They are ve
ry fond of those, and will collect on them
in myriads. IVhen they have collected on
them, make a general 'auto-da-fo,' by tur
ning nuts and ants together into the fire,
and then replenish the plates with fresh
nuts. After they have become so much
thinned oil as to cease collecting on the
plates, powder some gum camphor, and
put it into the holes and crevices, where
upon the remnants of them will speedily
vamose. It may help the process of get
ting them to assemble on the shell-barks,
to remove all edibles out of their way for
the time.
Accepting a Tract.
- -
One of the city colporteurs in Cincinna
ti, some time ago, when engaged in distri
buting tracts among the poor benighted
anos about town, met with au amusing in
cident. Coming to an isolated building,
of bumble pretensions, on the common, ho
opened the door without the ceremony of
knyoking, saying,
you accept a tract of the Holy
Laud t" moaning the four pages of letter
press ho had in his hand. The man of the
house instantly replied,
"Yes, be jabots, a whole section If you
give a good title. But like to know
if there be much prairie or ague there to
bother a poor divil."
V REMEMBER, that every loathsome
inmate of Penitentiaries and State Prisons,
was once a gentle, inoffensive and prat
tling child; and every criminal who has
expiated his crimes upon the gallows, was
once pressed to a mother's breast, and
drew from her bosom his life-giving nour
ishment. Bad moral training, wrong in
fluences, and debasing examples do their
work,and transform endearing offsprings to
ferocious men, who shock humanity by the
foulness of their guilt. and the monstrous
audacity of their crimee. Yet how sel
dom has one of these direful transformations
been effected withovt the aid of strong
.drink !
(C "Bill, what did you jino tho 31oxi
cau war for ?"
"For glory."
"Did you get it!"
rather think I did—two crteches
,u 4,1 wlod,n
NO. 23.
AGRICULTURAL,
A Hint to Farmers,
The Maine Farmer gives the following
pertinent paragraphs on the importance of
the proper care of stock
We may send to England for Durham
cows, and to Spain or Saxony for the choic
est sheep; we may search the world over
for cattle that please the eye,
but unless
they receive the best care and liberal feed
ing they will most assuredly deteriorate
and eventually become as worthless and
unworthy of propagation as any of the
skeleton breeds that now haunt our rich
but neglected pasture lands. We remem
ber an anecdote in point, and will relate it
by way of illustration. A farmer having
purchased a cow from a country abounding
in the richest pasturage, upon taking her
to his own inferior pastures, found that
she fell short of the yield which he was
informed she was accustomed to givo.—
He complained to the gentleman of whom
lie had purchased, that the cow' was not
the ono he had bargained for, or in other
words, that she was 'cracked up to be'
!Why,' said the seller, 'I sold you my
cow: but did not sell you my pasture too.'
The above, which we cut from an ex
change, reminds us of the reply which a
shrewd old farmer, whom we knew many
years ago, made to one of his neighbors.
The latter had obtained some pigs of a
man residing some miles off, and who, be
cause intelligent, was always very success
ful in his farming operations, particularly
surpassing his neighbors in raising pork.—
Shortly after, meeting the old gentleman
referred to, he says,
'Well, Mr. Sweetzer, I am going to beat
you in raising hogs this year; I have got
some of J. H 's breed.'
, A-a-h,' drawled out the old man, you
had better get the breed of his hog trough.'
Crows vs. Corn.
As Indian corn is the most important
crop to most farmers, so it is the most ex
posed to the depredations of fowls and in
sects, some of which aro ready to prey up
on it in every stage of its growth, from
planting to harvest. My present purpose
is to give a little of my experience in the
treatment of birds. At some future time
I may have something to say about insects.
After wearying my patience in putting
up windmills, strips of chestnut bark, and
bright pieces of tin, and exhausting my
ingenuity in making rag men and such oth
er images as I thought would be frightful
to them, I found that my labors had
been spent to no purpose. At the same
time, some of my neighbors, less scrupu
lous of the death penalty, watched their
fields with loaded guns, destroying many a
beautiful songster who had never seen a
kernel of corn. In this dilemma, my at
tention was called to the following recipe
for tarring corn, and I have never known
it to fail :—To 4 quarts of boiling water,
put 4 table-spoonsful of tar; stir well; and
pour over half a bushel of corn, or as much
as can be wet with it. Whon4he corn is
all wet, sprinkle over ashes or dry sand,
to prevent the kernels from adhering tu
each other, and It Is ready to use.
To Prevent Fruit Stealing.
The following method, recommended by
au intelligent fruit grower, is worth the
attention of all who own trees in a thriv
ing neighborhood:—
"I have formerly suffered and been
much annoyed by having my fruit stolen
—particulsrly my choice, early fruit. A
remedy which I have prayed for several
years, but which is not original with me, I
have found entirely satisfactory, and can
recommend it to all culturists, as cheap,
safe and sure. A few applications in each
season will correct the worst neighborhood.
The reingdy is this : Procure from some
druggist an ounce of tartar emetic; dissolve
a small quantity in warm water; then se
lect some choice specimens of fruit on the
trees you wish to protect, and dip the fruit
into the preparation; marking the fruit in
some way that you will know it. A per
son after once trying fruit prepared In this
manner seldom, if ever, has a relish for
more, in fact, it gives him a sort of loath
ing at even the sight of the tree, so that
he will never approach it a second time,
with a view of stealing your fruit, This
remedy is simple, and easy of application,
and sure of producing the effect desired,
and is applicable alike to all fruits, wheth
er large or small.
The Richest Mine.
The manures applied to the soil of Eng.
land amount to $300,000,000; being moro
than the value of its whole • foreign com
merce; yet the grateful soil yields back
with interest all that is thus lavished upon
it. And so it would do here, if wo would
only trust the soil with any of our capital.
But this we rarely do. A farmer who
has made any money, spends it not .in his
business, but in some other occupation.—
lie buys more land when he ought to buy
more manure; or he puts out his money in
some joint stock company, to convert sun
shine into moonshine. Rely upon it, our
richest mine is the barn-yard, and what
ever temptations stocks or shares may of
fer, the best investment fora farmer is
live stock and plow-shares.
Cure for •Bots in Horses.
A correspondent of the 'Albany Culti.
'eater' some years since, gave the following
recipe, as an effectual and immediate rem
edy for hots in horses:
Half pint of Vinegar,
Do., " Gin,
Do., " Soft Soap,
Do., " Molasses,
well shaken together and poured down
while foaming.
irPro feed an ox to 1,200 lbs. weight,
usually takes five years; while the same
amount of poultry can be made ready for
the table in about three months, antl at
leis than half the cost in feed.