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VOL. 6--NO. 5.]
Office of the Star & Banner:
Chamheraburg Street, a few doors West of
the Court-House.
CONDITIONS:
I. The STAB & REPUBLICA N BANNER fil published
weekly, at Two DottAne per annum, (or Volume of
52 Numbers,) payable half yearly in advance.
11. No subscription will be received for a shorter
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tinued until all arrearages are paid, unless at the dis
cretion of the editor—A failure to notify a discontinu
ance will be considered a new engagement, and the
paper forwarded accordingly.
111. Advertisements not exceeding a square, will
ba inserted THREE times for ONE nottwa, and 25
cents for every subsequent insertion—longer ones in
the same proportion. The number of insertions to be
marked, or they will be published till forbid and char
ged accordingly.
IV. Communications, &e. by mail, most be post
paid—otherwise they will not meet with attention.
Ab'VERTI.VEMEA7'S.
JOSEPH DIIIICEHART & 00. IS
Basket, Wooden wareand Fishing•tackle
10 3 ,:tiii2,16`QZ120`0 1 a30
No 101 i, Baltimore, between Calvert and
. South streets.
Baltimore, 4th Month 20, 1835.
HIDES, LEAT
2500 La Plata
700 Rio Grande
1000 Laguira
600 Pernambuco
1500 Chili
2000 prime heavy green salted Kips, first
quality
1000 do. do. - do.
1000 do. dry do.
50 Barrels of Strait's Oil
100 do. Bank's do.
Also Tanners Tools of all kinds for sale
on the most reasonable terms, for cash or on
approved paper, or exchanged for Leathe
of all kinds by
JOHN W. PATTEN & Co.
Corner 3d & Vino atroota, Philadelphia.
March 10. 1835. 2m*-46
NEW GOODS.
JUST received and for sale by the subsc
ber, a very large stock of
ak--.at el Zit :I (0 JD el 9
Comprising almost every article in the DR
GOODS line—Among which is a comple
ASSORTMENT OF
'FANCY GOODS,
():`y-To which the LADIES' attention
particularly invtted.
-ALSO--.
LEGHORN, TUSCAN STRAW 4- GIMP
BOXNETS and 11.11 PS.
WITH A. GREAT VARIETY OF
CLOTHS & STUFFS
FOR GENTLEMEN'S SUMMER WEA
ALSO--A VERY LARGE STOCK OF
H A R D-W A R E
Embracing almost every article in the wa
of building.
A COMPLETE ASSORTMENT OF
PLANED & EIDO-M• 1 1 1 907a13,
BJR IROA, hammered and rolled;
SHEET-IRON, STEEL, HOLLOW-
WARE iSr CASTINSG;
FENDERS dr BRASS ANDIRONS..
B:7 - Personi , etigaged in building and go
to housekeeping, would do well to call.
-ALSO
(STEEE'SWARE, OHXN.A. SET
Mantle and other LOOKING GLASS'
WOODEN WARE, &c. &c.
TOGETHER. WITH A FINE !MOH OF
tigrortrite d
Oz:r All of which will be sold on the
pleasing terms.
The Public are invited to call and ju
for themselves.
GEORGE ARNOL
' Gettysburg, April 13, 1835. t
N. B. Accounts of an old standing wou
*be thankfully received. G. A.
CABINET-WAREHOUSE,
Cha taberaburg Street.
Where there is constantly on hand
A GOOD ASSORTMENT OP
Ready for purchasers, for Cash or Produce
0::7 - Orders for cornNs punctu
ally attended to.
DAVID HEAGY.
Gettysburg, Oct. 21, 1894. tf-29
REM.OVA.L.
A- WILL remove my shop on the first day
of April to that owned by Mrs. Cham
berlain, on South Baltimore street, two doors
South of Mr. David M'Creary's Saddle and
Harness Factory,
WHERE ALL KINDS OF PLAIN AND FANCY
VSJIADMIs'
will be made and sold at redu•
cud • priced, of superior finish and
warranted best quality.
- AL6O~
House and Sign Painting.
All kind of House and Sign• Painting a.
Turning attended to as formerly.
HUGH DENWIDDI
(iettysburg, March 24, 1885. tf-51
ER & OIL.
Through pastures of verdure delighted I'll roam,
Mid the green sunny vales of my dearly loved Hem
Where the tears of affection, and love's tender smi
Shall the moments that glide on so sweetly beguil .
Home, Home, sweet, sweet Home--
HIDES.
There's no place like Home.
Sweet cot of my father's how fleetly have flown,
The momonts of pleasure in the bosom of Home;
Then each sun b so brightly that play'd thro'
trees
Show such scenes o contentment, and calmness,
2d quality
And when from the skies some kind angel shall
To bear me from earth to a happier Home,
To the vale of my childhood my last shall be giv'
'Twill Seem iu it now does, a portrait of Heav'n
Home, Home, sweet, sweet Homo—
There's no place like Home.
The Blacksmith Clonn
[By James Sheridan Knowle
CHAPTER THE FIRST.
A WEDDING!—O, how my neart bou
ed when I was told that I should go tc
wedding! The room was lighted up to
moment! The boys and girls, in tWr hot
day clothes, were ranged along the floo,
The fiddlers began! The dance was ted ofri
All was hilarity and motion. My head
swam round! No wonder! I had only
lust entered my fourteenth year.
I was dressed, and down in the little par
lour, an hour before the time—the finest
lady in all Clonmel! White frock! white
sash! white gloves! white shoes, with
white rosettes! every thing white! Thd i
party resided about six miles from the town,
upoh the Carrick-upon•Suir road. A com
mon market car, upon which was thrown a
bed, with a quilt over it, and which was
festooned with ropes, round the sides, and
at the back, for the purpose of supporting
the feet, was a mode of conveyance, at 'that
time, not uncommon, or despised, among
the respectable tradesmen, and even the
middle gentry. Such was our vehicle upon,
thai happy day. 'Twos at the door to the
minute—tho Ugh I thought it would never ar
rive—and off we set!.
O! jhe weary, weary ; Irish miles! -1
thought We had travelled twice the distance
long before we came to the first milestone.
The second and the third cost a huge effort
of patience; but we accomplished them at
last.
"Thank heaven!" cried I, when we came
to the fourth, "we have only two miles more
to go."
"Hush!" said my mother, with a reprov
ing look.
"We must stop!" cried the owner of the
car, "the horse has lost a shoe!"
"Were we ever to get to the wedding!"
A forge was fortunately at hand. The
orse was taken out, and the process of re
lacing the shoe was promptly commenced
'y the smith—a young man remarkable
or his extraordinary stature, as well as for
is countenance—which even tome, a child
s I was, appeared to be the most prepos.
:•ssing I had ever looked upon. In less
loin fifteen minutes, all was right; we were
:.seated in the car and upon our road again.
"That's a fine young man, that Phil Brea
an!" remarked the carman to my mother.
icA very fine young man, indeed!" was
• er reply.
"Troth is - he, ma'am! and though that
•rm of his is as hard as the anvil he works
pon, yet his heart is as soft as a baby's.
That's he that Jerry Lynch's daughter is
love with—and no blame to her, though
:he were a lady in her own right! Gentle
• r simple--high blood or low blood—out of
he county or in the county—there's not
he like of Phil Brennan, ma'am!"
"Is it , true, Mick, that the young man is
and ofher?' inquired my mother.
"Dying for her, ma'am! Stark mad to
• t her. Sorrow the wake or fair he goes
o now, unless Jerry Lynch's daughter is
here--and he that used to be such a devil
If
• 1130fIg
"Mick!" interrupted my mother, "is it
rue that his grandfather was cousin ger
an to the earl of B—."
"True, as that I am Mick Quinlan that's
• riving yees, madam. But, as I was pay.
ng, nothink in the shape of dimity or mus-
". • oes Phil Brennan care for now, except
.Ich's daughter! De! that but a
""But, Mick!" again interrupted my mo-
ST ROIMIRT IMInniZTON, 311DITOR, Prr.BLICIZIIR AND PROPRZSITOR:
"I WISH NO. OTHER HERALD; NO OTHER SPEAKER OF Mr LIVING ACTIONS, TO KEEP HIND HONOR FROM CORRUPTION.I.
"THE GARLAND.
-"With sweetest flowers enrich'd,
From various gardens cull'd with care."
THE SABBATH DAY.
O day of peace, whose dawning ray
Smiles meekly in tho eastern sky;
I love to own thy soothing sway.
While earth's vain cares and tumults die
0 day of joy, thy choral strain
Sounds sweetly in the Pilgrim's ear;
The listening soul forgets its pain,
And loses all its guilty fear.
0 day of love, when Ho, who died,
Removes the sinner's load of wo,
And smiling, shows Hiawounded side,
Whence hope and life and pardon flow
O day of rest, what heavenly calm,
What hallo Wed peace thine hours impartt
How often has thy healing balm
Revived and soothed the contrite heart!
The shndes of north shall cloud those eyes,
Each earth born joy ho lost, unknown;
Yet still thy memory shall arise,
Till life's last lingering spark is flown.
44 1-10 ME, SWEET HOME."
peace.
Home, Homo, sweet, sweet Home—
There's no place like Home.
SELECT TALE.
FROM THE NEW-YORK MIRROR.
62itleltilin11 1 216 9 Qv:iambi:tir e ;maw d o awes%
ther, "is it true that Jerry Lynch is as rich
as they say he is?"
"Every pennerth!" answered Mick," but,
ma'am, that Phil Brennan—," continued
he, sticking to his point.
"0, Mick! Mick!" as perseveringly in
terrupted my mother.
"What's the matter, ma'am?"
"The foot rope is giving way!"
"The dickens .a bit!" exclaimed Mick.
"'Tis as fast and as strong as a cable, ma'am!
But, ma,am, this Phil Brennanl—
"The sacking is half off the car; Mick!"
cried my mother.
"Half off the car, ma'am!" echoed Mick.
"Where, ma'am? I'll be brand it sits as
snug and smooth all around as if it were ly
ing in a tester bedstead, ma'am! Well,
ma'am, did you never hear that this Phil
Brennan—"
"Yes, Mick!" at last interrupted my mo
ther, thinking that to anticipate him was
the only way, "I have heard that Phil Bren
nan was once a very naughty boy; but if
• u please Mick, we'll not talk of that now!"
_ fuming a significant look toward me.
"0, you are right," said Mick, "I under
stand you, ma'am! To talk about such
matters would do no harm to you and me;
but 'tie as well to be stire that somebody
' should not know what a devil—"
Mick could get no 'farther. "Silence,
Mick!" peremptorily exclaimed my mother.
Mick coloured, dropped his head, like a
balked child, and half sulkily drove on.
destination. A
quarter
of
t an
wan ho n u n r
ev b e ro n u in g g ht or u w s
o i n o d o e u rn r
to me! Every thing so fine! Every thing so .
I joyous! as if care and sorrow were banished
1 out of the world, and nothing but plenty and
happiness was evermore to reign in it.
... There was not a sad—there was not a
1 thoughtful face in th
one; and from that facAlile room—save
,the moment 1
i looked upon it, child as . I wa, I could scarce
`, ly take my eyes the whole or the evening;
F it was so fair, so soft, so melancholy, so full
i of sweetness! Its owner was one the bride
[ maids.
She was somewhat taller than the bride,
• by the side of whom she was standing, dress
ed in a frock of snow; with shoulders and a
neck that vied with the frock, and arms of
• the same extraordinary whiteness. I was
no judge of shapes, but I cannot de ;11 ••
the pleasure with which I looked u c , • tbr!
latter. They were uncovered nea ,NI L
shoulder. There was something n !k.; r
t mould, tmlike any thing of the kind 1 g : i t •
ever seen before; while the skin, partu..air
ly on the inside, where it absolutely scem3c.l
to shine with alight of its own, exhibited a
glossy.transparency through which you saw,
here and there, a vein as clear as through a
glass!
"Who is that?" inquired I of my mother.
" 'Tis Jerry Lynch's daughter, my dear.'
"Is Jerry Lynch a cous'n to an earl"
"No! Why do you ask?"
"Hisdaughteris so like a lady," rejoin.
ed I.
"You are very right, my dear," remark.
ed my mother, "there is nothing like her
in the room!"
I remember I drew myself up for a mo
ment, but the very pert .one resumed my
previous position, and stood staring at Jerry
Lynch's daughter, scarcely.--conscious that
my mother had been drawn aside by a friend
who had something particular to say to her.
I 'felt thyself irresistibly attracted-toward
tile fair object Of my contemplation; and,
before I knew what I was about, I found
myself beside her, admiring the more than
silky feel of her arm as my hand glided up
and down the round and pendent column,
unnoticed by its abstracted mistress. Re
member, I was little more than a girl of
fourteen at the time—frank, confiding. and
impulsive.
At length in the midst of my pleasing
occupation, a slight start arrested me, and
caused me to look up in the face of the bride
maid—it was as pale as that of a corpse.—
I was sure that something had alarmed her;
and, looking around me to ascertain the
cause, I saw a young man approaching her,
handsome enough, but with an eye of an ex
ceedingly unprepossessing expression.
The company were going to dance, and
as soon as he came up to her he asked her
to be his partner. She faltered out some
thing, but I could not hear distinctly what
she said. He repeated his request, and of
fered to take her hand, but she drew it back.
Never shall I forget the sullen and mortified
look which he threw upon her.
“What is the matter?” in an authorita-
tive tone, inquired an elderly man, whn now
came up; "you are going to dance with
William NVlVlullinl Take her, William,and
lead her to the head of the first set, next to
the bride!"
I had not observed that the bride had al
ready been led out to dance by the bride•
groom. Again the young man attempted
to take her hand,and again she drew it back.
"Margaret!" sternly ejaculated he that
had just before addressed her. It was her
father. But the fair bride maid neither look
ed nor epake. She stood immoveable, her
eyes fixed upon the ground. "Give your
hand," he added, "to William M'Alullin!
Give it immediately!"
Margaret doubtingly advanced her hand
oward that of the young man, which now
in its turn drew back; while his cheek grew
as white as if the hue of the bridemaid's had
been transferred to it; and she, with a neck
and face of crimson, gazed intently in the
direction of the door. I followed ber eyes.
The blacksmith bad just entered the room.
Even now I think I never saw such a fig
ure of a man! So tall! so straight! 30 well
proportioned! with a countenance of sunny
good•humour, that warmed your heart the
moment you looked upon himl He was the
gaze of the whole room! Satisfaction and
welcome danced in every eye! Hands were
held out to him on every side. "Welcome
Phill" or "How are you, Phil?" or "God
save you, Phil!" sounded from every lip.—
He seemed to be a favorite with all—with
all—except Jerry Lynch and William M'.
Mullin.
Frequent, but brief were the pauses he
wail compelled to make as he approached
eal group in which I was standing—and for
which he made direct.' As soon as he came
up his hand was frankly extended, and al-
most at the same moment that of the bride
maid lay passive within its embrace. He
hold her hand for upward of a minute in si
lence. At length ho turned to her father.
"Jerry Lynch," said he, in a tone of good
humored, unmissgiving confidence, "Jerry
Lynch, for three months back I have had
your daughter's promise, whenever this
wedding took place, to dance down the first
set with me. 01course, you will not pre.
vent her from keeping her word. All is
friendship, at a wedding, you know!" and
without farther preface. or waiting for a re
ply, he led her to the top of the room.
How delighted 1 was with the dance!--
How delighted I was with the b acksmith
and his lovely partner! The bride d bride
groom were objects ofsecondary onsidem
tion. The first couple seemed to have been
made for each other! and their looks! the
fondness and respect on the one hand; the
modesty and contentment on the other! I
see them nowl
It was an eventful night for both! They
danced down the first set, the second set,the
third set. None attempted to dispute with
the blacksmith the possession of the fair
hand with which he seemed to be in no hur
ry to part. Most refrained from kindness
-4-two or \ three, through fear, among the
latter, William M'Mullin, whose looks, I
perceived, young as I was, betrayed a thou.
sand things which his tongue had not the
courage to name, or his hand to perform.
The company became at length so numer
ous, that the dancers bad hardly space to
move.
"Come," whispered Phil Brennan-1 was
a t oment—"come, Mar-
?..Iret I , ...` 1 ;? it. i :; make room.
..e, 1111`,;. Throw a shawl over
,;)e you can lay hand on,
ith me in.the garden?"
"nic Iv.sitated; she seemed to
I 14 1:1040..•ng pavpriety of her lover's re
quest. Her eye fell upon me; she caught
hold of me, and pulling me, no way unwill.
ing, along with her, darted with Phil Bren
nan out of the room—a shawl—the first
that came to her hand, covered , her head
and mine, and in a minute we were in the
garden.
Two turns of the garden did they make.
Plaintively Margaret Lynch related to her
lover all that had happened since their last
stolen interview, beginning every sentence
with a sigh. Sher spoke in an undertone;
but, from what I caught, f coald gather thnt
the young man whom I first remarked, was
favored in his address by her father—that
almost every species of persecution had been
resorted to in order to compel herlo accept
him, and that' her father'styranny had even
proceeded to the extremity of appointing
e 'Wedding day.- •
A gate, leading into a by:road, opened
om the garden. We had passed it twice,
nd were now close to it for the third time.
' htl Brennan suddenly stopped; he tried the
ate, it was locked. There was no need of
key. He put his foot and hand to it, and
flew open. He gently threw his arm
ound Margaret Lynch's waist, and drew
er toward it.
"Whither would you take me, Phil?"
he inquired in some alarm.
"Are you afraid of me!" was his reply,
an accent of mingled tenderness and re
roach. "Leave the child," he added, en.
• atingly; for she held me still by the hand.
"No, Phil!" she said, gently but resolute.
. "The child shall go, if I go."
"Come, then!" said Phil Brennan.
We walked down the lane, his arm still
asping her waist. His head was bowed
o her ear. He kept whispering something
o her. I heard the words "wife—priest—
other." I felt that she was agitated; the
rspiration began to break upon the hand
ith which she was holding me. I saw,
int as the light was—it was a spring eve.
ng—l saw that her cheek was reclining
n his breast.
"Send the child in!" cried Phil Brennan.
Half did she let me go!
"No, no!" she faltered; tightening her
grasp again. "No, Phil Brennan! Ask me
not to marry you against my father's will;
I cannot—l will not consent! Hush!" she
suddenly ejaculated, in a lower whisper.—
"They have missed us, and are coming in
search of us; I heard my father's voice in
the garden."
It washer father's voice, but they had not
been missed. He had withdrawn from the
house accomprinied by her noxious suitor,
with whom he was in earnest conversation.
They were approaching the gate which Phil
Brennan had fortunately put to. The gar
den hedge did not reach to the blacksmith's
shoulder; he knelt upon one knee, and, en
joining Margaret Lynch• as she valued his
life, to keep silence, iireW her, unresistingly,
upon the other. The father and the rival
passed, and as they passed, the former ex
claimed to his companion:
4 , 1 tell Sou not a day longer will I give
her!. That day she shill be yours, or may I
never see another! I repeat it! Yon shall
make her your wife that day, even though
I should,be obliged to drag her to the altar
by the hair of her head."
The last words, though the speaker. was
receding, were sufficiently audible. The
footsteps gradually died away. We heard a
door opened and closed. They had return
ed into the house. Margaret Lynch'scheek
now reclined again upon her lover's breast.
Again his face was bowed to her ear. A
gain 1 hetuid the words, "wife—priest—
mother."
"Send back, eknd back the child!" again
cried Phil Brennan.
Margaret Lynch spoke rot. She was
weeping. I heard her sobs. My band
dropped from hers; which now, in the cus
tody of her lover, was raised by him to his
shoulder,and remained passively lying there.
I comprehended all. •
- "Go," cried I, involuntarily; "go with
Phil Brennan to his mother's, and be mar
ried to him to-morrow. I will return to
the house, and not say a word ofthe matter."
Scarce was the last syllable out of my
mouth, when the blacksmith was upon his
feet, with Margaret Lynch in his arms.—
He had caught her up like an infant, as he
rose. He bounded with her toward the end
of the lane. I lost sight of him in a minute,
but I beard his steps as he ran. He stopped
and gave a low, long whistle, which was fol
lowed by the trotting of a horse. The have
stopped. How my heart beat fora moment
or two. In less than a minute the horse
was off again and galloping. I listened as
long as I could hear the sound of its hook
and then returned to the house. My moth
er was already in the hall, attired for our
journey home. My things were soon put
on. I accompanied her, but not a wink did
I sleep that night, with thinking on Marga
ret Lynch and the blacksmith.
[ro BE CONTINUED.]
VARIETY.
The following pretty song, composed by Thomas
Black, Esq., and set to music by Mr. Bianchi Taylor,
is now all the rage in London.
THE MARINER'S LIFE.
Oh! the mariner's life is the life for me,
Floating along on the changeful sea;
When storms are raging, and winds are high,
Then from billow to billow we quickly fly.
And when all is still on the ocean's breast.
We lay to sleep while the billows rest,
And dream not offerils or dangers past,
On the raging sea 'mid the stormy blast. '
And though far away we are doomed to room,
From all that we lave in our distanthome,
Yet we whisper to every passing wind,
A prayer for those we have left behind.
And when our perils and dangers are der.
At last we tread on our nathre sham
Our grateful thanks shall ascend on high,
Till Life's voyage is o'er and then happy die.
THE MOTHER—A Flumancrrr.
I I' ' I I saw her large blue eyes swell
with maternal tenderness, as she gazed in all the
ttolentitude of a mother's love, upon the painful
• untsnance of her silent imploring child. I saw
her bursting bosom heave with agonising fear. as
ste gently pressed its outstretched hand between
Irr own, and bathed it with her tears. I saw her
;in wealied care anticipate her infant's wants, en
&ld by words, but eloquently told by infantile look
nd intuitively comprehended by a mother's lose
nd when her little sufferer slumbered, I saw a
' other's care command a mother's grief i and,
If respiring, check the rising Bobbins of her
s.ul, lest _a full sigh should wake her sleeping
' be. It was then that busy memory gave to her
' °sent pain a heightened anguish, and shrouded
i gloomy ticidements the endearing prattling of
h.r child, its smiles of timid triumph as once its
') tering feet bore it from chair to chair, its sup.
p 'ant hands seeking maternal safety.
hen and a thousand other endearments rush-
e; on her mind, and like a transient light in some
rk solitude, made misery still more poignant.—
he remembrance of hours spent in the society
f her child, gradually developing its bodily and
mental powers imparted a saddened pleasure to
its maternal nurse; when sudderly *foible groan
dissolved her vision, for the vital taper of her child
was sinking in its socket. Her stifled sigh now
burst in convulsive sobbings from her bosom;
whilst with utterable anguish her laboring soul
gave the pure spirit of her child to God tido
carob, participated to her afflictions, and was Ink
lently in tins scene of wo, as I was unwilling to
interrupt the sacred tribute ofbergriegor unclasp
that firm embrace, which pressed a lifeless infant
to hee mother's bosom, for soon it would be cra
dled in its coffin, and hushed in a lonely mansion
of the grave over which the winds of winter howl
its lullaby. I thought as I witnessed her conflict
ing feelings, how kindly Providence had implant
sed in a mother's bosom. the persevering love
which enabled her to bear with unrepining fixti_
tude the varied cares connected with eleialwwwl;
and that those men are monsters, who repay with
cold indifference the affectionate solitude that
guarded their years of helpless infiusey. I felt a
glow within my bosom, a filial offemyr to the
memory of my mother, with a repentant sigh,lest
my thoughtlessboyhood May have given her pain.
unconscious of the sacred debt of gratitude due to
the feelings of a parent.
4:4 , .CIA3•BatrA
Tbe gem of all other* bbbbbb enriches the corn.
net of a Lady's character, Is unaffected piety,—
Nature may lavish much on her person—the en
chantment of the countenance—the gratefulness
'abet mien. or the strength of her intellect, yet
her loveliness is uncrowned. till piety throws u.
round the whole, the sweetness and power of her
charms. She then becomes unearthly In her tem.
per—unearthly In her desires and assocrations.
The spell which bound ber affirctlons to things be,
low is broken, and she mountson the silent wings
of her fancy
_and hope to the habitation of God,
[WHOLE NOi--2.814?3
. .
where it is her delight to hold 'ionnOeti. ,
the spirts that hare been ransomed
thraldom ofebrtit and wreathed with gulissil
Cpl-
Her beauty may throw its megical - chetilkOltiifi..
many—Princes and Conquerors may tamiolll(...-;
admiration at the slime of her richer;-tbargilyiss •
ofscietice and poetry may embalm her tnimil44lll-, ;
history and song—yet piety must he her - Ando -.
went, her pearl. Her name _must be writhettSl
the "Book of Life," that when tallunPlini , 0111411.
way, and every memento of earthly greatniiiirili
last in the general wreck of nature, it may
and. swell the list of tnat mighty throng, which
have been clothed with the mantle tot rightedui.; . :
CICSII, and their , voices attuned to the melody '
heaven.
With such a treasure every lofty gratllleal '
on earth may be purchased; friendships Mit
doubly sweet—pain and sorrow shall !GO'
sting—ind the character will i iesseer a priie , fir:
rtibies"—life will be but. a *aunt Ask
to earth, and death the entrance upon a!ayfatiiii4:`,
perpetual home. And 'when the notes
trump shall be heard and sleeping winking'
tojudgment, its possessoi shall be presented "fist!•
less before the throne of God with exceeding joy
and a crown of life that snail never Wear away._
Such is piety. Like 'a tecder flower, Planted.;
in the fertile soil of woman's heart, It grown, lox : .
pending its foliage and imparting its thsipantieto
all around, till transplanted it is set to bloom in •
perpetmaltigor and unlading beauty in the - P ei.
(Use of God. • -
Follow this star—lt will light you through sirs !
ry labyrinth in the wilderness of nib, gild the
gloom that will gather around you in a dying hour
and bring you safely over tho tempestuous Jordan
~
ofdeath, into the Heaven of promised and settled
rest.
Tim SURE P'0111IDATION:
Taking a walk with a few of my friends, wit
came to a place iehere several men were holly
employed. They had dog very deep, es mil& air
ten feet below the surface of the tround; Kornis
were clearing away rubbish, and others laying
bricks. "Why have you dug so deep?" naked
one of oar party. "Because," 'replied they;
was nereassay, as we are going to erect i large
building, that we should have a gobd filtindafion."
Now there was in our party, an 'old man *hose
silvery locks were a crown ofglory, and aim:. it L.
tie girl, of about eight years of age. "Matii.i•t„
my love," said the aged'iaint. "lend an ear to mti
words, and let my speech Alt.:Upon thinelptl.t.tz
spirit as the early dew. 'See inn timPlice; the
workmen are going to build upona sills joicndcs.'
lion; what is the only sure fountiittion ek a Ch 65%.
tiara hope?" "The finished workand Slime my:it
of the Son of God; for he died'foralnimis„ 10,0
have broken the law of God and deierved Indio ,
themselves," replied the child,. "Trne,tree,"4.
joined the old man, "for other foundetiOn can no
man lay than is laid, which is Jesus citipc; And
what my dear child, will become of those. who
have built their houses dpon the sandal"- , Matilda.
mused and replied, "When the storm rises it wit
beat upon those houses, and 'they 'wilt (kil t And
great will be the fallthereof."
If3rou plume good With labor, the ,labbr pima'
away and the good remains---but if you pike'
pleasure With evil, the pleasure passes away and.
the evil remains. • • 2 -• • •
Bolingbroke left one of his Infidel pnblieritleneA
to be published after his death_hy Mallet, a bra,
ther unbeliever. Dr. Johnson, when askei
opinion of tbii legacy, exclainied, "A;inuiendrill3 •
who spent his life in charging a pop gun egablig
christranity; and a coward, who; thud 'of the
part ((his own gun, left half a crown to ifiningry ,
Scotchman to pull the trigger after hie ileatit.”
Recipe for the cure of various complaint., draw* '
from the Principles and Practice of A.
patio Doctors.
The grand principle in curing all cmpplsints, ,
is to aggravate the symptoms; or in other wnidsi
to produce symptoms ofa more aggravated nature,
than those you rnilertake to remove; and then, of:
course, the first set of symptoms being, swallowed
up or overcome by the second, will not be
T o cure to e Wieumatism.—Drinit wine
dulge yourself in high living, so as to bring on ;he :
gout; and rely upon it, that whoa th4latChiss
placed its screws upon you, you will not feetilut
rheumatism. . ; •;, • •
Tr care • Flea bite.—Subtoit tbeWOIHROIipiLTV
to the teeth of a bed-bug, winch will ekgraviti.
the symptoms so that the fleabite willbe no lone
er felt.
Tatum the Thoth Ache.—Get Yottivelf afflicted' •
with the tic doioreux, end then you may, laugh at` •
the tooth ache, even though you•should laiijb out :
of the wrong side cifyour mouth. • ; • '
71 cure Saffacotia' *front scsailowlega
—Swallow a punspkich „This will eMialtdrattatilt
, . . •
your msophagus so that the potato will e'dietriti•
for it will so aggravate the syroOtiriiii, 2 ;tll43l4i'-•
will no longer trouble yourself at all abimit
potates.
Tyre t s gtefit of aead eat Ofyour
a pebble. The reason eftbe Care
7 b 8 14 a Fly eat of iour etst-Patiti.b44:
Ito get goe!sdfeaf Of td u
• biter one. '- , , . '
•_,
• r pain qr
And so in an y le?L° B °
each meastnei as will prodtwo ltliteitaittet
• •
the ewe, and the cure wen
KNOWLEDGE - AN D:WEEDGIE, 4 / 11 "- i ii - r .
t oil
Knowledge nod Wledeakfitinin Mill* ' l 4,:xt:„ . .' f,
Have (Aimee no ownontictia - • - riiiillidgn ' ' 14 YA7',
In heads - regain with' ilitieglihrel'iGa c aliga: 5 .1 .164 4. 4 ,
Wham in wade attenthe to th14411,1c11111."-: °'
Knowkalge as *owl *it be lietastliaiViiiiii: , : , :
Winkles le htanbh that be httoiliiii - hil'C'E4' -'
Wisdom. unlike alleles tynielikai * lrn'it'V‘
LUMW sought in valn. -
- ' - '' 2 ,- 4. .1:17' •
r. llAie:C -11
,
Let swalluretnents not pronto se goielsw; . „-.! -
dew yen to alight the warnlopor '--iki;tit''
- - - :(
y-'~?"'~1 :~:
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