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From the N. Y. Journal of Commerce.
PUSH ON! —A LAY OF DESTINY.
BY HENRY J. SERGENT.
Aw&ka end linten. Everywhere
From upland, grove and lawn.
Out breathe the uuiveraal prayar,
The orison of morn.
Arise', and doo thy working garb ;
All nature is astir:
Jat honest motives be thy barb,
And UMfuluem thy spur.
top not to list the boisterous joers,
(Us would be what thou art,)
They should not e'en offend thine ears,
Still less disturb thy heart.
What though yon hare no shining heard,
(Inheritance of stealth;)
To purchase at the broker's board
The recompense of wealth
Pa A on! You're rusting while you stand,
Inaction will not do;
Take life's small bundle In your hand,
And trudao it briskly through..
. Push on!
Don't blush because you have a patch
There's many a small cot roofed with thatch
la Happier tnan a mruue.
Pnahon! The world is largo cnougi
For you, and me, and all ;
You must expect your share of rough,
And now and then a fall.
JJut; npapiin! act out your part
Bear smilingly your load;
. There's nothing like a cheery heart
To mend a stony road,
Jump over all the ifi and butt ;
There always nome amu mum
To lift life's wagon from the urst,
Or poke away the sand.
Remember, when your sky of blue
Is shadowed bya cloud;
The aun will shine as soon for you
Aafor the monarch pioud.
It ia but written on the moon
That toil alone endures;
- The king would dance a rigadoon
With that blithe soul of yours.
Posh on! You're ruwting while you stand,
Inaction will not do.
Take life's small bnndlo in your hand,
And trudge it briskly tbrongh.
JOHN SMITH AND HIS SON JOHN.
BY CLEMENT W. ESTER.
. Jt was a anug little cabin, that of John
Smith's, when he built it; and it was a decern
place to lire in when John Smith junior was
born. But time cuts up his copers with al
most everything, and amongst other things log
cabins. In the course of years he enme near
upsetting that of John Smith, tie made
"leaks" in the roof, so that John had to get
UD nights, when it rained, and move Ii is bed.
first (o this, and Iheu to that corner of the
room, to dodge the streams that enme pouring
down upon it. Then he pulled off the bat
tens, and let the snow come drifting in, in
dead of winter time, between the hewn and
half-hewn logs. And then he sent a rain
storm, and the water came pouring down the
bill, on the side of which John's house stood
A smart man, in two hours, might have turn
ed the torrent in a direction where :t would
have done no harm: but John chose to let
come and do its worst; the result was, nearly
one-bauof the under-pinning of Ins house
was piled up in the cellar. Didn't he pull
back again? Not he. There was a grog
shop v iihii! a mile and a half of l.is bouse
and there he had rather apend his time, than
in building a stone wall. "Idleness is the
parent of vice," 1 have read somewhere.
Drinking is the parent of idleness I know.
Smith had one nesr neighbor, and but one.
His nume was Churchill; and he had settled
in the woods there only one or two years
advance of Smith. He was' an industrious,
hard-working and kind man. Everybody loved
him; and never a clergyman travelled that
way who wouldn't leave bis road a couple
miles to stop with Joe Churchill. 1 here was
so much of the "help yourself and welcome"
tine in bis conduct, that they fell at home
when they could get under bis roof, and sit
down to bis bnndsume fore. Yes, everybody
loved him everybody except John Smith.
And why did not cur roan Smith love him
also? How could he help loving so generous
and noble a friendf That's a secret I neer
pried into. True, I have heard people guns
t the cause, but their guessing brd so much
to do with bonds and deeus, and probate
Joins, that 1 never troubled myself to under
stand it. Smith was seldom heard to speak
bis neighbor, never in positively good terms.
'I guess be is good enough Methodist,"
would answer sometimes, when interrogated
s to bis .character; at others he would give
peculiar twist to his face and say -"Ask
ministers, they ail put up there, tud 1 guess
thty know all about him." .
But all Smith's hatred and spitefulness
cou'd not keep little John from visiting
neighbor Churchill's. When hi hsda leisure
hour, he was sure to spend it there, even
the risk of a smart scolding when he
Ellen Churchill was only one year younger
thaa himself, and he loved dearly to be with
her. And who wonders? She was a wee
bit of a thing when John first got acouaint
ed with her; but even then she would chose
butterfly the whole afternoon in the same
field where be was working, or sing bits
pretty tonga to him, as he plied the
amongst the weeds. Young as he was, John
loved and she loved him in return.
When John was sixteen yeari of age,
began to take a good deal of interest in things
bout his horr.e. His father spent most of
time away from home, and he was left to
moat of thewoikon the little farm. He
ttiougnuui, out not like bit father, indolent,
He toiled incessantly, and toiled hard.
tried to make hit mother happy,- and would
. speak encouragingly, bravely and nobly for
boy when aba looked tad, or spoke of
bard lot ' 1
Toward evening be wpuld walk over
farmer Churchill's, and taking Ellen by
bind, they would trip across the field,
over to the banks of a little brook, which
through the pasture.' There they would
sometimes in animated conversation,
sometimes in thoughtful silence, till the whip
poor wills commenced their night tongs
Theft tbey would Walk tlowly back; again.
John wtnJd bat pretty Ellen's white lorenead
mm I will
B7 W. 0. GOULD. "Fearless and Frc l,$0perAsnlim inAdvance.
NewSeries. EATON, PKEBLE COUNTY, 0. APRIL 19, 1855 Tol.ll.Ko. 44.
K '1)1? Iff I 1 i ft
t the gate, promising to love her till they met
again, and the.1 trip gaily nome, wnismng
some sprightly tune as he went, thinking of
the little treasure he had just leu oemnu.
One night John came home an hour later
than usual, and found his mother in tears.
It was no new thing to see ber weep; but her
grief seemed now more intense than he ever
knew it before, and he tell anxious 10 Know
its cause. Still he did not like to so lar in
trude unon it as to ask any questions. He
sat down by his mother's side, took her hand
in his own and tenderly begged ol ner not to
"Be of stout heart, deer mother; father will
come home by and by, and then I will beg of
him not to go to hcribner'a pluce any more."
"I fear it is too late," replied the mother,
her sobs incressing, "your falher I fear is lost
forever. I have learned this evening, that
our little farm is mortgnged to Scribner, and
that the sum it is morleaged tor is so large
that your father has no hope or expectation of
If a clop or thunder had broken upon jonns
ear Irom a cloudless sky, n couiu not nave
astonished him more. He sat a moment in
breathless silence. Tears were struggling be
tween his evelids. but he strove to suppress
them, and succeeded. His mother Ceased ber
crying and looked him in the face
"What shall we do, jonnr-
"I'll tell you what I will do," said John,
after a moment's hesitation, " i7 redeem
the farm. lean doit; young at J am; and
There was energy in his speech, though his
utterance was nearly choked with griet. Big
thoughts were those revolving in the mind of
our little hero, young as he was.
The next day John worked as usual.
one cotild have told from his appearance, as
he struggled away at his labor, that anything
hadiccu'rred to change the run of his thoughts.
Half an hour after sunset, hestood at the gate
of farmer Churchill. Ellen met him, and they
sauntered across the field to their favorite
resting place; nnd here they sat down
"What's the matter, Joint !" .Ked Llicn,
"1 notice you have not spoken since we leli
"Ellen," said John, with a good deal or se
riousness, "do you love me 1 '
More than a hundred times before this, LI
len bad t"ld John she loved him. but it had
been when they were in a playful mood, and
as one child opens hislieaitto another. Now
she was called upon to speak in a different
strain. She knew that she really loved lain,
almost as she loved her own being that she
was happy in his presence, and sad even at
heart, when he was away, she almost wor-
shipped him; pnd yet what should she sn
to this abrupt question r She hungdown her
head to hide a tear that was stesling over her
cheek. John's quick tye saw it, and it was
enough. He clasped her in bis arms, and hug
gee tier closely to his breast.
"Yes, I know you love me, dear Ellen, and
I was cruel to ask such a question. But I
want to ask you one more. Could you love
me four years without seeing me once in that
This was a strange question, and it was no
matter of wonder that Ellen hesitated to an
"What can you mean, John?" she asked,
after a moment's silence. "You know that 1
would love you even forty years, should we
be spared so long, and should our lives be
snared. But what can you mean by asking
such a question ? It cannot be that you think
of leaving me to be gone four years. Certain
ly you would not do that, John?"
For a moment John found it hard to speak;
but he summoned up all his courage, and bis
thoughts found utterance in words.
"Dear Ellen," said he tenderly, " I cannot
stay here longer. I have toiled eorly and
late ever since I was large enough to work in
the fields but nil 1 could do, and all my poor
mother could do, we have obtained only a tol
erable livine. We hove not enough before
hand to build a new Darn, or repair our oiu
log house. Now we learn-- my mother learn
ed yesterday that the house, barn, land and
all art mortgnged to Scribner, the grocer, for
nearly their lull value. my lather lias uronx
them up. The mortgage lias yet four years to
run, and I thought if I could get work in some
of the large towns, on Ihe seaboard, I might
possibly in that time redeem our liomt and
save fs from utter ruin. Perhaps, if I were
away, father would do better, at least I think
he would harvest the crops I have labored so
hard tosecure. I shall speak to him ana my
mother to-morrow, and if thev are wilting, l
shall feel bound io try my fortune somewhere
else. It is our only hope."
Ellen listened with painful silence. She
had never thought of seperation before, and it
came terribly home to her young heart now.
But she saw in the project of her lover some
thing worthy of greatness; and she determin
ed not to give him additional pain by raising
"Go," she said, as the hot tears now cours
ed freely down her fair cheek "go, and 1
will leve you and pray for you every day."
Night wss now gathering in the valleys snd
about the hill tops. The notes of the whip
poorwillwere heard in the distance, and the
young lovers were warned it was time to re
turn home. Just then they heard a slight rust
ling in the thicket on the other side of the
stream. Possibly it was farmer Churchill,
for El'en found him not et home when she ar
The next day John spoke to his mother of
his plan of redeeming the farm, and though he
could not inspire her with much faith in its
success, be obtained her consent to his ma
king the trial. The father wsa not so soon to
give wsy, for he knew that if his son were ab
sent he must be more at home; but his oppo
sition was not violent, and he was at last coax
ed to say that "John is a good boy and may go
where he pleases."
Un the tollowmg Monday morning, Join
took what clothes his mother ha 1 prepared for
him, carefully tied them up in a large band-
kerchief, hung them to a stick cut for that
purpose, in the thicket by the brook, lilted
them to bis shoulder, shook hands with his
father, kissed bis mother, and with as ttout
heart as could be expected in one of his years,
left the log cabin in which he was born. At
the foot of the hill, and hid from the view
either cottage, he met Ellen,' who had come
here to give him a narting kiss, bhe was not
all gaiety, nor was the all in (ears; but with
strength becom us womnntiooa, sne urgeu
him to keep up a good heart, and rely on her
constancy until bis return. He answered her
with tn assurance of his nndyingatiecuon.and
the expression f his determination to return
home at the end of four years whether lie should
have accomplished his object or not. i iiey
embraced and parted.
When John came opposite me near cottage
of farmer Churchill, be found the good farmer
himself, standing at the gabs. He approached
him to give bim a parting shae of the band,
Uncle Joe, at at was sometimes called, drew
him gently aside to the corner of the yar i, and
they conversed together for some time. All
they said I might tell the reader, if I knew;
but when they parted Uncle Joe was seen to
slip a couple of silver dollars into the boy's
hand, and was heard to tell him to beware of
bad comnany, to trust in Cod and, to remem
ber his "Id mother. To all, or any part of
which, John was too much affected to make
any reply. In a short time he was again on
his way to the bustling cities on the seaboard,
some one ol wnicn ne nopeu io earn uic
money that should pieserve to his mother her
Now, John Smith, the seniour. bestir your
self I Your only boy, oneof the best boys that
ever was on a New England hill-aide, has left
you to harvest your own grain and get ready
for winter. Keep away from tht grog-shop,
and you will do well enough. Uo tture, and
everything besides will be neglected!
At the time I speak of, 1 do not know as
John Smith would have heeded the caution of
an angel. He was going down hill, and when
this is the lact wuti any one, n is seldom that
good advice avails anything. When he gets
down there, and sees the folly of it, perhaps
he will turn back not now. Smith went
He kept away from Scribner's long enou
to get into his house and bam, the vegetables
and grain his son had taken so much pains to
cu tivate, but the next year his lences were
eft unrepaired, and his ground implanted.
Weeds sprung up where corn had grown lux
urinntlv, and everything about me onte trini
ty farm, looked like ruin. His wife fenced
and planted a small garden patch, but beyond
tin.-, little was done.
And so things went on for three long years
until John Smith had become a poor miser
able inebriate, w ith scarcely a coat on his
back, or a pair of shoes to his feet. A burn
ing thirst was in him, calling for alcohol
terrible conscience was nauuinig mm. vts
pair seemed written in his face, and on his
One day farmer Churchill met him Smith
was too far gone too low down to think of
furlherenmityjand when the good farmeroffer
ed his hand, Smith shook it heartily. He felt
tha' Uncle Joe was really a good man, an-j
Hint there had been no actual cause for bis
hostility to one so kind and generous.
"And now," said Uncle Joe, "I want you
to come to my house this evening. An old
friend, a clergyman, will be there, and will
be very glad to see you."
Smith was taken by storm. Before he could
think what he was about, he bad promised to
go. And yet, how could he fo, all rags and
matters as he was. He went borne and told
Ins wife what he had done, and for the first
time in three years, asked her advice.
"Where there's a will there's a way," said
the good woman, and she set ab ut mending
his torn garments.
Ejr rue time the son was gone he was m
tolerable trim, and he set out for farmer
Churchill's, a threshold he hadn t crossed fur
twelves years. His wife went with him.
They were treated with the utmost kindness,
and John was delighted with the clergyman
He had expected to find a haughty, self righ
teous, upliraiding'aristocrat. Instead of that,
he found a man of humility, a man of all kind,
ness of heart. John Smith himself can hardly
tell how itceme about, but before leaving far
mer Churchill's, he promi ed that clergyman
he would never drink any more.
And he never did never, at least, to my
knowledge. He set about mending his fen
ces, repairing his house, and getting food and
clothing for himself ami wife; and when spring
came, he sowed and planted, as he had done
years before. Everything went well with him
and but for that mortgage hanging over his
head, would have been happy.-
Where was hia son I A lew- months after
his departure from home, a drover, who arri
ved back from Boston, and who knew him,
inthat city, said that he was engaged in hoist
ing cotton into a loft. A year afterward, an
other acquaintance saw him in a wholesale
store, though in what capacity he could not
say. And then in a year afterward, some
body had seen him as head clerk in a large
wholesale establishment. This was all peo
ple iu his native town knew af him. Wheth
er his mother, and farmer Churchill, and El
len knew anything of his location or employ
ment, 1 will not venture to soy; but 1 will
say that Mrs. Smith went regularly to Scrib
ner's, and paid the interest on that mortgage,
in Boston bank notes; that farmer Churchill
occassionally had a letter from the same place
and that always when be got one, Ellen would
rejoice over the event until she cried fur very
Four years have passed sway since young
John Smith, with his bundle on his back, took
his way toward the seaboarl. Then he was
not quite seventeen years or age; now be is
nearly twenty-one. In this long time has he
regarded well the advice of his good friend
the larmerr Has he remembered ins mother,
and thought often of his home and of Ellen?
Perhaps, we shall see. Let us go on with
July hps come. The rich grain is waving
in beauty in the fields. The mowers are in
the me dows. The ye'low cora leaves are
rustling in the gentle breeze.
Uvcr there stands Ben Scribner's grog shop,
iust where it stood four years ago. Bui the
doors and shutters are closed. Ben's custom
en have left him, and Othello's occupation is
gone. Look over the lull yonder! t here
comes a pretty one-horse buggy, containing
a single individual a gentleman, I should
judge, from his appearance. He looks out
from his beaming countenance. His hat
raised, that his high forehead may catch the
cooling breeze, tie gazes about him hall la
miliarly, as though he recognizes in those old
hills and volleys the acquaintances of past
He drives straight to the door of Ben Serib
ner, and leaps from Ins carriage. Ben is cool
iug himself in the little back parlor, but meets
the stranger at tht gate. Altera lew words
in a low voice they enter the house together
and Ben turns to his desk. In a snug little
drawer he finds what he is searching fur, and
evidently with some reluctance hands it
the stranger. The latter looks over the paper
carefully.folds it up pu a it in his pocket b ok
aim nanus him a roil ol uauk notes then he
leaves the house, jumps into his carriage, and
is away. - I'll bet my inkstand that paper was
tlie mongage oi Jonn smith's larml
Farmer Churchill has risen from bis dinner,
and is sitting in bis arm ohair for t moment'
rest on the piazzi of his pretty vJhile collage,
Ellen is not les beautiful than she was four
yean ago. bhe u singing, but she stops
hear a remark of her father.
"It is just four years ago to-day," taid the
rood farmer, "since your John Smith left us.
I wouldn't wonder if we should-see bim here
before the mouth is out." -
"Why not to-day, Mher?" asked Ellen,
"he promised he would return in four years
whether he waa successful or not."
then Mrs. Churchill appeared, and sai i a car-!
riage was coming with only a single f-en'leman
it. She had seen it from the window enter'
the valley a li'.ile way south of the cottage.
Only a moment elapsed and Hie carnage was i
atthedoor. The young stranser within turned ,
his eye for a moment toward the piazza, and
then sprang to the giound. Ellen's eye had
caught the stranger's. W ith the agility of a
fwn, she ran io ine gateway, aim was in his
arms; Jonn amun a sou jvuii nau goi uacK
3 a, , i , . . , . . ,
farmer unurcnill n oemeeiy less nnppy
than his daughter, for he loved John olready
as if he was hit own son. But his joy found
oiher channels through which to display him-
eif than in kisses and embraces. Ho cave
inhn' hand a henftv sh:ike. welcomed lnm to
i,l house, oruered his horse to he put in t ie
.(hie. and himself walked with bim over to!
the log cabin to see his mother. )n the way
there, he uiid Jonn ot me reconciliation be
tween him and his lamer, oi me complete
reformation the latter, and assured lnm that
an abundance of happiness now reigned where
before was strife and misery. John had not
lost all his boyishness, and clapped Ins hands
for joy whtn he received this intelligence.
He felt even more like doing the same thing
when on reaching home, and after being cov
ered with ki&es, he heard the snine story from
his mother's lips, and saw the brght smile on
hei bappy countenance. His father soon came
in, and with tearful eyes, but in deep thank
fulness, welcomed back again-back to abet
ter home than he left his long tbsi-nt son.
Just then Ellen came rushing in, and declared
she could nol stay awoy from where there wos I
so much happiness, xoung joim now tooK
from his pocket-book the manage he had i
just purchased of Scribner, and proposed that!
it be consigned to the flames. His father took I
it gently from his hand, rend it aloud to the
coniD.iiiy, and after imploring his kind!
Father in heaven that there might be kept no;
morr double record of his vices and his follies,
did with it a? John had desired.
That evening John and bi.cn met at their
old retrtat by the brook-side, and renewed the
embraces with which iliey lied parted h'Ur
years befiire. Not the less pleasing of their
declarations this time, was the one, that come
wtal or woe, their days of separation were at
an end. '
In the course of a few weeks, a joyous wed
ding party assembled at the cottage of farmer
Chutchil1, and the same kind-hearted clergy
man who reclaimed his faiher, now joined
John in the holy bond of wedlock, with the
woman he loved better than himself. A hap
pier couple never entered married life, and
happier parents thau those of John ond Ellen,
never gave sway a son or daughter.
BY CLEMENT W. ESTER. THE UNKNOWN GUEST.
A REMINISCENCE IN THE LIFE OF WASHINGTON.
One pleasant evening in the month of June
in the vear 17. a man was observed enter-
in,? the I orders of a wood, near the Hudson
river, his appearance that of a person above
tho common rank. The inhabitants of a
country village would have dignified him with
ihe title of "aouire." and from his manners
pronounced him proud; but those more accus
turned Io his society, would inform you that
there was something like a military air about
His horse panted ns if it had been hard
pushed for some miles; yet from the owner's
frequent stops to caress the patient auiiiwl.he
could not be charged wilh the wont of human
ity, but seemed to be actu ated by tome ur
gent necessity. The rider forsaking a good
road for a by path leading through the woods
in icateu a uesue io avoiu me guze ui omer
He had not left the house where he inquir
ed the direction of the above mentioned path
more than two hours, before the quietude ofi
the place was broken by the noise of distant
thunder. He was soon atier ou;igeu wuis-
mount, travelling becoming dangerous, as
darkness concealed surrounding objecls.except
when the lightening flash afloided him a mo
mentary view of his situation.
A peal of louder and longer duration than
any of trie-preceding, which now burst over
his head, seeming as n would renu ine woous
assunder, was quickly followed by a heavy
fall of rain, that penetrated the clothes ot the
stramferere he coulu obtain the shelter ol
larte oak which stood at a little distance.
Alnrnst exhausted with the labors of the day
he was about making such disposition of the
saddle and his overcoat as would enable him
o nass the meht with what comfort circum
stances would admit, when he espied a light
elimmeriug IhrouL'h the trees. Animated wiih
the hope ol tetter loadings, ne ueiermineu
The wav, which was steep, became attend
ed with more obstacles the farther he advan
ced. Ihe soil being composed of claj which
the rain had rendered so solt thai his lee;
slipped at every st'-p. By the u '.most perse
VClaliee, IIIIS Ulllicillty was uiiuiiy utcieuiiic
without any accident, and he had the pleasure
of finding himself in fiontof a decent looking
farm house. The waicti uog began uarKinf
which brought the owner to the door.
" ho is there f ' said he.
"A friend who has lost his way and is
search of a nlace of shelter," was the answer.
"t ome in sir." addei me speaher, "anu
whatever my house will aflord you shall have
"I must provide for the weary companion
my journey," remarked tne omer.
but the tarmer uauertooK ine iasK, anu ni
ter conducting the new comer into a room
where his wile was seated, he led the horse
to a well stored barn, and there provided
him most bountifully.
On rejoining the traveler, lie observed:
" That is a noble animal of your's, sir."
"Yes." was the reply, "and 1 am sorry that
I was obliged to misuse him so as to make
necessary to cive you so much trouble with
the care of him: but I have to thank you
vmir kindness to both of us."
"Idid no more than my duty, sir," said the
enteitainer, "and therefore, am entitled to
thanks. But Susan," added ho, turning to
hostess, wilh a half reproachful look, "why
have you not given the gentleman something
to eat ?"
Fear had prevented the good woman from
exercising a well known benevolence: lor
robbery had been committed by a lawless
band of depredators but a few weeka before
in'that neighborhood, and as report stated
the ruffians were all well dressed, her imag
ination suggested that this man might be
At ber husband's remonstrance, she now
readily engaged in repairing her error, by pre
paring a splendid repast. During the meal
there was much interesting conversation
among the three.
As soon as tbe worthy countryman perceiv
ed that hit guest bad satisfied his appetite,
informed him that it was now the hour
name among ine nations or i.ie eami, gram
that we may be enabled to show our gratitude
for Thy goodness, by our endeavors to fenr
end obey Thee. Bles3 us with wisdom in our
council, success in battle, and let our victo
littie ries be tempered with humanity. Endow.also
votions, inviting him at the same lime to be
The invitation was accepted in these words:
II would afford me the greatest pleasure
commune with my tieaveniyrreserver, i-
ter the event of the day: such exercises pre-
pare us for the repoae we seek in sleep.
The host now reached the Bible from the
shelf, and after reading o chapter, and sing
ine. concluded the whole with a fervent pray
er; then, lighting a pine kno, conducted the
person he had entertained to his chamber,
wishing hima good night's rest, and retired
to sn adjoining apartment.
"John," whispered the woman, "that is a
good gentleman, and not one of the highway-
men. as I supposed.1
"Yes. Susan." said he, "I like him better
for thinking ol his uod, man an ins Kino in
ouiriesafier our wtllare. I wish our Peter
had been at home from the army, if il was
only to hear this good man talk; I am sure
Washington himselfcould not say any more
for his country, nor give a better history of
the hardships endured by our brave soljiers."
"Whs knows, now," inquired the wife,
"but it may be himself, alter all, my dear ?
for they say he does travel just so, all alone,
"Hark ! what's that'.?"
The sound of a voice came from tlie cham
ber of their guest.whojwas now;engagediin his
private religious worship. After thanking
his creator for his many mercies, and asking
a blessing on tbe inhabitants of the house, he
And now, almighty Father if it be Thy
holy will that we shall obiain a place and
our enemies with enlightened minds, that
they may become sensible of their injustice
andwillingto testore liberty and peace.
Grant the petition of Thy servant, fur the sake
of Him Thou basl called ihyueioveu oon ;
nevertheless, not my will, but Thine be done.
The next morning the traveller declining
the pressing solicitation to breakfast with his
dost, declared it was necessary for him to
cross the liver immediately, at the sarf e time
offering part of his purse as a compensation
for what he had received, winch was reiuscu.
"Well, sir," continued he, "suico you will
not permit me to recompense you for ycur
trouble, it is just I should inform you upon
whom you have conferred so many ouiigations
and also added to them, by requesting your
assistance in crossing the river. I had been
out yesterday, endeavoring to obtain some in
formation of our enemy, and being aloue.ven
tured too f ,r Iroin the camp. On my return, I
was tnrprised by a f"r ,pir.i party, nnd only
escaped bv rav knowledge ol the roads, arid
the fleetness of my horse. My name is George
Surprise kept thd listener si ill for a moment
then, arterunsuccessiuny repealing ine invi
tation to partake of some refreshment, he has
tened to call two negroes, with whose assis-
tnnce he placed the horse on a small rafl ol
timber that was lying in the river, near the
door, and soon conveyed the General to the
opposite side of th river, where he left him
to pursue his way to the camp, wishing him a
sale and prosperous journey.
On his return to the house, he found that
wihle he was engaged in making prt peration
forconvevini the horse across the river, his
illustrious visitor had persuaded bis wife to
ccent a token of rememl,erance, which me
family are proud of exhibiting to this doy.
Th(? above is oneof the hazards encounter
ed by this great patriot , for the purpose of
transmitting to posterity uie treasures we now
enjoy. L,el US acKnow;ecge uie uencina re
ceived, by ourenueavors io preserve uieiii in
their nun v: and Keeping uieir rememoerauce
the treat Source whence these blessings flow
we may be enabled to render our names worthy
fbe ne enrolled wun mat oi me lamer oi
A Western Merchant Swindled by a Confidence
Mr. Alfred Hall, a merchant residing west,
now on a visit to this cuy lor ihe purpose oi
purchasing gouds, was on Saturday swindled
out ol UU by Augustus u. ueneuici. wnose
acquaintance he made at the Pacific hoiel,
Greenw ich street. It appears that Mr. Hall
rrived in the city in the early part of the
week, and put up at the above Hotel, where
Ueneditl scrapeu acnuaiiiianee wun mm, unu
bv h s souvi'.y or manner and unremitting at
tentions, soon gained the esteem and confi
dence of Mr. H-, and the two were together
most of the time, visiting saloons, theatres and
other places, and eating, drinking and almost
sleeping together, un Saturday, tseneuict,
thinking that the time had arrived to put his
new friend to some use, borrowed S8UU riom
him, givfiig him as security a check on one of
the city banks loi a mucn larger sum. Air.
Hall, supposing all was right, pocketed the
check and thought no more of Ihe matter until
Sunday morning, when on inquiry, he discov
ered trie check to be worthless. He then went
before justice Welsh and staled the facts in
the case, and that magistrate issued a warrant
for the airest of Benedict, and the officer De
Binder, and Counsellor Lolor, Clerk of the
Court, stared in pursuit of him. After con
siderable inquiry, they found that he had gone
to Jamaica, L. 1., and pursued him thither.
bul arrived a short time after he has left for
Newion. To this place they also followed,
and. on reaching it, found he had started for
Astoria. After hiring a rresti horse, they con
tinned their pursuit, and over hauled him just
as he entered that place, with ot the bor
rowed money tn Ins pockets. He wasbrough
back to the city and committed to prison by
Justice Welsh, to await examination. Aeu
KTSally the house maid, in tbe corner pa
Enter Ubidia, who seats riimsell opposite to
Saily, without saying a word for fifteen min
utes, but finally scratching Ins bead, breaks
There's considerable imperceptible alterin'
in the weather since last week.
Sally 'Taint so indutible and injudicious
cold as 'twas; the thermomicon has lowered
un to 400 higher than zenith.
Obidia I think's likely, birds of thatspecie
fly a great quantity higher in warm days than
in ccld ones, well, saiiy, we cnaps are go
ine to raise a sleigh-riue. I should be super
natural bappy if you would disgrace mi with
Sally 1 would be snpercatural glad to dis
grace you, but our folks tuspeot company)
Obidia I'll go home and thrash them are
beans that have been lying in tha barn siah
darned long lime. ir-xitubicia.
One square, (or less) 3 insertions, lf
" fcacn aaouionai nireriion, a
Three months, ... 1,00
" Six mouths, ,00
" Twelve months, ... 8, 0
One fourth of a column per year, 16,W
" half " " " "
column " " 0,00
All overs squsre charged as Iwcaquares.
IT Advertisements inserted till fordid ttk
expense of the advertiser.
Execu'ed at this Office with oeataess at)
espatch, at the lowest possible rates.
THE RUNAWAY'S RETURN.
Well, here am I, arter my night't walk one
more in the village where I was born. Tht
sun is up now, and shining brightly. Things
appear the same, and yet different. How it
it ? There ws a big tree that used to stand
at that corner; and where is Carver's cottaget
Three days ago I landed at Portsmouth. It
was on my birth day. For ten long years have
I been sailing about on tbe sea, and wander
ing about on the land. How things com
over me 1 lama man now; but for all that, I
could sit down and cry like a child.
It seems as but yesterday since I ran away
from home. It was the worst day's work that
I ever did. I got up in the morning, at sun
rise, while my father and mother were asleep.
Many and many a time had I been unkind to
my dear mother, and undutiful to my father,
and the day before he had told me how wrong
I was. He spoke kindly, and in sorrow; but
my pride would not bear it. I thought I would
leave home. What is it that makes me trem
ble so now f
My father coughed as I crept along by bis
door, and 1 thought I heard my mother speak
to him; so I stood a moment with my bundle
in my hand, holding my breath.
He coughed again. I have seemed to hear
that cough in every quarter of the world.
When I had unlocked the door, my heart
failed me; for my sister had blessed me the
night before, and told me she bail something
to lell me in the morning. I turned back,
opened the door of htr little room, and looked
at her; but my tears fell on the bed-clothes,
and I was afraid it would wake ber. Half
blinded, I groped down stairs.
As I hurried away, I felt I suppose, as Cain
felt when he had murdered his brother. My
father, my mother, snd my rister hod been
kind to me; bull had bceu unkind to them,
ami, in leaving ttieiii thus, l lell as il I naa
been murdering them oil.
Had 1 been a robber, I could not have fell
more guilty. But what do I say that for ? I
was rubbing tlie id of their peace. I was Heal
ing that from them the whole world could not
make up to them; I ul cn I went. O, that I
could bring back that hour ( ,i
The hills look as nuiple as they did when
I used to climb up them. The rooks are caw.
ing among the high elm-trees by Ihe church.
I wonder whether they are the same rooks !
There is a shivering that' conies over me as I
get nearer home. Home! I feel there is no
home lor me.
Here is the corner of the hedge, and tha
old se t ; bul father k not silting there.
There is the patch of ground my sister called
her garden; but she is not walking in it. Ard
yonder is the bed room window; my mother ia
not ooking out of it now.
I see bow it is. 1 here are none of the
here, or things would not look as they do.
Father would not let the weeds grow in this
lasliion, not the thatch tall in; and my mothei
and sister never stuffed tnatnraw ihiough ibe
broken panes. Uul l will rsp at the door.
How hollow it sounds ! Nobody s'irs. All it
as silent as the grave. I will peep in at tha
window. It's an empty house,that is clear.
Ten long years 1 How could I expect it to
be otherwise ? I can bear bard-vork, and
hunger, and thirst; but I cannot bear this.
The elderberry is in blossom as it was when
I ran aw ay; and Ihe woodbine is as fresh as
ever, running up to the window that my moth
er opened tocall after me. 1 could call after
her now, loud enough to be heard a mile, if I
thought she would hear me.
li s or no use stopping here I I will cross
the church-yard, and see if the clerk lives
where he did; but he will not know me. My
cheek was like the rse when I went away i
but the sun has made it another color. How
narrow the paih is between the grass 1 it used
to be wiCcr, at least 1 thought so; no matter.
I he old sun-dial, I see, is standing there yet.
The last time I was in that church my fath
er was With me; and the text was; "My son,
hear the law of thy mother." Piov. i, 8. O,
what a curse do we bring upon us when wa
despise God's holy Word 1
My uncle lies under Ihe vew-tree tbere.and
he had a grave stone. Here it is. It is writ
ten all over now, quite to the bottom :
"In memory of Henry Haycrolt."
But what is the name under I
My fnther ! niv father.'
"And .Mary, his wife."
0, my mother ! are you both gone t God's
hand is heavy upon me. 1 do feel it in my
heart and soul.
And there is another name yet, and freshly
"Esther Haycroft, their daughter, aged
My father ! my mother ! and mv sister ! -
Why did nut the sea swallow me up when 1
waswreckeu: 1 unserved it. What is the
world to ine now ? I feel, bitterly feel, the
sin of disobedience; the words come home te
me now; The eye that mocketh at bis fath
er; and despiseth to obey his mother, the ra
vens of the valley shall pick it out, and the
young eagles shall eat it." Prov. xxx, 17.
but yet I recollect how my dear falher snd
mother used to point us to the Lamb of God,
wnich taketh away the sin ol the world.
"There is no refuge besides," said my mother
"Christ is sole and willing to save." I paid
but little attention to these words once. O,
may I never forget them now '. Guardian
A certain member of Congress; from one of
the Eastern States wtsspeuking one dsy on
some important quesloin, and became anima
ted, during which sat a brother member, bit
opponent on the quesloin, smiling. This an
noyed him very much, and he indignantly de
manded why the gentleman from, was
unhung at him.
"1 was smiling at your manner of makinc
monkey faces, sir,'' was the reply.
un, 1 make nienkey faies, do if" Well.
sir, you have no occasion to try tbe experi
ment, for nature has saved you the trouble."
The hammer was distinctly heard amid a
roar of laughter, calling the home to order.
rjrr"Davy, do you know your letters f"
"Yes, sir, two of 'em."
"Possible; what are they?"
"Let'er go, and let'er rip."
"Smart boy, go to the tub and wet voni
hair; a brain of kuch fertility cannot be kept
DMore trouble coming." taid Mrs. Parting
ton, laying down tbe paper, "there's '.he Stale
of affairs; I suppose it'll soon be applyin for
admission into the Union," and the old lady
resumed her darning with a look of patriotia
UTWhalever the wind may do in winter, it
cannot be denied that in Spring "it turns over
a new leaf."
ETA new novel, by "Sam Slick," entitled
"nature andhuman nature," will soonsppear.