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TWO DOLLARS PER ANNUM.] "THE PUXOE OP XjHSJuitT-ST is ETEnwAij -u-iG-xSj-A-Kroia." [PAYABLE IN ADVANC?
BY DAVIS & CREWS. ABBEVILLE, S. C., THURSDAY MORNING, SEPTEMBER 2!), 1859. VOL. XVI ...NO. 23.
From Household Worth,
THE UNWELCOME COMPANION.
AN INCIDENT IN TIIK L1FK OF MDLI.K CI.AIHON.
The occurrence related in the letter which
\vo arc about to quote is a remarkable instance
of those apparently supernatural visitations,
which it has been found so difficult,
jf not impossible, to explain and account
for. It iloes not appear to have been known
to Scott, Brewster, or any other English
writer, who has collected and endeavored
to expound those ghostly phenomena.
Clairon was the greatest tragedian that
ftver appeared on tlic Frcncli stage, holding
on it a supremacy similar to thnt
tif Siddons on our own. She was a woman
bf powerful intellect, and had the merit
of effecting a complete revolution in the
trench sdiool of tiaj^ic acting subslitut
ing an easy varied and natural delivery
for the stilted and monotonous declama
tion tfhich had til! then prevailed, and
being tlic first to consult classic taste
and propriety of costume. Iler mind was
cultivated by habits of intimacy with the
most distinguished men ol her day: and
she was one of tlic most brilliant ornament
of those literary circles which the contemporary
memoir writers described in such
glowing colors. In an age of corruption, unparalleled
in modern times, Mademoiselle
Clairon was not proof against the temptations
to which her position exposed her.
But a lofty spirit and some religious pi inciples
which she retained amidst a generation
of infidels and scoUers, saved her fivm degrading
vices, and enabled her Lo spend an
old age, protracted beyond tlio usual
period of human life, in respectability and
She died in 1803, at the ago of eighty.
She was nearly seveuty when tlie following
letter was written. It was addressed to M.
Henri Meister. a man of some eminence
among the literati of that period?the associate
of Dideiot, Grimm, D'llolbach, M.
and Madame Xecker, etc., and the colloLorattier
of Qrimm in his famous corres.
pondence.1 This gentleman was Clairon's
literary executorhaving been intrusted
with ber memoirs, written by herself, ami
pu' lislieiJ after her death.
With th is preface we give Mademoiselle
Clairon's narrative, written in her old agoi
of an occurrence which bad taken place
half a century before.
* In 1743, my youth and my success on
the stage bad drawn around me a good
many admirers. M. de S the son
of a merchant in lirittanny, about thirty
years old, handsome, and possessed of considerable
talent, w as one of those who were
most strongly attached to me. 11 is conversation
and manners were those of a man
of education and good society, and the reserve
and timidity w hich distinguished his
ultitiilinn niK'l" I
?.?iuiikivM ?*tnv?w *% iu?ui(n;iii l II l|?l L'naiU II V711
mo. After a green room acquaintance of
some time, 1 permitted him to visit me at
my liouse, but a letter knowledge of bis
situation and character was not to its advantage.
Ashamed of being only a lourgeois,
he was squandering his fortune at
Paris under an assumed title. His temper
was severe and gloomy ; he knew mankind
too well, lie saiil, not to despise and avoid
them. Ho wished to see no one but me
and desired from me, in return, a similar
sacrifice of the world. 1 saw from this
time, the necessity for his own sake as well
as mine, of destroying his hopes by reduc
ing our intercourse to terms of less inti
macy. My behavior-brought upon biin a
violent illness, during which I showed him
every mark of friendly interest, but I firmJy
refused to deviate from the course which
I had adopted. My steadiness only deepened
his wound : and unhappily, at this
time, a treacherous relative to whom he
had intrusted the management of hie affairs,
took advantage of his helpless condition
by robbing him, and leaving him 60 desti
tute that, he was obliged to accept the little
money I had for his subsistence, and the
attendance which his condition required.
You must feel, my dear friend, the importance
of never revealing this secret. I respect
his memory, and I would not expose
him to the instilling pity of the world.
Preserve, then, tli& religious silence which,
after many years, I now break for the first
At longth ho recovered his property,
but never his health; and thinking I
was doincr him a service bv keeninfr him
at a distance from rae, I constantly refused
to receive either his letters or hts
'Two years and a half elapsed between
this period and his death. lie 6ent to beg
me to see him once more in his last moments,
but I thought it necessary not to
comply with bis wish. lie died, having
with him only his domestics and an old
lady his solo companion for a long time.
He lodged at that time on tho ltampart,
near tho Chaussee d'Antin; I resided in
tlio Rue do Bussey, near the Abbey St.
Germain. My mother lived witU. me, and
that night we had a little party to supper.
We were very gay, and I was singing a
lively air, when the clock struck eleven^
and the sound was succeeded by a long
and piercing cry of unearthly horror. The
company looked aghast; I fainted, and remained
for a quarter of an hour totally insensible.
Wo then began to reason about
the nature of 60 frightful a sound, and it
was agreed to set a watch in the street in
ease it were repeated.
It was repeated very often. All our
servants, my friends, my neighbors, and
even tho police, heard the same cry, always
at the same hour, always proceeding from
under my windows, and appearing to come
from tho empty air. I could not doubt
that it was meant entirely for me. I rarely
supped abroad ; but tho nights I did so,
nothing was heard ; and several times when
I camo home, and was asking my motherland
servants if they had heard anything,
it suddenly burst forth as if in the midst
of us. One night, tho President do 1$ '
at whoso house I had supped, desired to
see me safely homo. While ho was bidding
me ' good night' at my door, the cry
broke out seemingly between him and me*
lie, like all Paris, was awarc'of tho stoiv;
but lie was so horrified that his servants
lifted him into liis carriage more dead tlian
' Another time I asked my comrade,
llosely, to accompany me to the line St.
llonore, to choose some stud's, and then pay
a visit to Mademoiselle de St. 1' , who
lived near tho Porte St. Denis. My ghost
story (as it was called) was the subject of
our whole conversation. This intelligent
young man was struck b\' my adventure,
though he did not believe there was anything
supernatural in it. llo pressed me
to evoke the phantom, promising to believe
it it answered my call. Willi weak au- i
dacity I complied; and suddenly tho cry '
was heard three times with fearful loudness i
and rapidity. When we ai lived at our
friend's door, both of us were found senseless
in the carriage. <
' After tliis scene I remained for some
months without hearing anything. I
thought it was all over, but I was mis- i
4 All the public performances had been
transfered to Versailles on account of the
marriage of the l>aupliiit. We were to
pass three days there, but sufficient lodgings
were not provided for us. Madame
Grandval had no apartment and I ottered
to share with her the room with two beds
which had been assigned to me in the avenue
of St. Cloud. I gave her one of the
beils and took the other. While iny maid
was undressing to lie down beside me, 1
said to her, 4 We are at the world's end
here, and it is dreadful weather; the cry
would be somewhat mizzled to "et nt us.' I
A - - O "" *
Iii ;i inomcnt it rang through the roomMadame
Grandval ran in her night dress
from top to bottom of the house, in which
nubody closed an eye for the rest of the
r.ight. This, however, was the last time
the cry was heard.
' Seven or eight days afterward, while I
was chatting with my usual evening circle,
Lho sound of tlie clock striking eleven was
followed by the report of a gun lired at
one of the windows. We all heard the
noise, we all saw the fire, yet the window
was undamaged. We concluded lhalsoino
oue sought my life, and tlial it was necessary
to take precautions against another
attempt, '^lie Intendant des Melius Plaisirs,
who was present, flew to the house of his
friend, M. de Marville, the Lieutenant of
Police. The houses opposite mine were
instantly searched, and for several days
were guarded from top to bottom. My
house was closely examined; ihe street
was filled with spies in all possible disguises,
But notwithstanding this vigilance, the
same explosion was heard and seen for
three whole mouths, uhvays at the Bame
licur, and at the same window pane,
widiout any one being able lo discover
whence it proceeded. This fact stunds recorded
in the registers of the police.
'Nothing was heard for some days;
but having been invited bv MadfitnoisnHn
Dumesnil, the celebrated tragedienne, to
join a, little evening parly at her house
near the lurricrc Llanche, I got into a
hackney coach at 11 o'clock with my maid.
It was clear moonlight as wo passed along
the Boulevards, which were then thinning
to be studded with houses. Whilo we
were looking at the half-finished builuingfl,
my maid said, ' Was it not in this neighborhood
that M. de S died V ' From
what I have heard,' I answered,11 think it
should bo there,' pointing with my finger
to a house beforo us. From that house
came the same gunshot that I heard before.
It seemed to traverse our carriage, and the
coachman set off at full speed, thinking we
were attacked by robbers. We arrived
at Mademoiselle Dumcsnil's in a statu of the
utmost terror, a feeling I did not get rid of
for a long time,'
Mademoiselle Clairon gives some further
details similar,to the above, and adds that
the noises finally censed in about two years
and a half.
A miller, meeting a half-witted lad ono
day, Said to him: 'Well, Tom, does
theo know what beest thou thinking
To which Tom replied : ' I knows
what I know, and I knows what I donna
How is that?' quoth the miller, 'I
never heard of a man as knowed what he
did not know.*
4 O,' rejoined Tom, it's all right. I
know you hn* many fat pigs, but. 1.
dunna know whoso corn you feed ihem-1
Exit wilier with u Ilea in hiS^f. 12 ?!
From the Phllwl' Iji/tta J'rcsx.
GOSSIP ABOUT TOM MOORE.
Moore had n higher nll'uotion for his own
family, in liis most tuft limiting fancy, lie
ever cherished for princess, peers, and highborn
ladies, lie was as good a son, brother
and father as ever blcathed? While his
mother lived, and pIio Win lifty-thrco when j
she died, Moore wiote to her twieo a week, i
no matter what were the other claims upon I
his time, lie was not ashamed of his
lowly origin among his aristocratic friends.
There is an anecdote, not related by Lord
John Russell, that when Moore lir.-t sat
at table at the Carlton House, the gue^t
of the Prince of Wales, charming all by
his companionable society,his 1 loyal Highness
remarket!, " I suppose, Mr. Moon;, you
are of the same family as the Mar<pisofj
Uogheda ?" The poet's answer was: " No; i
my father sells wine, spirits and groceries, j
in a little store at the corner of Aungier
street, Dublin." The I'rince immediately
looked round tho tahle, saw some of the
guests smiling at the brusque veracity of
the little Irishman, and called out in his
most impressive manner, " Let us drink a
bumper to the health of Mr. Moore's father;
I am sure he must be a very excellent gentleman."
It may be that a scene not
much unlike this occurred at the l'rince's
table, in which Curran distinguished him - !
self, as Moore did by his candor. A dis- |
cussion had arisen as to tho comparative |
status of each profession, and Curran hap- j
pily concluded it by giving tho preference j
to the law, " which," ho added, " has j
enabled tho son of an Irish peasant to sit j
lib m<j uiuiu ui iii? |?riuce. "
Xor in considering Moore's character, I
should it ho forgotten that as a husband
his conduct was not only wholly unexceptional,
but always affectionate, considerate,
reliant ami kind-lienrted. It is not worth
while to tracc back the circumstances of
the courtship, but the marriage was one of
passionate love on both sides. Neither
seems ever to liavo given the other any
cause to regret the formation of the life lies
which hound them. Mrs. Moore, (whose
death occurred only few weeks ago) was a
beautiful and charming wrtnian, who went
very little into society, but conciliated the
good will and kind regard of all who knew
lif.r Tl..? n..lv f... a 11
^ .. . X/...J tvsi vvui|<iaiut AIIC WiUUlM
lisivo felt, was Moore's too frequently leaving
her, while lie 11 uttered about in the
gay and fashionable circles in which ha ao
much delighted. Nor indeed should all
the hlamc bo attached to Moore himself.?
Ilis celebrity as a writer, his flashing wit
and thorough geniality in society ; and
above all, the singular fascination of his
singing, contributed to inalce hint not only
acceptable, but a most desirable guest in
the highest and most fashionable circles of
London. Living as he did in the country,
yet within twenty minutes walk of IJowood,
the Marquis of Lansdowne's splendid and
hospitable country scat, Mooro was as much
involved in high life as he would have been
in London. For the Marquis of Lansdowne
is a nobleman of immense wealth, and so
mucii political power as to mako him a
partisan, who, tho' lie cared not for place,
used to gather around liim in the country,
tho elite of all that was exalted, talented,
and fashionable among his own class, and
on his side of politics,tand also the whig
opposition. Among these, Moore became
completely at home, while his dear> st llessy
would remain in their pretty cottage at
Sloperton, contented among her children,
and practicing tho most rigid economy to
make both cuds meet.
]Jy the way, as wc have mentioned Mrs.
Moore, let us here give an epigram upon
here, written in 1815. Moore's first two
children were females, Anastatia and Barbara.
Announcing the birth of the third,
in a letter to Tower, his musical publisher,
August, 1814, Moore wrote,- "I think you
will not grudge ten pence (postage:) for
the intelligence of Jiessy's safely; it would
bo worth twenty pence, if I had a boy
?/v !--? ? 1
>v nuuvuiibe lu JTUU, UUl UIIIUCKliy 11
is another girl." At tlie tiino of this occurence
at Maryland cottage, Derbyshire,
Mr. Josephine Atkinson, one of Moore's
oldest and truest friend)*, was in the neighborhood,
at Mattock, and he wrote the following,
which was not given by Lord John
Russell, nor indeed, do wo ever recollect
to have seen it in print:
I'm sorry, dear Moore, there's a damp to your
Nor think my old strain of ray theology stupid,
AVhen I say that your wife had a right to a boy?
For Venus is nothing without a young Cupid.
But since Fate the Loon that you wished Tor re
And granted three girls to your happy embraces,
lie meant when you wandered abroad with the
That your wife eliouhl be circled at home with
Joe, wby were you out so late last
It wasn't so very late?only a quarter
How dare you sit tbero aud tell me
lliat He ? I was awake when you came
in, and looked at u*y watcli?it was 3
VV<^ isu't.3 a quarter .of 12?'Hear
no ill of a friend, nor speak any
of an enemy ; believe not all you bear;
aud ayp&tr what you are.
THE CURSE OK PROSPERITY.
It is on? of the saddest features in li
man nature, that mankind generally t
moro capable of bearing adversity th
prosperity. When smitten by misfurltti
man displays a patient fortitude that mal
him an object of admiration ; lust if 1
course be uninterruptedly prosperous,
becomes elated and pulled up with hnugli
pride. It is strange, too, that those w
have once endured the frowns of furlu
arc most easily spoiled by her favors,
might be supposed that their experien
would leach them meekness and huniilit
but is is rarely so. One who is suddei:
elevated from a low estate drops his p
ticnce, and often too many of his otli
virtues, as bad ires of his de"r:id:itt?>n_ ;<
puts on characteristics which he doei
more befitting his new position. They ;
like plants which, in the frigid zone, h:i
so conformed themselves to the dim:
that they are able to pass uninjured throw
all its rigors; but transferred to th<- trop
tli03* lose all their hardness, ami bccoi
more delicate than the creeping annuj
that never knew a chilling breath.
We every day see illustrations of tl
strange feature in our constitution.
fi?r instance, that man who bears hims
with such scornful pride, as if he thou^
the world could not boast his peer. Wh
he moves amid a crowd of his follow-in
he holds his head as one might do wl
walked amongloadsand all kinds ofdisgu
ing reptiles. You read in bis countcnati
plainly enough thai lie ilcems himself lor
ed of a purer clay than these coinm
mortals. lie treads as if the ground w<
too vile for his touch ; he speaks and acts
if there was a fascinating eloquence in
he says; a peculiar majesty in all he do
That man was once poor, and then no
could surpass him in complaisance and ;
fabililv. lie had a smile and pleas;
word for everybody, and with lawtii
sycophancy, licked llio bouts of some win
he now deigns to patronize. Hut it v
his luck to marry a rich wife, and her g<
has r-o wrought upon his conslition that
finds it very unwholesome to bow politt
to all whom ho meets on the streets, or
stoop down and then lo press the roil
hand of an honest laborer. AVhen he b
comes a candidate for Congress?fur
thinks his wife's money can carry him tin
?he will perhaps do those things; I
now he is cold and still', moving along
mechanically as a puppet skeleton stru
There is a ladv nrraj'cd in a splen<
attire of silk and jewelry, upon whose f;
pride an J haughtiness are as plainly wrilt
as if they were printed. She is now ri
and fashionable, and the " best circle"
proud to claim her as a member. ]Jut
was not always so. She was once an hu
blc dress maker, and then all admired t
patient and honest industry with whi
she toiled for her bread. Her conduct
home and abroad was, so far asau oi<Eeri
could see, marked by a most commend
ble propriety. Uut now all is changed.
She married a rich man, and threw aw
the little iustrumelit with which she h
kej>t want and suftetinjj from her door.
See now associates with those, the hems
wnose garments sue was not prcvjoui
worthy to loticli. Put where are tho
who, in her days of poverty, gave 1
work and encouragement' She kito
them not. They are not of her "set," a
she passes them with a cold stare that sei
the hot blood to the cheek, hut forbids
recognition. Prosperity has changed 1
heart, as well as turned her head.
We might go on endlessly, cnumeiati
the transformations for the worse wli
prosperity produces ; but let these snfli
In all such instances it is a curse, and no
blessing. The gratification which it
fords the individual is more than balaiu
uy liju which il makes in i
morti! character. lieiter far it is to c<
tinuo poor and honest, tlrnn, hy so
sudden turn of fortune, to be Itfletl abc
poverty and honesty. Neither uncxpeci
adversity nor sucecss are desirable. 1
the effects are widely diflernt. Tlie fom
seldom makes persons worso, but soiri
times makes them better; the latter ofl
takes away tho few virtues which they p
sessed, and begets, in them vices to wlii
they were previously strangers. It is
yond all doubt, a blessing that " Life h
mingled yarn?good and evil mixed 1
Musical Catechism.?We find the f
lowing afloat in the papers ;?
YYliat is a slur !'
'Almost any remark one singer mal
'What ia a rest ?"
Going out of the choir lo oat some J
freshment during some time.'.
'What is called singing r l#tlu an u
'Making timo on tho floor with yo
'What is a staccato movement ?'
'Leaving tho choir in a ha/f% becaii
ono is dissatisfied with the leader.'
What swell V
*A professor of fnusic, iyho pretends
know everything about the science, wh
he can not conceal his ignorance*'
In the affairs of life a man should
prepared for tho journoy ho has to ma
ika well as for hie ultimate destination.
u- The following scene is from the curly
iro clays of Jefferson, in tlio New York (Jen- <
Hi? tiny: I
He, ''Helinda," (.jolVerson's Hist love) had I
;cs been married many years, ar.d her old ad- i
lis : inirc-r was approaching thirty, when he I
lie ! met with a young lady of twenty two, who
ity produced a strong imprssion upon him. i
ho ! She was a little above tlio medium height, '<
tie slender, but elegantly formed. A fair coinIt
1 plection, with a delicate tint of the rose; '
ice I large ha/.e! eyes, full of life and feeling, '
v ; 1 and luxuriant hair of n rich, soft anburm ?
ily j formed a combination of attractions which I
a- | weiceminently calculated to move the heart '
icr ! of a youthful bachelor. In addition to all 1
ml . this the lady was admirably graceful; she '
ns j rode, danced and moved with elegant case, !
ire ; and sang and t-'avedon the harpsicord verv 1
ve j sweetly. Add still to these accomplish? 1
ite I incurs the possession of excellent good sense, 1
"h , very considerable cultivation, a warm, lov? '
ie'S | ing heart, and last, though not least, nota- 1
m: | ble t-ilciils fur house keeping, and it will '
d3 j not be difficult to understand how the vouth- 1
j fill Mr. Jefferson came to visit very fre? 1
ii? } <piently at the lady's resulcnce, in tlie coun* !
tv ol Charles City. It war, ealkd^The Fur- 1
elf K st,"' and tho name of the lady was Mrs.
;ht Mai t!ia Skelton. She was the daughter of
(-'ii John Wayles, an eminent lawyer, and had
en married in her 17th year. Mr. llatliliiirst
lio j Skdton, who dying in 17GS, left his young
st* j wife a widow at nineteen. As the three
ice years of mourning began to expire, the
in- j beautiful young lady found herself besieged
on at "The Forrest" by numerous visitors. Of '
Jio these, three were favorites with the fair Mrs.
as | Skull*>11, of wli*>in Mr. Thomas Jefferson
all ' was one. The tradition runs that the prees.
( tenlioiis of the rivals were decided either
mo | bv the musical accomplishments of the
if- j young counsellor, or by the fears of his opuit
| poiients. The talc is diffen-ntU' ii-lnt...!
tig One version is, that the two unfortunate
Jin mjutleineii encountered each other 011 Mrs.
as Skel ton's door step, but hearing Mr. Jeft'er>U\
soi's violin ami voice accompanying the .
lie hiily in a pathetic song, gave up the contest
ily thenceforth and retired without entering,
to convinced that the affair was beyond their
The other story is, that all three met at
he the door, and agreed that they would take
. re their turns. Mr. Jefferson entered lirst, and
nit the tones of the lady in singing with her
as companions deprived the listeners of all
ng hope. However, tins may be, it is certain
that the beautiful widow consented to bolid
come Mrs. Jellerson; and 011 the first day
ice of .January, 1772, there was a groat festicn
val at "The Forrest." F riends and kindred
eh assembled far and near?there w?s froliek
is ing and dancing after the abundant old
it fashion?and we find from the bridegroom's
111- note-book that the servants and fidlers relic
eeived fees from his especial pocket. 11
ieh snowed without, but within all was mirth
at. and oniiivniAnt in ?! ? 1 ?- '
.-J.J...,..., ... >11U 11-lib <IUU wurilllll
rer of tho <jreat log fires, roaring in honor of
;i- tlio occasion. Soon after tho performance
? of iho ceremony, tho bridegroom and tho
ay bride set out in their carriago for "Montiad
collu," where Mr. Jefferson had commenced
? building in 17G9, ju?t before the destrucof
tion by fire of his patrimonial house of
sly Shadwell.11 The journey was not to end
se, without adventures.
ler As they advanced towards the mountains,
wu the snow increased in depth, and finally
nd they were compelled to leave the carriage
ids and proceed on their way on horseback,
all Stopping to rest at 'Blenheim,' the seat of
icr Col. Carter, where they found, howcvei1,
no one but the overseer, they left it at sunng
set, resolutely bent upon reaching Monti
icn cello before night. It was eight miles (Usee.
taut, and the road, which was rather a
t a mountain bridle path than an honest highaf
way, was encumburod with snow three foet
.lie We may fancy the sensations of the
5n- newly wedded bride at the chill appearance
mo of llio desolate landscape, as she passed
>VC along the snow; but she v/as a woman of
U?d courage and good sense, and did not caro
for inconvenience. It wa3 late when thoy
1cr arrived, and a cheerless reception awaited
IC_ them?or rather, there was no reception at
Len all. The fires wero all out, the servants
os" had all gone to bed, and tho place was
'ch dark and silent as tho grave. Conducting
his wife to the little pavilion, which was tho
1 a only part of tho house habitablo at tho time, I
o- Mr. Jefii.'rson proceeded to do the honors.
')n a shelf behind sonic books, part of ft bol j
tie of wine was discovered; and this fornicd
?1" tlio supper of tlio bridegroom and the bride. '
Far from being annoyed or discomfited by
their reception, however, it only served for '
JC3 a topic of jest and laughter1. The young ,
lady was as merry and' light-hearted as a ,
bird, and sent her clear voice ringing
through the dreary little pavilion as gaily
c? as bIio had evor done in the chcerful
drawing-room of "The Forrest."
Thus the loner hours of tlio winter night
n? ? , *
lieu away iiko minutes, winged with laugh- i
ter, merriment, and soi?cj. The vigil was i
nr a mirthful incident rather than a trial of (
their equanimity. They were young, and
they had just been married. When hands
loC arc clasped, and hearu beat close together,
thcro is very ltttle gloom in darkness, and 1
(he winter nights are not ?o cold. This '
: ' littlo inoraV sentiment will Hot, I hope.be
? criticised severely as too romantic for the
i)e "dignity of history." It, doubtless, clearly |
- explains how a young lady afid gentleman, |
both used.to every comfort and luxury,
found the gloomy little pavilion in the
kc? midst of llirco feet of'snow, neither .dark 1
nor cold, on that January night, ton'gvngo. j
the Value of employment.
Since both soul and l?oily arc made for 'J
,'xertion, tlicro is nothing mors conducive tion
.o cheerfulness, the result of tiieir joint ,;'uv
iiealth, than lit employment. A house be- It s
reft of tenants goes to uec;>y. A vehicle ?
laid up without use, rusts and moulders.? Sep]
A line piece of machinery is never so sale nu.,
us when lubricated and moving. 1????!y a|to
md soul, made for perpetual activity, int:<l .,,,v
kvoik together, in order to be in good eon- | ],t
lition. Of all engines, the human body is ;c;l
the most amazing, l'rotn Llie days of So- |,i>,(
irate, as reported by Xetiophon, philoso- i0
|?liy has been studying the mechanics, the | son
::heini.stry, llie vital forces, the adaptions, J |jn?
the final calces of this structure, so fear- | ?mx
fully, so wonderfully made. There is no ol .
step forward to ne\r principles in physics, ?
in optics, iti growth of structures, which hnil
lots not find itself anticipated bv some j |;tr
marvellous realization of its ideii in the I ?>,-,(
liuman bodv. Considered as a working
2! gine, there is none which woiks so t l.ut
.1 -- i-..?
, nun ,iu uiii'j waste, ami so long, (nil
i>r which contains such provisions for its ' w0
jivn repair. How every survey of tlio |,.11(
skillful mechanism shows that il was made n,oi
Lo move. Its central, propelling engine ?t.c,
never stops, except in cases which cause jt.,_r
instant dread of death, Heart lungs and ' son
brains play on through all the thousand (>f 1
nights of sleep. An instinct of nature att,
prompts the young to be in almost pel pet- prei
ual motion. Absolute rest there is none, tlio
And if, from necessity or choice, any ap- tint
proach to immobility becomes the habitudo ?<
of body, as is the case in some shiggi.-h |?->n
and morbid natures, the result is lethargy
and en<lless disturbance of the vital func- ?,c
lions. This frame was made for labor. jn
Equally true i6 this of the yet more sub- crrr
tie because spiritual part. The soul is es- sc;l
sentially active. Of a mind that docs not pj.,,
milliv, nu hi,tn van torn) a lioiion. i lie I fu|
human mind is made to be active. 11 is ! 0I1C
inquiring, and athirst for knowledge. Its I fou
active powers irresistibly seek for soma ol>?
ject cn which to exert t^icmselves. Ifealtli- 1U0
ful, and moderate repose, chiefly by change mu
of employment, is good ; but entire, con- ItK,
tinual, unbroken <juiescense is misery.? tj,u
fiever was there a more dire mistake than |j|ct
that of men who abandon the honest and i
useful business of life under the pretext of (]I0
rest. Unless they have singular resources ,rre
in science, litcarture, or philanthropy, they
sink into hebetude, weary of the everlasting
holiday, let their heart corrode with sul- '
leu thoughts, and sometimes fall a prey to
evil habits or premature dotage, i'hiloso- '',l'
phy, no less than religion, enjoins?unless ,ne
where invincible necessities fioin infirmity ^rii
or ago clearly speak another language? l'ie
that we should live working, and die in the l''11
harness. Hence the value of a trado m
calling, anJ of working at it. I believe it MP
lengthens life. I believe it staves off tribes 701
of maladies and conceits. I am sure it 1101
promotes that spring and elation of soul,
without which life is a long discease. If Jusl
you would find tho most wretched woman a,K
in your neighborhood, look for the one who OIK
has nothing to do. Unless allowed to prescribe
employment, even the best physician
cannot cure the valetudinary complainer.? 'ca
For after all has been said, employment be- orgets
cheerfulness ; and a merry heart wo
doeth good like a medicine." f?r'
Peytces of bliss in Jleaven.?Every true l)n
child of God will reach heat-en, and dwell 1
there forever; but tlio scripture clearly Shii
tcaclies that, although none will purchase l>y
heavdn with works, nil wiil be rewarded eas
according to their works. 'The more wo jun
keep ourselves in love with God,'said Dr. talc
A. Alexander, 'the more meet shall we bo the
for the heavenly inheritance, where perfect wa;
love reigns in every heart. Not only so, bui
but tho richer reward will be possessed;
for notwithstanding the imperfection of our ^ (
services, God is pleased to make our <rood
' 1 ? out
works hero tho measure of the rev/ard he ^ ^
will bestow hcarafter. All his people are
equally justified, but all will not be equally ^
glorified. 4In my Father's house aro many . .
mansions,' and soino nre, doubtless, much j !* "
nearer to tlic celestial throne than others
All will he happy as they arc capable of
boiii" : bul the capacity of tho*o who h.ve .
3 i J God
most constantly mid fervently, will ?
he greater than that of thos-j who loved
him less-.' 'c,,!!
What an encouragement is offered by
this doctrine to the cultivation of an indent 'x0I
piety, and to the performance of abundaucc w''
of good works; 'Forasmutch as ye know '',e
Lhatyour labor is tiot in vain in the Lord/ ow
This can bo truly of no other kind of labor. '
There is no treasuro laid up for future riT
use, so safe fts that which is laid up in
heaven; and no labors so certainly vield lyr
treasures as those performed of God.?J)r. l',c
4 Why do you always walk with a stick ; ^
Baid Smith to llobinson, on meeting him
rn tho streets; 'exceept the infirm, I re- ^
ward those who uso walking sticks as idlers,
with nothing to do.' ' Quito the reverse,'
replied llobinson ; * I look upon them as j
?ctive and industrious persons, who always.
f?a?e something in hand I ... r
. . ligl
I wish- I could have seen- Jotfr gren1 pot
Feat,' said a lady to a.young gentleman wha 1
tad- had a hazardous adventure 'in* the the
Mammoth Cave. 'l TIiq^q they aro, mad- ant
am,' said he, pointing to life pedal Cxtremi- Ion
I ' ' * T P i- u ' '
A GIIEAT dnGAK.
'Iio Norton Trntincript. gives it descrip<?r
u iicw orgaii, Jtist completed in tlint
, ft r St. Joseph's C'tiiirelk in Albany;
Tliis organ, hnilt for tlic new St. .Toil's
(.lli'Mvli, Albany, is the largest instruit
in this country. As the clinch is
ut two hundred and fifty feet lung, the
f?r of tin- instrument is none too great:
re may ho one or two orgahs In Ainerwliicli
otiL-tiutnher this in registers of
\s; l>tit, if so, the registers will be found
lili 11:i 11" or inrfriiiiliil" ti??? *-?
- - otv/1 ?;5| liacu iur
ic mechanical purpose?such as coup;s
or livimilaiils, while the number of
jfl will by increased by tlie use of those
miall or iiielliciciil size.
This organ is the first in Xew England
I upon a thirly-two fuel scab*, and, so
as wo heve been able to ascertain, thd
L successful one in thii to tin try. This
ahum would make it superior in size j
if we examine the list of the stops
sailing tlie sounding of musical stops)
shall find one of thirty two feet actual
?lli; live of sixteen feet, besides thred
re giving the sixteen foot pitch ; seven)
of eight feet, beside", three more givthe
eight Ibot pitch. The size of th?
nd?board, bellows, and the general plan
lb.; organ are far beyond any hitherto *
mi plod here. There are four d 'tie rent
ssures of wind, which will account for
fullness, roundness and firmness of toncf
lughout the instrument.
1 Another thing which organists will
ilily appreciate, is the introduction of
pneumatic action; it is applied to thei
at swell and pedal organs separately, and
such ;i manner that the touch of the full
sin, with all tlie couplings drawn, U
rcely heavier than that of a grand
no. Tlic advantages of this wonderincchaiiisiii
will bo apparent to any
Tl is said that it requires twentyr
pounds pressure to play the full ori
iii \ orkminster.' and certainly a rapid
vemciit is out af the question where sd
ch power is expended: In this instruut
the organist can bring down all its
ndors as easily as to make it whisper
' Tlio key action is reversed, so that
organist faces the alter with the congalion."
Only one Brick upon Another.?Edwin
is one day looking at a largo building
ioh they were putting up opposite to his
fier'a house. IIo watched the workn
from day to day r.s they carried up the
jk and mortar, and then placed theitf irt
ir proper ordef. Ilis father said Id
'lidwin, you seem to bo very much taken
with the bricklayer ; pray what might
i be thinking abottt ? Have you any no1
of learning the trade
"No," said Edwin, smiling, "but I was
t thinking what a little thing a brick iff,'
1 yet that great house is built by laying
s brick upon another,"
'Very true, my boy ; never forget ik
it so it is with all great works. All your
ruing is one little lesson added to anothII
a man could walk all around the
rid.it would be by putting on6 foot bfe
c me ouior. lour whole lilo will be
de up of one little moment after another^
:>p added to drop makes tho ocean."
Learn from tlihi not to' despise littld
rigs. Learn, also, not to be discouraged
great labor. The greatest labor becomes
y if diviiled into parts. You could not
lp over a mountain, but step' by step
ca yoir to the other side; J/o not fea^
refore, to attempt great things. AT-"
vs remember that the whole of tho great
Iding is only one brick rpon another.
Lvvc.?Love makes drugery delightful
\.ngei8 self, and lives for others. Love
-nfris law;and leaves it behind. Not ttf
iible and permitted to serve is a penalty .
3 question is not 'What must I dof
, ' What may I do ?' To give pleas\iY?f
Is joy. To grieve its object, is to grieve
ilf. Love is the secret of the beff6f6r'<?
; and this often makes him pass in the
rid as an enthusiast. It slops at notli.
Mountains of difficulty are no morer
it than plains. It clasps the cross and
scs it. Love strengthened Mary when
soldiers quaked with foar. Lovo
>t lier hovering round tlio sepulchrtf
uii all the disciples were scattered to
ir owti homes. Love lias a joy of iU?
n, which a stranger cannot understand*
s fed by the unseen spfril of God, wliilet
losing on an unseen Savioui. . To loser
for him, is to gain it. To suffer mar?
dom for Jesns, is to fee him standing at
right hand of God, waiting to welcome1
servant into gJoJ'v.
There is dew in one tlower and not tor
>thcr, because one opens its cup and
es it Wr, while Hie other close* itself audi
drop runs off. God rains goodness and
rcy ns wide as t^ie dQnr,/md if we lack
in, it is because we will not open ouf
irts to receive tlifih. ?
O' .i ..!i J- r..t, I t-.L.lr'- :
oh;,, s.w it jihio uiueiering mm) io a ffc*our
opponent,-' to what scot do you stijw
lo ljxilong l' v . i
Weil, l don't Gxnclly know,' tapKedf
olhtr; t>ut, to ,jd<Jge from your sil*
1 :i|>[tenn?nco, [ should think you
god lo the claw generally catted j*T