Ote Pilau
VOL. 19.
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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.