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BY GEORGE D. PRENTICE.
It is my love's last lay—and soon
Its echoes will have died,
And thou will hear its low, wild tones,
No more pale victim-bride ;
I would not, lovely one, that thou
Shouldst wrong the heart that deems thee now,
Its glory and its pride.
I would not thou sliouldst dim with,tears,
The vision of ite better years.
And yet I love thee I 'Memory's voice
Cornea o'er me like the tone
Of blossoms; when the dewy leaves
In autumn's night-winds moan
I love thee still I—that look of thine,
Deep in my spirit hath its shrine,
And beautiful and lone—
And there it glows—that holy form—
The rainbow of life's evening storm.
Ah, dear ono, when I gaze on thee,
So pallid, sweet and frail,
And muse upon that cheek, I well
Can read its mournful tale.
I know the dews ofmemory oft
• Are falling, beautiful and soft
Upon love's blossom pale;
I know that tears thou fain wouldst hide,
Ara on thy lids, sweet victim•bride.
I, too, have wept. Ton moon's pale light
Has round my pillow strayed,
While I was mourning o'er the dreams
That bloomed not to fade
The memory of each holy eve,
To which our burning spirits cleave,
Seems like some stars sweet shade,
That once shone bright and pure on high;
But now has parted from the sky.
Immortal visions of the heart!
Again, again, farewell
I will not listen to the tone!,
That in wild music, swell
From that dim past. Those tones now fade,
And leave me nothing but the shade
The cypress and the knell
Adieu—adieu I—my task is done!
And now—God bless thee, gentle one.
The Wonder of Books.
" No volume ever commanded such a profu
sion of readers, or was translated into so many
languages; such is the universality of its spirit
that no book loses less by translation, none has
been so frequently copied in manuscript, and
none so often printed. King and noble, peas
ant and pauper, are delighted students of its
pages; philosophers have humbly gleaned from
it; and legislation has been thankfully indebted
to it. Its stories charm the child, its hopes
spirit the aged, and its promises soothe the bed
of death. The maiden is wedded under its
sanction, and the grave is closed under its com
forting assurances. Its lessons arc the essence
of religion, the seminal truths of theology, the
first principles of morals, and the guiding ax
ioms of political economy. Martyrs have often
bled, and been burnt for attachment to it. It
is the theme of universal appeal; in the entire
range of literature no book is so frequently
quoted or referred to. The majority of all
books ever published have been in connection
with it. The Fathers commented upon it, and
the subtle divines of the Middle Ages refined
upon its doctrines. It sustained Origeu's
scholarship and Chrysostom's rhetoric; it whet
ted the penetration of Abelard, and exercised
the keen ingenuity of Aquinas. It gave life to
the revival of lettere, and Dante and Petrarch
reveled in its pages and imagery. It augment
ed the erudition of Erasmus, and roused avid
blessed the intrepidity of Luther. Its temples
are the finest specimens of architecture, and
the brightest triumphs of music are associated
with its poetry. The text of no ancient author
has summoned into operation such an amount
of labor and learning; and it has furnished oc
casion for the most masterly examples of criti
cism and comment, grammatical investigation
and logical analysis. It has inspired the En
glish muse with her loftiest strains; its beams
gladdened Milton in his darkness, and cheered
the song of Cowper in his sadness. It was she
star which guided Columbus to the discovery
of a new world. It furnishes the panoply of
Puritan valor which shivered tyranny in days
gone by. It is the Magna Charta of the world's
regeneration and liberties. Such benefactors
as Neff, Franck°, Schwartz a id Howard, the
departed Chalmers and the living Shaftesbury,
are cast in the mould of the Bible. The re
cords of Use religion, front the Koran to the
Book of Mormon, have owned its superiority,
and surreptitiously purloined its jewels. Among
the Christian classics, it loaded the treasures of
Owen, charged the fullness of Hooker, barbed
the point of Baxter, gave colors to the Follette
and sweep to the pencil of Bunyan, enriched
the fragrant fancy of Taylor, sustained the lof
tiness of Howe, and strung the plummet of
bdwards. In short, this collection of artless
lives sad letters has changed the face of the
f , , y., 4 :r.• ?.,, ' ';', '
~ ' , t*.
I I ; ..z. , ' ';,,
1 ~ 1.
" I SEE NO STAR ABOVE VIE HORIZON, PROMISING MORT TO GUIDE lIS, BUT THE INTELLIGENT, PATRIOTIC, UNITED WIIIG PARTY Or TILE UNITED STATES."- tWEBSTER:
world, and ennobled myriads of its population.
Finally, and to show the contrast, while mil
lions hid it welcome, the mere idea of its circu
lation causes the Popo to tremble on his throne,
and brings fearful curses to his quivering
And this is the book which the moral phil
anthropists and Popish incendiaries are expel
ling from our schools, colleges, and from our
family firesides. The Pope and the Devil, the
Priest and False Prophet, the Monk and the
Jesuit, the Confessor and the Cardinal, the
Kings of the East and the Emperor of France
—a motley group—onward they march; six
abreast, while Death on the • Pale Horse is,
prancing in their train, and all Hell follow af
ter. They have set themselves against the
Lori and against his Word, and they will pre
vail for a'seation, for the battle of Armagudden
is yet to be fought.
I think it was in 1805 or '6 we received the
news that Bonaparte, in one of his triumphal
entries, had carried the-Pope a captive into
captivity, and lodged bins in some jail or cas
tle by the way-side. Next night, at a social
meeting—Dr. Mason being present and service
being ended—the news just arrived was the
topic of conversation. A canny auld Scotch
man remarked, "Now we may rejoice, for Ba
bylon the Great is fallen, never more to rise.
We'll see now if lie can open the lock on the
prison door with the keys of St. Peter jingling
in his pouch! lam pure, if he can't open that
door, nobody will believe he can either shut
bell or open heaven." Dr. Mason remarked,
"I am quite of your opinion. The Beast has
received a severe wound, but this wound will
be healed. My opinion is that the Church has
yet to see her worst days. Popish darkness
will cover the earth, and gross darknese the
people, our own included, before the great and
terrible day of the Lord shall cense." A mem
ber remarked that he thought our institutions
would repel everything like Pripish supremacy.
The Doctor replied, "I think it is just these in
stitutions which will open the sluice-gates, and
Popery will come in like a flood, overwhelming
every opponent. Our leaders, all aspiring to
supremacy, will court the rabble; and I much
fear that, before the close of the 19th century,
the name of a republic will be known only in
I thought last year, when each of the aspi
rants for the Presidency was courting favor
from the Catholic voters that Dr. Mason was a
prophet, and more than a prophet. I have
thought every week since the first of January,
1851, when I saw the hordes of wild, ignorant,
sarage.looking Catholics from the shambles of
Europe vomited on our shores from the holds
of our packets—l say, when I viewed this great
sight, thinks I to myself, before the year 1888,
the Pope, the Devil, .d the Ghost of Tom
Paine, will ride rough-shod over all the Bibles
in America. GRANT THORDURN.
From Goday's Lady's Book.
Three Scenes in the Life of a Worlding.
BY T. S. ARTIWIt.
"It is vain to urge me, brother Robert. Out
into the world I most go. The impulse is on
me. I should die of inaction here."
"You need not be inactive. There is work
to do. I shall never be idle."
"And such work I Delving in and grovel.
ling close to the very ground. And for what?
Oh no, Robert. My ambition soars beyond
`your quiet cottage in a sheltered vale.' My
appetite craves something more than simple
herbs and water from the brook. I have set
my heart on attaining wealth; and where there
is a will, there is always a way."
"Contentment is better than wealth,"
"A proverb for drones."
"No, William; it is a proverb for the wise."
"Be it for the wise or simple as commonly
understood, it is no proverb for me. As a poor
plodder along the way of life, it were impossi
ble for me to know content. So urge me no
fahher, Robert. lam going out into the world
a wealth.seeker, and not until wealth is gained
do I propose to return."
"What of Ellen, William?"
The young man turned quickly towards his
brother, visibly disturbed, and fixed his eyes
upon him with an earnest expression.
"I love her as my life," he said; with a strong
emphasis on his words,"
"Do you love wealth more than life, Wil
"If you love Ellen as your life, and leave her
for the sake of getting 4ches ; then you must
love money more than life."
"Don't talk to me after this fashion. I can
not bear it. I love Ellen tenderly and truly.
lam going forth as well for her sake as my
own. In all the good fortune that comes as the
meed of effort, she will be a sharer."
"You will see her before you leave us?"
"No. I will neither pain her nor myself by
a parting interview. Send her this letter and
A few hours later, and the brothers stood
with tightly grasped hands, gazing into each
"Farewell, William. Think of the old home
stead as still your home. Though it is mine,
-in the division of our patrimony, let your heart
come back to it as yours. Think of it as home;
and should fortune cheat you with the apples
of Sodom, return to it again. Its doors will
over be open, and its hearth•fire bright for you
at of old. Farewell."
And they turned from each other, one going
oat into the restless world; an eager seeker for
its wealth and honors; the other to linger
among the pleasant places dear to him by
every association of childhood, there to fill up
the measure of his days—not idly, for he was
no drone in the social hire.
Ou the avening of that day two inttidone sat
HUNTINGDON, PA., WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 31, 1853.
alone, each in the sanctuary of her own cham
ber. There was n warm glow 'on the cheeks
of one, and a glad light in her eyes. Pale was
the other's face, and wet her drooping lashes.
And she that sorrowed held an open letter in
her hand. It was full of tender wordS; but the
writer loved wealth more than the maiden, and
had gone forth to seek the mistress of his soul.
He would 'come back," but when? Ah, what
a veil of uncertainty was upon the future?—
Poor stricken hearth The other maiden—she
of the glowing cheeks and dancing eyes—held
also a letter in her hand. It was from 'the
brother of the wealth-maker; and it was also
full of loving words; and it is said that, on the
morrow, be Would come to bear her as a bride
to his pleasant home. Happy maiden I
Ten years have passed. And what of' the
wealth-seeker? Has he won the the glittering
prize? What of the pale.fliced maiden ho left
in tears? Has he returned to her? Does she
share now his wealth and honor? Not since
the day ho went forth from the home of child
hood has a word of intelligence from the wan
derer been received, and to those he left be
hind him, he is now as ono who has passed the
final bourne. Yet ho still dwells among the
In a tar away, sunny clime, stands a .stately
mansion. We will not linger to describe the
elegant.exterior, to hold up before the reader's
imagination a picture of rural beauty, exqui
sitely heightened by art, but enter its spacious
hall, and pass up to one of its most luxurious
chambers. How hushed and solemn the perva
ding atmosphere! The inmates, few in num
ber, are grouped around ono on whose white
forehead Time's trembling finger has written
the word "Death." Over her bends a manly
form. There—his face is towards you. Ali!
You recognize the wanderer—the wealth-seek
er. What does he here? What to him is the
dying one? His wife! And has he, then, for
gotten the maiden whose dark lashes lay wet
on her pale cheeks for ninny hours after she
read his parting words? Ho has not forgotten,
but been false to her. Eagerly sought he the
prize, to contend for which he went forth.—
Years camo and departed; yet still hope mock
ed him with her attractive and bright illusions.
To-day, he stood with his hand just ready to
seize the object of his wishes, to-morrow a
shadow mocked him. At last in an evil hour,
be bowed down his manhood prostrate even to
the dust in mammon worship, and took to him
self a bride, rich in golden attractions, but
poorer as a woman than ever the beggar at
her father's gate. What a thorn in his side she
proved! A thorn ever sharp and ever piercing.
The closer he attempted to draw her to his bo
som, the deeper went the points into his own,
until, in the anguish of his soul, again and
again ho flung her passionately from him.
Five years of such a life! Oh, what is there
of earthly good to compensate therefore? But,
in this last desperate throw, did the worldling
gain the wealth, station, and honor be coveted?
He had wedded the only child of a man whose
treasures might be counted by hundreds of
thousands; but, in doing so, ho had failed to se
cure the father's approval or confidence. The
stern old man regarded him as a mercenary in
terloper and ever treated him as such. For
five years therefore ho fretted and chafed in
the narrow prison whose gilded bars his own
hands had forged. How often, during that
time, had his heart wandered back to the dear
old home, and the beloved ones with whom he
had passed his early years? And eh! how
many, many times came between him and the
almost hated countenance of his wife the gen
tle, loving face of that one to whom he had
been false! How often her soft blue eyes res
ted on his own! How often Ito started and
looked up suddenly, as if her sweet voice came
floating on the airl
And so the years moved on, the chain gol
fing more deeply, and a bitter sense of humili
ation as well as bondage robbed him of all
pleasures in life.
Thus it is with him when, after ten years,
we find him waiting in the chamber of death,
for the stroke that is to break the fetters that
so long have bound him. It has &lien. He
is free again. In dying, the sufferer made no
sign. Suddenly she plunged into the dark
profound, so impenetrable to mortal eyes, and
as the turbid waves closed, sighing over her,
he who had called her wife turned from the
couch on which her frail body remained, with
an inward "thank God! I am a man again !"
One more bitter Greg yet remained for his
cup. Not a week had gone by, ere the father
of his dead wife spoke to him these cutting
You were nothing to me while my daughter
lived—you are less than nothing now. It was
my wealth, not my child that you loved. She
has passed away. What affection would have
given her, dislike will never bestow on you.—
Henceforth we are strangers."
When next the sun went down on that Mate
ly mansion, which the wealth-seeker had cov
eted, he was a wanderer again—poor humili
ated, broken in spirit.
How bitter had been the mockery of all his
early hopes How terrible the punishment ho
Ono more eager, almost fierce struggle with
alluring fortune, in which the wedding came
near steeping his soul in crime, and thou fruit
less ambition died in his bosom.
"NI y brother said well," be murmured, an
a ray of light fell suddenly on the darkness of
his spirit; "contentracut is better than wealth.
Dear brother! Dear old home! Sweet Ellen !
Ah, why did I leave you ? Too late! too late I
A cup, full of the wine of life, was at my lips ;
but I turned my head away. asking fur a more
fiery and exciting draught. How vividly
comes before me now that parting scene! I
am looking into my brother's face. I feel the
tight grasp of his hand. His voice is in my
ear,. Peer brother! And his parting work.,
I hear them now, even more earnestly than
when they were first spiken. ( Should fortune
cheat you with the apples of Sodom, return to
your home again. Its doors will ever be open,
and its hearth fires bright for you as Of old'
Ah, do the fres still burn ? How many years
have passed since I went forth I And Ellen ?
But I dare not think of her. It is too late.—
Even if she be living and unchanged in her af
feetions, I can never lay this false heart ut her
feet. Her look of love would smite me as with
a whip of scorpions.',
The step of time had fallen so lightly on the
flowry petit of those to whom contentment
was n higher &ton than wealth, that few foot
marks were visible. Yet there had been chan
ges in the old homestead. As the smiling
years went by, .each, as it looked in at the cot
tage window, saw the home eke% widening,
or new beauty crowning the angel brows of
happy children. No thorn in his side • had
Robert's gentle wife proved. As time passed
on, closer and closer was she drawn to his be.
som ; yet never a point had pierced him. Their
home was a type of paradise.
It is near the close of a summer day. 'the
evening meal is spread, and they are about
gathering around the table, when a stranger
enters. His words are vague and brief, his
manner singular, his air slightly mysterious.—
Furtive, yet eager glances go from face to face.
"Arc all these your children 7" ho asks, sur•
prise and admiration mingling in his tones.
"All ours. And, thank God I the little flock
is vet unbroken."
The stranger averts his face. He is disturbed
by emotions that it is impossiiile to conceal.
"Contentment is better than wealth," ho mur•
murs. "Oh that I bad early comprehended
The words were not meant for others; but
the utterance has been too distinct. They
have reached the ears of Robert, who instantly
recognizes in the stranger his long wandering,
long mourned brother.
How the stranger starts and trembles. Ile
had seen, in the quiet maiden moving among
and ministering to the children so unobtrusive.
ly, the one he had parted from years before—
the ono to whom he had been so false. But
her voice has startled his ears with the familiar
tones of yesterday.
"Ellen !" Hero is an instant oblivion of all
the intervening years. He has leaped back
over the gloomy gulf, and stands now as he
stood ere ambition and lust for gold lured him
away from the aide of his first and only love,—
It is well both for him and the faithful maiden
that he can soon forget the past as to take her
in his arms and clasp her almost wildly to his
heart. But for this, conscious slum% would
have betrayed his deeply repented perfidy.
And here welenve them, reader. "Content
ment is better than wealth." So the worlding
proved, after a bitter experience, which may
you be spared ! It is far better to realize a
truth perceptively and thence make it a rule of
action, than to prove its variety in a life of
sharp agony. But how few are able to rise
into such a realization!
A Swimming Excursion,
A somewhat novel affair occurred at the
bathing establishment of Dr. Rob, at Hartford,
Connecticut, on the 13th ultimo. The Hart
ford Times states about two thousand persons,
male and female, were present, and that the
river for a long distance was filled with boats,
giving to the whole scene quite a Venitian ap
"Seventeen swimmers entered the lists—nine
Americans and eight Germans. Owing to the
late hour at which the bands of music arrived,
the sport did not begin in time to introduce the
"floating supper tables," as had been announ
ced. The swimmers started from the railroad
bridge, at the signal of a discharge of a pistol,
and swam down to a point opposite the bathing
establishment—distance nearly a mile. They
came down the river in floe style, displaying
a strength and grace of action in the water
that would have honored the most adroit of tho
amphibious natives of the Polynesian islands."
"The party started, we believe with no inten
tion of a race, but the cheering and urging of
the people its the boats led them on to a trail of
their speed, and they dashed through the water
at a fast rate. We did not learn the precise
time made, but it must lave been very good.—
Mr. Ulrich Moll a German, came in ahead.—
He was followed next in order by a Yankee;
whose name we did eel learn. Joseph R.
Hawley, Esq., was third in the race, having
started behind several ant passed many others.
The fourth best swimmer appeared to be Her
mann Maerchlem, one of cur German citizens.
l%e rest all came in in good style, having per
formed the long distance it a very short time.
A prize will be presented to Mr. Moll.
Cure fur Yellov Fever.
The newspapers of Britisi Guiana contain
accounts of the discovery ofa remedy for that
scourge of tropical America, the yellow fever.
The discovery was made at Angostura, in Ven
cznela, or, as the city is nos• called, Cindad
The remedy is the plant vervain or verbena,
which grows abundantly in that region. The
expressed juice of the leave,, given in small
doses three times a day, whiten enema of the
same every two hours, is stated to be a perfect
cure for the yellow fever and black vomit, even
in their most threatening stakes. All the phy.
sicians of Angostura have niopted this treat
ment of the disease, and the , state that hardly
any deaths occur under its itfluence. This in
formation is furnished by Jr. Mathison, the
British Vice Consul at the shove place. The
varieties of the verbena, groniug in the warm
and temperate regions of the Western World,
are numerous. The partictlar species referred
to above, is that known to botanists by the
name of verbena jamaieensit. It is a native
of the West India islands, a, well as of the con
tinent. There are two kints of it--the male
and the female; abe latter is the one used as
Dan Rice and the Hoosier.
Like all other celebrities, Dan has some fun
ny tales afloat about him. Among others is
the following: Connected with his hippodrome
he has two comic trained mules, whose perfor
'notices are the . source Of a great deal ofamuse•
ment to the visitors of his show.
One of these animals, both of which are very
small and active, Dan has trained to throw all
who mount him, and it is his usual practice to
Invite some of the audience to show their eques
trian abilities by riding the donkey, sometimes
offering a reward to any who will attempt it—
which generally ends in an amusing scene to',
the audience, and results by the adventurous
Individuals being thrown, which is of course the
climax of the joke. None enjoy the whole pro
ceedings more than the great clown himself.—
Bat once in a while the mule meets with a hard
customer, on which occasion Dan becomes a
On the occasion we are about to mention,
the mules were brought in as an after-piece.—
Among the audience was a tall, lank, and awk
ward looking individual, who, by reason of
sundry imbibings of spiritual comfort, had be
come a little joyful and up to fun, and after ono
or two boys had been thrown, concluded he
would try his chance with the mule. So be
stepped into the ring, and asked Dan's permis
sion to mount: he received it, and mounted, and
'mid the laughter of the audience rode round
the ring. Suddenly the mule paused in his
mad career, and our adventurer found himself
on the ground, where he had been safely land
ed, he could not exactly tell how. Nothing
daunted, however, he wished to try again, and
being somewhat spunky pulled out his pocket
book, and offered to bet 525 that the mule
couldn't throw him a second time. Yielding
to the cries of the audience, and his own love
of fun, Dan accepted the wager, and the money
was staked. The hoosier was once more seat
ed, and this time wound his legs beneath the
belly of the animal, and off he started around
the ring. • • •
Contrary, however, to all expectation, he re
sisted every effort of the mule to dismount him.
Dan became excited. The mule turned and
twisted, jumped, ran at full speed, stopped
suddenly, jerked, and did everything he could
to throw his rider; but like an incubus he stuck
to him. Dan was completely at fault, stopped
his efforts, and scratching his head, looked first
at his mule and then at his rider, the mule
seeming to strive to convey to Ids master the
idea that this time they had caught a Tartar.
At a signal from Dan, the mule suddenly drop.
ped on the ground, and rolling over and over
strove to rid himself of his tormentor. But
like the old man in Synbad the Sailor, ho clung
to hini: At last the mule gave it up for a bad
!job, and rising to his feet doggedly refused to
make another effort, while the hosier very
composedly put the tip of his thumb to the
end of his nose, and working his digits, while
with the other hand he performed sundry hand
organ gyrations in the air, mumbled out, "you
can't come it old boss, so hand over the flim
Dan, with a most comical lugubrious coup•
tenance, in which vexation and good nature
struggled for the mnstery, acknowledged him
self beaten, and giving the money to the win
ner, shook hands with him and invited him to
his bout after the performance. With loud
huzzns for Dan Rice and his mule, of which
the hosier came in for a share, the audience
departed, and the last was seen of the jester
and his new friend, they were arm in arm,
searching fur a place where they could procure
something to drinlc a better acquaintance.—
Cleveland Plain Dealer.
The Seven Ancient Wonders.
These were the first. The brass:Colossus of
Rhodes, 120 ft. high, built by Cares, A. D., 288,
occupying 12 years in making, It stood across
the harbor ofßhodes 66 years, and was thrown
down by an earthquake. It was bought by a
Jew from the Siracons, who loaded 900 camels
with the brass. 2d. The pyramids of Egypt.—
The laigest one engaged 360,000 workmen 30
years. 3d. Tho Aqueducts of Rome, invented
by Appius Claudia. 4th. The Labyrinth of
Psalmetiehus, on the banks of the Nilo, contain
ing within ono wall 1000 houses, and 12 royal
palaces, all covered with marble, and having
only ono entrance. The building was said to
contain 300 chambers, and a hall built of mar.
ble, adorned with the statutes of the gods. sth.
The Pharos of Alexandria, a tower built by or
der of Ptolemy Philatielphus, in the year 282, B.
C. It was erected as a light house, and con
taining magnificent galleries ern; arble—a large
lantern at the top of which was seen near one' s
100 miles off; mirrors of enormous sizes were
fixed round the galleries, reflecting everything
on the sea. A common tower is now erected
in its place. 6th. The walls of Babylon, built
by order of Semiramis, or Nebuchadnezzar,
and finished in one year by 200,000 men.—
They were of immense thickness. 7th. The
temple, of Diana, at Ephesus, completed in the
reign of Servius, the 6th King of Rome. It
was 440 feet long, 200 broad, and supported by
120 marble pillars, 70 feet high. Tho beams
and doors were of Cedar, the rest of the timber
of Cyprus. It was destroyed by fire B. C. 365.
An Appeal to the Young.
A young man has lately been convicted in
Virginia of robbing the mail, and has been
sentenced to the Penitentiary. There is an
affecting and melancholy incident connected
with this young man's criminal history, which
goes to exhibit the strength of parental affec
tion. When the father heard that his son had
been arrested on the charge of robbing the
mail, ho exclaimed, "Have my gray hairs
come to this I" and then fell. Hewes taken to
his bed and died in a few days of a broken
heart. If the young would not bring the gray
hairs of their parents to the grave in sorrow,
let them avoid the very firtt enticement to sin.
Once on the downward path, they know not
where Ilry will stop.
Don't Stand on the Track.
"The train," says n Railroad Gazette, "may
steal suddenly upon you, and then a little trepi•
dation, a slight mistep, a slip of the foot, and
we shudder to think of your Crushed and bleed•
ing body." So it is in the journey of life; per
ils are around you on every hand. But don't
stand in their path and disregard them. Per
haps you now and then take a little intoxica
ting drink. My friend, if so, "you are standing
on the track" while the cars of retribution come
thundering on—moving in right line—ap
proaching with steady and rapid wheels. Will
it not bear down and crush you ? Perhaps you
spend an occasional evening with a party of
friends, amusing yourself with cards or dice;
staking small sums to make the game interest
ing. My friend, "you are standing on the
track." Thousands have stood there and per
ished. Don't wait to hear the rattling of the
rushing wheels, but fly from the track. At a
safe distance stand and view the wreck, which
the ponderous train will spread before you.—
Look well to the ground on which you plant
your feet, and forget not for these many days
our parting words, "Don't stand on the track."
Secret of Happiness.
An Italian Bishop, who had struggled tbrog'h
many difficulties without repining, and had
been much oppoSed without manifesting imps.
tience, being asked by a friend to communicate
the secret of his being always so happy, replied:
"It consists in a single thing, and that is, ma
king a right use of my eyes. In whatsoever
state I am,sl first of all look up to haven, and
remember that my great business is to get
there. I then look down upon the ca7th, and
call to mind how short a space I shall soon fill
in it. I then look abroad in the world and see
what multitudes are, in all respects, less hap.
py than myself. And then 1 learn where true
happiness is placed, where all my cares moat
end, and how little reason I ever had to mur
mur or be otherwise than thankful. And to
live in this spirit," said the old Bishop, "is to
bo always happy."
If you are about to do a piece of work, you
will ho careful to begin right; otherwise, you
will have to take it in pieces, and.do it over
again. If you are going on a journey, you will
be careful, at first, to get into the right road;
for, if you start wrong, you will • be continually
going farther and farther out of the way.
Now, you are starting in life, and life is a
journey. If you start wrong, as I said you will
bo all the time going out of the way. You
have a life work to do; but if TM begin it
wrong, all your labor will be lost. Not only
will you have to do it all over again, but to un
do what you have already done.
A Wall Around the Heart.
The habit of obedience or submission to
rightful authority, is the foundationstone of the
character of the good boy. To obey is the first
lesson to be impressed upon the child, and long
before he reaches his tenth year, the habit of
obedience should be a part of his very nature.
Nearly all the other virtues and graces of char
acter depend upon the existence of this habit:
and if it is wanting, the heart is thrown open to
a rude train of vices, which seldom fail to take
possession of the citidel. Obedience is a wall
around the heart. So long as it stands, all is
safe; but let even a small breach be made, and
the enemy will begin to pour in.
The True Wife.
He cannot be nn unhappy man who has the
love and smile of a woman to accompany him
in every department of life. The world may
look sad and cheerless, enemies may gather in
his path, but when ho returns to the fireside
and sees the lender love of a woman, ho for
gets his cares and troubles, and is comparative
ly a happy man. He is not prepared for the
journey of life who is without a companion,
who will forsake him in no emergency—who
will divide his sorrows—increase his joys—
lift the veil from his heart, and throw sunshine
amid the darkest scenes. No man can be mis
erable who has such a companion, be ho ever
so poor, despised, and trodden upon by the
A Beautiful Compliment.
Steels paid the finest compliment to a wo
man that perhaps was ever offered. Of one
woman, whom Congreve had also admired and
celebrated, ho says that "to kayo loved her was
a liberal education." "How often,' ho says,
dedicating a volume to his wife, has your ten•
derness removed pain from my sick head—how
often anguish from my afflicted heart. If there
are such things as guardian angels, they are
thus employed. I cannot believe one of them
to be better in inclination, or more charming
in form than my witb:' His breast seems to
warm and his eyes to kindle when he mecti
with a good and beautiful woman, and it is
with his heart as well as with his hat that he
Fox TOT a TYP of my existence, give
me an }," said a printer to his sweetheart.
She immediately mado a
planted her pique between his ll's, nearly put.
ting a to his existence. "Such an outrage,"
was tho l of Faust, looking if at her, is prob•
ably without a 0 in this
lf. " lof country, and is a
good subject for a
Jer re character, manner, and style, the
supreme excellency is simplicity.
1 The future destiny of a child is always
the work of the mother.—BONAPARTIL
Bee We cannot be too zealous in promoting
a good cause.
tel. If you wish to make yourself a favorite
with your neighbors, buy a dog and tie him up
in the relar or yard at night. They won't
sleep any all that night, thinking of you.
VS-The best definition of removal from office
is given us by a Whig friend, who says he
'has reeeiTed an utlimited lea , e of absence."
*hoes your Hoes,
Somo years singe when the State.of Missou
ri was considered "Far West," there lived on
the hanks of the river of the seine game of the
State, a substantial farmer ;'who, by years of
toil, had accumulated a tolerably pretty pile of
casting, owing, as he said, principally to the
fact that he didn't raise much taters and un
nns, hut rite unhurt corn. This &ruler, hear
ing that good land was much cheaper further
South, concluded to move there. ,Accortling
ly. he provided'his eldest son with a good horse,
and a sufficiency of the needful to defray his
travelling and contingent expenses, and instuc
ted him to purchase two hundred acres of good
land, at the lowest possible price, and return
immediately home. The next day Teems star
ted for Arkansas, and after an absence of some
six weeks, returned home.
.Teems," said the old man, '*how'd you
find land in Arkansaw ?"
'Tolerably cheap, dad.'
'You didn't buy 'open two hundred acres,
did you, Jeems ?,
'No, dad, over two hundred, /reckon'
'How:much money hey yu got left?'
'Nory red cent, dud; cleaned rite out!'
'Why, I had no idea trayelin' was so 'spun
sire in them parts,' Jeems.'
'Wel; just try won'st an' you'll find out;
'Wal, ne-rer mind that; let's hear 'bout the
an—but war's your how
'Why, you see, dad, I was a gain' along one
'But war's your boss ?'
'You hole on, dad, and I'll tell you all about
it. You see, I was agoin' along, one day, and
I met tufeller as said he was gone my Way Cu.'
'But war's your Ness?'
'•Dod-darn my hide, if you don't shut up, dad
I'll never git to the hoes. Wall, as we was both
goin' the same way, me an' this feller jined
company, au' about noon we hitched our crit
ters •aud set down aside or a branch, and went
to eatin' a smack. Arter we'd got through,
this feller set to me, 'Try a drap or this ere red
eye, stranger." Wall, I don't mind,' sea I-"
"But war's your boss?"
"Kumin' to him bime-by, dad. So me and
this feller sot thar, sorter torkin' and drinkin'
an' he set, 'Stranger, let's play a little game uv
seven np,' a takin' out uv his pocket a rreasv
roun'coruered deck Sr cards. 'Don't kber if
I du,' set I. Sn we sot up side uv a stump.
and commene'd to bet a quarter up, and I
was slayin' hint orful ?"
',But war's your hors?" •
‘ l lCumin' tibial, dad. Bletnby luck chang
ed, and ho got to winnin,' and pretty soon I
hadn't nary quarter. Then sez he„ Strang,r,
I'll give you a chance to git even, and play
you one more game.' Wel, we both played
rite tile that game, I aware, an' we was both
six nn' six, an'=—"..
‘. War's 'your hoss."
"Kumin to him, dad. 'Co was six an' six,
an"twas his deal-"
"IVIII you tell me war's your loss:" said the
old man, gelling riled.
'•\Ve was six and six. I leeld all four aces
and begged, daddy, and he turned up the
"But war's your boss ?"
'Why the Stranger won him a turnite up
A Hopeful Youth.
Last wool( the Swampecot Dorcas Sewing
Society hold their annual meeting, and on mo
tion it was resolved, That our parson wait on
Tony Jones, and see if nothing can bo done to
correct the manners of young Tony.
The next day the parson waited on Tony
senior, and informed him respecting the object
of his visit. Tony listened patiently, and then
replied. . _
."Parson, I'd let Tony go to meetin' every
Sunday, if I only knowed you was goin' to
preach, but parson, there ain't a body in the
city of Swampscot what's got more manners
than my Tone, and I can convince you of that
in just a minit. You see Tony out there skin.
The parson nodded assent.
"Now see, I'll call." And raising his voice
to the highest pitch, he shouted—
The response was quick and loud, "Sir."
"Don't you hear that, parson ?" said the old
man. "Don't You call that manners?"
"That is all very well," sail "as
Sir ns it goes."
'•What do yon mean by as far as it goes?--
That boy, sir, always speaks respectfully to me
when / call him," then raising his voice he
The response "Sir," was equally loud and
prompt. Again the old man called—
The boy dropped a half-dressed fish, and
shaking his fist at his sire yelled out :
"You miserable, black, old, drunken snob,
I'll come in there in two minutes, and maul
you like blazes!"
The parson was astonished, the old man was
disconcerted for a moment, but instantly re
covering himself, he tapped the parson on the
"You see, parson, my boy has zot "grit" as
well as manners. That' chap will he an orna•
went to your society ono of these days."
I need not add that Futon incontinently
The Toll of an Ass.
When the Lord Kaimes went to Aberdeer,
BA judge upon the circuit, he took up his quar
ters at a good tavern; and being fatigued and
pensive alter dinner, he inquired of the land
lord if there were any learned men in the
neighborhood who would favor him with their
company over a glass of wine. The landlord
informed him that the pmfessor of mathema
tics lived close by; and the Lord of Sessions
sent his eompliMent3. The professor was not,
Only eminent in science, but of various and
lively conversation, though he had the defect of
La Fontaine and Thompson, both great poets
—that of a stupid and dull appearance, before
it became enlivened by wino and company.—
After a respectful bow, he took his seat and
looked et the lire, quite immersed in some pro.'
Went he had left. Two glasses of wine were
filled and drank in complete silence. Lord
Kaimes, to begin the conversation, said—,
have just passed your new bridge, wholly
constructed of white granite. What may have
been the cost?"
"Can't say," was the dry answer of the math
ematican, who still looked nt the fire.
My lord, surprised, piqued, said, "T ease a
board put up of all the tolls to be paid by car
riages and animals; will you be so good as to
inform me what is the toll &an ass?"
The professor. as if awakenel - erm a dream
"I do not pretend to kunw; hut when your
lordship repasses, the toll walleye cannot fail
to inform you."
Onr learnedjudge starting up' and . taking
him by the hand exclaimed—
" You are my man I"
And they then began and had a long and an.