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ri'in iMiKu ii v
UAPGOOD &. ADAEIS.
VOL. 40, NO 18
.urailq Sounwl, Dnnrtrb
ta mto, ' igritulture. literature, iB&uratian, Xorul
THUMB ULL COUNTY,
Iiitrlligrnrr. anil tjr $hw5
DECEMBER 1 9, 1 3 55.
of tjjt Daq.
ONE DOX.LAB AND PUTT CENT
re ABITUM. U ADTABCX.
WHOLE NO. 2 046
From the Rochester Democrat.
BE GENTLE TO THY HUSBAND.
BY MRS. B. F. ENOS.
Be gentle to thy hatband,
Bemember, all day long,
Amid the lin and tumult.
He bostle with the throng.
So wonder that the noble brow
Grows clouded with the care
That presses on his heart and hands
While he is straggling there.
And when the night has gathered home
The lored one to his rest;
Be gentle if no smile appear.
There's sorrow in his breast.
TU true, you miss the welcome roice.
Whose tones aie always kind.
And long to raise the cloud that easts
A shadow on his mind.
Yet. neTer fear, that through it all
Thy presence is not blest.
Tor like the sunshine, through the storm.
It brings sweet thoughts of rest.
And many times, when laborossed.
Thy gentle tones bare come.
And made glad music in his heart,
"Thanks be for thee and home."
Be sure, although he speaks it not.
Thou art the star, whose ray
Hakes life, and gildeth all
In life's dark, rugged way.
And so be erer gentle.
Kind woris and deeds from thee
Do more towarls making labor light.
Than erer thou could'st see.
BY E. CURTIS HINE, U. S. N.
Again thou co-meat, wild December,
Bearing in thy arms m bier;
Coldlf bidding as remeitber,
Soon will die the poor old year;
Then the streams vill cease their singing.
And the fields he roSed in white:
And the sleigh bells, merry ringing,
Sound npon the frosty night.
Starlike eyes are brighter growing.
And in Sweden s distant land.
Where the red Yule fires are glowing.
Dance with glee a mirthful band.
Decked is now cash church with holly.
And along that north n shore.
In the midnight, melancholy
Sounds the wintry ocean's roar.
Thov art cheerless, cold December,
Yet thou hringest joy to me;
For thy sire I well remember.
Found me on the lone, wide sea;
Distant far from one who lored me.
One whose faith all change defied;
Blessings on the saints above me,
Now she's seated by my side.
From the Litchfield (Conn.) Enquirer.
A NARRATIVE OF REAL LIFE.
Almost incredible is the recital of the
hardships and sufferings from savage
cruelly, to which the early emigrants to
our Western settlements were exposed.
With very few of the comforts of life,
and none of its luxuries, they penetrated
deep into the dark and unbroken forest,
erected their rude habitation, and placed
within its unembellished walls their
wives and little ones. All they possessed
on earth thus insecurely reposed in the
bosom of solitude and danger. The
sound of the hoarse winds as they rushed
heavilv through the branches of the tall
trees around their dwelling, was often
mingled with the tread and growl of the
wild beast' and the wily ap iroach of the
more ferocious and deadly savage. And
often too was the mid day stillness of the
forest broken by the expiring shrieks of
these lonely emigrants, as they were
struck down on their own thresholds by
the hands of barbarians, whose woik of
death no weakness or supplication could
in the least avert. Difficult ii is to real
ize that amidst these peaceful hills and
vales, where cities and clustering villa
ges and a thousand hamblets to joyfully
repose, scarce a century ago such horrid
scenes existed. And while thus securely
dwelling, we listen to the recital of such
deeds of darkness, we can scarce believe
them other than the wild legends of ro
mance. But instances ' there are of
those with whom we have associated,
and from whose lips we have heard such
recitals, who saw and participat d in
those scenes of suffering.
Soon after the -'French and Indian
war,' Mr. Nathaniel Carter removed
from Killing worth to Cornwall in lliis
county, where he purchased and settled
npon the farm now owned and improved
by Caleb Jones, Esq., where he resided
for some years. But, as the tide of em
igration was al tli at time settling from
New England totrnrds the pleasant and
fertile valleys of the Delaware and Sus
quehanna, in Pennsylvania, early in
1763, Mr. Carter, with some of his har
dy neighbor, began to make prepara
tions for removing thither. The ac
counts which ihey had received of that
country, had filled them of glowing an
ticipations, though they were by no
means unmindful of the fact that the life
of a pioneer was one of hardships and
peril. Mr. C.'s family a this time con
sited of a wife aad six children Jemi
ma, the eldest daughter, having a short
time before been married to Mr. Jo'n
Bates, of Warren. The o her children
were Nathan, Sarah, aged eleven years,
Elizabeth eight, Nathaniel six, and an
infant. On a beautiful morning in the
spring of the year above mentioned, this
family, (except the married daughter,)
together with two other families freni
the same neighborhood, took up the line
of their journey for the Hand of prom
ise." After a tedious tour, marked with
the usual vicisitudes and adventures of
such a journey, they arrived in safety at
the forks of the Delaware, where they
remained a short time, and ultimately
settled on the Lackawaxen creek, in
Wayne county, about twelve miles below
the si'e of the present town of Bethany.
They advanced about fifteen miles be
yond any other while settlement, clear
ed a small spot near the bank of the
stream, and erected a building of logs,
in which the three families resided.
Ilere they passed a few months in appar
ent security, engaged in various employ
ments to improve the safety and com
fort ol their new residence. The tall
trees immediately before their dwelling
they had in part cleared away, some
grain and garden vegetables were grow
ing hard by, while around the doorway
a few flowers, transpl inted from their
de.ir native New England, were budding
blossoming adding variety a"d beauty
to the scenes of their wilderness home.
While some were laboring, others car
ried the muskets and ammunition, tid
ing like sentinels, that they might sea
sonably be sutprised of any approaching
darger. Every day seemed more prom
ising of future happiness and security,
and added something to their little ttock
of comforts. The wild scenery had be
come familliar to their view, an I an
agreeable interest had associated itself
with most of the objects which "weie em
braced by the little horizon, formed by
the tall aad unbroken forest which
stretched away to an almost intermina
able breadth around them.
One day in the latter part of Septem
ber, when the inmates of this little settle
ment were occupied in their usual pur
suits, Mr. Carter, with his eldest son,
and one or two others, being engaged in
buildinsr a house a short distance in the
woods, and the man whose business it
was to act as sentinel having gone a few
rod out of sight of the house to exam
ine some traps, the Indians, who had
been secretly watching for their prey,
uttered their savage warwhoop, and rush
ed upon these defenseless women and
children. At this moment, Mrs. Carter
and her daughter Elizabeth were a few
yards from the door, engaged in picking
green corn for dinner. Elizabeth, see
ing them before the warwhoop was giv
en, and knowing from their pecu
liar appearance that they were banded
for war, turned to her mother and gave
the alarm, but her words were scarcely
uttered, before she saw that beloved par
ent turn deadly pale, and the next mo
ment she beheld the tomahawk buried
deep in her skul!. The Indians, twelve
in number, then rushed into the house,
where were she elder females, one of
whom was confined to the bed with ill
ness ; a daughter of the same woman
aged sixteen, who was also ill ; the in
fant daughter of Mr. Carter, and five
other children. One of the Indians
seized the infant and dashed its brains
out against the logs of the house ; and
the two sick females were instan'Iy putj
to death with the tomahawk. The man
who had gone to examine the traps,
hearing the shrieks of the sufferers, has
tened to their defence, but had only time
to discharge his gun once before he re
ceived a death blow from the hands of
The Indians having selected such of
their captives as they supposed could
best endure the hardships of savage life,
and taken the scalps from those they
had killed, and also having t-ken the
clothin ; and utensils which they thought
would best serve their convenience, they
.-et fire to the house, and then hurried
off to their encampment, a short distance
from thence, on the opposite side of the
cretk. The capt.ivi s were three child
ren of Mr. Carter, (Sarah, Elizabeth and
Nathaniel,) Mrs. Duncan, and three
children belonging to the other family.
At the encampment they found about
I wo hundred Indians, principally war
riors. Several large fires weie burning
around which the Indians began to re
gale themselves with roasting corn and
other refreshments, which they had
Lrought Irom the white settlement. Af
ter having freely indulged themselves in
exultations at their recent success, and
night approaching, they secured their
captives with cords, and stretched them
selves on the ground around the fires.
Sarah, the eldest of the three children of
Mr. Carter, appeared perfectly detracted
by the circumstances of her situation.
She continued crying and calling for her
father to come aud rescue her. The In
dians several times appeared determined
tosilenceher screams v.ith the tomahawk.
At length when they had become buried
in sleep, Sarah obtained a small brand
from the fire, with which she barely suc
ceeded in burning the cords which bound
her to the savage, but leaving her hands
slill tied together. In this situation, and
surrounded by the midnight darkness,
she succeeded in finding a canoe and
hosing it from its fastenings, in which
she reached the opposite bank, and final
ly found her way back to the smoking
ruins of her recent home, where she gave
way to the most violent lamentations.
Though her cries were distinctly heard
at the encampment, she was not pursued
until morning, when she was retaken.
The Indians then commenced their jour
ney through the woods, carrying their
captives on horseback. After pursuing
their rou'.e three days, in a westernly di
rection, they haulled and sent back a
war party of about one hundred. Af
ter five or six days, the party returned
with several scalps ; f.nd the horror of
the captives can scarcely be imagined,
when they discovered among the num
ber those of Mr. Carter and Mr. Duncan.
These men, on returning from their la
bors and seeing the desolation which the
Indians had made, repaired to the near
est white settlement, and procured the
aid of forty men, with whom they re
turned for the cattle, and with the taint
hope of recovering the captives. Just as
they gained the vicinity of their recent
home, they were suddenly surprised by
the yell of these savages, and by the
flight of their farrows. About half of
Carters men, (most of whom were
Dutch) instaully deserted, and left their
companions to fight out the battle as the'
best could. Yet, though struglinjr
against such fearlul odds, these brave
men stood their ground, till Carter found
himself alone all beside having been
killed or disabled.
He stationed himself behind a rock,
and still kept up the fire until struck
down by the tomahawks of the enemy.
Some four or five of those wounded in the
early part of the engagement, succeeded
in crawling so far in the forest as to
elude the subsequent search of their
wily foes, and at length reached their
On the return of the Indian warriors
to the encampment, (as was aftcrwaids
stated by the captives,) theic was great
lamentation and mourning among the
savages over those of their number who
had falen in the battle more than half
of the one hundred being among the
The Indians then re-commenced their
march through the woods to the residence
of their nation. As nearly as the cap
tives could recollect they traveled sever
al days diligently in a northwesterly di
rection, at length arrived at their p'ace
of destination. Here in dark and filthy
huts, ornamented with the scalps of their
parents and friends, separated from each
other, did these lonely captives spend
the long and tedious month of winter,
in a state of almost perfect starvation.
The Indians would never go abroad to
obtain new supplies of food as long as
one morsel remained ; and then some
times returned with little success. Na
thaniel, (the youngest of the captives,)
having from the first been a general fa
vorite with the Indians, was treated by
them with great comparative kindness
and attention ; aud with so much sue
cess, that the little white stranger soon
ceased to mourn his bereavements, and
joined heartily in the amusements and
pastimes which they devised for the pur
pose of diverting him and making sport
Early in the Spring, they deserted
their winter quarters, and journeyed to
wards the lakes ; and after a tour of sev
eral weeks tney arrived in the vicinity of
Fort Niagara, where Elizabeth and Sar
ah were ransomed through the negotia
tions of Sir William Johnson. But all
efforts to obtain Nathaniel were unavail
ing. No consideration would tempt the
Indians to part with him ; and strange
as it may appear, he had become so
much attached to them that he would
not consent to leave them. His sisters,
after bidiug him an affectionate and fi
nal farewell, were conveyed to Albany,
where their Connecticut frieuds, being
apprised of their ransom, met them;
and they soon had the unspeakable grat
ification of once more visiting the homes
of their naivity, and of finding them
selves surrounded by sympathizing
friends and relatives. Yet it was long
before they ceased to mourn over the
dreadful scenes through which thev had
passed, aud their sad bereavements.
Ti e reader who has followed thm f ir
our narrative, may feci an interest to
know something of t::e subsequent histo
ry of the captives. Sarah Carter, fr.n
her ill treatment and mental sufferings
never fully recovered. Though she
lived to old age, her intelcct wa3 perma
nently impaired ; she died a fe v years
since in Goshen. Elizabeth was Mar
ried to Mr. Benjamin Oviatl, of Gosl.cn,
and died in that town in the autumn of
1835. Anions' her children were the
Mr. Lyman Oviatt, of Goshen ; Ilemau
Oviatt, Esq., a wealthy and enterprising
citizen of Hudson, Ohio.and distinguished,
as a liberal patrons of the College at that
place ; an:! Mr Nathaniel Oviatt, of
Richfield, Ohio. The children of Mr.
Carter's eldest daughter, Jemima, were
the late Mr. John I'ates, of Kent ; the
late Isaac Bates, of Warren ; Dea. Na
thaniel Carter Bates, recently of this
Nathaniel grew np among the Indians,
imbibed their habits, and married one of
their daughters. It is a remarkable cir
cumsta ice that among the articles which
the Indians carried away with their cap
lives, was a Bible which they after
wads gave to their young favorite. He
had previously learned to read : and by
means of this book, which he kept till
manhood, he ever retained that knowl
edge. He died in the Cherokee nation,
at the age of about seventy.
Some years since, while the Foreign
Mission School wris in operation at Corn
wall, Mr. Isaac Bates, weil known as a
warm friend of the School, received a
letter from a missionary among the In
dians, stated that he had sent on to be
educated a young halt breed Indian, of
line tahn'.s anj eXi-P'pl.iiy piety, named
Carter ; expressing a wish that he would
become a-.quainted with him. An early
acquaintance with the young man, was
accordingly sought by Mr. i'.au-s, and
greatly to his surpri-e and gra'ifieation, i
he discovered in him a son of the long
lost captive! The you'll reunified at
the sceool for a considerable time, fre
quently visiting his relatives in this vi
cinity : and at length, after completing
studies, he returned to h s native coun
try with a view of preaching the gospel.
A NARRATIVE OF REAL LIFE. DO IT YOURSELF, BOYS.
Do not ask the teacher, or some class
male to solve that hard problem. Do it
yourself. You might as will let them
cat your dinner, as "do your sums" for
you. It is studying, as in eating ; he
that does it gets the benefit, and not he
that sees it done. In almost any school,
I would give more for what the teacher
learns, than for what the best scholar
learns, because the teacher is compelled
to solve all the hard problems, and an
swer the questions of the lazy heys. Do
not ask him to parse the difficult words
or assist you in the performance of any
of your studies. Do it yourself. Nevt r
mind, though they look as dark as Egypt.
Don't ask even a hint from any body.
Try aga;n. Every trial increases your
ability, and you will finally succeed by
dint of the very wisdom and strength
gained in the effort, even though at first
the problem was beyond your skill. It
is the study and not the answer, that
really rewards, y :ur pains.
Look at that boy who has just suc
ceeded, after six hours of hard study,
perhaps ; how his large eye is lit up with
proad joy. as he marches to his class
He treads like a conqueror. And well
he may. Last night his lamp burned
late, and this morning he walked at
dawn. Once or twice he nearly gave
up. He tried his last thought ; but a
new thought strikes him as he ponders
the last process. He tries once more
and succeeds; and now mark the air of
conscious strength with which he pro
nounces his demonstration. His poor,
weak sahoolmate who rave uo that same
problem on his first faint trial, now looks
up to him with something of wonder, as
a superior being. And he is his supe
rior. That problem lies there, a great
gulf between those boys who stood side
by side. They will never stand togeth
er equal again. The boy that did it
for himself has taken a s'ride upwards,
and what is better still, has gained
strength to take other and greater one.
The boy who wailed to see others do i ,
h ti lost both strength and courage, and
is already looking for some excuse to give
up school and study forever. Connecti
A Ccp of Coffee. Henry Ward
Beecucr has a ''realizing sense" of what
'(ml coffee is. He writes thus:
"Bteakfast is ready. A most useful
and salutary custom is that of breakfast.
One may work with the hands without
breakfast, but not with the head. 1 he
machine must be wound up. The blue
must be taken out of your spirits and the
gray out of your eyes a cup of coffee, j
home browned, home ground, hfmej
made, that comes to you dark as a hazel i
eye, but changes to a golden bronze as
you temper it w'th cream, from its birth. J
thick, tenderly yellow, perfectly yellow. !
neither lumpy nor frothing on the Java; !
such a cup of coffee is a match for twen- j
ty blue devils, and will exorcise them
all. Involuntarily one dravs in his breath j
by the nostrils; the fragrant savor fills ;
his senses with pleasure for no coflee :
can be trooi in the mouth that does not
sen 1 a sweet offering of odor to the nos- .
A NEW HAMPSHIRE FARMER.
A correspondent of the New York Tri
bune, over the signature of the "Old Man
of the Mountain," gives the following
account of a farmer of the olden time :
" Old Colonel Holmes was one of the
likeliest of men, I don't know but I may
say the very likeliest I have ever seen a
mong men, though he was all his days a
farmer here among the rocks, and scarce
ever went off his farm for fifty years,
He began down here in Campton, when
there had hardly heen a stroke struck in
the woods. There was a little spot of
clearing, I believe, on the lot lie had
gone on to and a loir barn had b en
put up on it. He and his wife lived in
the bam all summer, the first summer
after they came up here from Connecti
cut. Tluy came all the way he on
foot, with his axe on his shoulder, and
she on horseback, with the bed bound
on behind her, and the copper kettle
hanging by the old mare's side. It was
all they had, and the roads wan't near
so good then as they are now. Col.
Holmes was a young man then just
'out of his time,' He lived on that land
fifty years and died on it. He was hard
ly ever out of town or off his farm. They
teased him to go to the General Court
one yea-, I believe, but they couldn't
make him go again. 'It was small busi
ness,' he said 'for anybody that had any
other to mind." And he said 'it was a
ba l thing to have so many Uws, and to
be tinkering them over so often. He
cared nothing about office, or politics or
parties. He didn't read any books. He
did'nt need to. He said but little, but
what he said was always right. He was
as sensible a man friend Tribune, as ever
Bt-n Franklin was, and a much better
man, to my min', and greater, take fill
the circumstances. He lived th-ie all
alone, as it were, and cleared up his
farm, and d d an amount of good there,
all unpraised and unseen, nd for the
s' eer good and beauty of it, as I hardly
believe Ben Franklin was man enough to
have done. He had a g aud old-fashioned
farn, and grew forehanded, and
final rich, without ever trying to, or
caring anything about money. He nev
er was a hard working man. He hardly
ecr worked ti'l he got tired. Never hur
ried. He would not hurry for a thou
sand thunder showers in hay time.
' Let it rain, he would say 'it will do
somebody some good. What signifies
killing ourselves for a load of hay ?"'
He never diove his men, and never hur
ried them, except at the table, and then
not to have tl em get done. 'Come,' he
would say, 'all hands, take hold there's
enoug.h' And it was royal to see him
sitliti" at the head of his old, long kitch
en table, with his twenty men, and us
much the eq'alofthehumblestcf them all,
as he could possibly be, with his
great generous heart and princely he id.
He had a head friend Tribune worth
going a journey to see an old Connec
ticut, Roger Sliernian sort of a head, by
the tell though I have seen Col.
Holmes when he was at work, barehead
ed, in his field among his men. It
was'nt a head like Danitl Webster s or
Zekiel's not one of these high, preci
pice sort of heads. It was a raid ling
forehead for height, but a wide and
beautifully pitched a sort of honest
man's forehead and head, covered over
with hair as hue as silk, and lying in
tufts, like feathers on. the neck of an
eajjle and along after he was sixty, as
white as Moose hillock of a November
It was princely to see the old man
working about among his men. He had
a small, gray eye all sense and hc:i
esty aud looking as if he couldn't bear
anything ungenerous or small. And
that was his nature. His leading trait
of character was a great generosity.
And theie never was Ms equal, to my
knowledge, among poor people. I nev
er saw anything equal t the way he'd
help Hie poor. 'Uive tutu goo;i meas
ure, David," tils old man would say to
a queer sort of a man that always livid
with him, and who used to ::y the Colo
nel lived with him ' give Kirn good
.nua.-ure don't ;.!rike it he's come a
"ood wav:", and there's enough ot it.'
He always had plenty of corn the scarcest
of years. The ewlh. as if aware of his
great nature, ne ver put l.im off with a
stingy harvest. He never, those years,
would fell a kernel of corn to anybo !y
that could bring the money for it. He
said, 'there was the poor around him
that could'nt pay, that must be seen lo.'
And then, he tamed out the yellow corn
and the hay. With his barns full, in
the scarcest seasons, he never would sell
a lock of hay to anybody but the poor
and to them al ways as the prices of limes
of plenty, and to "pay in work when they
could. He used to take their little old
dua bills for it payable 'in help,' and
never call on them t! oagh they gene
rally remembered to t.i'ii out snd help
l:iai when i. came hav time. But num
bers of the old due bills ware found
among the old man's few paper's, after
his death, written with his own plain
honest hand not after any business
form and always spelt so as to be un
derstood, and many of them yellow with
age. He was not what you call a ten.
der hearted man, but he was considerate
of the poor and thought it beneath a man
'that any should suffer when there as
enough, many of them, to bring the year
about, especially in cold seasons," and
he said 'they must be seen to." And
he did see to them, the glorious old
It wasn't for the name of it fer he
did not me-tn to know anything about
the name of doinir things. And it wasn't
for salvation 'giving to the poor,' be
cause it was 'lending to the Lord.' He
wasn't a religious man that is, he nev
er mae a profession. Religious people
about him did not like it that he didn't,
though their chief uneasines was that he
always did so well that it made them ap
pcrr to disadvantage. He always was
right in all he did and said. I don't be
lieve he did or said a single wronir thin",
or a thing that was out of the way, or
that was unhandsome, all the time he
lived in Campton. All that time for
Gfieen years, no man said a loud word
against him. And it grew to be a prov
erb ; that a man's .'word was as good as
FEMALE HEALTH AND EDUCATION.
The following paragraphs are extract
ed from Miss Dtecher's new work :
The work that Providence has ap
pointed for woman in the VBrious details
of domestic life, is just that whicht if
properly apportioned, is fitted to her pub
lic organization. If nil the female mem
bers of a family divided all the labors of
the cook, the nurse, the laundress, anil
the seamstress, so that each should have
four or five hours a dav of alternating
light and heavy work, it would exercise
every muscle in the body, and at the
same time interest and exercise the mind.
Then the remaining time could be saf-Iy
giren to intellectual, social and benevo
lent pursuits and enjoyments.
But no such division is made. One
portion of the women have all the exer
cise of the nerves of motion and another
have all the brain wort, while they thus
grow up d ficient and deformed, either
intellectually or physicall", or bo h.
And so American women every year be
come more and more nervous, sickly and
miserable, while they are bringing into
existence a feeble, delicate and deformed
We are convinced that this statement,
terrific as it is, is no exaggeration, and
may be confirmed by thousands of cases
very near us, and not among those who
are called ignorant, or thouirh'less, or
unkind. It seems to me that the educa
tion oi our daughters is more badly man
aged than any tiling in American society,
and in some respects the position that is
regarded as Ihe most favored is jxautly
the opposite. If any enemy of the human
race, who wished lo destroy the hope of
the nation could devise any more effec
tual method of breaking down the health
of gills than the method pursued by our
current fashions, he must be gifted with
superior human integrity.
How do you spend your winter eve
"Tell me how you spend your winter
evenings," said a gentlemen addressing
a congregation of vouni; men, "and I
will tell you what position you will oc
cupy in the world ten yeais Jience."
This portion of the day is yours for self
improvenient, for recreation, or for pleas
ure ; an 1 its use or abuse will effect in
Incalculably your future character. Do
you spend it at the drinking saloon, tue
card-table, or as an idle lounger at low
places of amusements? Do you waste
your health, exli tust your energies, and
debase your min is by vulgar pleasures ?
Do you pass your winter cenirsgs aim
lessly, listlessly, doing nothing, or doi;:g
something, just as it happens ? Or have
you .-et liiein apart for some definite and:
worthy uuruits '? Have you resolved to'
devote some to a course of lectures; some ,
to the enjoyment of virtueous society ;!
some to the house of piayer ? Have!
you resolved to pass your evenings in!
that which shall tend to make you strong- J
ir aal better foreich to-moriow.
"I never had any time to study butj
the win'tr evenin's," said-a hid who1
passed au examination for college withj
mailed ability : j
"Oh, my God, I was ruined in the
winter evenings," exclaimed a young;
cleik. who camo home to be laid in a'
druukaid's grave. j
ioys, take care how you spend jour1
v-:..... v ri;u'. n...... !
Love knows no petry; nor can it bej
lasting ext-ept when founded on esteem. .
A WITTY PREACHER.
The Rev. Dr. Sprague, in his visits t.
"European celebrities," gives anecdotes
of the Rev. Mathew Wilkes, a celebra
ted London preacher.
There was nothing for which he had
a more cordial abhorrence than an exhi
bition of dandyism in a young minister,
and nothing of this kind ever came in
contact with him without meeting a re
buke. On one occasion, a young minis
ister of a good deal of pretensions and
parade went from the country to London
and carried Mr. Wilkes a letter designed
to procure for him an invitation to preach.
"Well, young man," said Mathew,
with a nasal twang that is perfectly in
describable, but which nobody who has
once heard, can ever forget, "well,
young man, you want to preach in Lon
don, don't you?"
"I am going to pass a few days here,
sir, and if it should suit Mr. Wilkes' con
venience, I should be very happy, in
deed, lo give his people a sermon while
I am here."
"Well," replied Mathew, "you can
preach you can preach ; come along
next Wednesday morning to the Taber
nacle, and I'll meet you there, and you
can take my lecture for that morning." -
The young man agreed to do so, and
was on the ground at the appointed hour.
Mathew met him at the door, disgusted
as he had been' with his dandy airs, and
addressed him thus:
"Go along into the pulpit, joung man.
and I will be below and look at you, and
shall hear every word you say."
The y mng preacher darted through
the aisle into the pulpit in a manner that
seemed better to Lefit a ball room than
a place of worship. He performed the
introductory services with an air of in
sufferable self-cornplacen::y, and in due
time opened the bible and read his text,
which was the last verse of the first chap
ter of John "Hereafter ye shall see
Heaven open, and the angels of God as
cending and descending on the Son ol
Man." He had written his sermon and
committed it all to memory, as he sup
posed, to a word; but unfortunately he
had left his manuscript behind. When
he had read his text he found it impossi
ble to remember his first sentence. He
hesitated and hemmed, and began thus:
"You perceive, my brethren you
perceive that the angels of God are here
represented as ascending and descen
ding." He then set up a good stoul
cough, in the hopes that his memory
might get to work iu the meantime, but
the cough was as unproductive as it was
artificial, and he could do nothing but go
over again the absurd sentence which he
had started. He coughed again and
again, but his memory was in too pro
found a slumber to be awakened by it.
After three or four minutes, durinj which
he was a spectacle to the congregation,
and especially to Mathew, who was all
this time watching and listening, accord
ing to his promise, he shut his bible in
perfect consternation, and abruptly clos
ed the sermon. Of course he came out
of the pulpit with a very different air
from that which he had entered it. But
the worst was to come he had lo meet
Mathew and hear his scathing comments.
"Well, well." said he, '.'young man,
you've preached you've preached in
London, haint you? I're heard yon; I
have heard every word that you've said,
and I have only one comment to make;
if you had ascended as you descended,
then you might have descended as you
It is needless to say that the young
man was completely cured of his ambi
tion to preach iu the Tabernacle.
Another young minister of similar cha
racter paid him a visit, and Mathew per
ceived lhat he sported what he consider
ed a very indecent number of watch seals.
He eyed them for some time as if he was
scruiinizing the material of which they
were made, and then said with a terribly
"I; seems to me you have got a good
many seals to your ministry, considering
how young you are."
He was once preaching on some public
occasion, when there were not less than
fifty persons in the congregation taking
notes of his sermon. At length he stop
ped suddenly for a moment, and the ste
nographers, having nothing to do, all
looked up and were gazing at him with
"Behold," said he, "I have confound
ed the scribes."
On one occasion, a3 he was on his way
to a meeting of miuisters, he got caught
iu a shower in the place Billingsgate,
where there was a large number of wo
men dealing in fish, who were using most
profane and vulgar language. As he
stopped under a shed in the midst of
them, he felt called upon to give at least
a testimonial against their wickedness.
"Don't vou think," said he, speaking
with the greatest degree of deliberation
and solemnity, "don't you think that I
shall appear as a swift witness against
you in the day of judgment?"
"I presume so," says one, "for th
biggest rogue always turns state's evi
dence." Mathew, when he got to the meeting,
related the incident.
"And what did yon say in reply, Mr.
Wilkes?" asked one of the ministers pre
sent. "What could I?" was the character
A Sunday school teacher was in the
practice of taking up a collection in bis
juvenile class for missionary objects eve
ry Sunday, and his box received scores
of pennies, which otherwise would have
found their way to the drawers of ths .
confectioner and toy man.
He was not a little surprised, however,
on Sunday, to find a bank bill crushed :
in among the weight of copper- He was
nn Innnr in findtnrr it tr h A fhrrtlrftn
a a - -
bank, and on asking the class who put
it there, the doner was pointed out by
his schoolmates, who had seen him de
posit it, and thought it a very benevo
"Didn't you know this bill was good
for nothing ?" asked the teacher.
"Yes," answered the boy.
Then what did you put it in tie box
"I diJn'l s'pose the little heathens
would know the difference, so I thought
it wouia do just as wen tor them.'
A potatoe merchant, at Baltimore,
who had lately married, after a breach
of promise to another lady, was follow
ed to market on Saturday by the injured
fair one and severely cowhided. The
lady cut him severely about the face, '
and greatly disfigured his physiognomy.
The occurrence caused a great deal of
talk in ttu market, and in order to sret a
sight at a man who was whipped by a '
woman, many person-i called upon him
for their potatoes, and iu a short time he
had disposed of his stock, and returned
to his newly wedded wife, by whom he
was doubtless consoled.
It is stated in the Fri-maVs Intelligen
cer, that from statistics recently publish
ed in England, while the average dura
tion of hurrn life is estimated at 33
years that among the Friends is an
average of 51 years. Eighteen years
thus added to the average of human life
is a fact too remarkable not to challenge
medical attention, and lead us te a close
investigation of the laws of life.
What a meaning and unique expres
sion was that of a young Irish girl,
who was rendering testimony against
an individual in a court of law a short
time since. "Arrah, sir," said she,
"I'm shore he never made his mother
smile !" There is a biography of un-
kindness in that simple sentence.
Dancing is hilarious sport stilting
the spirits mightily, and sending the
blood tingling through one's veins as if
each drop was on an individual "bust;"
and it is an accomplishment with which,
all persons may become well acquainted;
but the toe, though unquestionably one,
is not the "chief end of man.
Wk are so made, that each of us re
gards himself as the mirror of the com
munity; what passes in our minds infal
libly seems to us a history of the uni
verse. Eveiy man is like the drunkard
who reports an earthquake, because he
feels himself staggering.
God's people are like stars, that shine
brightest in the night; they are like gold,
that is brighter for the furnace; like in
cense, that becomes fragrant from burn
ing; like the camomile plant, lhat grows
the fastest when tiampled upon. -
Two things to be kept your word and
your temper. The former when dealing
with a printer, and the latter when dis
puting with a woman. This may be dif
ficult, bit it can be done by getting
couple of chapters of Job by heart.
All reasoning must take something for
granted, but disputants often lake differ
ent things for granted, and don't try or
don't know how to explain their premi
ses; so that men are continually arguing
Ir a girl thinks more of her heels than
of her head, depend upon it she will nev
er amount to much. Brains which set
tle in the shoes, never get above them.
Young gentlemen will please put this
Ir you are determined to commit sui
cide in consequence of poverty, do it
early in the morning, instead of late at
night, and you will save the expense of
Ir seventy-two words' are required ia
common law to make a sheet, how is it
that one word will sometimes make a wet