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Al3l birds most musical at the close of day, And saints divinest when they pass away. Morning is lovely, but a holier charm Lies folded close in Evening's robo of balm; And weary men must love her best, For morning calls to toil, but night to refry. She comes from Heaven, and on her wings dotir • bear A holy fragrance like the breath of prayer Footsteps of angels follow in. her trace, 'To shut the weary eyei of day in peace. All,things are hushed before heY, as she throve' O'er earth and sky her mantle of repose; There is a calm, a beauty, and. a power Thakmorning knows not, hi the evening hour. "'Until the evening" we must weep and toil, _Plow—life's-stern-furrow;tlig - the - weedi Tread with sad feet our rough and thorny way, Anu bear the heat and burden of the day. O ! when our sun is setting may we glide,. Like Summer evening, down the evening tide, And leave us behind as we pass away, Sweet, starry twilight round our Lieeping clay. -0.- __ COMFOR Ti Art thou a lone one waging The biter war of life, While sore temptations raging Mote dread fel mate the strife I Oh! hapless hopeless lone one, Turn, turn thine eyes above, To one wl-sha-nflo , To one of boundless love. There's one who watches o'er thee, White passing through the fire; He bore it all before thee, And sees thyten •t's desire. 'There's One, di; Lord of glory, Who knows thy feeble frame; However sad thy dozy, Oh ! trust thou in his name. He'll give thee strength thou weak one s And take thee to his brerid; -He'll be thine all, thou lone one, • He gives the weary rest And soon life's struggles ending, Will tikke thee to his home ; 'Then on his love depending. Fear not, what e'er may come. F !IRZt 4I .O 0 4'artir ortr- 1 4 1 6:‘_1116 THE UNMEANT REBUKE. -0- Charles Nelson had reached his thirty .fifth year, and at that age he found himself going down hill. He had once been one of the hkiest of mortals ' and no blessing was wanted to complete the sum of his happi ness. He had -one of the best of wives, and his children were intelligent and comely.— He was a carpenter by trade,, and no man 'could command better wages, 'or be More sure of work. If any man attempted to build a house, Charles Nelson must "boss" the job, and for miles around people sought ihim to work for them. But a change had come over his life. A demon had Met him on his way, and he had turned back with • the. evil spirit. A new and experienced carpenter bad been sent for by those who could no longer depend upon Nelson, and he had settled in the village, and now tit* Nelson's place. On a' back street, where the great trees threw their green branches over the way, stood a small Cottage, which had been the pride .of the inmates. Before 'it, stretched a wide garden, but tall, rank grass grew up among the choking flowers, and the paling of the fence was broken in many pla ces. The house itself had once been white, but it was now dingy and dark. Bright, green blinds had once adorned the windows, bat now they had been taken off and sold. ' And the windows themselves bespoke pov erty and neglect, for in many places .the glass was gone, and shingles, rags and old hats had taken its place. A single look at the'house and its accompaniments told the ' story. It was the drunkard's home• Within, sat a woman yet in her early years .of life and thought; she was still handsome look 'upon, but the bloom had gone fro% her -cheek, .and she brightness had-faded from-her eyes. .Poor Mary Nei. son ! Once she had been the happiest among the happy, but new none could be more mis erable ! Near her sat two children, both girls, and loth beautiful in form and feature; but their garbs were all patched and worn, and their feet were shoeless. The eldest was thirteen years of 'age, her sister a few years younger. The mother was hearing them Nolte a grammar lesson, fbr, she ,had /resolved thatler children should never grow -up in ignoranee.‘ They could not attend the :eommon school, ',for--,thoughtless children -sneered at:them And made them the object ;-of sportand':ridicule , ; but in this reaped they doleot stiffer, for their mother was well. -01111040; and , alindavated -such- time es , ehe. spare to ,their instruction: 'Tot snore than :two years, .I!dary . :Nelson -had•eerneditll-the monciYAbatlad hem -geed: ieribeilegse. People 'tired:lbw:4o -*soh,: iron a:idler for them, and.besides- the-Moo.' WAYNESBRO', ' FRANKLIN. COUNTY, PENNSYLVANIA, FRIDAY, MORN I NG, NOVEMBERII,IB64." " • -' NUMBER 22. ey paid, they gave her many tu tielesof food and clothing. So she lived on, and the on ly joys . that dwelt with, her now, were teach ing her children and praying to . God. Supper time came, and Charles Nelson came reeling home. He had worked the day before at helping to move a' building,. and thus had earned money enough to find himself in rum for several days. , As lie stumbled into the house the children 'non:sh ed close to their mother, and even she shrank away, for sometimes her husband was ugly when thus intoxicated. Oh.l how. that man had changed within two years ! Once there was not a finer looking man in the town, In frame he had been tall, stout, compact, and perfectly form-,, ed, While• his face bore the very beau ideal of manly beauty. .I3nt all was changed now. His noble form was bent, his limbs shrunk. en and tremulous' and his face all bloated and disfigured. he was not the man who i had once been the fond husband and doting father. The loving wife had prayed, and wept, and implored, but all to no purpose ; the husband was bound to the drinking companions of the bar-room, and he would not break the bands, That eyeninc , Mary Nelson. ate no supper, for all the food in the house, there was not more-than — onotrgh — fff her hueban aua chil dren; but when her husband had gone, she went'out and picked a few berries, and thus I ke it her vital enerc:ies:alive. That ni'ht the I poor woman prep. ong as her little ones prayed- with her. On the following morning Charles Nelson sought the bar-room as soon as he arose, but he was sick and faint, and the liquor would not revive him, for it would not remain on his stomach. He drank very deeply the night before, and he Felt miserable. At length, however, he managed to keep down a few glasses of hot sling, but the close atmosphere of the bar room seemed to stifle him, and he went out. • The poor man bad sense enough to know that if he could sleep he should feel better, and he had just feeling enough to wish to keep away from home; so he wandered off to a. wood not far from the village, and sunk down by a stone wall and was soot Found slumber. When he awoke, the sun was shining down hot upon him, and raising himself to a sitting posture, he gazed about him. He was, just on the point of rising, when his motion was arrested by the sound of voices near at hand. He looked through a chink in the wall, and just upon the other side he saw his two children picking berries, while a little farther off were two more girls, the children off the carpenter who had lately moved into the village. "Come, Katie," said one of those little girls to her companion "let's go away from here, because if anybody should see us with those girls, they'd think we played with them.— Come." "But the berries are so thick here," remon strated the other. "Never mind—we'll come out some time when these little ragged, drunkard's girls are not here." So the two favored ones went away hand in hand, and Nelly and Nancy Nelson sat down upon the grass and cried. • "Don't cry, Nu," said the eldest, throw ing her arms arounl her sister's neck. "But you are crying, ...\Telly." • "Oh, I can't help it," sobbed 'the stricken one. "Why do they blame us?" murmured Nan cy, gazing up into her sister's face. Oh, we are nor to blame. We are good, and kind, and loving, and we never hurt anybody.— Oh, I wish somebody would love us; I should be so happy , " "And we are loved, Nancy. Only think of our noble mother. Who could love us as she does ?" "I know—l know, Nally; but that ain't all. Why don't papa love us as he used to do ? Don't youtretnernber when he used to kiss us awl made us so happy ? Oh, bow I wish he could be so good once more. lie is not—" "—sh, sissy %don't say anything more.— He may be good to us again; if he knew how . we loved him,. I know he would And then 1 believe God is good, and surely be will help US sometime, for mother prays to hill) every 'day." "Yes," answered Nancy, "I know she 'does; and God must be our Father sometime." "He is our father now, sissy." "I know it, and he must be all we shall have by-and-by, for don't you remember that mother told.us that she might leave us one of these days ? She said a cold dagger was upon her heart, and—and—""—sh ! Don't, don't Fanny, you'll—" The words'were choked up with sobs and tears, and the sisters wept lung together.— At length they arose and went, away, for they saw more children coming. As soon as the little ones were out of, sight Charles Nelson started 'to his feet. His hands wore clenched, his eyes wore fixed upon 'a vacant point with an eager gaze. "My God !" he gasped, "what a villain I am Look at me now ! What a state lam in, and what I have sacrificed to. bring my self to it ! And they love me yet, and pray for me !" He said no more, Int for a few moments he stood with his hands still clenched, _and his eyes fixed. At length his gaze was turn ed upward,.and his clasped hands were raised above 'his head. A moment he remained so, and then his hands dropped 'by hie side, and 'he started homeward. When he reached is home he fonad ;his wife and children in tears, but he affect 4 ,to notioe it ;not. He drew a shilling from his pocket—it , Was his last—and banding it . to ,his ‘wife,the,osked her if she mould,seed and get 'hinkettme l perridze. The wifo was startled by pm ;tene'in.which this was spot en, for it sounded ,in days one by. Thlifootridge r*Matie nian,atitt.:nairish log, and Charlis ate it all. Lie went t4t bed .; r. _ 491.1Pettally• :IWeriareaNstroor ,- Mreratrailzi, staisAilt:'2lLcollislol36 earnestly, an early, anei -- 1 --- T --- •yAm the following day he Was up. Ile asked his wife if she had milk and flour enough to make him another boWl of porridge. Yes, Charles," she said; "we have not touchd it." "Then if you are willing,' I Should Mar -some more." The wife moved quickly-about the work, and 'ere long the food was prepared. The husband ate it, and he felt better. He wash ed and dressed, and would have shaved had his hand been steady enough. He left his home and went at once to a man who •had just commenced to frame a house. "Mr. Manly," he said, addressing the man alluded to, "I have drank the last drop of alcoholic beverage that ever passes my lips. Ask no questions, but believe me now while you see me true. Will you give me work?" "Charles Nelson, are you in earnest?" ask ed Manly in surprise. "So much so, sir, that were death to stand upon my right hand, and yonder bar-room upon my left, I would go with th&grim mes senger first." "Then here is my house lying about us in rough timber and boards. I place it all in your hands, and shall look to you to finish it. While Lean_trust_ you,- you can-trust me. Come into my office, and you shall see the plan I have drawn." We will not tell you how the stout man wept, nor how his noble-friend-shed tears to see him thus; but Charles Nelson took the plan, and having studied it for a whole hour, he went out where the men were at .work getting the timbe r together, and Mr. Manly introduced him 'as their master. That day he 'worked but little, for he—was-not strong yet, but he arranged the timber, and gave directions for framing. At • night he asked his employer if he dared trust , him with a "Why, you have earned three," returned Manly. "And. will you pay me three dollars a day?" "If you are as faithful as you have been to-day, for you will save me money at that." The poor man could not speak his thanks s,--lmt-his-looks-spoke then-for — him, and Manly understood them. He received his three dollars, and on his way home he stopped and bought first a basket, then three loaves of broad, a pound of butter, some tea, sugar, and a piece of beef-steak, and he had just one dollar and seventy-five cents left.— With this load he went home. It was some time before he could compose himself to en ter the house,•but at length he went in, and set the basket upon the table. "Come, Mary," he said, "I have brought something home for supper. Here, Nelly, you take the pail and ran over to Mr. Brown's and get two quarts of milk." He handed the child a shilling as he spoke. and in a halt-bewildered 'state she took the money and hurried away. • The wife started when she raised the cov er of the basket, but she dared not speak.— She moved about like one in a dream, and ever and anon she would east a. furtive glance at her husband. He had:not been drinking— she knew it—and yet he had money enough to_buy_rum_ with if he wanted it. What could it mean ? Had her prayers been an swered ? Oh, how fervently she prayed then. Soon Nelly returned with the 'Milk, and Mrs. Nelson set the 'table out. After Sup. per, Charles arose and said to his wife: • ' "I must go to Mr. Manly's office.to help him t', arrange some plans for his new house, but I will be at home early." A pang shot through the wife's heart as she saw him turn away, but still she was far happier than she had been before for a long time. There was something in his manner that assured her, and gave her hope. Just as the clock struck nine, the well known foot fall was heard, strong and steady. The door opened, and Charles entered. His wife cast a quick, keen glance into his face, and she almost uttered a cry of joy when she saw how he was changed. for the better He had been to the barber's and :hatter's.— Yet nothing was said upon the all important subject. Charles wished to retire early, and his wife went with him. In the morning the husband arose first and built the fire— Mary had not slept till long after midnight having been kept awake by the tumultuous emotions that had.ptarted up in her bosom,and she awoke not as early as usual. But she came out just as the teakettle and potatoes began to boil, and breakfast was soon ready. After the meal was eaten, Charles arose, put on his hat, and then turning to his wife, be asked: • "What do you do to-day?" "I must wat:h for Mrs. Bixby." "Are you willing to obey me once more ?' "Oh, yes." "Then work for me to-day. Send Nally or to tell Mrs. Bixby that you, are not well enough to wash, for you are not. Here is a • dollar, and you must do with it as you please. Buy something; that, Will keep you busy, for for yourself and, children:" • Mr. Nelson turned • toward the door, and his hand was upon the latch. He hesitated, and turned back. •He did not speak, but he opened his arms; and , his wife rack upon his bosom. He kissed her, and then having gently placed het in a seat, he left the house. When he went to work that morning, he felt well and very happy. Mr. Manly was by to cheer him and this be did by 'talking and acting as ;hough Charles had never been un fortune's. at aft It was Saturday evening. and Nelson had been almost a week without rum. He, had earned fifteen dollars, tee of which ho bad now in Ms pocket. . . "Mary," he - ,said after .the supper -table. 'bad been .clecied 'away, "here are - ten 'dollars for you, dud Twat yonto - pitiond it in cloth: Ing'for yourislf and children. , have MO. ed fifteetcdollars 'during 'last five days. I 'am to build Squire Manly's great • house, and he pays me three dollars a day. A good job isn't it!" Nary looked up, and her lips moved, but she could , not speak a word:* She struggled a few moments, and then burst into tears.— Her husband took her by the arin nod drew 'her upon his lap, and then pressed her to his bosom. • "Mary," he whispered, while the teats ran down his own cheeks, •'you are not de ceived, I am Charley Nelson once more, and' will be while I live. Not by any act Of mile shall another cloud.oross your brow." And then he told her of the words be had beard the previous Monday,. while he lay behind the well. • "Never before," he said, "did I fully re alize how low I had fallen, but the scales dropped from my eyes then as though some one had struck them off with a sledge. My. soul started up to a standing point from Which all the tempest‘of earth connot Move it. Your prayers are answered, my wife." Time passedon, and the cottage assumed its garb of pure white, and its whole win dows and green blinds. The roses in the garden smiled, and in every wag td the im provement work. Once agaiies was Mary Nelson among the happiest of the happy, id - her - ohildreir ehose - th - eir own associates "Passing Away." These words, which so truthfully describe human life, have often been made the theme of poetry and philosophy. . "The fashion of this world passeth away," says. an. inspired writer, and all experience confirms the decla ration. We,, do not at all realize this truth when we are young. The most of us do not believe it till middle age. • Successive losses of friends and vicissitude .of fortune convince us of it, with a pi:4er which books do n'ot, possess. We stand in the Midst of the great battle of life, and gazing upon the destruc tion which Time has worked in the ranks of friends and kindred, feel like one of Napo leon's favorite Marshals at the battle of Wag ram, when looking back upon the mighty col umn of the dead which marked his advance upon the enemy's nositisib he ponied irroso l-uly, as if uncertain whether to move on ward or retire. But the hand of the ian of Destiny-waved him on, and he advanced, as we must advenee, perhaps almost alone t to victory or destruction. kis too much the custom wit man o as sociate the most melancholy thoughts with the idea of "Passing Away." The flowers fade but another Spring shall revive them. The river rushes on to the sea, but its tide continues full. Nature passes from death to life as regularly as from life to death. It can not be that among all the glorious works of creation, the spirit of man shall be the only thing which knows no renewal; that while the rugged tree revives from the winter's desolation and clothes itself with a new gar ment of beauty, and the worm emerges from its shroud to become a :.beautiful inabitant of the :air, the master of the earth and image of the Deity, shall know no resurrection.— The death of children in their youthfUl bloom and loveliness, is a kind of "passing away" which seems clothed with peculiar sadness No philosophy can minister resiimation to a bosom freshly bleeding from such a rapture. Yet, even apart from the assurance which* Faith enjoys of a re union hereafter, the be reaved may be consoled by the reflection that there is a "passing away" moi e melan choly than that of death. It is the "passing away" of a spirit from its original sinlessness to the impurities which are acquired by a short contact, with the world. There is this which should be re membered by those who love young children, that they' must in any event "pass away," either to the goodness and bliss of Heaven, or to the stains and sorrows of earth. Liv ing or dying, they cannot continue altogeth er as they are now, any more than the open ing bud eau remain pure, fresh and fragrant through. the heat of summer. , The "passing away" of the body, , which wo loved and caressed, is a sad specsacle; but it must be seder still to look upon the grad ual "passing away" of a young soul; to see the light of childish innocence fade from the eye, its ingeniousness from the countenance, its joyousness clouded, its,simplicity gone, and the harmlessness of a dove exchanged for the serpent's • wisdom. Great exertions ani unceasing vigilance can ,alone • preserve the young from the contagion of evil which is around theizi. We should not murmur then if these treasures, which we cannot pre serve in safety, should be transferred to a re gion,;ivere moth and rust cannot corrupt, nor thieves break through and steal. PURSUIT OF PLEASURE.-4i r e smile at the ignorance of the savage who cuts down the tree in order to reach its fruits; but the fact is that a blunder.of this description is made by every person.' who is over-eager and impa tient in the pursuit of pleasure. To such the present moment ii,evorything;"mad the friture is nothing; he borrows,, therefore, from the future at a most•usurious and rumens inter est; and the consequence is that be finds the tone of his feelings impaired. his self-respeet diminished, his health of mind and body des. troyed, and life reduced to its very dregs,'at a time, when'humaaly speaking, the greatest portion of its comforts should. be still before him. The first instance on,,recor4 of inteifer once with the right of speech was, according to tradition, in the cue, of ,one Satan, who had been trying to. persuade Mistress Eve ,to desert her husband and her. God, and se cede from Paradise. e His plausible tongue was summarily stepped and since that day he has been able only to hiss his disapprObation ,of the -arbitrary act, like the, "genuine' origi: nal old. Copperhead that be is. His'Modern :disciple's squirm and hiss in, his wake AS nat. ,urally alus oWn . The next best thing to. governing. your self is, to be governed by your wire. STANZAS. shone—upon tho..wide 4 aide - world ; 'Tie bard to dwell To enteh no look of human love; To list no gentle tone. But wander thrOugh bilsSr' crowd, Lone as tho coipse within its tihreutl. Afone—'tis hard to 'sit and weep In some untrodden shade,' O'er all the wrecks of life and joy A few bright years have made; To trace links of that bright chain Which time wilt ne'er unite again. Alone—lie agony for one Of spirit proud and strong, To feel life's pulses ebbing fast. Before the world's cold wrong; And sternly bids eitehlaing of fate That leaves theheart so desolate. Hope A little girl was bending sorrowfully, ever a bed of flowers. Daily, through , the sum mer, she had watched their expanding buds, and, nightly, through the autumn, protected them froni. the i ereasin _oold—Bu t-a—N • - vember frost settled upon them, and their bright petalti and green leaies dropped to wave not again in the passing breeze. "Oh! cruel frost," she said, "dead ! 'lead ! dead !" Then a voice as within, said to her--"spring will come and your flowers will bloom again, Hope sprang up from 'the bordering of sor row, and through all the long, cold .winter, pictured the coming spring, radiant with flow ers. • A mother wept beside the remains of hor departed child. She mourned a flower tier dearer to her than all the flowers of the field. Despair was well nigh closing over her its dark waters, when upon her, soul in angel tones, softly fell these words, "the dead shall live again !" . Hope rose Heavenward, and ever after brightened all the pathway of dier life. Thus it is ever with human life. Hope lends enchantment to every scene. One has said, that we suffer more from - fat ap •hended evils, than from those which are presenC; but is it not likewise true that the greater part of our enjoyment arises from what is in the future, from what we hope for? in that state of ex . - - ere long, what is to lie may appear no bright er than what is. But here, if the present appear full of storms, behind every storm Hope paints a rainbow. The sailor beholds the steady twinkle of the northern star be yond the wildest tempest, and eagerly watch es for the fhlling of its tranquil beams be tween the rifted and retiring clouds. Pilgrim to the Holy Shrine, sees Orental skies from amid Alpine snows, and plants his staff with firmer hold on the icy verge of the prec ipice. To• all hope tells of brighter days to come. To tho houseless wanderer, it speaks of home and friends; to the unhappy, of happiness; to the ehristian, of the glories of 'eternity.— It is a sympathising friend, bringing conso• lation to the broken-hearted; a ray from a world of light streaming' through the "dark ened casement" of the blind; to those upon whose ears "earthly sound ne'er• fell." Oh, hope I we hail thee morning star of ev ery joy, glorious harbinger of eternal lite. Recreation• Men need; and will have some kind of re creation. The body was not made for con stant toil—the mind was not formed for con stant study. God has not ordained that life shall be spent in one continued series of efforts to secure the things of this world.— He has fitted man for enjoyment as well as labor, and made him susceptible of pleasura ble emotions. He did not design him for a slave, to dig the earth a while and die—to toil on until the hour of death comes to con duct a shattered system back to dust and ashes. On the other hand he has given him a physical systemovhieh, like the harp, may be touched at any tune. He has made the eye, the ear, the mouth, all inlets , of pleas ure. He has so constituted us that we may be wound up to the highest degree of pleas-. ure, and receive through.the medium of the senses a flood of happiness. Besides this, he has arranged.the outward world in such a manner as to give maw* highest.enjoy meat. Had God designed man for ,ceaseless labor, he would havwdarkened the eye,.deaf enee the ear, and blunted all the nicer sen sibilities; and made the bandits bard awiron, and the toot as insensible as brass. Bat, formed for enjoyment, we find. : men seeking it. After. the labor of the day is over, and the toil of life is done, they return to every quarter to find . some source of recreation some avenuewf life which is fragrant with flowers, and which echoes with sweet music. HEAR TUE WORDS ,01'. A &ADIEU—gal. Roseerine, who probably ontiMitands'Ae present condition' of 'again, as *ell asiany man in the army, says: "Whenever they, (the rebels) , hsvc, the power, they drive before them into' their ranks the Southern people, as they would al so drive us. Trust them not. 'Were they able, they would invade 'end destroyus with- out — m - SFC - 3y.' Absolutely' assured .of . these things, I am amazed that any one could think. of Yeses on any terms— He.who entertains the sentiment is fit only to be a slave; heivho utter's it at this"time is; -morenver,i a traitor to his country who ;desersesi_the-scorn , add contempt of all honorable men." Those whir gabhlelabout compromise, twill' do well to peruse those, lines with , care - ;arid attentiomi„Tbey,,con4iti, the assertions heru i who bus been i 4 fE9DP s'i!! 4l o the'wir began and. h en,,Pe 09 1 . nY., 41 .7 0 041* ) 10 4 jar of his, oomen.. : ) - The d'Ottr 'iiious . goll3/1 IWO' ;Imo, but pertinio ,•• • To I. 000'; disa.oc) Per fro bin c'o'mmittee Called On a flourishing tradesman to.solieJt a suptierip tion for the support 'DEA clergyman. , • , ‘Cari i ,t de it, gentleman;'-was.the reply•lq gave five dollars to the Rev. Mr. P--, yes terday( Atter much pursinsion, however; they sue ceeded in getting him to put down a like a mount for the Rev. Mr. D— and departed with thanks; but a Minute afterward'he was " overheard-giving the following directions to an assistant : ‘Draw off five dollars' worth of liquor und fill with water, Take it out of the row of woks next to those that you,waterad yester day for the Rev.° Mr. P. HONOR THY FATHER AND THY MOTHER. Od of the'stern' laws enacted by the titans in 1674 provides that : If a man have a atubbOrn and rebellious son of sufficient years ef• understanding, viz : sixteen years.of age, which will not obey the' will of his father or the voice of his moth er, they being his natural parents, lay held. ou him and ing him before the magistrates assembled in court, and testify _ , unto then that their sOn 'is Stubborn and' reboil', ') -and - willlierebWriteir 'voice lalid'cliastise , Went, but 'lives in sundry and notorious crimes, such a son shall be put to death. CURIOUS F.Aeri.—ln Australia it is sum., mer in January, and winter in duly. It is noon there when it is midnight in—litrope. The longest day is in December. The heat comes from the South, and it is hottest on the nniturtain - tops. The swaps are black, the eagles are white, the bees do not sting s and the birds do not sing. The cherriei have no stones, the trees give no shadow, for their leaves turn edgways to the'sun ; and some of the quadrupeds have a beak and lay eggs. • . Some wretch of a joker perpetrates this. outrage : "If a woman were to ebange her sex, what religion would she be ? A he then :" To which a lady, with more wit and point, replies : "And to convert au Ttiess woman into a heartless one, there Iy wants a 'lie !'" A minister having remarked in the pres ence of Dr. south, that the "Lord has no se- s , ,- 11 . g, a witty divine replied, "still less has ho need of uan's ig norance. A little boy, some six years old, was using his slate and pencil on the Sabbath, when his father who was a Slergy alai), entered and said : mifc --- rtliat you should not use your elate on the Lord's day." "rm making meeting houses, father," Was the prompt and probably premeditated re ply. FORBEARANCE.—To be able to bear, provocation is indicative of great wisdom ; and to forgive it, of a great .mind. Has any .one injured you? Boar it with pa tience. Hasty words rankle the wound; soft language dresses it, forgiveness .cures it, forgetfulness takes asslty sures. Quotations from camp stocks; token front the journal of a soldier lately on duty in Louisiana :—'Fleas lively ; lice steady—the old stock reduced to small compass, and mostly in the hands of government employ ees; lizariN firm ; scorpions advancing.' LANGUAGE.—tanguago is the amber in which a thousand precious and subtle thinigh limo' been safely imbedded and preserved.-- It has arrested ten thousand lightning flash• es of genius which, unless fixed and arrested, might have been *as bright; but would bavo also been as• quickly passing and perishing us. the lightning. The twilight steals over the earth like a mournful thought over the soul. And in our sorro*ful moods as amid the shadows of the evening. we see stars in Heaven shat were before ,invis:blo. Great as you may be, the cradle was your world once, and over it the only horizon you behold bent the heaven of a. mother's eye, as .you rocked in,that little bark of love.. The man who-mourns- because he does not have the seeming ability to take part in that which others enjoy, is but turning the ole• meats of his own character into discord. Though reading and conversation. Magur; Dish us with many ideas dwell and things, yet it is our own meditation that must form oat. juuamen t. "Paddy," said a wag, "your ears are too long." "Divil a bit ov tbrubble does that give, me,-but yours are too short altogither for the braying baste that yeas be." One of the saddest descriptions one, cat► give of a household is that the ninstet,tifit "generally goes out of an evening." The prayer of deeds is oftener answered than the prayer of words. A man so intoxicated that he eas't hold up his head is a tiptop fellow!. . Getiatoria quarrel or fight with a - blaCk• guard; like chaff he isiettivorthihraahinirs.— The...teeth arolrionds that are altiays , ivith, tears and ;generally los* with groan.A • ;, • - Via'gettinkfat,' - as the loafet o said when he was stealing lard. : .." the daughter of iguerluzok; sad mother of iakterity. • Irdpoorisy is . the homago whi&vice but. diiir to virtue • ,, z• - , ;E",'.1.1,:' er, r..
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers