Newspaper Page Text
VOL, 42, KO. 39. . . PUBlfcHED BY . . BAPIOODUL ADABCS. MI1I ILICI. - m 3L SBrrklq amiltj Journal; If uoirb WARREN, la jfmiJora, iriilturf, TRUMBULL COUNTY; litato, 6toration, Xarn! OHIO, WEDNESDAY, MAY 12, 1S5S. STnfrlHgrnrr, anit ljt Hrraa of ilje Dai. TERMS: -OXE DOLLAR AAD FIFTY CEATS. ft ASS1, ID ADVAHCI WHOLE NO. 2171. Poetry. A CALL TO SPRING. Cone! Oh. cone, thoo hast tarried loBf . Come vita the glory of light atil sen; ; . fcarth pis for tate an a thousand shores Tiere the feillow hreakf and the srild sjird roan ; "There's a o!ce of nil 'mid die arcieut trees. Tom and totted by the wintry lrerie. Gloom hath ahrowleri our pleasant hovers, lVafh hath blighted our rices and flowers, Aod erery hour on its fleeting wing Bears away a prayer for thee, O Spring I Come. Oh, come! we pine for theo Am pines the wander r for a home, at sea I As the eaptira pines io bis lonely cell For the dashing waters and a breeiy dell ! W sigh for the influence that life renews. For the spell of soft sunshine and balmy dews. Tot the genial airs and the pleasant rain. - To waken our blossoms and streams again. t come, I come, I am coming back V Thus answered a r-jice from the Sun's bright track; "I will clothe the hearen's lair face with Jmiles, I will call the birds from a thousand ides. The streams shall laagh where the Tioltts blow. The trees exult and the laurels glowr There's not a beauty, nor bloom, cor hue. That the chant of my presence shall not Kneer.". Not so, 0 Spring! no power thou hast O'er much of beauty that's from us past ; Eyes that looked lore into, ours are die, Voices are hushed from our reaper hymn, Bright young laces hare passed away. Places are t. cant at roll of day; Tbou canst hang leaves on a thousand trees. Thou cast bring the flowers and birds and bees. Thou canst loosen the streams and the silver founts. And breathe a glory o'er rales and mounts. But thou canst not restore to our yearning arms The ranquished past with its lovely forms. Tet I speak to thy heart in my radial t bloom Of a Spring that opens beyond the tomb. Where the lost and loved of the earth are found, rThere the severed wreaths are forever bound. Where cou.es no dimness o'er eyes of lipht. And the cheek of beauty ne'er knows a blight. There's not a beauty, nor bloom, nor hue, That the charm of my presence shall not renew." -4 A FAREWELL. BY CHARLES KINGSLEY. lly fairest child, I hare no song to five yon ; No lark could pipe to skies so dull and gray, Tet, ere we part, one lesson I can leare on For every day. u. "Be rood, swet maid, and let who will he elerer ; Do ooLIe tUUgs, not dream them, all day lvng ; And so amice life, death, and thtvast forever - One gran d t sweet song. Miscellaneous. My First and Last Love. BY MARY C. VAUGHAN. "t lovp mv Inv wi:h in T. " ca'rl I and away went the long apple peaiina over my shoulder. There was a rush and a scramble to see if my Ic:tT had formed tijwv the floor, and shouts that it ' was not, but, in tie ad, 'uost tven; ciher) letter in tti alphabet.' j All the time I sat triill, feeling exirenv:-: ly shy and awkward, and not at all re-j lieverl when the point under considrraiion j " " O W . . VJ I- .J 1 1. ... i 1 I 1IITT IJj ailllL'tlll I had chosen that I .-tier because, 6 j fir as i I kneiv, it did not form the initial of any ' of the young men pres.nt. Cut I began to be afraid that I had not chosen j wisely afierall, and that I m-ght be call- j cd upon for tome cf the ridiculous for- j feit8 of the game. How I treiubled. then, when I heard the shouts:' "Here "is the L. Learider Holme, Miss Kate has chosen you! Look! see the L upon the floor." Somebody was con'inr toward me. Somebodv said, "Miss Detty; Mr. Holme." A tall fi2ure bent before me and sat down (silently by my side. All this saw dim ly tinder eyelids that were cast down in real, not affected, shyness: How grate ful I was not to find myself pulled into the centre of tiie room and kissed bois terously, as happened to many t.f the girls present that evenirg, and who un der the indictiou only blushed a little and tittered a good deal. This wes my second couniry party. I had suffered tortures at the first, and expected to suffer tortures at this. I felt that I had escaped happily, if I might but be allowed to sit quietly in the corner I had chosen. Even the very silent person at my side did not particularly annoy me eo long as the noisy group in the centre of the room would allow ine to be quiet. I had been reared from early childhood in the house of a wealth', childless uncle in the city. I was very young, and had no idea of society, except what I had gained from br ing a looker on at my muni's semi annual, slifT and formal par lies, where coirtpany was very decorous and exclusively stupid. My uncle had died very suddenly, wiih out a will, and his heir.at-law had taken possession of his property, leading my aunt with a comparatively small income while I, after having been reared until the age of sixteen in the midst of wealth aod luxury, was left entirely unprovided for.. ....-. My aunt went to live in lodgings, and I was sent back to my father, who was a poor man, with many children, aud: a kialleruly, scolding wife, who was not my mother. My own mother had died my infancy, and it was sai l my fa:h:-r had nrver been him-elf since. He had dissipated, lost his halits of bust- ncss, which were fast bringing him wealth, j au l quiet manner soon helped mc to con one iro my agitation, and then he sat down b -side me. I was emazed at myself ta'k ing gaily i;h a stranger, and 6'iil more amazed to fin i myself happy for seveial "0f Lender's father h? ut once announc in Ld his decided disapprobation. 1 heard tlat he asserted th.it he would never con become sem that his son should murry the daugli- ail i at lust quiTtfiiif buMiiess entirely had gone to live on a liitle farm in the intra- or of the Slate, hsd married, arrH was su'rourrieJ by a large disorderly.-eeived family. - Into this uncongf nial house 1 was sud d"nly rlirnst from ihe refinements cf mv life in if ie house of a wealthy ciliz'-n. I was s-liv ar l unhappy. 1 mm never heeii nccustomed to the companionship of chd dreti, hutj soon found that whenever I shrpnk involuntarily from the dirty, noisy crew around me, I gave offence to the 'mother, a aid- through her, epres.Mita tions, to my father, whn seemed complete ly uu ler her infl icnce. Every instructive indulgence in the tastes and habits in which I -had been reared was looked upon as an evidence of pride, and I soon found nil the influ ence' home arrayed against mc and my wishes. 1 had shrank, through shyness, from attending the first party, but had gwe be cause 1 could not resist my mother'.-, sneers and my father's commands. And si mueh had 1 W-n terrifi 'd by the gool nat tired bo'slfrnusr.ess of the young peo ple seiribkd; that I mentally resolved tiewr t-i go Again. Notwithstanding I found myself once more in the same circle" af.er a trying scene ut home, and in my dreaj of the thirty pairs of cyes .fis'-d upon me had been draw n into their gamss. I hud not yet glanced at the face of th: young man nt my side, nor had a word hern interchanged, when the noisy group in the centre of the room broke up. Thiy came crowding around me, uttering broad but soo 1-huniorcd jsts that I kit sc:;t the blood flushing and burning inlo my face. My companion must have felt me trembling, too, fir he suddenly lean ed forward and whispered: ''D. n t be afraid, Miss K-i!e, they do n t inti in! any harm, and I will see that ta; y do n?t much annoy you." I save him one grateful glance, for ' was loo near crying to dare trust my voice, and met a pair of brilliant, daik 'es, fixed f ill npj:i my fice, very iniilh fu, yet a good deal compassionate in ex- nrps-ion. SidJftdtr hi mso tin. ni.d iiraing my arm wiihin his turnelto the bantering rroiip. "Mis K ile In chosen me this even ing, and 1 take h'jr under my protection. I shall he a very lyriin', and n t one of you must s; e..k to her wi;h jut my per- mis 'on."1 So siyirg hp led the way to an opposite cornrr t.f the ronm There, seeing I hat. b tweru shyness and the anmyunces jus: passed, I w?s s-t;I! unihh to control my voice or features, he stood before me S5Tif(. V. ....". I'll . j 1-1.1 F . VJ O ' I 1 1 U1I important subject. lis p'easant voice hours of the evening to which 1 looked forward with so much dread, and which commenced so inanspiciously. And when he brought several of the brlgh, ruddy-looking girls to speak to me in the course of the evening, I found lBhat sli nPM fcad P" ' Iear,u"S lI,al ,1,p' ttere amiable, warm Leaned creatures, in spite of their lack of refinement. S), on the whole, the evening passed, ofF pleasantly, and I was never afraid to go again, especially as, when they found I was not.toD proud to join in tlk-ir spirts, they never attempt ed to drag rrc into any I did nut like. But chief among the pleasant memo ries of that evening was the kindness of Leander Holme. A pair of 'dark eyes haunted my thoughts for many a day, and I never forgot the soothing impres- vl ma UaU" voiue UNU leasa' "" r l:. . j i . Leander Holme was the son of the on ly n'cli man in the neighborhood. He had been well educated, and that alone would have rendered him infiuauly su perior to those around him, even if his whining manticr h id not been that of a perfect gentleman rcfinrd, courteous and manly. Ol course, no one will wonder that I became deeply in love with Leander Holm?. ' His devotion had never waver ed from the first and long before the fu;t winter in my father's home was passed, I had piomiscd to become his wife. It would have hiieo a dreary and miserable winter indeed wiiltout his presence and his love, but wi;h it, ah, even now that long years have passed, I think of that, only recurring to that time, and never of the discomforts that had, in the fullness of my happiness, ceased to make me mis erable. - My father and his wif) were all smiles and approval. Hut when, toward spring our cntaement cama to the knowledge ter of a lazy, -dissipated man, and he said J I j tcr preparation of the dutirs of mistress of Holme Place, th in I should have re nnw nt. the hands of that brawling, slatternly father' wifj. Len:!er was firm, and talked of the fmtire nnd patient watting. Hut I felt ! that 1 had been scuned, and my iiiiiigna- ' thtt m ciiy rearing was scarcely a bet - i lion was mibmiii l. d. tvroto to mv aiiul, lei ling her all iik.no measured phrnp a id bagging her to send for me to liv, i h her if possihlej II t answer was in ! come at once, and I departed much to the consternation of my father, and the i!l cmccaled delight of his wife, who hated in" rn'irn than ever sinca she heard t.f Col. Ho!nie's,reinark. I left a little note f r Lpander, who who absent at the lime saying that the engagement had better end, and releas- ing him fully and uncondiiionally. I wrote and sealed the note without hesita tion or laiteriii'r, though it cast me a se vere pang to do so. I d d not know u:itil I had been in my aunt's home a week, ani my letters in a package directed in LeanJei's hand, ar rived without a line from i i n, how 1 hoped ihrouirh all that ha would not con sent to be released, but would still cling lo me. Cut he, too, had his indignation he was hurt that I should Lave arranged for my departure without consulting him, and pained at the colJness of my note.- S through the faults of others, and mis underslanding of their own, two hearts that truly loved were severed. Alas! that the story had so many counterpart! My aunt's income supported us, and had enabled us to ke.-p our place in the society to which we had been accustom ed. It had been more than he anticipa ted w hi-n she had sent me home to my fiiher or she would never have exposed me to the trials I have passed. As time passed on, 1 had lovers, as any pretty girl will, for, if I might believe my fiiet'Js, I was not without attractions, but none touched my heart. Oil looking back I can see that I was always waiting, waiting for something t'.iut never came. Was it for Leander ih.it I waited? If it was, I never ae t linn It tired it to myself, but it was with a terrible pang, a dumb but real sorrow, that served as an excuse for illue.ss, it was so like it, thai 1 heard after two or ilirep years, that he was married. My step-mother wrote to me this wed d'nj new dilating maliciously on the wealth and beautv of the bride, who hail! come from a tlisunt city to resi a: Holme Place. Upon the planting end J iK.i.m mill n.i in) i n.v r. 1. . - i . r, ami Iwi.kti. ! lifying the old house, and upon the loads of beautiful furnish the old rooms I answered very calmly jhat Leander II. dine was worthy the hand of any lady, and bade her congratulate him in my name, if she saw him; hoping thu, I be lieve, to disarm her suspicion and con vince him thai I had fjrgotten my love for him. I went more into soctety afier tin's, and it was remarked that I was gayer than I had formeily been. I was not aware of it I only knew I was striving to forget I had no other object in life nsw. The years seemed very long and weary. So ciety did not satisfy me, and I came to b? looked upon s a coquette v. h- n, one after another, I rejected the suitors whom my gaiety and brilliancy brought to my feet I became restlessly unhappy, with a craving for some o!jct fir tho't aiid duty that would not fi.ij sa'.isfan.ion in lite life I led. At that time my aunt had a severe ill ness, and the new cares which then de volved upon me were very good for me. From this illness she never fully recover ed, and for two or three years before deaili came to relieve her from sufTviiiig, and while I was busy occupied in minis tering to her comfort, I grew more pa ticut. py-nnd-by I was alone. I laid her who ha I been all that a mother could have been to me for many car.-, in tli"? grave, and 1 was Lfi wi:hout care er duty. My means were now ample, for my aunt had bequeathed her prop erty to me, and except a lender sorrow fir the dead, I ihould have been very j happy. Hut I was not. j i Wought one of mv lilllo sisters to! live with me, very glad to receive her from such a home. I uent for her, and while on my visit attended the vil lage church, and beneath my black veil saw Lcauder Holme and the woman that occupied the placs that should have been mine. She was looking pale and ill. Il was said she was unhappy, and that her" husband treated her, through always courteously, rilh gteat coolness. fell a miserable, choking Teeling halt ! delight, half bitterness, at the thought that he did not love her, but baflled even my s:ep mother's curiosity by my impenetrability. I am sure she did not learn whether I took any interest iu the dwellers at Holme Place. . a I; s :en ed n if I vaguely expected some wi t'tiiig to ii)H! jhi:-e and prevent the c'ii- More years pushed. I ssill hail offers "hough no longer young. At iast I de termined to accept one. Arihur Meridei: was a man worthy of my esteem worthy rf my love, r.iily that I had no love to give. lie was sitfi 'd uhen J. told him all, an i I promised to bconie his w if.. Hut as so'in r.s I liml prondseil, the old n tched, u aiting feeling came b:icl-. sumation r.f ihat unholy engagement. And as 1 1i . day approach I giew mire and more wretched,' till finally on a sudden impulse, I determined lo g down to my father's to look once more upon the old familiar scenes, the village church ai.d the Holme Place, b'-fjre I should have promised away my freedom, miserable as it made me, thinking of pal love. I went, and the first sound that greet ed mc as I entered the village vos lii tollins of the bell, and lhe carrin"- drew up beside the road as a long funeral pro cession pissed. In die first carriage sa Leander Holme, very pale, but dim. It was his wifj she whom I had always thought as occupying my place that they were conveying to the tomb. I remained at my father's for many days, not that I hoped or wishei to see Leander Holms, but because I literally lacked the strength and energy for my homeward journey. My sole thought was that now Leander is free. It hr still loved mo he might at some future time seek me, but I was about to place a bar rier between us, and to become the will! of one whom I now knew more than ever, I could not Iovt. At lar-t, as the day canio that I was to start on my return, I felt that I h id gone too fur to retract, and must fulfil the prom ise I had voluntarily made to an hon orable man. I little knew the freedom that I ttOL.I l have given life itself to se cure, wiis already mine. I had scarcely reached my home when a messenger arrived to beg me, in the name of Arthur Lleriden, lo go at once m ! IT , I. t n il.rr.wn f, ,-.,. to li s house. IL; had been thrown his horse that afternoon and fatal! v ...... ... .... wv. i...".. ....... jured. I1j was s:iil living mil seii;i bleai.d mot anxious to sec mo once more, u'ju oiny hiiuws utiw a lenioacu- ... " . 1 ... I. I T . . I. ed myself for the first intense feeling of gladness that flxidci my soul as I heard these terrible tiding. I stood beside him to the lsit, deter mined as a penance for my unfeeling joy to spire m;.e!fnot one of his painful iLouiih shoH aufferings. In a few hours. on the very morning that was to have dawned upon our wedding, he breathei! I is last. His death set me free. Yes, I was tree, but my freedom did not bring me any Lope. Leander had gone lo Europe immediately on the death j of his wife. Holme Place was closed,! and it was said the farm wasge'ting in to n ruinous condition as years passed on and its master did not return. He held no correspondence with any one at home, except iu the biiefest business letters. So, more years passed away. I busied mys-If in the educa ion of my - . t : . id sister and introducing her into s-ocielv. as she grew up a beautiful and brilliant i while I ceased lo feel sensitive to the j ti.Ie of "old maid." and took my place placidly among the elders, and brushed my still luxuriant hair, now thickly streaked with gray, beneath a tasteful cap. I had become almost satisfied with my Io!, and Lad ceased to think very fre quently of Leander Holme, when I was staitled out of my usual placidity by hearing that he bad returned lo his home. The letter that brought these tidings stated further Ihat he was making many alterations and improvements iu the old place, and ihat it wae conjectured that he was again about to bring a bride hither. "That oldian!" exclaimed my pret ty sis'er, as she read this item ; "Sis ler K iiharine can you conceive of a m m marrying at his age ? I smiled, arl reminded the blooming little beauty that the man the aalled old could not be over forty-five, although it seemed a great age lo her. I sighed a little as I glanced at the mirror, and saw my faded features as reflected from its surface. Soon after, my sister married. I gave her lo the man she bad chosen, well pleased, for I felt that be was worthy of my treasure. Dut il was wiih very lonely, saddened heart, that after the wedding breakfast was over, and the newly wedded pair and all the guests departed, I went to shut myself into my own room. I wept a little, for I was growing old and was ail a'one, and the future seem- ed very dark aud drear lo me as I thought what might have been, had I been loyal to my heart's iillegiaDce. '"Sir maid kno-ked al my door. A geuUemen was in the parlor and wished see me. j i 1 i I Uid ho send his card or name?" "No," madam, he snilJie was an old friend and would detain you but a ft w mom- nts." "Go back and say thr.t I can fee no one to-day, except on business tell him that my fister has just left me ihat I am not well." The girl went back, and I listened ns I lay for the clang of the street door Dui instead, it was with a fetling of vt-xat:on that I' hear J footsteps return ing. She came in, anil perhaos seeing my impatience of interruption, lid a card in my hand and retired without speati kin.'. LEADER HOLME. The letters swam before my eyes, and I trembled so thai I could .hardly statx1, as I tried to adjust my cap before the mirror. At length with unsteady sten. I descended to the parlor; I opened the door and stood in the presence of th man I had loved, and from whom I had been separated so long. His hair was gray; there were lines of suffeiirig all over his face, only the brighl, daik eyes were unciiange 1. I jjave him my hand; he looked at me steadfirtly a Iiitle while. Then he drew me towards him, and without a woid, I 1 ly sobbing upon his bosom. "At last at last," he murnvired. Tims was I reunited to my first and last love. We are very lppy now at Holme Place. My husband is all that is good and noble, and my life is spent in ministering to his happiness and in trying lo fill a mother's place lo the long neglect. d children of the wife Lo bad never loved. HOW WASHINGTON BEHAVED WHEN HE WAS IN THE WRONG. o fr Mr- PaJne nnJ ' PlJ. Washing girl, "covered lim enough logo out and meet Lis & soldiers, and after 1king them for their expression of jtheu e could not Lave become the im to mortal hero be 13 regarded ia Listory.' An incident in the Virginians, repre senting Washington as ready to accejt a challenge, h:is led Le die's J'lustrateJ roper to reprint the following pertinent, anecdote from 'Weems Gossipping Life of Washington: In 1734, Washington was stationed at Alexandria, with his regiment, the only one of the colony, of uhich he was Col onvi. j.tier huppcncJ to oe at lliis time . an ciecuon in me town lor memocrs 01 ... ., , , . .. , , . . . r f liie issemoiy, ami tue ci n'est ran nigu i. . n , , . , , owecn Uolonel Ueore l'-tirlax ana ...r. L'zev. Washington was a warm friend r , i ti i r t i i , . , fVr r - ' n t i i Wellington, at llis time twenty-two years of age, contrary to his usual man ner, became excited, and, what was slid more uncommon, said someihing that of fended Mr. P tyne, whereupon the little gentleman r. ho, 'though but a cub in size,' rair-cd his siurd y hickory, and bv a single blow brought Washington to the gro-.-nd. Several of Washington's officers being present they wip. d out their irons in an instant, and it was s-.uppoied that there would be mardere-ff hand. To make bad worse, the numbers .of the iegimect hearing how their commander had been treated, bolted out of the barracks, every man with hi weapon, threatening ven geance on those wuo eiarcd to knock down their belovee' Colnnel. Happily attachment, assured them that he was not hurt in the least, and begged them, as they loved him aud their duty, to re turn to their barracks. As to Wash ington himstlf, he went lo Lis room, and finding cn mature reflection, that he had been llie aggressor, ha determined to make Mr. Payne honorable reparation by a king his pardon on the morrow. No sooner had he made this noble res olution than he resumed Lis natural calmness of manner, dressing himself nnd went to the ball, behaving as if nothing had happened. ' The next day he went lo a tavern and wro'e a polite note to Mr Payne request tins' to see him. Mr. Payne, pre sumed the import of it was a challenge fur a duel, and repaired lo the place up pointed for the meeting, expecting to see a pair of pistols introduced. Dut, conceive Lis surpiise upon entering the chamber where Washington was, he discovered a decanter of wine and glass es upon the table, and open his entering Washington arose and ia a very friendly manner met him and presented his hand, saying; 'Mr. Payne, to err sometimes is na ture: to rectify error is always glory. find I was wrong in the affair yester day; you have had, I think, some satis faction, and if you thirk that is suCi ejent, here's my Land, let us.be friends.' It is only necessary to say tht from this lime Mr. Payne became one ol Washington's most enthusiastic ad- a m'ners and friends. If this conduct had not seemed in Washington to arise from mignanimity and not frcni fear, LITTLE COURTESIES OF LIFE. ! "A kin.lly won!, a plccttmt smile. An better far tlian gold." A fiiend, some lime since, came tons and expressed great annoyance at what he regarded as an act of marked discour tesy on tb p.rt of a gifted and accom pli-hed gentleman, to whom l.e had ren dered a valuable service. He was quite fxeir.-J at the time, not thai he cared so much for the circumstance, but because it was calculated to dim the high picture which he had formed, in his mind of the nature of the man. He had set him up is the model of a christian gentleman, the very embodiment cf a finished, pol ishfd, graceful, dignified character. An 1 yet to his surprise, he found that he l icked one of the great essentials, name ly, common couitesy, or ordinary polite ness. Ia other words, he had cither re fused or declined to answer a note that had been sent to him on his own busi ness, and this refusal was kept np for d.ij s, until it became necessary to refresh his memory, and ofllr one or two sharp admonitory I em arks. But this is no ex traordinary case. Ii is one of thousands The liale courtesies cf daily life, tlu kindly and grateful amenities which are so admirably calculated to sweeten the reda'ions between man and man, and to impart a genial f-phii to our social every day intercourse, are too frequently neg lected. We either forget, cr we 'overlouk them. We do not sufficiently appreciate our own self-respect, or the feeling aud good wishes of others. This is more cul pable, for courtesy and kindness are at the ccmniaud of all classes the poor ae well as, the rich, the humble as well as the titrated There are some perons w.ho never think it worth while to reply lo a note or invi a'.ion, unless some especial business matter be involved. There are others as'ain, who never omit such an act cf courtesy and duty. In the first cse, misunderstandings, irritations and unkindnesses will inevita bly occur, and in the l ist, all these will uuiv Sim luikhiiyt iLdk uiu luiru buiiuc- .,...1.. ....,), n IhA III i ,:, , , , ,. ! sies of life should be regarded and cultt- I , ,, vated from early youth. Vi hat, indeed. - ' , . . i . 'change ot c.viuty, kindness ana uooa I will, on nil proper occasions, between fritnJs and neighbors? What, so calcu- l tted to soften the nigged pnth of exist ence, and to give to the human heart a-reeable feeliug;-? Some time since, a g nileraan and lady were betrothed, and the proposed union was looked upou in the most approving manner by the pa rents of both parties. Il so happened that the former had oc casion to visit Europe, and to remain abroad something like six months. He wrote heme elaborately, or a few words by every packet; but during the whole of this period he received but three let ters in rrply, nnd of ft character so brief as to show that the fair corresr ondent took very little interest either in llie sub ject or th object lo whom the epistles were addiessed. The effect was to an noy, irritate, create a coolness, and fin-n-.IIy to break off the milch. The truth is. no one likes to be treated either with iudifference or contempt. A sens? of self pride revohs against such conduct. The courtesy we extend to others we naturclly and properly desiie to see ex tended to ourselves ia return. IL-c'pro-city is the very soul of harmony, fiiend ship and good feeling. A sensitive indi vidual may be aggrieved and wounded, jut as ieadily by indifference ar.ineg l:ct, as by an opan and studied insult. By courtesy, we Co rot mean affecta tion, hollow pretense, shallow Lypocracy and artificial manners. Ou the contrary, these are all miserable counterfeiters. But we refer to a genial, gencicus and kindly Fpirit, a sense Appreciation, arec . ,-. . i i ..j!iini o Million ot eq'iHiiiy, a iruiuiui ir, nuui a frank and manly bearing. Not a day j .'oes by. in which all these qualities can- j not be exhibited more or less, especially ia the t-phere, and among the friends with Tihom e move and mingle. There j is, on lb. other hand, nothing more un- j worthy, unmanly, pitiable aud mean, than a disposi ion to tyranize over and j insult, not diiectly perhaps, but indirect j ly, those who in some stnss may seem to! be independent upon us, or whom, ia the exercise cf a false pride, we may iniag ine we can outrage with impunity. The: little courtesies of life never shine so! sweetly or btightly, as when they are i manifested by the rich lowords the poor, or by the powerful towards the weak. They then become a grace and embel lishment of the character, and while they adorn the one party with a moral lustre, luey kindle iu ihe hearts of the other feelings cf kindness, affection aud good will. But courtesy is ntver out of place. It is ueer thrown away. Il always htsj i;s iflett, and sometimes it tells ftr more. efiiciently than formal services, or even' heavy obligations. Phila. Inquirer. ' WHERE DOES OLD AGE BEGIN? romliiion of mortality take an TLe Cleveland Ihruld says: Left lo a popular vote,Lardly any two would agree as to the point of lime at which youth deserts v, and old age mounts guard. That point of time is not an arbitrary one, but is governed by the circumstances of each case; some men of forty five being older than others at six ty. The line of demarkation, too, is of lener controlled by the mental condition than we are apt to suppose. The srt of growing old gracefully depends solely upon the disposition, and of all arts is the one which should be the most studied. Life is so short, that, so far as possible, it should be perpetual youth, and in keep ing the affections and sympathies fresh and green, much can be done towards securing such halcyon days here below. By breaking down the barriers between youth and agr, and establishing terms of intimacy such as mark the intercourse of associates, there can be a system of baiter carried on mutually beneficial. Age will bestow upon youth its cheeiful lessons of wisdom, and in return receive the v"gor, freshness and heartiness of the early years. Thus one will be strength ened and the other invigorated. In the last Ath.ntle, the Autocrat of the Break fast Table Las an article upon the point of li;ne when old age begins, upon which the Boston Courier admirably comments thus-: We cannot quite agree with some of the Autocrat's notions, however. He makes old' age begin too soon. Ia our c'aiUI hood we used to hold such opinion our selves. We remember the time when forty seemed a most venerable number of years to have lived. But it was a childish notion and we have long got rid of it. Csesai, in a more exhausting cli mate, called the Roman young till fifty. rorty-five; according to our present views, matured by the reflection of many years, is quite too early a period for the beginning of hoary Eld. Ilia a mistake to suppose that less fuel is then consum ed than before. On the contrary, we have found that more is required to keep the machinery in motion. The natural vigor is not yet diminished; the Lair is not yet yray, except in peculiar cases which Lave nothing to do with years At fifsy, even, the appetites are as healthy and vigorous, the imagination as lively, the dreams of ambition as ab sorbing, as at thirty. No, no, friend Autocrat. The earliest period we can allow you to begin to call a man old, is sixty; from sixty to seventy-fixe he ought to enjoy a hearty age; from that to the close of his life, he should gently descend i he down-hill, and so pass away. Men grow old early, because they think they must. luere is no necessity, no justiu cation for 6uch a proceeding. It was not so in old times, or rather in young limes of ihe world's history. We do not speak of ihe age of Methusaleh; that was very well, but a little tedious. But wo can call up from our classical recollections an example or two. Isociates was a mod erate case. lie Lad a work on Lis Lands at the age of ninety-eight, which Lis friends advised Lim to finish as something mifll happen. He finished it, and a year or two afterwards, when the "dis honest victory" of Cha;ronea tried to "kill by report the old man eloquent," it could'nt do it. Ha starved himself to death. Gorgias, the sophist, lived to one hundred and twenty years, and died with an anthisis npon Lis lips. But there is no need of multiplying examples. The fact is undoubted, that the natural com mencement of old nge is not at forty five, by a good deal. Let men bnt re solve to live out their days let them di vide their lives into reasonable and prop er stations, instead of rushing at such railway speed over ihe road of existence and coming to the terminus before their journey ishalfovei, and then we shall encouraging upward tendency. Ihen we should not be ia such a ten ible bur ry; vre should have time enough to ac complish all our tasks deliberately and thoroughly, and to repose on our laurels, without, worrjing our only chance to gain a second wreath of them. SERVED HIM RIGHT. Some years 8go before Pittsburg, the dingy city of Western Pannsylvania, was reached by r.ulroads from ihe Last, wagoa was a great institution. The well-iired wheels untiringly toiled over mouutains and valleys making long jour- neys, slow but sure. Dave Stewart wa3 a noted wa wagoner. He was al ways wagging his tongue ia boasting of his great feats whieh had been pre formed in bis expeditions teaming ever the Alleghenies. Some of the9e moun tain passes are very narrow cuts iuto the side of cliffs, and on out side of a poker- jj, precipice a Imonishes the driver to ija iie rock cl se as Le goes. When teamsters n.eet in sush places the rule 0f lne road was sat asidw and the Btout- est man keeps to the wall. .Dave was sixieeiMgn ani wen propomuueu uo -1- nVAnAW nf ilnli.tMiltnn mUmAff x i nun vi i nuv ( v, ami utovi, " j and when one day, be met an olJL gentleman driving along leisurely in bis ijj, Dave determined to hare some fun at Lis expense. High above their beads was an over-banging table rock, and. as the horses stood fit-ad to bead,. Dave stid to the old gentleman 'I want you to do me a favor.' 'Certainly,' said the old gentleman. What can I do fcr you?' 'I want you to climb upon that rock, and dance while I whistle!' I shall do no snob a thing, and I trust you do not intend to take advan tage of an old man in such a place as this.' . Dave stepped forward with Lis heavy horsewhip in bis band, and raising it threatened to lay it on him if he did not mount the rock and do as he was told. Seeing Dave was ia earnest the gentle man made a virtue of necessity, and scrambled up. Dave whistled and he dinced till both were tired, and the fun was soon stale; when Dave told him to come down, lo back oat of the pass, and let him go cn. 'Bat.' said the old gentleman, as ha came down, 'I want you to do me a fa vor. 'And what is'thti?' '1 want you to go up there and dance wLilel whistle." Dave refused, intimating Ihat he would see the old man ia a very bad place first. You won't, eb! said the stranger, drawing a pistol suddenly, and planting it at Dave's breast: I'll mika daylight shine through you in les.s than two sec onds, if you don't move Dave told me the story himself, and said, What else could I do? The old fel low was ia earnest; up I had to climb, and there I Lad lo dance while the old fellow w Li3ikd and laughed, find threat ened to slioot me if I stopped a minute, and he kept me going full jump, for two hoars cr mere,, till I was in a lather worse than my horse in July. When I was just ready lo fall off he let me come down, made me back oat of the pass and is he drove by advised me never to'aek any unnecessary fivon of strangers. And I don't mean to. THE CROWN JEWELS. We find the following in a letter from Hanover, of December 19:h: "The hearts of the King and Royal Family of this country have been much. rejoiced by intelligence which has just reached them through the Hanoveria Minister at the Court of St. James, that the long dispute between the King; of Hanover and the Qaeen of England re spec;ing the right of certain jewels of enormous value, in the possession of the Sovereign of England, and forming no inconsiderable portion of what have been hitherto called the British Crown Jewels, has been decided ia favor of Hanover Many of your readers arc no doubt aware that when the kingdom of H-inaver was severed from the united kingdom by the accession of Qieea Victoria to the throne, a claim wa3 made by the lata King of Hinover, formerly the Duke of Cumberland, to nearly t'a.j whole of the jewels u-:ual!y worn on St-ate occasions by the English Sovereign, on the ground that part of them, which bad been tak en over to England by George I., be loninj ia alienably to the Ciowa of Hanover; and that the remainder Lad been purchased by George III., oat of his privy purse, and had been left by him and his Queen Charlotte to the Royal Family of Hacover." "As the jewels thus claimed are sup posed to be worth considerably mora thaa 1,000,000, a single stone having cost nearly 20,030, they weie not to be relinquished without a struggle; and I am assured that every possible expe dient was resorted lo ia England to baf- Ibs the claimant. Ultimately in the life- lime ol the late King, the importunity of the Hanoveraia Minister ia London drove the English Ministry cf the day to consent that the rights of the two Sover eigns shoulJ be submitted lo n Com-' mis-ioa composed of the English Judges; but the proeeeJings of ihe Commission were so ingeniously protracted ihat nil the Commissioners died without arriving at any decision; and until Lord Claren don received the seals of the British Foreign Office, all the efforts of the Court of H inover to obtain a fresh Commission were vaia. Lord Clarendon however, seems to have perceived that ?uch attempts lo slide inquiry were un worthy of his coumry, for he coosen'. 1 (hat a fresh Commission should bs is sue I to three English Judges of the highest eminence, who after an invesii ga ion, found the Hanoverian claim ta be indisputably just, and reported in its favor. The Court here consequently is in hrh glee this Christmas, at ihe pios pect of removing the Crown and regalia, so jealously guarded in lha Tower of London, almost bodily to Hr aover."