/.,,,t 1 untingDn lo H.TII L 4,4
WILLIAM...MY/3M, norroas.
BAIL w AirxAKER,
dirt ;;lortß.
NY REQUEST.]
I KNOW THOUART GONE.
T know thou art gone to the home of thy rest,
Then why should my soul be so sad ?
I know thou art gone where the weary Are blest
And the mourner looks up and is glad ;
Where the love has put off in the land of its birth
The strain it has gathered in this •,
And hope, the sweet singer that gladdened the
earth,
Lies asleep on the bosom of bliss.
I know thou art gone where thy forehead is stir.
red
With the beauty that dwells in thy soul,
Where the light of thy loveliness cannot be
marred,
Noe thy heart be flung back from its goal;
I know thou bast drnnken of Letbo that flows
Through a laud whore they do nut forget ;
That sheds over memory only repose,
And takes from it only regret.
Ibis eye must be dark, that as yet is not dint,
Ere again it may gaze upon thine ;
But my heart lies revealings on thee and thy
home,
In many a token mid sign.
never look up with a vow to the sky,
But a light like thy beauty is there k
And I hear a lone murmur, like thine in reply,
When I pour out my spirit in privet.
In thy far away dwelling, wherever ii lie,
I believe thou bast visions of mine ; [me,
And thy love, that made all things as mule to
I have not yet learned to resign ;sea,
Iu the hush of the right on the waste J the
Or alone with the breeze on the hill,
I have ever a presence that whispers of thee,
And my spirit lies down and is still.
lad though like a monster that sits by a tomb.
1 am wrapped in a mantle of care ;
Yet the g i fofmy bosom—oh, call it not gloom
Is not the black grief of despair,
By sorrow revealed, as the stars are by night,
Far oft a bright vision appears,
And hope, like a rainbow, a creature of light,
Is barn like a rainbow in tears.
*titct gait.
From the Button Evening Gazette.
WIDOW M'SLAM.
--...80.--
JACOB TREE was a queer man. We use
the adjective "queer." in this connection,
because it is worth a Falstaff regiment of
its compatriots. Jacob Tree was also an
iminarried man. His native village had
known it for years, and the Widow McSlum
had been thinking of it ever since she put
on her weeds and appeared at church so
becomingly, charmingly dressed, the Sun
day after the rattling of the gravel upon the
coffin of her late lesser half, or third, Tim
othy McSlam.
Hut then, as we have said, it was no se
cret that Mr, Tree was not married ; the
whole Flague of his life lay in the little
word "why." And this word, this uncon
querable, preverse "why," seemed to him
nmuipresert—it was anywhere and every
oche re. At church whenever he cast his
eyes towards the cosy, velvet cushioned
pew, occupied solely by the widow, every
careless ringlet, every soften'd feature teen
the last now bewitching frill on her da'nty
bonnet, seemed to ogle him, end utter lir
ploringly the dagger pointed interrogation
••IVhj ?" Every schoolboy whose caddy
face was upturned innocently to his, eve y
romping, laughing, sunny hearted girl, mo,
see:oed to say, "Why? Jacob Tree, why 1"
The sweet violet that he met, springing
lonely by the roadside, in the glad spring
time, seemed to him a companion, not be
cause lie was flower-like or slender —his
average weight, reader, was two hundred
pounds—but he was alone, and the busy
stream of life flowed by his door, as it went
unconcernedly by the temple of the violet.
It is true, Mr 'Free had a housekeeper, but
housekeeper is no more a wife than is a
of wood a cheerful fire, or a sumflow
m a delicate !illy. Ask somebody, doubt-
To resume—this'why," was his evil
spirit. It grew ana flourished more intense
in its character, more phantom like in its
visits to his mind. It had wings, that were
black, cold shadows ; they put out his sun
light with their coldness, cramped his emir.
glee, weakened the backbone of his man
hood, and darkened the light of his even
ing fire ; playing all the while, the most
fantastic tricks upon his imagination and
feelings. The flames that .flickered and
baulked each other in the old fashioned
fireplace, seemed to make wry faces, and
point their flngers at him as he sat in his
lonely aria-chair ; and they, too, mute, it
is true, but none the less distinctly, traced
out on the wall the ominous and dismal,
Why V' It had no respect for his feel
ings—that fire ; it had no reverence in its
soul, though he had built it with his own
hands, and lent his own precious breath
to kindle it into existence. It cracked and
panted, and flashed, too human-like enjoy
ing its brief hour of mimicry ; it clapped
its red hands, spit and roared as though it
would tear and burst the side of the old,
black chimney. - '
Now and then the flames would puff and as, upon looking around, could not per
out into the room, flinging smoke, ashes ceive any one, she rather snappitigly bawl
and cinders into bosom of the secret-bear- ed, "What is the matter ?" No answer.
ing, queer Jacob Tree. What did they The widow crept to the team cautiously
ever care for the white linen and saffron and looked over. Instantly her face flush
colored cravat? What business had those ed with mingled surprise, sorrow and dis
two purblind eyes to be ever stiring them gust—(if the three ever mingle).
out of countenance? What wonder they If mankind in general, and Mr. Tree,
got mad, and spit and blustered with such of Crabville in particular, are watched over
hearty good will that it sent the dreamer or in any way governed, by good and evil
staggering up and down the room, with stars, the latter which presides over the
his crazy eyes winking and blinking as destiny of the aforesaid old Jacob must
though they had been snuffed too near have its "eye peeled," and advanced to its
their sockets. full powers and zenith, just as the rosy
It had been a chilly day in April, like widow peeped over that identical fence.—
all other April days, sunny and showery The treacherous tub—which, by the way
like a woman. Poor Tree, tired at eve- was the first time in that tub's life that it
sing de' his cosy chair into the cosier cot- was not standing on its own bottom—had
net and fell asleep. There ho sat, nod- tumbled the unfortunate bachelor into a
ding like a ship in a lazy sea. Ile did not bed of-- , roses,' interrupts a reader. Wait.
see the fire, nor the fun it had been ma- "Onions," perhaps, suggests another.—
king of him. It ,at last apparently vexed Wait. No. Into a bed of newly made
at his inattention, now occasionally only mortar ! The hapless victim had been
threw on him a gleam of something like taught by line upon line, precept upon pee
contempt, and finally, drawing around it.' cept, in his early catechism,that "all things
self a white veil of ashes, fell asleep work together for good," bttt at that me
' merit he profanely rooted out the belief
from his bosom, and no amount of argu
ment can convince him that that mortar
was "worked together" by other than "in
fernal" agency.
It would have been an immortal study
fora sculptor—that model in plaster, after
Mr. Tree had recovered his wig, feet and
senses. Naturally enough, he had shut '
his eye=, and just as naturally, too, had
opened his mouth, when he found he was
losing his equilibrium. His hands were
uplifted, and as they cams down, there
were ten fingers and thumbs—they could
le distinctly counted—sprawled out which
was the only objectionable feature in the
position of the model. If a half smother
ed oath from his lips, outward through the
clinging mortar, we sincerely think it was
repented of before it could be recorded
in the Book of Books. Under the pecu
liar aggravating circumstances of the case
would it not have been pardonable?
Mrs. MeSlain, as Gas been said, was a
horror struck spoctator of the mishap.—
Rallying her senses and coadjutors•--in the
shape of a mop and pail of water, she cal.
led "Mr. Tree.'' No answer. 'Mr. Tree.'
again she screamed, ..are you hurt ?"
'Yes,sir—tnit'am—no—so—sorne—l—
tha—tbank--ye,' stuttered the victim of
too much mortar, who was endeavoring,
with but little success, in digging the 'raw
material' from his ears; for his head had
been submerged as far back as his comba
tiveness.
A son of Erin—the only one the village
boasted—happening by at that moment,
comprehending the 'fix,' saluted Mr. 'free,
with a broadside. 'Bedad, ilexes a Three
wed the whole ov one side covered wid
frost. Och be jabers, and its the biggist
sticking plaster ever I saw.'
'Begone, you impudent blackguard,'
screamed the widow, in a tune of voice
scarcely a key-note below thunder. l'at
moved on, but turned just in season to a
void a brickbat which the wrathy widow
hurled at his cranium.
'Come down here where the fence is bro
ken and permit me to help you,' said Mrs.
McSlam, in it gentle tone of voice, a smile
on her lip and the pail and mop still in her
All at once the bachelor, started from his
doze, clumsily kicked over the fire-irens,
they in turn kicked and scattered dead
and alive coals, which fanned them into
momentary life and warmth. "Yes, I'll
do :1," he said,—.'l be hanged
if I don't, and tomorrow too." He put
his heel to the floor in no gentle way, as
he prononneed the word ~t o-morrow." '
Ili !der, do you know what he had res
olved to do ? No. Neither do I. Lot
us wait. Perhaps Le dreamed that night
after his head touched the pillow. Yes, ,
he did. He imagined himself in a great
desert. There was not a bird or flower ;
not a living green thing, except himself—
and the camel. They lived on equal
terms. Sometimes ho was astride the
camel's hump, and then the camel was a
cross his shoulders. The animal drank
all the water, and then put out his lips for
the famishing man to suck or kiss, which
so disgusted the dreamer that lie spit in
his companions face and—awoke. It is,
perhaps, needless to say, that Mr. Tree had
partaken, previous to retiring, very hear
tily of oys'or pie, salad, cream, and their
accessories. Beside, he pulled a very
tight cork from a very dusty bottle, which
was very distinctly marked--- , Otard.'—
We do not mention this last circumstance
thinking it had anything to do with Mr.
Tree's singt:la• dream. Far from it. He •
could not have mistaken the contents of
this 'very musty bottle,' for it was definite
ly marked in black and white, 'best
a r d.' If the reader supposes otherwise,
the supposition is altogether gratuitous on
his or her part. We have said he awoke.
The sun was peeping through the window
curtains. Arousing himself, he shook off
the recollection of his adventure in the
desert, and went out into the morning air.
The birds sang to him, the flowers held out
to him their golden palms; but his eye
caught the bobbing up and down of a
neat dimity cap beyond this fence which
separated his premises from those of the
Mow, rs. McSlani. His heart beat
double quick timed pit-a-pat, hie throat
was full, ay, full of the same old 'why ;'
it clung to hint as closely as the camel of
his last night's dream. however he sac•
seeded in choking it down, and the ghost
that had haunted him for years was at last
defunct ; never to torture him agate, unless
there be such a thing as a ghost of a ghost.
lie felt no terror in approaching the fence,
not he; his nerves were suddenly braced.
Fear—it was not now in his dictionary,
unabridged or otherwise.
Sure enough there was the widow, as
he peeped over the fence, looking as bright
as a queen bee, and chirplfillike a young
robin. If her form looked to him rounder
and more ethereal-like that ever before ;
if she seemed at that moment like a wild
rose, just opening and blushing into bloom,
what business is it of ours 1 We may sup-
I pose it was awing to the hazy morning, or
Ithe fact that Mr. Tree had left his glasses
I at home, en the left arm of his easy chair.
No doubt he thought her a peg above
human, for his heart, which at first only
went pit•a-pat, now swung and thumped,
end thumped and thwack,.., backward and
for•;,Ardliksa the pendulum of the old Dutch
clock that stood so firm in the corner of his
room.
"Mrs. MoSlam," he said nervously;
hie lips twitching in spite of his teeth, his
voice dying away in echo unheard, and of
course, unanswered by the lady.
"Mrs. McSlatn," he ventured again.—
This time the tub which he had mounted
suddenly gave out, and Mr. Jacob Tree
was precipitated unhappily to the ground
and a great deal quicker than accorded
with his ideas of propriety.
Mrs. McSlam had heard his last call
" LIBERTY AND UNION, NOW AND FOREVER, ONE AND INSEPARABLE. "
HUNTINGDON, PA., WEDNESDAY, MAY 21, 1856.
His was an elegant plight for a lover to
woo in. However, he thought any bar
gain we may be pleased to commence may
be easily cemented. After this joke to
himself, which was tt good sign, he moved
down to the aperture in the fence.
Mrs, McSlain began the task of scrub
bing the unfortunate in good earnest, and
after a few moments of assiduous applica
tion her labor was partially rewarded. The
task was finally completed ; at least, as
well as circumstances would permit.
'A thousand thanks, my dear woman, a
thousand thanks ; how kind,' said the
bachelor, with a sigh as deep almost as
the bottomless pit.
Mr. Tree began to think of the errand
whioh had resulted in the ludicrous pre
dicament described. He began, even, to
notice the sparkle of the widow's eyes, and
the little ruffled cap, which, like an 012143
fatutts had led him to mount the still unpar
donable tub. lle thought to himself, how
would the little white hand look in mine ?
and her chair opposite mine in the cosy
corner I
.A.,—ahem I your flowers grow up finely
Mrs. MeSlam.'
•Do you refer to those in the corner,
sir?'
do.'
"l'hose are early cabbages, Dutch; lam
raising them from seed brought home over
sea by my:late husband,'and as the widow
said this, the smallest, brightest tear imag
inable, trembled in her upturned eye, and
trickled acrous—it could not trickle down
—her upturned nose, and fell calmly to the the widow's cap drooped like grass before
earth. Poor soul, it was evident that her the mower's scythe at noonday. Her new
heart was not with her cabbages ! gingham wilted like a rag. Never was
Recovering from her emotion she re- transformation so complete. Those six—
sumed : 'they mature early—are you par- there might have been seven—quarts of
tial to cabbages water, had added twenty years of age.
'Very, indeed, may Ibe so bold as to For the blooming, charming woman of
beg a plant ?' the moment previous, she was changed to
'You shall have ono with the utmost a long, lank bundle of wet clothes.
pleasure.' Phe pliant was whisked out of Mr. T. could scarcely credit his senses,
the ground and placed in the bachelor's and remained moveless. The widow, how
hand in a twinkling. ever, recovered herself, and seizing the
'Thank you, it shall always be worn I mop, raised and brought it to bear with a
next my heart—beg pardon—well watered, I tremendous thwack across the shoulders of
tended, bring forth hundred told,' said the , her would•be lover. Thump, thump, three
bachelor, rather confusedly. For a mo- times it came before Mr. Tree recovered
ment he was east ddwn, his eyes rested on j his powers of locomotion. He fled—she
tho cabbage plant which had already be. pursued. Around the well curb, through
gun to wither, and in that short period he I the garden, over oabbage and roots, around
again went in imagination, through the the cottage they flew. Her wet dress dan
unfortunate occurrence of the morning.— gled around her feet and impeded her pro-
Instantly, as it were by magic, these bock I grass ; he had the advantage, and just as
of the poet occurred to him : I he was chuckling over it he ran into her
"Oh! woman, in our boors of ease, beehive, and down went bees, hive, and
Uncertain, coy, and hard to please, Mr. Tree's courage. teach you to in.
And variable in the shade
B 3 the light quivering aspen made; suit an honest lady, you vagabond,' she
When pain and anguish wring the brow said, almost breathless.
A ministering angel thou I" Scrambling up, he started again, and
What wonder that these words did flash
reached the aperture in the fence just in
upon his mind ! Was wounded knight,
time to receive ono parting thwack from
even Marmion, more in need of woman's
aid than her And the widow, was she
the mop in the hands of the aroused wi
dow. He did not stay his flight until his
not his 'lady Clare ?' Marmion's wants
own door was between them, barred and
were satisfied by one cup of water, but his doubly bdlted. But she had no idea of
pressing necessity well nigh exhausted the
following hint beyond the boundary line;
widow's little cistern, which, alas ! unlike 'alts knew the law. Returning home, she
the 'cruise of oil,' could be replenished on• appeared in two hours as fresh and capti
ly by the fickle clouds. The days of chi•
eating as ever. Mr. 'free was not seen
valry are not gone ; the widow's unselfish, out-doors for a week.
noble conduct says : 'No.' Bah ! he was
Many days pass away. If you will no
soaring, suddenly ho dropped to this men- Lice the blinds upon Mr. Tree's house on
dane sphere. "This is a snug little home the southern si le, are never open ; and the
of yours, my dear Mrs. McSlam, said he.
'lt is, 1 prize it a great deal,' rejoined curtains at the window on the northern
the widow, and I like your situation al
side of Mrs. McSlam 's residence are close
most' as well. But do you not think the
ly drawn. These facts tell chapters.
Act upon act of bitter hostility passed
fence between mars the beauty of the
between the owners of these two cottages
landscape ?'
' in the village of Crabville ; unintelligible
was just on the point of observing the
to passers by, but interpreted by them
same. I have often wished it way. flow
selvea to their fullest extent, and received
• similar are our ideas, illy dear Mrs. Me
accordingly.
Slant r And the bachelor, whose temper-
Mrs. McSlam draws a charcoal sketch
ament was warming up under the genial
of a figure floundering in a bed of mortar,
smiles of the blooming creature, was more
and hangs it upon the branches of : a
tree in
enamored than ever and actually threw on
, her a glance, mingled with something akin full sight of the bechelor's mansion.
liat s
, to a smirk of self-satisfaction, softened and
Ile reta
One i es by drawing two female
arrayed in goociir garments
subdued, perhaps, by a remembrance of
forms.
profusely flounced, &c., the other lean and
his recent imprint, in plaster.
'Do you not think that a few young long, unstarched and uninviting. Over
trees would add to the beauty and harmo-
them these letters are boldly written, 'Be
ny of the landscape asked the widow.
fore and after the flood.'
Mr. Tree's face reddened a trifle ; one This warfare was at last carried beneath
the sacred roof of the church, For the wi
i could perceive the blood spreading over his
dow, upon opening her hymn book one
cheeks, under the whitewash ;Ito seas em-
Sabbath morning, found the following sub
s barrassod, and turned to her as if he de
lime
effusion
{ sired her to repeat the question. But there
'Oh I widows are variable, treacherous things,
was no smile on her lips, no dancing Bpi- Though the heart's beat devotion you bring
rit of mischief in her eye ; she was in ear-
Al the love they possess is forfashion and die-a,
I nest, he though.. They idolize cambric and gingham. .
'Which do you rrefer ?' he stammered. Of course Mr. Tree had to father this leaf.
I 'Which what 1' asked she, quietly. 'llatiers remain( d rather quiet for a few
'The sex, boy or girl,' he replied, feel- days. Ominous quiet. The calm that
ing as though his gaiters were slumping precedes the earthquake.
in a quagmire. ' As Mr. 'Free was complaeently seated
'Good gracious, sir, are you crazy ? in dressing gownand slippers in his arm-
Why do you insult me ? What du you chuir one evening, a delicate note was
mean ?' hurriedly shrieked the widow, handed duly scented and sealed. Without
while the spark of passion kindled in her the slightest suspicion of its contents, he
eyes completely dumbfounded the bache- broke the seal and read :
!or. The blush that ran over his features , Oht man, woman bows to thee still,
, ,
at this juncture could not be concealed by . And hails thee her lord and m aster ;
Iltit who would bow down to a fruitless old TIM;
the whitewash of any other cosmetic. It
Or cherish its image—it. plaster ?'
crept up around his eyebrows, between
Mr. Tree rend it over twice; his lips
the roots of his hair, or wig rather, down-' quivered a little, otherwise he was calm :
ward under his cravat, into his boots, per- he then very quietly lit his cigar with the
baps. The widow stood her ground, her . note and leaned back in his comfortable
eyes had begun to figsh. 'There were arm chair.
signs of a storm,' as the almanac says.
' Threadays and months pass away.—
Were you no—not—ape—speaking of
Time, which heals all things, may cure
chi—ohildren ?' stuttered he. The blush their hatred. It is possible that they may
shone out brighter and redder through the become reconciled again, at no distant
whitewash—a grand triumph of nature day. Who knows ? Let us hope this
over art. will be but a summer cloud, that the fu.
•E'or xuercy's sake what put that idea I ture will be brighter for it, since we re
into your head ? Children, oh ! children I member that 'all things work together for
indeed ;' and the surprised lady sobbed as I good.' Selah
though her heart was breaking up.
Mr. Tree was perplexed, terrified ; he
had heard of woman's tears, hysterics,
swoons, morbid conditions of the liver, ner•
rous attacks, etc., and into which of these
states the widow was about to plunge be
knew not
Thinking to pacify her, and extenuate
the 'natter, he asked, 'Did you not speak
of young Trees?'
Mrs. McSlana answered not. she grew
pale as a blanket, leaned back upon the
fence, anti closed her eyes.
'The crisis has come,' said the Alright
ed wooer, and grasping the pail of water
with which the lady had washed him down
he flooded her from head to foot with the
milky substance.
As ice yield to the sun, starch succumbs
to water, and the stiff starched border of
drct
HOMES O THE ANGELS.
'Draw your thoughts from this world
so full of sorrows, this dark earth where,
throw the glitter of poesy over it as you
will, sin curses every object, however benu
tiful ; where misery stalks by with its bleak I
face and lean limbs; where sickness beach
es to stifled chamber's, and death rides on
every breeze ; gaze from this point of
clashing interests, jealous rivalries and
destroying hate, to the calm stars that stand
in the blue ether, far, far over the high
est range of thought. How pure they
look in their unchanging brightness ? Man
is born, sorrows and drops into the grave,
and they remain placid as the bosom of a
lake when the winds are - locked in their
treasuries. Did you ever look in bitter.
ness on their lofty serenity just after lips
that you loved had withered and stiffened
in death? Did you ever cry out with ag
ony that the stars so still and grand, light
ed their glittering temples, while your star
the brightest perhaps, the only star of your
life had set in darkness ? And did you
not wonder how they could dumbly gaze
upon your misery-.•upon the pathway to
the old church-yard..-.upon that grave
where a human heart was turning to dust
while yours was breaking.
The stars ! where are they 1 Who can
answer ? God placed them there--so
mush we know. Science explores the
grand highway to the heavens, but her va
garies and even her statistics, satisfy us
not. Worlds of light say some, bodies of
flame say others, luminous by reflection
speculate still others, but 0 how vaguely
the world yet stumbles on, guessing and
wondering, questions and replaying---ad
vancing new theories and exploding old,
and yet what a star really ig, no one can
certainly explain."
"The morning stars Rang together;"
did the silent world listen while they sung?
Did melody, such as mortals never made,
float on the enraptured air? and were
those mysteriously sweet echoes caught
by one human ear And could they sing
together, were they not worlds filled with
intelligence, light and beauty ? So love
we to think, as we behold them moving
above the joys and the sorrows of earth ;
and though it may be but the vageary of a
speculative mind, yet the thought is sweet
and pleasant,
And those golden worlds, formed by the
pleasure of Our Father, may we not yet
inherit ? After the soul has laid down
its perishable garment, after our beauty
has dissolved and dust displaced the rem
nants of mortality, may not the freed spir
it clad in immortal youth, walk the lu
minous streets of those very orbs, won
! dering adoring, and worshipping ? God's
ways are not our ways, nor His thoughts
!as our thoughts, and there is nothing in
consistent with His good and majesty in
the belief that our kindred may inhabit the
very stars that meet our gaze, although to
us they may seem too tangible to be the
abodes of redeemed Spirits. What glory
to explore those wonderful heights* -to re
vel in their splendors, and feel that no
suddenly descending sword will sever the
' life from the renewed body. Here, the
soul expands, and the heart swells and
warms at the anticipation of some fleeting
pleasure, that as we clasp vanishes---there
we shall not feel the rapture of anticipa
tion, but sweeping over the full soul shall
come the delights that shall never grow
dim. Each step will reveal new glories,
and as the Spirit soars exulting in the pos
session of a being never to be tainted with
corruption, think, if you can, what exal
tation must accompany the thought.
You have suffered, wondering why to
you the way he wrapped in clouds, from
those homes of perfect felicity you may
behold this atom in the universe, and see
in every trial passed, an angel hand lea
ding you up the celestial road. And as
you look upon the darkness here, the slips,
the trials, the perplexities, the dangers of
the first life, oh! what unutterable emo
tions of praise will throng your soul as
the reflection comes with newer, sweet
er power, all these are gone forever and
forever, here are unending delights, here
are no uncertain to•morrowe, no fearful
separations, no mortal pangs. My com
panions are angels, my food is the fruit of
the tree of life; I cannot grow old, for
Time has no cycles here. Immortal joy
shall create immortal beauty, immortal
yearning be satisfied with immortal love.
The homes of the angels. Let this be
our reflection as we gaze up in those &tarry
worlds, I.,et thorn become familiar to us
as resting-places on the way to heaven
golden gates that open into the streets of
the New Jerusalem. Thus they will be
significant in the highest and' holiest de
gree and as we dwell upon such thoughts,
our minds must become Spirit . ualized, and
assimilate more and more to those of the
redeemed who wait for us beyond the rap
id Jordan. M. A. D.
A Good Story.
The Knickerbocker for April, just issued
has the following capital story :
"The Sermon in ow February number
has recalled to Alton (III.) correspondent
one which was preached in Tennessee by
a Baptist preacher. When drawing to
the close, he said : "Brethering, I am an
hostler, and I must curry those horses be
fore I leave. Here is the high blooded
Episcopalian horse: see what a high head
he carries, and how black his coat is, and
soft as silk, but he'll hioltlf you touch him
VOL. XXI. NO. 21.
on his Litany or Prayers. Whoa, Sir!—
Here is the old sober Methodist horse :
Whoa ! old fellow ! Just slip away his
love feasts and his class meeting, and he'll
kick till he falls. Whoa ! you old Shou
ter ! whoa ! Ah ! here is the horse that is
ready to kick at all alines : don't go nee.
his confessional or Penance: whoa! Mr.
Pont ! how beautiful his trappings are !
his surplice and mitre t Whoa, Sir ! whoa!
And so he went on through the various de
nominations. When he was nearly thro'
an old Methodist gentleman, well known
in this place, offered his services to con
clude, which was readily accepted. He
said :—"Friends, I have learned this mor
ning how to dress horses, and as the broth
er has pased two of them, I will take
it upon myself to finish the work. Here
is an animal that is neither one thing nor
the other. He is treacherous and uncer
tain
; you cannot trust him: he'll kick
his best friend' fora controversy. Whoa !
Mors, whoa! See, bretherern, how he
kicks. Whoa ! you old CAMPULLITC !
whoa! Here, friends, is an animal that
is so stubborn he will not let the in his stall
to eat from his trough ; he is stubborn
that he would not go where a prophet
wished him : he is so hard-mouthed that
SAMPSON used bis jaw as a weapon of war
against the Philistines. Whoa, you Close
Communion Baptist ; whoa ! Do you call
me an ass ! exclaimed the minister, jump
ing up : Whoa! continued his tormentor
see him kick, whoa! Hold him friends!
whoa! and thus the old gentleman went
on : the minister ranting meantime until
he got out of the church, The congrega
tion unanimously agreed that they had nev
er seen an ass so completely 'curried be
fore !"
Price of Success
Effort is the price of success in every
department of human action. From at
tainment of rudimental knowledge to the
salvation of the soul, every step in prog
ress is made by undaunted trial. The boy
dr Ines over his book, a slave to listless
laziness, thereby securing to himself a
place the foot of society. The Christian,
who, like Bunyan's Timorous Mistrust,
flees at the voice of lions, is undone. The
man who shrinks from difficulty in his
business or profession, who refuses to
climb because the rock is sharp and the
way steep, must make hie mind to slide
back and to be in the shadow below, while
others use him as a stepping stone to their
own rising. For this—such is the con
dition of society—there is no help. The
poet wrote truly who said
"Thou must either soar or stoop,
Fall or triumph, stand or drop,
Thou must either servo or govern,
Must be slave or must be sovereign,
Must in fact be block or wedge,
Must be anvil or must be sledge."
To shake off an indolent spirit, or stir
one's self to exertion, to reach constantly
upward, to struggle with a firm foothold
on the most slippery places, to wrestle
manfully, even when principalities and
powers are our foes, to refuse submission
to any evils however frowning, are condi
tions we must either fulfil or sink to little
ness, to uselessness,-•--perchance to ruin,
Therefore, with a brave heart and uncon
querable spirit, every man should address
himself to the work of the day; striving
with pure views and religious trust for an
increase of his talent, and for a victory,
which shall enable him to stand unabash
ed in the last day. He who strives need
no failure. His triumph, though delayed
for a time, shall come at last.---•,4dverti-
The Philadelphia Inquirer tells a
good otory about a young man and a sty
lish poking shop girl who went to a church
to be married, a lew days since, in that
city. While waiting the arrival of the
minister in the porch, a tailor stepped up
to the bridegroom and presented a bill for
his wedding coat. The bill must be paid
at onco or the coat returned, but as the
poor fellow had not a dollar beyond the
minister's fee, there was a bright prospect
that he would be compelled to get married
in his shirt sleeves. A friend however
advanced the needful, and the twain wars
'made one flesh.' Thirdly had the parties
left the alter, when a stout course woman
made her way up to the bride and presen
ted her bill for the wedding dress The
friend again advanced the money, and the
couple departed. We call this getting
married under difficulties.
'Good mind to pinch you Bal,' said
an awkward Jerseyman, on his visit to his
rustic flame. 'What do you want to pinch
me for, Zekiel r 'cause I love
you so.' 'Now, go long, Zeke, you great
hateful ! I should think you might IM
big enough to feel ridiculous.