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• OLUDIE XIX
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'VU`• 3131a,1r.
iscanerxtsatAt
BESDING ON MB BAND.
BY ELIZA COOK.
'Tis well td woo, 'tie well to wed,
For so the world has deretl
ince-myrtles-grew,_and_ro
And mofning brought the sun.
But have-t care, ye young and fair,
Be sure you pledge with truth; •
Be certain that your love will wear
Beyond the days of youth !
For if you give not heart for heart?
As well as hand for hand,
You'll find fnieve played the unwle ptedy
And "built upon • the gaud."
'Tie well to wave, 'tie well to have,
_A_goodly store of gold.
And hold enough of shinitig stuff,
, For charity is cold.
But place not all your hope and trust
In what the deep mine brings;
We cannot live on yellow dust
Unmixed with purer things,
And he who piles up wealth alone
Will often hate to stand
Beside his coffer chest, and own
Tie "Wilt upon the sand,"
"Fis_good to speak in kinds:
And soothe where'er we can;
Fair speech should bind the human eitihd,
And love link man to man.
But stay not at the gentle words;
Let deeds with language dwell;
The one who pities starving birds,
Should gaiter OMAN as well.
The mercy that is warm and Otte
Must lend a helping hand,
for dim* *htl talk, yet fail to do,
WINTER DAYS ARE LONG.
0! long and bitter ii the tol3,
The snow is on my halt,
The frost Is in my veins;
0! clover-scented air!
01 gentle tally rains!
When shall your deyVy bloom
Breathe the summer O'er my tait?
My June sped like a sotig;
Blit wintet is so long—
So long—
So lAA so dull and long.
My willing feet; that used to strhy.
irest s the dawn, front day to day,
Grow weary of the road;
And my Mtn eyes look back'
• Through the snow-dropping Wood,
Along life'S narrow track;
In vain—l cannot see
The blocan that used to be;
They sped like shimmer's song;
And wintef is so long—
So bilk—
So still, at; dull end long.
0! tvichetneas of temetnbered Jtinei
0! joy that blest life's harvest moon!
l3lne eyes that are asleep!
.I‘nne loves that afe a-cold!
. It is too shame to weep
When one it worn and old,
And all lilb's withered leaves
hustle on batty graves,
That hold nIY birds of Boom
Attd winter is so
Bo long
-- *do lonely had so long.
I - know the year will !intik again.
And other Junes will deck the plaid
For 'other lives; my blooms .
Live in a fairer climet
That holds no snows, no tombs
To mark the death of time,
I long, 0! not in train,
To clasp my own again;
But Ivintiet bonds are strong,
And winter days are long—
So long—
So lonely and so long. .
.r = • 9 _
THE BROKEN ENGAGEMENT
BY AMILIE PETTIT
No! Carrie, "not even a bud," can I spare
from .my peerless rose. No doubt, it seems
selfish to keep them all, when you so mach
&Site a single' one. You have been very
kind to we, darling, since my illness,
bright
ening by your presence and sympathy many
dark hours of suffering. The rose-tree shalt
be yours, when my nights have become days
in that eater land. Since little Eva was in,
prattling of your two lovers, I have had a
• story to tell you, if you have Leasure to re
main, I think I feel strong etiongh do relate
— it now . — itaiae - my bead please;--that
• will do nicely—thank you.
It will be twelve years to-morrow, since
my twentieth birthday. Yenr mother, was
one day past eighteen, but Wealways cele
brated the festivals together. Ifixiwthisee.
easion.tmele gave us a grand, party.' I dress•
od early, for my, betrothed, Lawrence 'EI
. morn,. had promised to come befori3 the com
porty arrived; and bring me flowers. I anti
'minted setnetbing fleautiful, for hip taste
was exquisite. lie le ame, bringing as , bou
,quet of half- opened tnric•buds end
beside this, a. Wretch from a rose-tree)
WATNESBO,
eanng three fragm . t w , rte .u's, j 7 - 7 7 ."
y to expand into. full , flower. • The 'Ws he
twisted upon twininitith his own i ands a.
~ oil my braids and singlets. which h no
nmplisheif with' wonderful skill, ma in the
5 4,
. reen leaves and ' nowy buds gleam e e and
her . : • mung my dark curls -in a w:y that
on prat:. and admiration from al "My
:to' was er,i , mended again and again,. and
laughed th A compliments off as best I eould;
or to no one',' , of even your mother, had I
Id the septa of my engagement. Law
mice was ri 01. k, industrioue and economi7
Al. Stiff, he deemed it not prudent to-mar
y in less than two years, and I insisted that
f we waited so-long, the:engagement should
.ot be pui To7 — My - nely--Totive-was_t 0: .•.
he comments and discussions of aequaintans
sea. ,
Our patty passed pleasantly; the refresh
,ients, music flowers, every thing, were ad
., irable; the company were in fine spirits,'
ad nothing occurred to mark it as a dark
our in my life. Among the - guests was Mr.
: deton, just returned , from a lengthened
our in Beath America.
Early in the evening he was introduced
o tne, and entertained me greatly with no
.ounts of wild_adventtree and descriptions
if tropical scenery. Oevetal times, daring
he evening, we were thrown together, and
hat subtle something which tells A maiden
hen-she-has-won-a- new-admirer;_told—me_
hat Lewis Hueton would pursue the ac
quaintance. Months of gayety followed, and
•eople began to notice the attentions Mr.
Hueton paid me. Lawrence was seldom pre
:eat; books and . study occupied his time,
:ave when lie spent a quiet evening with me.
hese evenings became less frequent, for I
• eat_out _constantly_. There was a new eharm
n the devotion of the wealthiest, but edi — u - se — ,-
esi man of the set. I never stopped to
hink whither I was drifting. One day,some
:ix months after-our party. a beautiful boa
act was sent me, with a note. I had not
:set, my betrothed for two weeks,
and said l i
. myself,' he has sent this to say he is com
ng to night. I opened and read:
"UrAttA :-.=' , With the flowetso accept the
evotion of one who would be more than
A our friends LE = HUEION."
The paper el from oo eftartled — flogers;
and for the first time in Months I was oblig
ed to think. Stooping to raise the note, I
brushed against the rose, which, with infi•
bite care and patience ) I had reared from the
" " • The
gentle touch of ti e leaves Upon my cheek
smote me like a blow.
All the day was spent in thought. Law
rence, I argued, does not really love me, or
he would be more attentive. I have seance
ly seen him for two months, and he is be
coming so quiet and ahstracted that his vis
its are not as-pleasant as formerly. Why
should .my youth and beauty be wasted in
planning little economies, as a clerk's wife,
when as Mrs. flueton, eVery wish would be
gratified ! That evening, having stifled love
and conscience, I dressed to meet Mr. flue
ton. Be came.-told me how I had. grown,
into his affections, and offered heart and
hand for my acceptance. 1 did not then ac ,
cept his proposal, though I gave him reason
to expect my a h swer would be favorable, if
my relatives were pleased.
Before sleeping, I wrote to Lawrence, say
ing as gently as possible, that I could not
happily share his lot that, brought up in
luxury, though having no fortune of my
own, I could not cheerfully labor, as I ought,
to make his salary suffice for us; therefore 1
asked freedom from my angagement. Three
days later a reply came, iu the following
words :
"CLARAt-My best beloved—you are free.
I have nothing of yours to return, save a bit
of blue ribbon that once tied your curls.—
I retain that. LAIVRENCV."
I felt, inattentively, that my freedom had
been purchased at the price of mortal an
guish to another, and would gladly have un
done my work.. Shutting myself' from every
. e.ye ) that day, I did not weep, but suffered
oone the leas that tears were denied me.—
The evening brought Mr. Enema, and with
thl t hearty approval - of—my — uncle and aunt )
I as again betrothed. Lewis urged an ear
ly day for the marriage, but aunt insisted
that four months was the least possible time
in which my outfit could be prepared. The
next three months were passed in a whirl of
silk ) faces and muslins, which wcaried.me.
Mr, Hueton often remarked my silent ways
and thoughtful looks, which he attributed to
shyness and over-exertion. With his grand
faith in me he never imagined my love was
half vanity.
At length, but eight days.were to,pass be ,
fore our marriage. , The rose-tree was full
of opening buds, and I anticipated wearing
them at my bridal Two buds were half-open=
ed,and 1 brought the plant down,to show Lew ,
is, when he came in to spend the evening.
"Do you know, darling," said he, "that
the charming taste withwhich the roses were
twined in your hair, the first time of our
meeting, was what attracted me to 'you ?"
I bent over the tree to hide my glowing,
face •He continued.'
"But I have not told you—l can remain
no longer this evening, having promised to
spend she night with a sink friend. By the
way, he is passionately fond of flowers—give
mo those two, for they will fade before the
dub , and others will come out''/
tut the flowers and he left me. 'T he day
following,--a---messenger brought a request
fora bawrence Elmore, that I would lend
him for one day, my rose tree; he was ill,
had heatd of its wondrous beauty, and knew
hiiiTlttitl reared it---I—could—but—serld—i
with every caution for its surety. Itistead ,
of calling that evening, Mr. Ilueton Wrote — ,
saying he was staying with a dying - friend.
The thofight that this friend was my discar
ded loveedid not cross my mind.
The nett morning Mr. Baotou brought
the torteltree Orem rif.every bud and blos
som. de placed it upon the table any
ing :
. ,
A. Fan]. WeWtal3Pstl,isa• "0"13 , 13.tra1. in. roii:oliticsils
0 1 :, 'FRANKLIN COUNTI,,PEVNBIILVANIA,IFimAiiIIi 3 ORNING,:IigeRIiER:B,,IiS:, 1 : :::',, i' ; ,,.. - ,,, : t,.....:.i.; ::,
"My fife • . lorwrence-Elmoter-cu
off, and started 'upon a' long journey: with
them in his handl"
"0, pity me !" I cried, and fell senseless
upon the floor. When consciousness re.
turned, he was holding me against his hearty
but with such a desolate, broken-hearted look
is his face, that I was fain to turn away my
eyes.
"Pity you y Clara," said. he, "pity me ! I
hate lost 'my best loved friend, and my be
loved wife. Lawrence did not willingly be
tray your faulti it was only in the delirium ,
of his dying moments, that I learned what
bad caused his illness and death."
Gently planing me upon the sofa, he left
ell. nee.
The wedding invitations had not been giv
en out and were now delayed by my sudden
illness. From a servant I learned when
Lawrence's funeral would take place, and, in
spite of remonstrance, attended,dressed plain
ly and wearing a heavy vail to avoid recog
nition. He was buried in Greenwod, and,
alone in the carriage whieb my uncle sent, I
went to the grave. Mr. Ilneton stood by
my side, as the last solemn words were said,
though I fancied he did not recognize me,
until, as we turned away, be offered his arm,
conducted - me - to - the and—left--me
without one word.
May my darling Carrie never know snob
-agony-of-Vemorse-as-I-suffered -that-day—and
for many years, feeling that I had murdered
the man I loved; and destroyed the 'happi
ness of one so worthy of respect and affect.
tion as Mr. Elneton. That evening a package
containing the few notes I had written him
and my miniature, was handed me by a ser
vant. I looked in vain for one written word
of his. Ile was too noble to add one re-
proaeh to those he knew I suffered. yet too
truthful to attempt a palliation of my fault.
It then became necessary to tell my uncle
that there would be no marriage, and that
the fault of the broken engagement was mine;
yet I could not bring his contempt upon me
by telling him all. I have related this to
you, Carrie, as a warning. If your affections
are given to one man, do not trifle with the
holiest feelings o f another. Sometimes,
When I am gone, and you come to Green-
Woo'! rifcra-voseier__Lawrence Elmore.
Homely Girls.
A Cleveland editor, having been tolerably
profuse in his compliments to the pretty girls,
lies been requested to say a gaud thing in
. .qbalf of he borne!" on and he deem a
ht—The homely girls are in a hopeless
Minority, but they mean well.
2d—They go to churdh every Sunday,
and are fond of their meals. They had rath
er have their meals regularly than a new bon
net.
fld . =--They understand their business and .
wear No 16 gaiters.
4th—They are bright, intelligent, devoid
of low jealousy, fond of music, dance at Gar
ret's Hall as though it was the chief aim of
life, and always gO in when it rains.
sth—They always thank the gentleman
for giving than seats in the street cars; nev
er flirt with the boys—because its out of their
line—and keep out of the fire.
6tb—They never have half a dozen young
sprigs keeping company with them.
7th-6-They wash their own handkerchiefs,
iron their own collars, and darn their own
stockings.
Bth-66They never wear waterfalls that
weigh over one hundred and fifty pounds,
and have not "rates" nor other animals in
their hair. `Q
9th—They don't call the young bloods,
and other trash, "perfectly splendid."
10th—They never eat between meals.
11th- , -They are all going to get married,
12th-.-They will all marry well.
18th.—Their children will be all bright
and shining lights in the world.
14th.—They wont keep hired girls till
their husbands can afford them.
15th.—They sleep under zuosquitoe bars
when convenient.
16th.—They can make coffee and nut'
cake 9 and can do ohamborwork.
17.—They are 0. K.
18 —They are homely but oh, Jerasa•
tem !
19th.—They know they are homely.
30th, -- They perspire When the thermo.'
meter is at 91 deg. in the shade and• wear
gored waists.
21st.—Young. gentlemen Jon l t squaez
them by the hand, and they like peatiuts.
III:=IEIIMI
Avoid SweAring.
An oath is the wrath of a perturbed spir
it. • •
It is more. A man.of high moral stand.
ing would rather treat an offence with con
tempt, than show his indignation by ut
tering-an uath.
It is vulgar. Altogether too low for a de
cent man.
-Ilia cowardly; implying a fear either of
not being believed or obeyed.
It is ungentlemanly, A gentleman, ac• .
cording to .Webster, is a genteel roan—well
bred and refined~
.It is indecent, offensive to delicacy, and
extremely unfit for human ears.
It is foolish. Want of decency is want of
sense. •
It isabusive—to the mind which conceiv
ed the nnthy to the tongue which uttered it,
and , tn the - person to whom it is aimed
It is venurnowl she‘Ving, u man's heart to
be as a nest of vipers, and every time he
swears, oneef them starts out from his head.
i _ltis_eantem 'tittle. forfeitio& the res • ect
of the wise and.good.
It is Whnked; 'vi'olating the divine law, and
provoking the displeasure of- Him who will
not hold him guiltless who takes His name
in vain. . ,
,Dr. Franklin nsed.to say tbat ricklridnws
wp'ro only pieces of. ancondshauded furniture
that inAd at pritbe rest._ '
4:1'4
Loved nature 'sleeps: the wakeful dam
Are everywhere on high,
And mama ir soft and fleecy cloud
Bails o'er the amore, sky.
Hut 'mid that sisterhood of gems,
In boundlesispace afar,
Is one, sweet Q'u'een of nll the pert,
It is—The Evening Star.
Sweet, radiant atar of heavenly birth,
Tonight for' land and sea,
Thou heat a loving, tranquil while'
Of hallowed majesty.
Enthroned amid the softest skies,
• • ove-thy-light-divin
And wish that clouds might never hide
A face so calm an thine.
itodens Aristocracy.
Somebody-says, and we endorse the sew.
timent, that the article called "aristooraer
is a queer conglomeration of absurd elements.,
"It is fearfully and wonderfully made "
It is based, or assumes to be,
.on fashion, and
fashion is ever changing. It claims to be
the embodiment , of what is popular, and yet
what is-popular - to-day may be - very unpopu;
lar to-morrow. The pass word that admits
you to its . fellowship , is "money." And yet'
the-quality-of-the-blood-must have-much-to
do with it, for some who claim to be of the
first families are rich only on the "outside."
It demands of its members professed devo
tion to sectarian forms, though some of she
most flagrant sinners are its especial favor.
ities. It is very . exclusive, but the veriest
beerstinged rowdy shares its fellowship, if
iislamify_happe is_to__belong_inside_the ring,_
or be has money for his i patisport. A very
subtle concern is this aristocracy of this eod
fish grade, this snobbery of the tatter days!
Holy despicable to graduate man's standing
and respectability by anything except moral
worth flow grandly ridiculous to ae e
people compromising their sense and indepen
dence by apeing the hollow conventionalism
of society, with the design and the hope of
being ultimately picked up by the F. F's
: I 'I 'I :Zl:t ;
The Close of the Week.
A week! It is but a short time indeed,
but its events are a host, its changes many.
To whom has the week just closed brought
• ? t hII .1 I, 9 p •••• 'I. • i,z I
Whom poverty? to whom friends? to whom
enemies? to whom love? to whom misery?
to whom happiness? to whom sickness? , to
whom health/ to whom life? to whom death?
What all these changes in one week? YeS,
and a host more numerous than the sands
of the sea. Many who see the dawning of
the present week will be in another world
ere i t closes! many upon whom fortune
smiled but a week ago, are now groaning
beneath the withering frowns 'of poverty;
many who were floating gently on the bark
of life, o'er the unruffled sea of .happiness a
week ago, are now wrecks of ruin on the
shores of affliction; many upon whom the sun
of last Sabbath shone propitiously, have ere
this time met same ill-misfortune and are
turned upon the world the children of pov
erty; and many whose expectations and hopes
were beaming forth, bright and prosperous,
at the dawn of this week, find themselves at
its close, the sad and miserable beings of
cruel disappointment. And such is the life
of man! . It is subject to changes .in a week,
a day—nay, even an hour. The world is
still in commotion--revolution—time whirl
ing on its rapid progress, leaving behind its
traces of destruction, and even in a small
community, many thrilling, exciting cir
cumstances might be summed up and record
ed at the close of each.—.E. P. Whip
pie.
Childhood.
Children are but little people, yet they
form a very important part of society, ex
pond much of our capital, employ a greater
pottiob of our population in their service,
and occupy half the literati of our day io
labors for their instruction and amusement.
They cause more trouble and anxiety
than the national debt; the loveliest of wo
men in her maturity of charms. breaks not
so many slu;nbers, nor occasions so many
sighs, as she did in her cradle; and the
handsomest of men, with full•grown mon
ataohios, must not flatter himself that he is
half ao much admired as he was when in
petticoats. Without any reference . to their
being our future statesmen, philosophers
and magistrates in miniature disguises, chil
dren form in their present state of pigmy
existence a most influential class of beings;
and the arrival of a bawling infant who can
scarcely open its eyes, and only opens its
mouth, Me an nutiedged bird, ' for food,
will effect the moat extraordinary alteration.,
in a whole household; substitute affection
fur coldness, duty for dissipation, cheerful!.
ness for gravity, bustle for formality, and'
unite hearts which time. had divided,
"Pete, what a m lob?" asked a sable,
:youth of his companion.
"And you don't know nuffin"!bout him?"
"No, Uncle Pete "
"Why, y our education is dreadfully im
perfect. on 't you feel him in your -bus
,sum, to be sure?"' •
iThe otheriusertod his hand beneath his
waistcoat.
"No; I don't Uncle Pete."
"Ignorant nigger! It am a strong pas•
whieh rends 3e soul so aswerely dat
time-itself . -can't heal-it" . .
"Den, Linolo Pete, I know who am in
lub." , -
"Who am it?"
"Dis ole beet of twine. Its sole arb rent
so severely, dot Johnsod, •de cobbler,• ut.
telly nfused to mead him; sod he says _ dat
he is so bad dot. di dabble hitus.elf eould't
heel
.tkittl4okin:
he and Cemihodore Hoge* brother black:
smiths Whitcwater, Wisconsin, have a
great reputation for - . being practical
,jokers.
Last summer Joe bought an old ' fashioned
dash obuta;for the jrurpose , of mentfietur,..
ing their own - butter, and , as the Commodore
was a widower, and lived with Joe, all snob
work naturally fell to him. Oita day, Cher
trapper, , the first churning was got ready, and
the Commodore was invited to churn.
"Hold our , said he; "till]. go dowse town
and get some terbaoher."
He went, and while gone Joe did the
churning, and took the butter,. and left the
buttermilk in the churn.
4 % ll , t , , or. returned ,
churn, took off his coat and said, "Well, old
churn, its you and I, and here's for ye !"
and commenced his labor., After churning
couple of hours; he remarked that....h ,
"guessed it would be cheaper to buy butter
than to make it." "I think so too," says
Joe, "if you are going to churn it out of
buttermilk.".
A few days after tbo churning prooess,•
Joe put one end of a small bar of iron into'
his forge hie, and gave bis bellows three or
four . pump's, and stepped into the back shop..
While gone the C,onnoodore heated - the iron
to a black beat, then changed ends with it
and stepped out of the front door to watch .
-the progress. -
In came Joe, took up the iron, but drop
ped it instanter, holding up his burned band
and roaring with pain. 'Tut on some but
termilk, Joe—its goad for a burn!" said the
Commodore, as he made a masterly retreat
amid a shower of artielea composed of ham
mers, hula 'Coal, and old horge shoes.:
The Expeetants.
Who shall tell the hopes and fears that
ate stitched into little frocks for the forms
not yet seen! All the world over, the quiet
thoughtful brow of expectant womanhood
bends over them silently. Sometimes . a
glad smile lingers on the lips; sometimes
the busy hands lie idly folded over the &oft
cambric folds, as memory carries them back
to their own childhood; just so their moth-
heart and brain, before they Were nestled
in a mother's welcoming arras. Ali! nev
er till now did they ever fully realise what
a mothei's love may be.. Never till now did
they retrace the steps. of childhood, girl-.
the Christ-like patience and tenderness to
which those long years bear' witness.—
Then solemnly comes the thought: 'Just as
I look up to my mother, this little one will
look up to me.- Me!' arm teats fall fast
on the little freak that_ lies on the lap.—
"Me! Ah! how do I know 'that I shall
teach it aright?' and with the happy love
thrill is mingled a responsibility so over
whelming that it Cannot be borne alone--
Nor, thank God, need it be, nor is it. Ab,
whatsoever fathers may think, mothers must
needs look upward. The girl-mother, from
that sweet, sacred moment, will rise, if ever,
disenthralled from her past frivolity, and
with the earnest zeal of a new baptism on
her brow. I Fanny E'en.
THE INDUSTRIOUS —Youth is eminently
the fittest season for establishing habits of
industry. Rare indeed are the examples of
men, who, when their earlier years have
been spent in dull inactivity or trifling a
musements, are afterwards animated by the
love of glory; or instigated even by the
dread of want, , to undergo that labor to
which they have not been familiarised.—
They find a state,of indolence, indeed, not
merely joyous. but tormenting. They are
racked with cares which they can neither
nor alleviate; and through the mere
want of pursuits they are harrassed with
more galling solicitude then even disappoint.
ment occasions to other men. Not "trained
up in the way they should go" when they
are young, they have not the inclination,
and, when they are old, they have not the
power to depart - from idleness. Wearied
they are with doing nothing; they form has
ty resolutions and vain designs of doing
something; and then starting aside from ev
erY approach' of toil,. they leave it undone
for ever and ever.
CHRISTIAN COURAGE.—There is one thing
that I have often,noticed on the field in eve
ry battle that I have witnessed, viz: that the
Christian man is the best soldier, says a min
ister •of the Gospel writing upon this subject:
--qt is a saying common among the officers
that, as a class, the men who stand firmest
when ,the battle rages are the Christian men.
'Many a time I have talked •to them about
such scenes, and they have told me that their
souls have stood firm in that hour of strife,
and that they have been perfectly calm. I
have had Christian Generals tell me
I have heard General Howard often say that
in the midst of the moat terrific portion of
the battle, when his heart for a moment
quailed, he could pause, and .lift up his soul
to God and receive strength. 'And,' said he,
have gone through battle without a parti
cle of fear. I have thought that God sent
me to defend my country. I believed it was
a Christian duty to stand in the foremost "of
the fight, and why
,should I be afraid
Nuree.and B.py.
, --
(rYankee was refused a dinner at one of
he taverns down east until he had shown
the landlord his "pewter" to pay ,for: it.—
Booifeoe did his best to get up a good meal,
and at the sound of the bell in , walked the
,n k - seTraid - tok log aitiantral - survey - of - thw
.table, turned to his -host and • said: "Mister,
you've seen my money, and I've seen your
dinner—good-bye."
. •
.If a shoemalter,in a aching, his end,
waxes cold, fund gives up his awl, what Wilt
become of his tole if he can, not breaths hie
last? •
INS=
=Mil
• • in• tn.
the .a Titacfierii, Joijiatt,
,the Misaron tifthe'
. ohlost and most ihotihrahln• in "thisAtniverse
It it neeval witlabnintion4;itsell• ••• Whpn ;be':
first of the AliOglitifilltiq forth in, anthorir4 , •
tatiVe toiefirO'or eid ter glifithering in dark
nesa, and caned 'Light; -I, offoritig of
Rowena first' biota." undefiihodei beoigo And
enlivening inettenee theYeitrtli was tnntdded
into a thing of life and thiPsiolk
of teaching, began ,
Light, Qs aicli as matter,' was organized ;
a^ad' ita ministers and measenOefs Eippoitited„
As
en! : deft Ton s worn
Called darkness into light Oiitl alines into forth,:
is the Source dod adthor 'of , alilight,-physie ,
itband moral, so is He the sour:* and foun
tain of ill Anstibetion,--the center of Life
ana Light in the'universe,theTirstqeacher:
The first pupil waS not , • _
"The whining school boy wit:h hiEy eat hel,
And iihining' morning foCe, ereepiiig. like &alai
Unwillingly to school,"
but man, full-grown in form, and beauty,
and strengikj est as he Game, trout the.i
lug hands of Jehovah, his soul bearing the
form and impress Of Divinity, and ,his- tea
_tures_beaming_wi th_th e_li le-a wakened-h Y-th
quickening breath of his.Greator., ,
Light, physical, - is indespensable to the
wants of the •physical creation, and light,
moral, is indeepensutie to the,s9efal ancrsiir-
Unal wante of man. '
.The first command given . to naan"iinpariedk
to him the tirst.sense.of his duty. • It is nett
to be supposed that'. be mune from the hand'
of God - et - BA - Owed witfi tbe liitoirlidge he
was capable of knoWing. , bariquag,a and fall.
biotin reason he no doubt possessed, and
these were the channels through which his
knowledge was sappliedi. • .Irt the'"garden'
eastward in Eden" - he was placed to learn :
The book of Nature in all , its 'beauty. and
Jovelines was, spread before
.him; Around,'
- above, bencithHfrom the' starry canopy o
ver his head, from the green- •sward at his
feet from the britiit and' beantqul sti6rnsr
'•" ' '
and important were to he learned.
He also enjoyed a direct and persopal, pres
ence with his Great Father until he trans
gressed his law. And oh through the ring
vista of ears between the all and th • -
oration, God was with Irian by teachers in'
the' persons of the Prophetg . and . the: Angel
of the Goirenant. ' - '
He who now sits on the throne of the
niverae and in whose hands God has placed
all authority and all power, was once a Teach
er—the Great Teacher. The lonely .moun
theSequestered vales,' and the once
populous bat now decayed cities of Pales
tine can tell of his labors, of weary journey
ings, of fastings of prayers and'of tears.—
Enraptured millions in Paradise; arid sancti
fied thousands on earth can tell of the lei
sons he taught.. , t . •
A Teacher on the throne of th,e Poiverse!
Glorious and chairing thought for the final
ble laborer on earth! A Teacher,' tier, , Whtif
has experienced the rebuffs, the privations:' '
and sorrows of earth.
Ire lily-fingered, would be, aristocrats oft.,w
earth, who despise the humble; teacher as
toils in'his work of love,. if Christ were W,•
come again to earth and be born in a stable,
how would you receive him? flow . t Was he
received by,the lawyers, Pharisees o el id ons
ne genus of his ocia day? •
Fellow TeMier do not be east de'vrn by
trials and troubles, Though , your. position
in life be humble; though yonsee, dark days, .
and experience wants and privations, look;
aloft! Though you meet with contempt;
and sneers and jeers from those wht; hold
yet "only a teacher," heed them not, you
awes high above them as heaven iaiabove
the earth.- Look up to where yon ray 'of '
light beams forth from the throne of the E
ternal cind casts its radiancdoover you, path.
and listen to that voice of cheek that' comes
in tender tones to your:heart. "I. will nev
er leave thee nor forsake -thee,"
Dec'mber 2nd 1865.
ALWAYS TELL THE ; TAUTIL—The ground
work of all manly character, is veracity, or
the habit of truthfulhiess.
That virtue lies at the foundation of every.
thing said. How common it is to hear . pa
rents say I have faith in my child so
. long_
as he speaks the truth.. He• may have ma
ny, faults, but, L know that he will no.t de
ceive:. I buifd on that confidence. ''They'
arti right„: It is lawful and just ground - 1w
build' upon. So lobg'as truth remains-in a .
child; thero;is something to, depend on, , but
when thcktruth is gone, all is lost, unless
the Child ia'specdily won back again to' ver , .'
aoity. Children, did yOu ever tell a
If so' you ate in imminent danger. .:Return.
atopco little reader, and enter the strong
hold oitrath and from it-nlay yoU never de
part. •
The, mischievous ,rriulcias of , a beautiful
coquette from under a. sweet; hood is a 'pleas
ant kind of 'hood-winifihg. ' "
- „la an Eastern village.,:when the plate,was
being passed in church, n , newly app?inted,
editor said to the collector: 4 Ciro 'on, I'to
dead . bead--;rhavi got a pi;ss."
A certain lodging house was very touch
infested - with — b - oil:bug42 A geUttenian" . who
slept there one night told' the - laridiiidYan in
the T tnorningowhen-sbcrettiii,
is . no.t isinglit bug in the houso:"'
"NO ina'ani,"' said lie; '"tb?iy 'ate , all mar
ried and havoisigwiffidilieit
eay, Jim, what dorot :lizizaes give yon
'fdi'draivhing; hi p ( lag?" - •
why. he Lite , me , ono of the, aii
ffredpst'lickoulliyiturPr, heard' tell pn
PlVllmykArfeinet.i..
''"
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