Huntingdon journal. (Huntingdon, Pa.) 1843-1859, November 14, 1855, Image 1
x.: • qr,!- / • • A .. I WILLIAM BREWSTER, EDITORS. SAM. G. WHITTAKER, *elect . . A MOTHER'S HOPE, “I knelt beside our children's narrow bed s nd remembered the hour when I mourned heir loss, and you soothed my grief with lov og words and tender caresses.” By their green and mossy bed, Was the mother humbly kneeling, And she bowed her weary bend, And the tears came lastly stealing; Wept she as the mother weeps For the cherished and the lost , For the flow'rets once on fair, Nipp'd by an untimely frost. Bowing thus above her treasures, She remembered, Oh ! how well, All her early hopes and pleasures, Blissful dreatns no tongue can tell ; lint the spoiler came and reft her Of the jewels of her love, And on Seraph wings, they left her For the spirit land above. Then uproso that gentle mother, Oriel no longer bowed her head,— Smiles and tears did chase each other, Len beside her early dead '.God, I thank Thee, who bast given Solite') to this !Malt of mine= Such the kingdom is of Heaven ! Father lake them—they arc Thine!' "THY WILL BE DONE." Searcher .)r hearts I from mine erase All thoughts that should not be, Anil in its deep recesses, trace My gratitude to thee ! Hearer of Prayer, oh ! guide aright, Each word and deed of mine ; Life's battle teach me how to fight, And he the victory thine. Giver of all ! for every good In the Redeemer moile— r, shelter, raiment, and for food, I thank thee in His name. Father and Son and Holy Ghost I Thou glorious 'Mee in One Thou knowcst best what I need most, And kt THY WILL BE oast: ~.i`iginiti. .Por the Jmernal. PENCILLINGS The breeze that eurl3 thy billowy doer, songs that d er thy valleya sweep, Are fresh with FRENDIMI'S biTath. So sang, long ngo, New England's poet• ess, and there was inspiration in her song, but never, since the glorious old days of Ticonderoga, Bennington and Saratoga, have those words been so eminently true —so nearly what a Lyric should be, as' they are to day, the Echo of the A ge. The trickery, indeed, of rhyme and rhythm are wanting, but now we have the thought embodied in the living act ; a sublimer utterance than words can give. There is no mistaking the spirit of the articulations that are rising here and there like the parts of a great Anthem, all over the land. Those who were dumb are growing quite eloquent; those that were doubting, are coming out manfully for free- . dam cud the Right ; and of those even, who aforetime clanked a human chnin, for emblem, not a few have loosed their grasp upon the nccursed links, and are swelling the ranks of the lovers of Liberty. The questions of minor unpin tance that have hitherto divided right-minded men, are now merged in this. one all-absorbing one ; shall a breadth of this fair earth, broad . enough to be named a world—a breadth made sacred to Liberty at the first, by such solemn rites, such wealth of sacrifices as Earth shall never see again, be gradually narrowed to a Cape, by the rolling in front the South, of the great Black Sea of Sla very, until hardly the rock of Plymouth will be left to stand upon; nor a battle field be dyked round about against the surge ? There may have been, at some period, a doubt, not that there seas Virtue enough to fling a chain more potent than Canute's, .upon the advancing tide, but whether that Virtue would forget all interests of section, all considerations of policy, all thought of personal aggrandizement, and for the sake of those who have gone before, and as a legacy to those who shall come after, be queath one united, earnest, souffed effort in behalf of Liberty and the Oppressed.,- That effort is now being made; that legacy will be transmitted ; that cause will be tri umphant. Had not the footfall of Slavery been steal thy and silent ; had it not stolen, noiseless se a shadow over the dial, the borders of this night would not have been flung so far. But the clank of chains at last grew audible, as they trailed them over the soil of Kansas, that God and man alike made made free; hoarse utterances of the Slave Power, came grating to the ears of the Free North, like the bellowing of a storm; and in those sounds all other speech was dumb, and ono after another teen rose up to the rescue, even as the grain in full har vest. And this grand movement is not to be attributed to the galvanic action of party or clique, having the concortions without the reality, the endurance, the majesty of life; it is nothing that will ' , blow over" like a summer cloud ; it is nothing that can be awed into suspicion, or bribed into re pose, or wearied into activity ; but is as , deep and as broad as humanity's self. When men's hearts die out within them; when the Muse of History points to no ra diant page; when no pulse quickens with no deathless recollections; whon those syl lables—LlßEßTY—cease to be sweet in any tongue of a Ilabel•cleft world, then may we look to see this movement subside like a spent wave along the shores of Time; then, may we pause to hear something like a dirge for all that was called justice, all that was called humanity, all that was worthy to be named Freedom in the New World. The seed time of liberal principles— principles broadly American, has long pas sed, and the harvest is at hand. Very rarely is it, that when a country is agitated and rent with mere political differ ences, that the sentiment finds an echo or an utterance in the literary world. There all is calm ; there, the sky remains cloud icsl. But it is not so now. We have about us, ranged upon the shelves, burdening the table, or cumber ing tho floor, volumes of a purely literary character that yet under all sorts of names, breathe the very invisible spirit, that is to take shape, and execute in the snowy fall of the ballot the Freeman's will, and the will of Freedom's God. Ile who has ob served at all the tendency of the current literature cannot fail to have marked this, and markingit, to have seen therein, a deep significance. These authors, many of them quiet thinkers, have looked calmly out of their windows and caught long ago, the fragrant breath of its new growth, whose ripening is now the theme of every tongue. With Literature,a volunteis via Free orn 's cause ; and as for Poetry, Slavery never had a song whose burden was not a sigh or a sob; with an honest, an earnest and united purpose In their behalf t with is a Holy Alliance of names rnd sections East and West ; an alliance of the purest Patri otism with the noblest Philantrophy, what snore does FREEDOM need to preserve in all its sacredness this the western shrine of her worship—this, her latest-lighted Pharos upon Earth, "BOY OF '76." Hunting,lon, Non. 10. °~~~~csccCC~incoit~. A Graphic Sketch, At the celebration of the battle of King's Mountain, (Gaston county, N. C.) last week, Col. Win. C. Preston addressed the vast assemblage, and, and gave a glowing picture of the battle from which we give the following graphic extract. It mil be, remembered that the battle was fought in October, 1780, and resulted in a victory of a small body of American militia over the British regulars of Cornwallis' army, under Ferguson : "Ferguson, with n gallantry which seem ed to rise with his desperate condition, role from rank to rank, and post to post, cheering, driving and encouraging his men, until he found his army pressed, actually huddled together on the ridge and falling as fast as the Americans could load and shoot. He determined on one more des perate charge, and taking his position at the head of his cavalry, in a voice that rose high above the din of the battle, lie summoned his 'nett "to crush the damned rebels to the earth." The summons was heard by the Americans, and one round of their rifles was stopped, and, instead of their roar, there was only the click of the cook heard. It was tho serpent's low war ning of coming death. The pause was but for a moment, when Ferguson and Du Poistre, horse and foot, burst like an ave. lanche down the mountain side. By the erne they came within sixty paces, every riga was loaded, and under deadly aim.— ' Ferguson fell at the first discharge, with seven mortal wounds. 'rho patriots rush ed forward to meet the shock, as Du Foie tre's regulars, with bayonets set, and sa bres in rest, came crashing upon them.— Not Agicourt or Cressy, with all their chi valry, ever felt a more fearful shock • than that; but had the heavens rained British bayonets, it could not have stopped those patriots. The destinies of America—per. haps of tnankind—depeuded nn their mus cle. Like martyrs they went to the death; like lions they rushed to the carnage ; offi cer and soldier—half naked, w•itlt blood shot eyes and parclted tongues—pounced upon the charging onotny, until their hot breath and fierce glare was seen and felt by the craven tory and his bull dog mas ter ; and as they crouched gathering for ‘‘ LIBERTY AND UNION, NOW AND FOREVER, ONE AND INSEPARABLE. " HUNTINGDON, PA., WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 14, 1855. the last spring, a wild, terror.stricken shriek rose above the roar—a yell for mer cy—a white flag was run up and God's champion shouted Victory, Liberty I" The Hon. George Bancroft followed in a short and staring speech, from which we quote the closing paragraph : "To finish the picture of the battle, the consequences of the victory are to be bro't to mind. It struck dismay into the tories, and checked the concerted system or house-burning and domestic carnage whioh was filling Carolina with the deadliest hor- ' I rots of civil war ; it was the turning point of victory which cheered on Sumoter and Col. Washington and Morgan to their suc cesses, and enabled Greene to collect art ar my ; it was the fatal blow which utterly disconcerted the plans of Cornwallis, and forced him into that change of policy which had its end at Yorktown. The men of that day fought not for Carolina, not for the South ; they fought for America and for humanity, and the ultimate effects of their heroism cannot yet be measured.— The States are bound together by com merce, and dovetailed together by canals and rivers, and railroads. But the recol lection of the crowded hours of this glori ous action of our fathers speaks to the heart, and makes us feel, more than all the rest, that we are one people. Let the battle. ground before us be left no longer as pri vate property; let it be made the inheri tance of the people ; that is of all those who are heirs to the benefits that were gained on the day which we commemorate. Let a rnontunent rise upon its peak as a me morial of the heroism of our fathers—as an evilence of the piety of their sons. The deeds that.were there performed bid us ev er renew our love of country.. Let the passion for freedom flow forth perenially, like the fountains that gush in crystal pu rity from our hill sides; let the Union stand like your own mountains, which, the geo logists tell us, are the oldest and firmest is the world." Visit to a Copper Mine. A correspondent of the Buffalo • Repub lic gives an interesting account of a late chit to the Minnesota mine, twelve miles above Ontonagon, on the river of that name : 'Down, down we went, and in more than one instance the rounds which sup- ported us were worn through till less than half an inch of wood remained, hut, sera• ping and scratching, clutching at the lad der round, and grasping the candle, which every moment seemed likely to be struck by the great drops of water that constant ly fell from over head, we had no time to speculate upon the strength of our frail foothold, but a foot at a step sank deeper and deeper into the bowels of the earth, and the blackness of everlasting night which fills them. We had gone down perhaps 130 feet, and the remaining ladder was some few feet to the left of the ono we were upon. On teaching the last round, a rather long stretch to the left, a sort of poking in the dark for a foothold, for your candle will not light your feet in such an atmosphere, found the next ladder. We Caine on in safety and struck the landing 90 feet bolow, with indescribable plea sure. Here were miners at work with picks, drills, and chisels, the atmosphere filled with the smoke of blast in some one of the many passages through the mine, making the darkness darker than ever. Candles fastened to the ragged sides or roof of the passage by the clay plaster, and their hats ornamented in like manner, gave barely light enough to sea where to strike. Here would be seen a brawny arm holding a big chisel which was slowly, very slowly cut ting its way through n mass of solid cop per weighing 20 tons, or more, perhaps— too heavy to raise to the surface ; and on that huge block of metal, which had been thrown down by force, perhaps, of ten kegs of powder, sat this man, who had been for over thirty-six working hours, holding that stout chisel, with two others striking alter nately, hour after hour, blows of tremen dous force, about once a second. And how much, think you ia dono by this kind of labor t 'A square foot of surface, by the hardest kind of work which human muscle cats perform, in twelve hours mull that can be accomplished. No wonder copper costs. I believe copper mining to be the severest toil which the human frame can be made to endure. There is no other tni sing known which can can csmpr re with it, and lam told the men never live to be old. Groping after our leader through gangs of men in all directions, we were instructed in metallic formations, and lec tured to most interestingly in trappean ranges, and such illustrations of their con tents made as the wealth of the ladies could furnish no college with on ground above On the first level of the Minnesota, we saw, laid bare in the rock, 90 feet below the surface, a solid slab of copper full 00 feet long, and at least ten feet feet wide.— Its thickness of course can only be a mere speculation; but i t is over seventy tons; and if six inches thick on an average, dou ble that weight. Yet copper is daily laid bare in this mine a foot thick. Tat they get behind the mass and blow it from the rock, it is impossible to get at its actual thickness. Crawling, sliding, creeping, and by ev ery other means save walking, candle in hand, now in mud, now on jagged rocks, head first, and feet first, we followed our polite conductor, who, with a pick would knock at our ragged roof in a most reck less manner to point out .epedote' or con glomerate' or trap' to his class, who per haps would have full satisfied, if he had displayed less anxiety to inflate their cra niums with metalliferous knowledge, at the risk, according to my ignorant compre hension of the tumbling clown of some beautiful fragment of trap weighing a few tons, to bury us alive, or crush us out of existence. After an examination of metal in and out of the rock, at our present depth, we made the descent of 80 feet farther, and our explorations at the 170 were as interesting as heretofore. Our ideas of the immense wealth of this mine, prepared as we had been by the stories fell short of the picture presented below. Years upon years must roll away before the metal can be exhausted ; and if the character of copper continues in masses, the profits must be enormous. Wo had been in the dark regions about three hours and had twisted ourselves by crab like contortions through passages 700 .feet in length, and seen practical mining in all its methods, save blasting, and that we had heard, quite satisfied to have en gagements in another direction ; so preferring to go up rather than still farther down, we care fully followed eat:conductor up through a i different shaft from the one descended, nod gladly reached the cheerful sunlight once more, highly delighted with our under , ground tour. "Bury Me in the Garden." "There was sorrow there, acrd tears were in every eye ; and there •.very low, half-suppressed sobbings heard from every corner of the room : but the little sufferer was still ; its young spirit was just on the virge of departure. The mother was ben ding over it in all the speechless yearnings of parental love; with ore arm under, its pillow, and with the other, unconsciously drawing the little dying girl closer and clo ser to her bosom. Poor thing ! in the bright and dewy morning it had followed out before its father into the field; and while he was there engaged in his labors, it had patted among the meadow flowers, and had stunk its bosom full, and rul its burnished tresses, with carmine and lily tinted things; and returning tired of its father's side, he had lifted it upon the load ed cart; but a stone in the road had sha ken it from its seat, and the ponderous, iron rimmed wheels had ground it down into the very cart-path and the little crush ed creature was dying. We had all gathered up closely to its bedside, and were hanging over the young bruised thing, to see it yet breathed, when slight movement came over its lips and its eyes partly opened. There was no voice, but there was something beneath its eyelids which a mother alone could interpret. its lips trembled again, and we all held our breath—its eyes opened a little further and • then we heard the departing spirit whisper in that ear which touched those ashy lips: "Mother ? Moth er I don't let them carry me sway down to the dark, cold grave-yard, but bury me in the garden—in the garden, mother." "A little sister, whose eyes were rain• ing down with the melting of her heart, had crept up to the bedside, and taking the hand of the dying girl sobbed aloud in its ears : "Julia! Julia! can't you speak to Antoinette?" “The last fluttering pulsation of expi• ring nature struggled hard to ennoble that little spirit to utter one more wish and word of affection : its soul was on its lips, as it whispered again : "Bury me in the gar. den, mother—bury me in the —" and a quivering came over its limbs, one fee ble struggle, and all was still." HIGHER. H taloa ! to a word of noble meaning, the inspiration of all great deeds—tho sympathetic chain that leads link by link, impassioned soul of its zenith at glory, and still holds its mysteriously abject stam ding and glittering among the stars. Higher lisps the infant at its parent's knees, and makes its feeble essay to raise from the floor--it is the first aspiration of childhood--to burst the narrow confines of the cradle in which its sweet moments have been passed forever. Higher! laughs the proud school-boy at his swing ; or as he climbs the tallest tree of the forest, that lie my look down on his less adventurous companions with a flush exultation and abroad over the fields of his native village, He never saw so extended a prospect before. Higher ! earnestly breathes the student of philosophy and nature ; lie has a best of rivals, but he must eclipse them all.— The midnight oil in his lamp burns dim, but he finds light and knowledge in the lamps of heaven, and his soul is never weary when the last of them is hid be hind the curtains of the morning And Higher! his voice thunders forth when dignity of manhood has invested his form, and the multitude is listening with delight to his oracles burning with elo quence and ringing like true steel in the cause of freedom and right. And when time has changed his locks to silver, and when the world-wide renown is his; when the maiden gathering flowers by the read side, and the boy in the field, bow in rev erence as he passes: and the peasant looks to him with honor--can he break forth from his heart the fond wish of the past. Higher yet! he has reached the apex of earthly honor, yet his spirit burns as warm as iti youth though with a steadier and paler light, and it would borrow wings and soar up to high heaven, leaving its tenement to molder among the laurels he has wound around it, for the never-ending glory to be reached only in the presence of the Most High ! OLD OCTOBER. "God bless the man that math October." The Albany Knicker Locker said that, and if somebody would send the Albany Knickerbocker a bible they would be shed ding a little light upon "them that sit in darkness," for friend Hastings is cer tainly a heathen, to think that any being short of an Omnipotent one—an angel at the lowest—could males such n nigh as last night was; could soften down relen ting Nature, till she smiled her heart out, and the most unfilial of us all, grew ready to own and love her as a mother. Ho is worse than Sancho Panza, who uttered a beatitude upon “the man that invented sleep," for Laudanum can make sleep, and so they piously christened it laudanum—laus deo—praise to God, for its drought of forgetfulness. But as for such a closing ai yesterday had and Who would not pray for an ending like thnt ? we must look whence the dawn comes, when God's gates are ajar, to let out the morning. The poets are certainly at fault for October is not 'brown' at all, but only summer in a dream; only the year re membering. And wonderful it is, what an influence such a night has upon humen nature.— We profess to be so wonderfully inde pendent, and yet we are so many barome 'tern, rising and falling with the changing of the sky; the coming and going of a cloud as it "lays off and on" in the great blue /Egean of God may change the Hea ven of the heart as well. But last night—if there were not vows made in it that shall be hallowed—if rough voices did not go a little more like a flute —if men did not grow, if indeed, "for one night only," a tear or two more human—if Memory did sot give up, as the sea will by and by, some of its beautiful dead—if there were not forms wavering the moon• beams as they walked softly among them, that we never see in mid day or in the sun shine, then we are constrained to say, we greatly fear, that jewel of a night might about as well have been wrapped up in a napkin. Duelling. There are two or three men in our own world almost as wise as M. Jules Janin. "If thou art weary of life," said Marius to the bold Teuton who challenged him, "go and hang thyself." Themistocleswas no coward, and yet he would rather take a blow than neglect good counsel from Fucybiades. In latter times, tho Count Savoy challenged the Dauphin of Vien nois. "Hark, ye, Sir Count," said the lusty Dauphin, I will send you one of my wild bulls ; and if you be so miniecl, you may struggle till you are tired with an an tagonist not easily overcome." We sup- pose that Mr. Janin will not despise the bravery and gallant bearing of Turenne; and yet according to the critic, the hero of Sintzheritn and the Rhino must be a lost man in the eyes of the section into which M. Tan in divides the world, for Turenne refused to fight a duel under the', grossest provocations. lie had been sub jected to a disgusting insult by a rash young officer and as quickly drew his sword to resent as the other to defend it. But Turenne thrust his weapon back into the sheath, remarking as he did so : 'Young man, if I could wipe your blood from my conscience as easily as I have wiped the filthy proof of your folly from my face, I would take your life upon the spot.' M. Janin is an exceeding clever person, but we very much doubt if even he will be able to persuade his countrymen that the Turenne who fell so gloriously at Salz 'melt, in front of the artillery of Motecunch was a coward for refusing to avenge an in• sult by a orime.—fithencetnit. The Sun Has Red Flames. Professor Henry, before the American Association of Science, gave odd results touching the existance of red flames on the edge of the sun, as observed during' solar eclipses. The.° projections of rod flumes were observed again in May. A black board representation was given---a I circle with cloven tongues of fire. Du- I ring eclipses, it appears, remarkable ap_ pearances of these flames have been obser ved since the year 1338, when Alexander and Henry were astronomers together at Princeton. One used a yellow glass to the other a red. It was found that these flames could only be observed through the red glass. To test this Mr. Henry exper imented at Washington. He took a large burning-lens, such as are usually in the light-house service, and concentrated the rays of the sun upon a piece of shingle-- the wood began to burn, when presto ! the same sort of flames appeared, of a beau tiful pink color. A range of different col ored glasses was brought to bear---but through none of them, yello v, green, nor aspiring else but red, could the flames be seen. Mr. Henry called in the architect of the Smithsonian Institution, and bade him look. He was oblivious of the ex istence in the flames till the red glass came. A candle was taken up, and it was invisible through the red glass. The in foresee is, that this phenomenon is real. The pink, according to Mr. Ilenry, is a subjective color- --a color in the eye. This , I opens, it is said, a held for investigation. Mechanics' Wives. Speaking of the middle rank of life, a good writer observes ' , There we behold woman in her glory; not a doll to carry silks or jewels ; not a puppet to be flattered by profane adoration —reverenced to day, discard ed to•morrow —always jostled out of the place nature has assigned her, by sensuality or by con. tempt--admired but not respected—desir ed but not esteemed— ruled by passion, not affection—imparting her weakness, not her constancy ; we see her a wife, par:a king the care and cheering the anxiety of a husband, dividing his toils, and spread ing cheer around her; for his sake, sharing the refinements of the world without being vain of them, placing all her joys and hap piness in the man she loves. As a moth• er, we find her an affectionate and ardent instructor of her children, whom she tend ed from their infancy, training them to thought and benevolence, addressing them as rational being, preparing them to become men and women in their turn. Unhonored Heroes. When I seen man holding faster his uprightness in proportion as it is assailed; fortifying his religious trust in proportion as providence is obscure ; hoping in the ultimate triumphs of virtue and more sure in proportion to its present afflictions; cher ishing philanthropy amid the discouraging experience of mews unkindness and un. thankfulness ; extending to others a sym pathy Nellie!' his own sufferings neeJ, but cannot obtain ; growing milder and gentler amidst what tends to exasperate and hard• en ; and through inward principle convert the very excitement to evil into the men sions of virtue ; I see an explanation, and a noble explanation, of the present state. I see a good produced, so transcendent in its nature as to justify all the evil and suf fering under which it grows up. I should think the formation of a few such minds worth all the apparatus of the present world. I should say that this earth, with its continents and oceans, its seasons and harvests, and its successive generations, I was a work worthy of God, even were it to accomplish no other end than the train ing and manifestation of the illustrious characters which aro scattered through history. And when I consider how small a portion of human virtue is recorded by history, how superior in dignity, as well in number, am unnoticed, unhonored snints and heroes of domestic and humble life, I see a light thrown over the present state which now than reconciles me to all its evils.—Chamarte.. VOL. 20. N0..46. Our Muir golumn. A Successful Trick, A young and skillful dssciple of Rob ert Louden was some time ago traveling to the northern provinces of France, giv ing exhibitions in natural magic, in com pany with a young wag, now•director of a printing office in Paris. In their wander ings they arrived at the town of It—, more renowned for its manufacture, than for the natural brilliancy of its inhabitants. [lore the receipts of the magician wero absolutely nothing, and despair reigned in the hearts of our two adventurers.— What now was to be done ? .13y my faith,' exclaimed the assistant magician, .it will never do to say that we did not make our expenses! I have it! Let me write a poster for or more enter tainments, and if th' attraction don't an swer, call me no assistant for a high priest of diablerie ; 'At the urgent request of the large and intelligent audiences of our former entain ment we have consented to perform the as tounding feat of making the cathedral bel! ring any hour indicated by any of the au dience. To take place this evening.' 'There, how will that do ?' .13ut how are you to fulfil the promise ! 'Oh ! never mind. Am 1 not a worthy pupil of a skillful toaster. Leave that to Night came and with it a crowd of the curious. All went off well, and now came the feature of Lite evening. Any one was asked to make a number. Four!' came from the crowd. In fear and trembling the mighty ma gician extended his hands towards the ca... thedral, when one ! two ! three ! four ! boomed from the cupola. The cold per spiration started to the exhibitor's brow and the audience shouted with delight and \ surprise. 'Encore ! encore !' resounded from nil parts of the crowd. Again 1 What was to be done 1 But a voice from behind the curtain said t 'Go ahead old boy—it's all right With a sigh of relief the exhibitor re peated the tntracle again and again, and the spectators departed filled with enthu siasm. .What in the name of wonder have you been doing ?' exclaimed the puzzled prin cipal to his laughing assistant, as soon as the doors were closed. 'Why, I gave the bell-ringer five francs to stay in the belfry and ring as many times as I placed candles in the window, and I think it suceeded pretty well, n'est ce pas, replied the other shaking the well-filled cash box. The next day, as they were starting in the cars, one of the city councillors came to them, and begged that they would ex plain the miracle. 'lt is magnetism, my friend,' said the magician, with a grand flourish of his hand, and the magistrate departed, much edified and perfectly satisfied. A Quakers Letter to his Watchmaker. I herewith send thee my pocket clock, which greatly standeth in need of thy friendly correction. The last time he was at thy friendly school, he was in no ways reformed nor in the least benefited thereby ; for I perceive by the index of his mind that he is a liar, and the truth is not in him ! that his motions are waver ing and irregular; that his pAlse is some. times slow, which betokeneth not an even temper; and at other times it waxeth sluggish, notwitstanding I frequently urge him ; when he should be on his duty as thou kncareth his usual name denoted), I find hint slumbetiog, or as the vanity hu man reason phraseth, I catch him napping : Examine hint therefore, and prove him, I beseech thee, thoroughly, that thou may est, being well acquainted with his inward frame and disposition, draw him front the error of his way and show him the where in he should go. It grieves me to think, and when I ponder thereon I am verily of opinion that his body is foul, and the whole mass is corrupt. Clouse him, therefore, with the charming physic, from all pollu tion, that ho may vibrate and circulate ac cording to the truth. I will place hi m a few days under thy care, and pay for his board as thou requirest. 1 entreat thee, friend John, to demean thyself on this oc casion with judgement, according to the gift which is in the and prove thyself a workman. And when thou layest thy correcting hand upon him, let it be with out passion, lest thou should drive him to destruction. Do thou regulate his motion for time to come, by the motion of light that ruleth the day, and when thou findest hint converted from the error of his ways and more conformable to the above men. tinned rules, then do thou send him home, with the just bill of charges drawn out in the spirit of moderation, and it shall be sent to thee, the root of all evil.