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One squnroor 16 lines or less For 1 'insertion $0,50, For 1 month, $1,25 “ 2 " 0,73, " 3 " 2,75 vs 3 ti 1,00, '• 0 " 5,00 PRORESSIORAL CARDS, not exceeding 10 linen, ttnti not changed during the year $4,00 Cann and JOURNAL in advance 5 ,00 BUSINKSS CARDS of the same length, not changed CARD and JOURNAL, in advance 4,00 er Short transient advertisements will be aid tnitted into our editorial columns at treble the nsnal rates. On longer advertisements, whether yearly or transient, a reasonable deduction will be made for prompt payment. Po2lfllaal. GO FEEL WHAT I HAVE FELT. A young lady who was told that she was almost a monomania in her hatred to alcoholic drinks, wrote tho following tonching and sensi ble verses: Go, feel what I Lava felt, Go, bear what I have borne; Sink 'neigh a blow a father dealt, And the cold, proud world's scorn. "'has struggle on from year to year, 'Thy sole relief—tho scalding tear. Co, weep ns I have wept, O'er a loved father's fall ; See every cherished promise swept— Youths sweetness turned to gall; Hope's faded flowers strewed all the way 'That led up to my woman's day. Clo ' kneel as I have knelt; Implore, beseech and pray, Strive the besotted heart to melt, The downward course to stay,— Ito cast with bitter curse aside— Thy prayers burlesqued, thy tears defied, Go, stand where I have stood, And see the strong man bow, With gnashing teeth, lips bathed in blood, And cold and livid brow; Go, catch his wandering glance and see There mirrored, his soul's misery. Go, hear what I have heard— The sobs of sad despair— As memory's feeling fount bath stirred, And its revealings there Have told him what he n?F•ht have been, Had ho the drunkard's fate tonnes. Go, to my mother's side, And her crushed spirit dicer— Thine own deep anguish hide— Wipe from her cheek the tear. Mark her dim eye—her furrowed brow; The gray that streaks her dark hair now Iler toil-worn frame—her trembling limbs—; And trace the ruin back to him Whose plighted faith, in early youth, Promised eternal love and truth ; But who forsworn, bath yielded up This promise to the deadly cup; And led her down from love and light, From all that made her pathway bright, And chained her there 'mid want and strife, That lowly thing, a drunkard's wife And stamped on childhood's brow NO mild, That withering blight--a drunkard's child I Co, hear and see, and feel and know, All that my soul bath felt and known Then look within the wine cup's glow— See if its brightness can atone! Think if its flavor yon would try, If all proclaimed, 'ti's drink and die! Tell me I hate the bowl— Hate is a feeble word ; I loath, abhor, my very soul By strong disgust is stirred, Whoro'or I see, or hear, or tell Of the DARR BEVERAGE OF HELM 12@U2 IV D32T2UIVIMEgIAI4. Matrimonial Misery. We commend the following communication of a fair correspondent of the New Orleans Picayune, to the attention of the old and young, and of both sexes—of some for edification, and of others for reproof: A correspondent of one of your cotempora. ries haviiir4 threated this subject in a powerful, hut, as I one sided manner, I propose to offer my views in relation to the matter. Admitting . the general fact that very many, if not the majority of marriages, are unhappy, we dispute the propositions that this unhappi ness is usually the fault of the husband; that most women are, when first merrier!, soft, pli able creatures to be molded to good or ill by the master hand of the husband; and that most men, by their bad treatment, pervert the nit. turn of their wives, and thus introduce domes tic discord. The Met is that both are partly to blame, and society more than either. Marriage is unhappy because neither men nor women :are so educated as to snake it otherwise.-- Among the causes of this unhappiness may bo reckoned 'the haste with which matrimony is sometimes entered upon; the man led blindly by his feelings, and the woman snatching at as .effer lest she may never get another, with out the least regard to fitness, affection, or any other worthy motive. In such marriages, the love, which in the beginning is all on ono side —that of the husband—soon dies away; and when the ardor of the honey moon is over, the wife must be content with civility in public, and indifference in private, for the rest of her lifb. Verily, she gets her reward, and has no right to complain. Another source of matrimonial unhappiness Is the fact that people generally do not marry young enough. Men are deterred by an exag gerated idea of the expenses of maintaining a family, and women postpone it until they can "better themselves" pecuniarily. The former waste their youth and means in drinking and dissipation, and the latter fritter away their aft fectiuns in idle flirtations. How can we expert a man who has forgotten, if lie ever felt it, the respect inspired by the gentle virtues of a mother or sister; who has carefully avoided the relining influence of virtuous female society, and lost by unworthy association the power of nppreeiating it; and who is incapable of enjoy. iug any pleasures but those of the grossest sort, to resign his precious liberty, forego his eher. ainusementA, and, in short, siterilleu his " I SEE NO STALL ABOVE TUE HORIZON, PROMISING MOUT TO GUIDE US, BUT TIIE INTELLIGENT, PATIIIOTIO, UNITED WIIM PARTY OP TUE UNITED STATES ."-[WEBSTER selfishness on the altar of domestic happiness? And how can we expect a young woman fed on flattery jewelry,accomplished into ignorance,Boat ing on despising work as degrading, unable to comb her own hair, and regarding man as a gold producing machine, to give up her accustomed gratifications, and occupying herself with the petty details of housekeeping? No, "we cannot gather grapes of thorns, nor figs of thistles." — The notion that it is imprudent for very young persons to marry, is totally fallacious.— Experience has proved this in innumerable cases. As soon as a young man is able to support himself, he is able to support a wife, and the sooner he takes one the better. Let hits select a sensible young woman, suited to himself in age, disposition and circumstances, win her affections and marry her; and, if they are not happy, nothing on earth could make them so. One instance : Edward married at twenty-one the girl of his choice, Maria. Ho was a poor clerk; oho had no dowry but good sense and a loving heart. They commenced house-keeping on the humblest scale; but lave and the sunny cheer fulness of youth enriched poverty itself, while the grace and neatness of the wife threw a halo of refinement round their humble home. In dustry and a frugality which never descended to meanness, increased their worldly goods, until by degrees they arose to affluence. After fifteen years of wedlock, their affection is as warm as it was in the flush of youth; and the husband prizes the kiss which sweetens his departure, and the smile which welcomes his return, as highly as 'when they were bestowed by the blushing bride. Such might have been the history of hun dreds of surly, selfish old bachelors, and sour, snappish old maids; if they had only been more wise, and less prudent. Such might have been the listory of hundreds of jarring couples, if instead of waiting for a noontide sky and gold en freight, they had, with suitable partners launched their barque on the unknown sea of Matrimony, in the morning of life, with love for a cargo and hope for a helm. Another cause of matrimonial unhappiness among people who are moderately attached and might Ito moderately happy if they did not expect too much of each other,i s the fact, that wives are too exacting. They don't know. what is best for them when they insist upon hearing exactly what detained the husband be yond his usual time. It in perhaps much more conducive to their happiness not to know.— When a husband returns in the evening or at night, fatigued with business or pleasure, ho does not feel disposed to entertain himself by "confiding" in his wife. If it were necessary to enlighten her, no doubt he would do so, and when he volunteers no information about his business, her wisest course is not to task his invention by asking him questions. In order that the matrimonial machine should work well, it is necessary that the wife should enter tain the most unwavering confidence in the moral rectitude of her husband. Anything calculated to shake this confidence must tend to diminish the happiness of both; wherefore it has been said, "A woman's greatest happiness jig to be most carefully deceived." Many other causes of matrimonial miser, might be cited, all tending to show that the blame does not rest entirely on the lords of creation; but enough bas been said, and these remarks are too far extended already. ELM2III,2TIWY,Dgfi. Your Boys on the Sabbath, Why do not parents have pride enough is the welfare of their boys to keep them within doors or at Church on the Sabbath? Scarcely a Sabbath passes by, espeCially in pleasant weather that does not witness, a noisy gang of boys in some one or other dour streets, or in some vacant lot, engaging in the sports and pastimes incident to the season, as indulged in during the week days. They may be seen, at almost any time during the day, playing ball, marbles, trundling the hoop, &c., or with line and pole in hand starting for fishing. Boys thus transgressing, are not only injuring them selves, and casting reproach upon their par ents, by wincing the unenviable reputation of wicked, loafing, Sabbath-breaking boys, but they aro annoyances to their neighbors, who seek to'appreciato the blessings of ono day iu seven is rest. Nor is this all. Parents should reflect that by allowing their boys to disregard the Sab bath, and to appropriate its moments, accord ing to their inclinations, iu fishing, hunting, ball-playing, &e., they are permitting them to take the first step in vice, that may eventually lead them to the prison or gallowS. If no re straint is imposed upon them, they soon min gle with those proficient in vice and crime, who will lend them in tiro paths they aro tread ing. Parents should reflect that in thus per milting their boys to break the Sabbath, they are giving their tacit consent to their taking this first step in vice and crime, which, unless restrained, will lead to idleness, ignorance and ruin. They give them permission to become pests to society, not respecting themselves, nor being respected by others. A history of the lives of all the criminals ov er sentenced, imprisoned or executed, would show that a disregarded of the Sabbath was ono of the leading steps to the road to ruin; thntincompanywith those,who,like themselves, desecrated its time; they had taken the in itiatory step to vice, that eventually led them to the commission of crime. And wo aro taught to believe that the parent as well as tiro - child is responsible for these negligences, these sins. How easy a matter it is to destroy all de sire in the child to dishonor this day, if you on ly commence in good season. First evil im pression are easily radicated,foul weeds sown in a . g.).1 soil are quick to germinate,butnre easily destroyed when they first spring into existence; but allow them to grow up and go to seed,ondthe fruits thereof aro scattered in every direction. Pareuts,teach your boys to regard the Sabbath. The lessons taught us in the serene quiet of that holy day, in childhood, though not taught by a parent—a mother—are still indelibly impres; sod upon our memory, as though it were but yesterday that wo received them. If they du not go to church keep them within doors, that they may not prove enemies to themselves and nuisances to those around them. Few eau en joy the quiet, of home and have a gang of boys , in front of their dwellings, playing game?, laughing, shouting, cursing and swearing, es pecially on the Sabbath. "Remember the Sub bnth day to Leap it holy," is one of the coin. mandments. HUNTINGDON, PA., WEDNESDAY, MARCH 8, 1854. NEGGY. BY ALICE CAREY. The wood burned low in the great fire-place —the clock struck nine, and from the bough of the trees that creaked against the window, the cock crew—he had had a long nap already. I was inclined to follow his example, for tho com ing of no visitors was to be apprehended at that time of night, and as I looked from the window I saw that the lights were all gone from the neighboring houses. But though, as I said, I was inclined to seek my pillow, it was not so much that I was sleepy, as restless and wearied with the monotony of the hours, for unless there ho great resources within one's self, greater than ever I had,conn try life in the winter is very trying. When we have nothing to do but to think,.wo are likely to grow tired of thinking, when wo sit all alone and see the fire die, and hear the clock tick and tick, and strike and strike, and see the moon come up and travel among the stars and go down, and hear the winds moan and moan, the sound which nt first was a sweet melan choly becomes dreary and weary, and we long for something, anything, to break the everlast ing and mournful quietude. We feel the ne cessity of doing something, of loving some ting more than our pot of geraniums and our knitting work. From these causes friendships aro more real in the country, and loves have their making there that would be sadly inter rupted by the rattling of coach wheels or the operatic music across the way. So among country people we find, perhaps, as many un equal and unhappy marriages as we do in great cities where calculation and ambition warp wo fully the truer inclinations sometimes. Well, I was saying it was nine o'clock, rind I looked from the window—not for the drowsy steeds that draw the litter of dose curtained sleep, but in sort of leave•taking of the outer world, as it were. Thus standing, a peal of merry laughter from the adjoining room came pleasantly across my revery. Then for the first time I became aware of strange voices— there was evidently a sort ofmerry-making in the kitchen. The mirth which had been pre viously suppressed came out more fully, per haps, when the clock, that struck so loud all the house could hear, told them it was nine. Meggy and Jacob knew my simple habits right well, and doubtless counted upon my be ing out of hearing. They might have known better, or have taken the precaution to assure themselves, for I scarcely ever knew it fail of discovery if wo undertake to leave any little fun aside. I remember of slyly opening a pre. serve jar when I was a child—a moment pre viously my mother was in the garret, and the pleasant jar was the furthest remove possible from her—no matter, I had no sooner taken the lid in my hand titan the well-known voice startled me, and the fire that burned into my check made me quite oblivious to the sweet taste in my month. This is only ono of many instances illustrative of the way things have al ways gone with me. Fur a moment I listened, and then,-partly for curiosity, and partly for a desire to share the gaiety, opened the door, which, was all that divided mo from the kitch en, and stood in the midst of a group of four persona. Joseph Bingham and his sister Mar tha had come in to pass the evening with Meg gy and Jacob, who were entertaining their guests with popped corn and cider. I need not say that Jacob was the man who tended the cows and made the fires, and did the Post.• office errands, and that Meggy was the maid of all work—a sprightly damsel, with heavy black hair lying low across her forehead, and blue, laughing eyes that had never looked very deep into the heart of things. There were red spots in her checks always, but the night I speak of, they were glowing all alike, and she seemed excited and happier than she had been the week Wore when I brought her home the' green deeds. Martha Bingham, a simple-heart ed and childish, little person, eat on a stool in the corner playing with the cat. I could not imagine how she had bad such a wonderful ef fect on the spirits of Meggy. I was not long in the dark. Joseph Bingham, who sat de murely assisting Jacob in the mending of a bridle, was a fair-faced youth with abundance of black curls, with which he seemed to have been at much pains, and having bold eyes that turned to me in a way that said plainly enough I was an intruder. I could not but ace this be neath the smile and the brow that recognized my presence. He vindicated his right to be there by informing me that ho had been an ap prentice to a harness maker, and that he was imparting to Jake the net of mending. Mug gy was sure it was very kind of him, and when the bridle was finished she brought a leather strap broken in two or three pieces, saying if ho would do her the favor to mend it she would do any service in her power in return, for that it was an article she needed twenty tunes a day. I never saw that she used it be fore or after, and an, convinced it was a strata gem to detain Joe a little longer. Tho Bingharns had but lately come to the neighborhood. I knew nothing of them ex cept that they bad lived in a neighboring town, where they had maintained themselves by the sale of groceries; that the father and son were engaged in no-business now, but spent most of their time in idling about the village tavern, and that the mother tended the garden and milked the cow, and did whatever else was done at home. I saw how it would go from the first and was not surprised when Meggy professed the greatest likeing for Martha Bingham, and insisted on carrying her apples and cakes and a bottle of cider now and then. That Joe had a good share of these excellencies I did not doubt. Ho was often at, our house after the mending of the bridle, and sometimes sang songs and sometimes brought in the water and the wood for Meggy, and did other chores for her that gave her frequent occasions to boast of his goodness. "Ay, Meggy," I said to her, "I see how it is, you have lost your heart, but, if possible, you had better get it back, for though the young man may be good enough in his treatment of you just now, lie would he different if you were his wife. Only yesterday, or to-day, or when. ever it might have been, I saw his mother chopping wood, and ho sitting idly by the fire, or worse, perhaps, at the tavern." All this did no good. Meggy would find one excuse or another, and when driven from all her subterfuges, she would say that we might find fault with an angel if we chose, and that for her part oho thought it better to gee the good that was in the people than the bad. So I would bo silenced, but not convinced. A good honest and faithful girl was Meggy. I liked her so well that I could not aeo her mar. ry unworthily, without sincere sorrow, and when I found dissuasion fruitless, I resolved to make an effort toward reformation in the young man. On his way to the tavern of evenings, Joe would stop at our house and have a chat with Meggy, Upon such oconsious I used to ask him to remain all the evening, offering all the harmless inducements I could, but though I sometimes Succeeded, he resisted for the most part of all influences, and so artlessly would plead tho necessity of his conduct, that I would be disarmed. And, in fact, there was some sincerity and some truth mingled with what ho said, so that it was impossible not to have some liking for him. "Where are you going, Joo ?" I would say, when I saw him drawing on his gloves, for ho worn gloves and dressed in a kind of a shabby gentility. "I have to go to town," bevould answer, "mother wants Inc to get this or that little article for her." Then he would wish that it was not so, that he could stay, and protest that he hated the blamed lit. tle place, and that ho would not go into the tavern, if every fellow in town coaxed him to. And so, time after time, he left Meggy, and time after time ho went to the tavern and walked crookedly homeward at night. Muggy mourned that his short-sighted mother could send him of errants where she knew tempta tion would fall in his way, and thought if they were only married. And when the March came they were mar ried. Meggy's face was shining with joy when she lett me, and so confident was silo of making Josey all that mho wished, that I al most shared her credulity. Alas, alas, it was nut three mouths till I saw her chopping wood at the door; and when I gsked her whore Joe was, she wiped her eyes and said she didn't know. But I knew she did know very well, and that was the softest answer she could give. When the baby was tvmonth old I went• to see her, and found the cradle empty. "Aud where is little Amy?" I asked. She had car ried him to his grandmother's, for that her poor husband was a good dual ailing, and bould not endure his fretting. At the sheep shearing time we sent her a fleece of wool to spin stockings for herself, but the following winter Joe had a new coat and her feet had only his old shoes to cover them. They moved away from our village at length, and for years I lost sight of them altogether, but never ceased to hope that the love of poor /doggy would prevail at last. Two years ago I was passing through Penn sylvania on tho canal packet. Tho cabin was so crowded and uncomfortable, that I resorted to the deck a good deal, and amused myself by watching the hands at work or at play. As wo halted to one of the dirty and poor villages that spring up along the highways, I noticed a woman washing at the door of a cabin, almost on the bank on tho canal. In the window of the house there were some bottles and segars, while a red-faced man was lying hard by, on a plank in the sun. As the woman turned her face to look at the boat, I thought I had seen it before; but it was not till she stretched out her arms and ran towards me, did I know it was Ideggy. "And how does Joe?" I said— The best man in the world," silo answered, bating that ho gets drank oftener than ho used to, and beats mo and neglects the children." Such is woman's love. A Beautiful Picture, The man who stands upon his own soil, who feels that by the law of the land in which ho lives—by the law of civilized nations—he is the rightful and exclusive owner of the land which ho tills, is by the constitution of our nature un der the wholesome influence not easily imbibed from any other source. He feels—other things being equal—more strongly than another, the character of a man as the lord of an inanimate world. Of this great and wonderful sphere which, fashioned by the hand of God and up held by Ms power, is rolling through the hone. ens, a part is his—his from the centre to the sky. It is the space on which the generation before moved in its round of duties, and he feels himself connected by a link with those who follow him, and to whom ho is to transmit a home. Perhaps his farm has corns down to him from his fathers, They have gone to their last home, but he enn trace their footsteps over the scenes of his daily labors. The roof which shelters him was reared by those to whom ho owes his being. Some in teresting domestic tradition is connected with every enclosure. The favorite fruit tree was planted by his father's hand. He sported in boyhood beside the brook, which still winds through the meadow. Through the field lies the path to the village school of earlier days. He still hears from the window the voice of the sabbath bell which called his father to the house of God; and near at hand is the spot where his parents laid down to rest, and when his time has come, ho shall bo laid by his chil dren these aro the feelings of the owner of the soil. Words cannot paint them. They flow out of the deepest fountains of the heart—they are the life—spring of a fresh, healthy rued gen croon national character.—Edward Everett. Erra.tviussoE.—The epaulettes worn by Prince Albert, when in full costume, are worth the trilling sum of $2,300—n small farm on each shoulder, RELIABILITY, Or Promising and not Performing. "What he says you may bolivre, And pawn your soul upon it." • There arc many individuals in society who can never be depended upon. They arc "good, easy souls," according to the general under standing, and are ever ready to make promi ses. But, performance with them is qtiito a different affair. They arc uncertain, vacilla ting, and altogether unreliable. A sad system, and ono that is apt to get them into many dif ficulties. Too much importance cannot be at tached to reliability. It is a priceless quality. It may he counted upon at all times and sea• sons and under all circumstances. A pledge is given, a promise is made, and the utmost con fidence may be felt in their fulfilment. With too many, however, aye, with the great multi tude of mankind, the system is otherwise. Ei ther insincerity characterizes the promise in the first place, or hesitation and change take place soon after, and thus the word is forfeited, the character is soiled, and all future confi dence is destroyed. And this applies as well to the little as to the great things of life. It is too much the habit with the thoughtless, to regard the non•fulfilment of small engage ments, as of no importance whatever. They will agree to meet this friend or that at a cer tain time oeplace, and then will treat the whole matter with indifference or contempt, utterly regardless of the indirect insult conveyed in such trifling, ns well as the waste of moments or of hours, which, to another, may be precious. Indeed, individuals who are prompt and punc tual in little things, aro seldom amiss in great. If they are inattentive to the ordinary courte sies of life and society, they will, in the majori ty of cases, be found truthful, manly, high-mind ed and honorable. If they can be relied upon to convey a message, to reciprocate a kindness, or to return a small favor—they luny also ho confided in, in graver and more momentous matters. There is, indeed, great virtue in reliability. It adorns, dignifies and elevates the character. A reliable man is always a good citizen, an agreeable companion, a prudent counsellor and a trustworthy friend. He is a man of consci ence and of principle, and his words and deeds are thus influenced and controlled by consider ations of the highest and purest description.— Ho may bo depended upon as well in the hour of misfortune as in the day of prosperity. His advice will bo received with respect and confi dence, and his professions will always be. char. acterized by sincerity and veracity. In what broad and disreputable contrast is the trifler, who is constantly promising and never performing, who rarely fulfils an engage ment, and who cannot or will not appreciate the value of promptness and punctuality. Grant him a favor, with a solemn understanding that it will be returned at a particular time, and he will either neglect the matter entirely, or make a thousand absurd excuses, by way of postpon ing or neglecting the obligation. This may answer once, or, perhaps,lwice; but thereafter all confidence will cease, and the reciprocity of feeling and of kindness will depart forever. Often too, the unreliable individual is sadly perplexed to ascertain the cause. Unable him. self to appreciate the value of reliability, ho cannot traco the motives which prompt the conduct of others, and Ito fancies every reason but the right one. Some years since a young man of this city was in great pecuniary distress. He .required but a small sum, comparatively speaking, but it: was important that ho should obtain it with in a specified time. Ile applied first to one friend, and then to another, but in vain, and his condition every hour grew more critical.— At last ho bethought hint of a person with whom he had no particular acquaintance, and made a very touching appeal, at the same time pledging himself in the most solemn manner, to repay the loan on a designated day. The case seemed so pressing, that the favor was granted, but not without considerable inconvo. nience. Still, it afforded satisfaction to be able to relieve one who was in a sad dilemma, even at tho risk of 4emporary embarrassment. The day designated for re-payment came round, but the individual to whom the favor had been granted, neglected to make his appearance— and so on for months. The amount, as already stated was not large, but the principle was the same. A solemn pledge had been forfeited, and under circumstances calculated to excite distrust and doubt for the future. Three or four years after, and the same individual was still more unfortunate, and again needed and sought fur assistance, and this, too, in the same quarter. But on the second occasion tho ap plication was vain. Tho refusal was crouched in as gentle language as possible, but the mem ory of the former transaction had not pdssed away, and the applicant who, in the first case, was regarded as an unfortunate, was in the se cond, considered as insincere, dishonorable, if not dishonest. In brief, ho had forfeited his character by his want of faith and truth, and by his disregard of the sterling principles of re liability. And such is almost invariably the result. Those who trifle either by word or deed, who promise never intending to perform, who maim engagements never designing to keep them, who in fact are over insincere, yield ing and always unreliable, are sure, sooner or later, to reap the bitter fruits of such error of policy and infirmity of purpose. Better by far to possess reliability, even if unaccompanied by shining qualities of mind, than genius assn. elated with uncertainty, vacillation, irresolu tion, indecision and untruth. DON'T CARE A Brr.—An Irishman going to market met a farmer with an owl. "Say mishtor, what'll you take for yer big eyed Turkey?" "It is an owl, ye baist," replied the astonish ed farmer. "Devil a bit do I care whether it is ould or young, price the bird ye spalpecn." WlL.Bulwer, the uoveli,t, is •Ie year:, of azc Rather Difficult to Please. I wish to give you a few items as to the re ception our now preacher has met in our cir cuit, together with some hints as to lice opin• ions formed respecting him. Ile reached here in good time after Conference, and went to work immediately, and has continued at his post up to the present. I have taken some pains to inquire as to what the brethern think of him, nod now beg leave to report "in part." Brother A. thinks he does not read and stu dy enough. B. says he reads and studies too much, and has too little to say in the fanillies where he stops. C. is of opinion that he does not seem suffi• ciently inclined to visit the different families of his charge. B. is very free to give it as his opinion, that he is too much disposed to "go about," thereby neglecting the Scripture injunction. "Co not, from house to house." E. rather inclines to the opinion that ho is haughty and resmed. F. is satisfied that Le is too light, and too much disposed to frivolous conversation. G. shakes his hand significantly, and thinks he is too particular about his dress, and rather dandy-like. 11.—who, by the way, has several "very nice" daughters, and is herself very particular—de clares ho is too careless about dress, and not sufficiently neat and tidy. I. is too much inclined to think his sermons are too long to be profitable. J. is sure they aro too short, for he scarcely gets sound asleep ere they are finished, (you need not•tell this, however, as Brother J. does not like for people to know that he sleeps in church.) K. believes that he tries to make a show of learning, and uses too many big words. L. avers that his language is too "common• placed," low and almost vulgar. N. hopes he will do pretty well, but thinks he does not exhibit quite enough interest in the "temperance refocus." N. is satisfied ho will get along finely, pro vided ho will let temperance alone, and preach the Gospel. 0. is wonderfully'put out, because he speaks so low that he can scarcely keep awake during the sermon. - P. says he speaks entirely too fact, be "hollers and bawls." Q. modestly suggests, that if ho expects to do any good this year, ho must say nothing about money matters, but just go on "in the old-fashioned way," preaching and holding elass-meetings. R. thinks there is no hope for him, unless he will sny very little about class meetings, and not be strict in matters of discipline, as was the preacher we had last year. S. inclines to the opinion that he is too much disposed to preach on controverted points such as baptism, and the like, and thereby dis turbs the unity that exists among the different sects. Perhaps I ought to remark, that in the neigh. borhood where Brother S. lives, there is great unity among the different sects. They are all frozen together. T. is very decided in the opinion that he does not preach on points of controversy. U. has not quits made up his mind, but thinks, perhap:, may be, ho will do tolerably well, except that ho seems to sack for popular. ity more than a preacher should. V.. good soul, is perfectly outraged that the preacher should manifest so little regard for public opinion. W. is "hurt" already because ho is too plain and poirited in his remarks. Such a course, ho thinks, "is only calculated to hurt people's feel. ings," without doing them any good. X. is very well satisfied that he will do no good this year, because ho is too much afraid of "hurting people's feelings." Y. is very much pleased, only ho is afraid the preacher, being a young man, will devote too much time to the company of young peo• plc, young ladies in particular. Z. likes to see a preacher social and polite, and pay some attention to society; but inclines to think that our preacher will be too formal and distant. is inn wonderful "potter" about him.— 110 hardly knows what to think or say; some• times ho thinks he will do well, and get on ad. mirably, then again ho fears. Ho has witness. cd so many failures after fair starts, that, on the whole, ho is about to suspend his judgment for the present, give the preacher a Stir trial, 'lnd report hereafter. These are some of the opinions of the old people, so far as I can gather them. I confess they seem rather contradictory, but that is cer• tainly not my fault; and as "fidelity and impar• tinlity" aro set down as necessary qualifica- tions in a historian, I thought best to report things as they really exist. Among our young folks there is as great a variety of opinion as there is among their seniors. Something Worth Knowing, We find the following in an exchange, and as it is by no menus the first time that wo have hoard of the cure of the croup by the same re medy; we have but little doubt of its efficacy: "My Wife and I were aroused about two o'- clock this morning by the struggling of our lit tle boy, about three years old, who was labor ing under a violent attack of the croup. His breathing was so difficult ns to arouse persons who were sleeping in a room beyond the hall. nastily folded a towel, dipped it in cold wa ter, and applied it to his throat and breast; I then folded a sheet to the proper size, wet it, and rolled him up in it, and wrapped a bltinket over that. He went to sleep in three minutes, and slept till five o'clock, when he got up, was dressed and went to play in three hours after the attack, and we were rejoiced at the cura tive power of cold water." stir What maintains one vied Would bring up too children; NO. 9. A Leaf of Memory Lost. An old man's memory is a queer place. In deed h resembles an old fashioned garret, full of relics and souvenirs of the past; the rubbioli of to•day, but the riches of yesterday. In conversation yesterday with an old man, who has spent a long and useful life, and with whom it is now Indian Summer, we were ins pressed with a remark he aceidentrdly made. Ile had seen the opening ofnear seventy springs, at first the winters came and went, but by and by unlimited snow flakes lingered in his hair, and ho saw them drifting over the graves of one after another, whose feet with his, had brushed the morning dews together. At last they whitened over his old wife's last resting place—over her who knew when the shadows fell to the westward, and the "day was before" them both—who never thought him old, though all the world pronounced him so. Every body said when she died, "it's a terrible blow to tho old man," and a few did all they could to make him forget, but there was no need for that, "for," said he, "they didn't seem to know whore the blow fell, they so deplored—they didn't know how much I missed somebody to help me re member!" • Those few words, indeed; contain a world of meaning. Ho did miss She other TeSf from mem ory's table. Two pair of eyes had but one rain • bow; but one pair beheld it now. Two heart.: had lived over again the past, but one remem bered it—and imperfectly now. Who would have life's little thread extended, "till he too," should be compelled to tabs up the words and say, "I miss somebody to help me remember!" [N. F. Tribune. How the Continentals Stood in Arms. To a man they wore small clothes, coming down and fastening just below the knee, and long stockings, with cowhide shoes, ornament ed with large buckles; while not a pair of book graced the company. The coats and waistcoats were loose and of huge dimensions, with colors as various as the barks of oak, sumach, and other trees of our hills and swamps could make them, and their shirts were all made of his, and, like every other part of the dress, were homespun. On their heads was worn a large, round-top and broad•brimmed hat. Their firing were as various as their costume. Here an old soldier carried a Queen Ana, which had done service at the conquest of Canada twenty years previous, while by his side walked a stripling boy, with a Spanish fusee, not, half its weight or calibre, which his grandfather may have ta ken at Havana, while not a few had old French pieces that dated back to the reduction of Lou isburg. Instead of the cartridge-box, a large powder horn was slung under the arm, and oc casionally a bayonet might be seen bristling ht the ranks. Some of the swords of the officers had been made by our province blacksmiths, perhaps of some farming utensils; they looked serviceable, but heavy and uncouth. Such was the appearance of the Continentals, to whom a well appointed army was soon to lay down their arms. After a little exercise on the old com mon, and performing the then popular exploit of whipping the snake, they briskly filed up the road by the foot of Kidder Mountains, and through the Stafford Gap, towards Peterbore, to the tune of "Over the Hills and Far Away.' —History of New Ipswich. From the Farm Journal, for February Hollow Horn Disease. A writer in the Boston Cultivator gives the following as the symptoms of and remedy for, the hollow horn disease: "The sysnptoms are drooping of the head and ears_, lying down, turning the head over the back, towards the shoulders, as if pain in the head. This I think is a spinal disease, affecting the brains and horns. Cure—Take a large table spoonful of sulphur, and lard sufficient when warns to make it soft like paste, pour it on the top of the head at the root of the horns; take a shovel or flat piece of iron, heat it, and hold it over the head so as to heat the paste and warm the top of the head, as much as the beast will hear; re peat once in .two or three days, and bore tho horns on the under side, two or three inches from the head, so as to let in fresh air, and let the putrid matter out if any is collected. I have never known this fail if taken before too far gone. I have cured one cow when the top of the head was so full of matter that I opened a place above the ear which discharged more than half a pint. This was in the summer, tho cow was fatttened in the fall and killed; tho head was all right, excepting a place at the roots of the horns about as large a small spoim bowl. Cure for Crack in Horses' Hoofs, Our friend, Martin Bell, Esq., of Moir coun ty gentle us the following remedy for hoof crack _ _ ' When the crack opens and makes the horse lame, take a light piece of hoop iron, six or seven inches long, and punch six or eight holes in it, so that three or four may come en each side of the crack, and fit it to the hoof as near the hair as the solid part of the hoof will per mit. Have the opposite foot held up by au as sistant, and fasten the plate to its place in a workmanlike manner, with good screws about three-sixteenths of an inch in length. Tho holes for the screws should be made in the hoof with a small sprigging awT. If properly dons the horse can be either ridden or worked with. out limping. Dot to make the cure perfect, a sore must be made at the top of the hoof where the hair commences, which may bo done with an inch chisel, guarded so as not to cut too deep. A little poke root or something else should be inserted in the wound to make a sore and it is done. I have seen the plate remain on two or three months, and know from cape. rience that it is much preferable to any other mode / have ever seen tried where the horse has to be used.' Apples Without Seeds or Cores. . - A correspondent of the Memphis Tllly gives the following reccipe fat obtaining apples with out seeds and cores: Take the ends of the limbs of an apple• tree, where they hang loir,so as to reach the ground, dig a small hole fur the end under the tree, bend it down so that it will remain. Po this in the winter, or in the begining of spriag.— The end of the limb thus buried will take root and put up sprouts of scions, which, when they become sufficiently large to "set out," dig up at the proper season, and transplant them in the orchard, where you wish them to remain, —when they get large enough to beas t they will bear talcs as above.
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