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- V; B. CONN, PUBLISHElfci
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Z. JIAGAN, Editor and Proprietor.
.. j I ..... ., ' "
I','. THE DAEZ .MOMINO
,THE GOLDEN. DAY.
A Tale of theTimes.
' BY KLLEN FAUMAN .
; . CIIAPTIR I.
f TJi rtrtnger'i hwrt ob wound It not
, A geirnin g nguih i its lot, .
-,. BMik Iht hado of thy trre .
, Tbt itranger findt no rest with thee."
t. Mr deu Mrs. Grey, do not take my pen
.'from' me! I have nothing to do these
night hours j and writing is pleuantcr far
than sleep. . , You can take the lamp Mrs.
Qrey., I can write hy thb moonlight, it is
to terr brilliant.. .
Thus pleaded ayoung girl to a proud, state
ly woman, robed in satin, who Btood before
her with an expression of contonipt and
displeasure upon her cold, handsome face
. "Put away that trash in a moment,"
said Mrs. Grey. "You are wasting paper
and ink. They were not purchased forsuch
as you. Kitchen girls cannot write poetry
here.. Give all iho paper to me."
."No. Mrs. GreVi I shall not, naid the
young girl, firmly. "It is not yours, for
it was not purchased with your gold. These
. are mine," and the rolls of paper were
" clasped convulsively in tho hand which
But Mrs. Grey took them from lierby
"Give thera hero. There, gilt-edged
ftaper, as I live, and roso tinted, too,
Where did you get it, girl? Miss Ada has
s' some like it, but you could not have dared
to enter the library. Whero did you get
it, Gleonie, Merrills? ; Tell me! If you
, have stolen it, you shall be sent back to
the ! Alms :' House, from whence I took
' you.","- ",; .......
"Mr. Lionel gave it to me," said the
girl calmly. ."Ho bought it forme; I never
teal, Mrs.Grey ; that is beneath my dig
' city, even if I am a kitchen girl."
"VeVy well," said Mrs, Grey, haughtily
"I wiU , take care of this. If my son
bought it, you have no business with it;
never, on your peril, dare touoli a pen again.
X took you into my kitchen to have you do
tny work ; you were not taken from the
alms-house to bo up at midnight with a
ailrer lamp meddling with poetry and lite
rature. Poetry by a kitchen girl, indeed !
And with a scornful sweep, the haughty
lirs. Grey left the room.
For an hour Glonnio Merrills sat mo
tionless in the marble stillness, as Mrs.
Grey left her, her pale, maddonna face calm
as marble, and so whitQ in the lustrous
moonlight. . .
t Glennie Merrills was very beautiful; far
too beautiful to be a city kitchen girl, ner
haxel eyes were darker than summer skies
at midnight fathomlessly deep with mys
.erJ changeful with lights and shadows
jet ever chaining more of starrincss than
.sunshine Jn their depths; and the long,
drooping lashes gavo more of shadow to
, their glory Her hair was almost raven
bUck, and its waiving wealth of rich tress
es was always banded, back from hor full,
massive, ice-clear brow, and knotted low
inj heavy . braids at the, back, of her small
vlasstcal head. ..Her features were very
4iwet and girlish, and Tery, pale, when
;VesUng upturned. in the moonlight. Her
Jfcrn was light and clildieh, and, robed in
rnourning blackfor Glennie. Merrills
' fin orphan brotherlo8s,,siftcrleflS) alone
in the .worlds an alms-house, girl,, jn tho
'employ of le wealthy Mrs. G4roy. .
,;.Ouly seventeen summers hod given beau
ty to Qlennio, bub so soon tho roystio sheen
of poesy restod on : hor lonely life,; until it
.wore, the,,loyclinessof Arqadio, be gjory
lost Edoo. Long,, wedry days she toil
ed i .MrsTl, Grey's kitchen, but "the days
Wreborno gladly ,.for the nights.. .There,
iu her garret,. wltU.lamp ana pen,.Be,was
happy, hoppier far thnn ho wealthy Ada
jGrey sleeping in the rioh boudoir below.
Theplin room was , lit. with a glory the
' Jltmress might tover sc.. he, . breathed
he char med . fttmopheift. of . Hclicon.-r
. JirilIuint" glances - of something, florious ns
Mtelilgloiirnal, ' gtljfltrti lo, incncnii $irttrais, filcndurt, Science, an .
Heaven shone Jopun the doom of the Lifu
about her, even as stare sometime illume a
Mr. G rcy's family treated her haughtily.
She must not pause in the gorgeous parlors.
To her, ''touch not" was written on the
harp and guitar, and the spiendid books
upon tho marble tables. What of her in
tense love for tho classics and beautiful ?
She could not study the pale, fair statuary
which stood "dreamily on the velvet carpets,
bathed in crimson light, as the sunshine
crept mistily through the Btained windows
and soft, rich curtains. These were all
Ada Grey's, that she might be called the
beauTiful, elegant, accomplished heiress
not for Glennie Merrills, tho gifted alms
house girl, the orphan poetess.
. Yet Glennie had one friend, ono who
scorned the shackles of fashion and aris
tocracy, ono who would love the true and'
noble, the high and beautiful of moral na
turo in whatever person found. Thuf was
Lionel Grey a friend to the gifted girl,
whom ho found a sen-ant in his father's
mansion on his return from Europe. His
keen, cultivated eye read the prophecy and
loftiness glowing iu her starry eyes. ' He
pleaded long and earnestly with his moth
er and sister togivo hertimcand privilege,
but vainly. "No," Mrs. Grey said, "1
did not furnish my library for alms-house
And Adela said "Nest he will insist
on equality. LctGlennio Merrills stay in
the kitcheu, where we placed her."
Still Glcnnio sat by the window, and
looked up into the calm eiy, and tho saint
ly moon and the solemn stars smiled se
renely upon her, until Glennie murmur
ed, "Why should I weep for this dark lifp?
Is there no light and song? Can there
not be an out-gleam, an up-gush of the
heart's glory and harmony? Hut why lin
ger? Away! my path stretches fame-wards.
There is a vision-picture, on which Hope
is writing with her pencil of sunbeams
'Thy Future, oh lonely girl !' There arc
indci-fingcra of light there, pointing mc
onto my destiny."
A low tap was heard on the door, and
Glennie's checks flushed brightly as Lionel
Grey stood beforo her. ' '
."Good evening, Miss Merrills," said he,
rcppectfully "Here is a letter for you
from Philadelphia. Allow me to say that
I hope it brings good tidings."' Again
Glcnnio wasaloue, and her dark eyes glow
ed as she bfoko the seal, and read the sheet
written iu a bold, business hand. Good
news there for her". Her poems were su
perior, nay, she crjualledjsomd of the most
talcutcd writers of the time, only her name
was yet to be won, herfamoyet to be earn
ed. There was one hundred dollars for her
now, and four times that in a year, if her
pen could fulfil its' promise.
There were soft tears in Glennie's eyes as
she locked the bills in her little trunk tears
of gratitude, that at last she had fouud one
editor unbiased by aristocratic reviewors
and critics. Ono step fame-ward was ta-
Lkcn, and Glennie murmured
"Seven hundred more, and thon an edu
cation. From the misty gloom of this
heavy morn shall there ever merge a golden
W ' - -
it CHAPTER II.
v ' f 'I look upon a fuce b fair, " " '
A ever made a life of Heaven
( . Falter amid itt dying prayer." ,
' " ' . ". N. P.wuxia.
; Thoro was ahrilliantrcunion intho splen
did saloons of Mrs. Clifton Grey. Tho
highest of the fashionables, and the croain
of the literature wero tliere, for Mrs. Grey
made it a point to bo literary, and hcrreu
nions were nover surpassed in New 5Tork.
Late iu tho evening Mrs. Groy and Ada
and Lionel stood upon the veranda with a
coterie of distinguished authors and poets;
and ono of them remarked 4 ' '
., "But,-Mrs. Grcvcau you tell us who
Zulicmo.' is? I see thatnamo appended
to many beautiful poems in ono of our pop
ular magazines." . ,
"I oannot,'.' replied Mrs. Grey, "I havo
noticed tho piece to wbich you refer, and
havo admired Jhem. Whoever is writing
undorthe nomo de plume of 'Zulierae' is
Certainly highly talented,'; ' ,; ' y
l Yos,' remarked Mr. L ; the poet;
"fino & strangely gifted.' 'Poetry U i paH
j)f her nature. " And the waten of iti fouu-
STEUBENVILLE, OHIO, r TUESDAY,
tain gusli fresh and free. : Yet tho mist.of
sadness shadows them."
"Her last poem was very beautiful," said
a lady by tho sidq of Mrs. Grey whose
dark eyes revealed depths of. feeling. ' "It
was glory iu itself.", ,
"Yourcfcrto'The Ideal of Sublimity,'
do you not?" askod Lionel. "If sho be
beautiful as her poetry is high, she is a
"I would give much to know her," said
Ada. "Iu loving her poetry I havo wor
shippedjher." Just then an exclamation
from Mrs. G., caused them to turn, and
looking on tho mass or shrutberry below
they saw Glennie Merrills. Never was she
lovelier than then; her embroidered black
hair fell in waiving masses arouu 2 her
snowy shofllders, and a shawl thrown care
lessly around her half revealed tho gTace-
fulncBS of her figure, and the falling moon-x
light mado purer her faco of exquisite
loveliness. But in a moment she had dis
appeared. A shade of vexation flitted across Mrs.
Grey's faco as she saw who so many were
admiring, and Ada turned away when she
saw Mr. L , the poet, who had been
standing by her, lingering longest to gaze
after Glennie. ;
"Beautiful as a Sylph," exclaimed Mrs.
"Peerless enough for a Peri of Paradise,"
said Mr. B.
"Glorious enough to be 'Zulieme' her
self," again said Mrs. 0.
"What a splendidly beautiful.crcature!"
said Mr. L., as he came back to Ada's
side "She is tho lovclicstgirl that I ever
saw. Who is sho Mi.ss.Grey?"
Ada was confused for a moment, then
sho said carelessly
"Was the girl in the garden the one of
whom you were all speaking' as gloriously
beautiful? Why, Mr. L., that was Glen
uie Merrills, mamma's kitchen girl; sho is a
silly girl, glorying in her really passable
beauty ; and if it wasn't for gratifying her,
I would tell how her many poets and artists
had fallen in love with her to night."
Lionel heard the heartless remarks of
his sister, and ho sighed, that one so beau
tiful and gifted as Glennie Merrills should
bo shut away from high circles.
Months flited away ou Timo's golden
pinions. In the rich gardens of tho Grey
mansion Lionel Grey was "reading and mu
sing over a magazine in the moonlight.
"Zuliqme! Zulieme! Who can that strapge
ly gifted poetess be ? I never dreamed
that sutih bewildering strains could be awa
kened on the lyre of song,
a fortune to seo her."
I would give
Alight step was heard on the walk, and
Glennie Merrills stdod by Lionel's side.
Ero he could speak, she said
"Will you give mo fifty dollars, Mr.
Grey, now, this moment ?"
'Certainly, Miss Merrills," said Lionel,
gaily but wbj this moment?"
"Oh I am goingaway, Mr. Grey," said
Glennie. '1 would not Jiave asked you,
but you are the only friend to Glennie
Merrills in all New York.
"Nay, Glennie!" said he, in a startled
tone," do not go away ! I shall be loilelyj
Glennie. We are not acquainted, hut I
shall miss your beautiful presence."
And Lionel smiled sadly as he gavejher
tho mrney. Largo tears were cloujling
Glennie's dark eye, ns, thanking him she
turned to go. Again Lionel said 'Tell
mo whero you are going, Gleunio ! Tell
me, that I may writo to' you." " ,
i','Oh, uo, Mr, Grey," said she quietly,
"do not ask. me, for I must not tell you,
my only friend." w : ' . v
"But I shall bo sad and lonely, if I may
peer hear from you," .said ho .earnestly.
' '"Ah! you will dreum of 'Zuheme,' and
in those dreamiugs forget GlcnnieMcrrills,
as ono at noon, gazing on the sparkling sea,
would forget the dow drop .which; he had
seen at morn, and a strangosmile Wreath-
ed Glonnio'g lips.". , . v , '''...-.,;
Lionel started at the name of "Zulieme,"
hut ho said "Nay,' I 'cannot forgot you,
Glennie !' But Glennie was ono. ' In a
moment he heard tha 'rolling of carriage
wheols, flnd as a low barouche passed by, a
white' hoW, whieh'tie' know to bo Glohnie's
was waved froni the ."window, and a slip of
paper: fluttered down io the gata. against
Wllohhe'lcbned. ' The carriage Tolled 6n,
5 .jr',U. fc.'C ;'!'('. vuu x i.i.:n
. - v Bf t; k4u.f
tfV I'LL '7'
aud hajijfjI.djj'i'4-jnerj only two names
wero written in light fairy tracery "Glen
nie" "Zulieme." i
"Wo are to have a now scholar to day,
Leuna; so the musio teacher told me last
night," said a tall, handsome girl to a
queenly creature robed in heavy crimson
satin,. who stood by her side.
"Ah! and who is she?" said Lena.
'Her name is Merrills, Glcnnie,Merrills!'
replied Helen; "from the North; New York
city; I believe."
"Ah! indeed! I wonder what she is?"
said Lona Clifton. "Now see here, Nell;
our school has filled up, and as yet, it hat
been all equality; this6tato of aiTairs may
as well bo broken up now as ever. Let
me think! There is Rose Clifford, and
Georgia Elmer, and Mary Clay, and Clara
Norton, and Sarah and Lizzie Greene the
rest I shall cut."
"You have forgotten Gracie Douglass,"
said Helen, "You will not cut her."
"I don't know," laid Lena, "her father
is not rich, and she eresscs shabbily."
"But, Lena," plealed, Helen, "will it be
ono loves her,
judo her ! said Lena,
"but I intend to be more exclusive in my
acquaintance;" and the queenly beauty
tossed bask her curia
"But this new stjholar?" said Helen,
"We can judge ber by her dress and
style," said Lena. We can tell her stand
ing by that."
"She is ojming with Mile., now," said
"Dressed in black, and shabbily at that,"
said Lena. "If I look at you when sho is
introduced, 'ou will treat her cooly."
Soon the nusic teacher entered with a
young lady, tressed in black. It was Gleu
nio Merrills.! She threw back her veil, hat
and shawl, stealing her surpassing beauty.
Her black Iuir was in broad bands, as usu
al, knottedtw at the back of tho heae;
ouc white oiinge spray starring its glossy
darkness, iter dark eyes wero brilliant
from.excitcmnt, and her cheeks slightly
. Soon Jills, le Bar came to present her
to those who wire to be her friends for four
years. As thU turned to Lena and Helon,
who were the lAudsomcst girls iu tho room,
the significant Aok was given, and the two
beautiful face'ere composed into a calm
coldness. A sieet smile wreathed Glen
nie's lips as sheWtcndcd her delicate white
hand, but the Us were stcru and smilelcss
which'said "j iss Merills," and the clasp
of the jewelled lngers was slight and chill
ing. No grecthgs were given, no inqui
ries made, andGlcnnie crushed back the
rising tears, and'
urncd to the other group.
FollowiugHeleriandLena, they were cold,
Only one or two tcnturing to smile.
Glennie's face, was cold and pale as she
turned away andought her seat. As she
bent her graceful head upon tho pile of
books she was to1 Study, she murmured
"Hath this gloomy morning lobo oloud
cd more ? iiot a flash of gold yet 1 Yet not
my will, cut thine, be done."
A quicll, light tread was heard in the
hall without, and a slight graceful creature,
with blue'eves and soft auburn curls, and
rosy cheeis, bounded in exclaiming
"Lena! Nellie! Have you seen the last
"No ! we have not been to the office to
day," was tho reply. -
Then you don't know what awaits you.
There is another of ' Zulieme s poems
there--'The Last Farewell.' I could'nt
help cryiug when I read it; its mournful-
ness haunts mo still."'
V'Who can "Zulieme be?" said Lona
. .... 1 T
an lie en ootn in ono voice: ana ijcna
added "How glorious sho must bo if hor
faco isAike her poetry." - -'
A TO BE CONTINUED. ,. .
SfiyThe difforenco between a wise man
and a fool doth not consist in this that
the wise man- knows much, and. the fool
knows htlo; but rather iu this that the
wise manV applies what ho knowsj to the
amendmetiVof his life;' whereas tho fool
maketh no suh application of his knowl
' Ca.Honor thy father ahd thy Mother,
MAY, 1, 1855.
, DEMIE AND HIS FATHEE.
On tho shores of tho beautiful Horicou
now' known :asLake George, in the eastern
part of New York, there lived, a few years
ago, a clergyman. - -. Hi3'happy family of
five daughters and a darling son, a boy of
moro than ordinnry promise, were growing
up under the influence and instruction of
such parents as fewchildrenr'could boast.
Happy among themselves, with their home
amidst tho most beautiful scenery in na
ture, life'seeming to thenf a"bright ami
glad reality. But occasionally, a nhado of
anxiety might havobeen detected on the
usually calui brows of both father and
The time at which my story commences
was beforo the days of temperance. It
was when every family kept a supply of
ardent spirits constantly on hand; and
children were accustomed to the danger
ous beverage daily. So it was in this fam
ily. The littlo "Dcnnie," accustomed
every morning to his glass of bitters, and
to a treat every tinio a friend called upon
the family during the day, soon began to
show a decided fondness for the intoxica
ting drink, and sought for more frequent
occasions to gratify his taste. His parents
saw his growing appetite with alarm, and
often admonished him with littlo effect;
his appetite increased, and more than once
they had tho mortification of seeing their
promising boy in a state of evident iutox
icatiou. Various were the remedies they
tried, with little good ; and they could
only hope that time and his good sense,
would at length enable him to control the
habit that threatened to ruin him. But
an cveut occurred which blasted every
hope, they saw nothing before their child
but a drunkard's life and a drunkard's
grave. One morning the little Dcnnie
came running in with the eager inquiry
"Mother, Mr. Smith is going to have a
raising this afternoon, and James has in
vited me. May I go?"
"'ly son, if your father thinks it best
you may go," his mother replied.
His father's consent was readily obtain
ed, aud after dinner he started off full of
happy anticipations. " Arriving at the
place, his attention was occupied for a
time in the erection of tho building; too
soon however he discovered a keg on the
premises which his ready genius quickly
told him contained his favorite beverage
Without a moment's hesitation he asked
for a drink it was given him ; he asked
for another, and then another, and before
the afternoon was half gone, "Dennie"
was dead drunk; and the workmen had
laidhiai on a board under a tree.
About four o'clock his father called to
aceompauy him home; not seeing him
about, ho eagerly inquired for his child
they pointed him to the placo where he
lay. With a heart full of sorrow he car
ried him home to his mother aud sisters.
Together his parents watched by his bed
during the tedious eight that followed, not
knowing but the dreadful stupor would re
sult in his death ; but fully resolved if he
lived, not tu leave any uieunu untried or
any effort that might promise to save him.
It was not until the evening of the sec
ond day that ho was restored to perfect
consciousness. - -His parents thought it
best not to speak to him of the cause of
Lis illness for some days, hoping his own
reflections would do much good; but in
this they were disappointed he did not
exhibit the first symptom of remorse or
consciousness that he had dono wrong.
About a week after the evont just rela
ted, his father invited him one pleasant
morning to tako a walk. The road , lay
along tho bhoro of the lake, and was lined
with stately trees' on either side. "For a
time they walked on in silonce, ;'
. "Denuic," said he, "do you know what
it was mado you sick the other day ?" :
"Why, I suppose I drank too much
rum," ho heartlessly replied; r
. 'Well, inyion, do you know that I think
you are in danger of becoming a drunkard?"-
' -' : '( . ' ; I. , ;v.;:r
! ' " V ' '
' ""Why, father, I know yon icll me so,
but I am not afraid of it. ' You drink run)
every day, and you (Ire Iiot a drunkard;
and when I get old enough to know how
much it will do for 'rho ' toi drihkj then I
can kep from gotUrig drunk, too.' "' !1, .
They both 'fceated theuiselves tin 'a rock'
ii,.' t'l -v'f .Vrq "M'.i if,),; IT .IT!!?!
near the shore, and most faithfully did his
father speak f -th evils of in temperance;
then taking a smallgold watch from his
pocket, which Denuic hadjong desired to
call his own, he Said, "Dcnnie, if you will
never drink any more rum, I will give yon
this gold watch. Will you do it?"
Kaising from his seatand looking his
father full in the face, he replied, "If it
is wrong for me to drink rum, I scorn to
be hired not to drink it; But I will tell
you,"sir, what I will do. If it is wrong
for me to driukit is wrong for you, and(if
you will stop'drinking, I will."
Had a flash of lightning burst from the
cloudless Bky above them, his father would
not have been more startled. How could
ho preach or perform the laborious duties
of pastor without his daily glass of bitten?
How could ho get up" in a cold winter
night and go and pray by the bedside of
some dying parichioner, without a class of
something) to prevent his taking cold ?
How could he attend to the various eccle
siastical meetings of the church without
something to help him bear the fatigues of
the journey 1J The sacrifice was indeed
great, but tho welfare of his son demand
ed it. And summoninff all his resolution.
with a faltering voice, he replied "I will
do it my son." And thus they pledged
themselves to total abstinence.
The lake, the'trees, and the pure blue
sky, were the only witnesses, save only that
holy Being who is everywhere. As they
retracedtheir steps,Miig father taking the
little watch from his pocket, gave it to
Dennie, and said, "My son, yon have
long wished that I should give you this
watch. It is vours as lonsr ns vou keen
your promise. Should that ever be bro
o J 1
ken,! shall expect you to return it to me;
till then let it bo a token to you of thb
promise wo have now made."
Years havo passed, and the same little
"Dcnnio" is now a ' distinguished clergy
man in one of our most populous Western
cities.Four bright .little boysjjcall him
father. The same littlo cold watch deco
rates his parlor wall, arid often does he
point to it and tell of his danger and bis
escape from the whirlpool of Intemper
ance. 'We'll meet Bgalria the Morning"
Such was the exclamation of a dying
child, says the Newark Mercury, as the
red rays of the sunset streamed on him
through tho casement, "Good bye, Papa,
goodbye! Mamma has come for mo to
night j don't cry, papa, we'll all meet again
iu the mourning." It was as if an angel
had spoken to that father, and his heart
grew lighter unaer its burden, for some
thing assured him that his little one had
gone to tho bosom of him who said "Suff-
httlo children to come unto me, for of
such is the Kingdom of Heaven." " v
There is something cheerful and inspir
ing to all who are in trouble in this, "we'll
all meet again in the morning." It rouses
up tho fainting soul' like a trumpet blast,
and frightens away forever the dark shapes
thronging tho avenues of the outer life.
Clouds may gather upon ourpathes; cares
press their venomed lips against our cheek
disappointments gather around us like
an army with banners, but all this cannot
destroy tho hope within ns, if we havo
this motto upon our Hps, "AH will be
bright in the morning."' Uamhcttcr
American. ' ' ;
No Good Lked Lost. Philosophers
tell us, that since the creation .of the
world, not one single particle has ever tceu
lost ! It may have passed into new shapes;
it may have floated away ' in smoke or va
por) but it is not lost. ' It will come back
again in tho dew-drop or tho raiu j it will
spring up in tho fibre or the plant, or paint
itself on' the rose leaf. - Through all its
formations, Providenco watches over and
directs it still. Even so it is with every
holy thought or heavenly desire, or hum
ble aspiration, or generous and self-denying
effort.' It may escape our observation;
wo may be unable to follow It, but it is an
element of tho moral work and it la not
lost. ' v "'v '' ; -. :
' , ' " ' , ,
'I- 'XSrlt is reported of a- certain ostenta
tious lawyer; that be is never without at
least a dozen eases on bahd.V It has been
- . --
ascertained, however, thai they' consist of
t Idt' of "old book taws." -' '
P : E R A - N N -U " M,
-'-IHVJlBIABLY IS ADVASCt' : t
VOLUME I. NUMBER 17.
The Way to; fetfl ia thd Wci-i:
-vA.working vazn ,jKme.,linje' agVPb-f .,
lished his own biography, one of tCTuosY
interesting little volumes that has appear
ed during the present century. It is as
follows: "It may, to seme, appear like
vanity in me to write what I do, bat I
should not give my life truly, If I omitted
it. When filling a cart with earth oa tho
farm, I never stopped work, becausemy
sido of the cart might be heaped up be
fore the other aide, at which wai another
workman. I pushed over what I had W.
ed up, to help him; ao doubtless he did to
me, when I was last and he first. . When
I, have filled my column or1 columns of
newspaper with matter for which I was to
be paid, I have never stopped, if 1 thought
the subject required more explanation) be
cause there was no contract for mora nar.
7 r j
menta, or no possibility for obtaining more.
wncn 1 Have lived in a barrack room, I
havo stopped my work, and taken ft babv
from a soldier's wife, when she had to
work, aud uursed it for her, or cleaned
another man's accoutrements, though it
was no part of my duty to do so, When
I have been engaged in political literatnro
and JraveKng for a newspaper, I have gone
many irnrcs oat of j road to ascertain a
local fact, or to pursue a aubjeet'to its mi- "
nutest details, If it appeared that the pub
lio were unacquainted with the facts in
the case , and this, when I had the work
was most pleasant and profitable." ' When
I have wanted work, I have accepted it at
any wages I could get, , at a plough, in
larm-araining, stone quarrying, breaking
stones, at wood-cutting, in a saw-pit, as a
civilian or as a soldier. In London I hare
cleaned out a stable and groomed a cab
man's horse for six-penoe. I hare sinco
tried literature, and have done as much
writing for ten shillings as I havo readily
obtained both tonght and offered ten
guineas for. But if I had 'not been eon.
tent to begin at the beginning and accept
ed shillings, I should not hay arisen to
guineas. 1 have lost nothing by working-
whatever I have been doing, by spade or
pen, 1 have been my own helper. '--Am
you prepared to .imitate 1 Himility Is al
ways the. attendant of sense folly alone
is proud. A wise divine, when preachinir
to the youths of his 'congregation,1 was
wont to say, "Beware of being golden ap
prentices, ailrer journeymen,' and copper
masters." 1 The only cure for pride is
sense; and the only path to promotion ia
condescension.. What multitudes have
been ruined in their prospects by the prida
or their hearts I AWay, then, youne men.
and away forever, with aelf-foppcry, and
empty pndei idle habits, and expensive
associates--"stoop and eonquer."' Sink
in spirit and rise in opulence. ' Be faith
ful over a few things, and be made ruler
over many." London Christian ' Pea
Maganne.' ':' 1 ' j ':. ;' U-Vrt
, The Lore of Homt.y j y
, It is Lonly . shaUow-minded. pretenders
who ever make, the humblest origin, mat
ter of personal reproach, . Taunt and scoff
ing at the humble condition of early life,
affect nobody in this country bat who an
foolish enough to indulge ia them, and
they are equally sufficiently punished by
the rebnke. A man who is not ashamed
of himself need not be ashamed of hia
early condition. v; . .... ,t v ,
It did not happen me to be horn In a
loc cabin, but niv elder brother mA ia.
I U 0 i
pore were, born in a log oabin, raised among
the snow units or Jew, Hampshire, at a
period so early as that when the smoke
first rose from its rude chimney, and curl
ed over the froien hills, there was no sim
ilar evidence' of a white man's habitation
between it and the settlements on the riv
er of Canada. '' Its remains still exist, and
I pay it an annual visit I carry my chil
dren to it to teach them the hardships en
dured by the generations which have gone
before them. , I love to dwell on tender
recollections; tho early affections, and the
narrations and incidents which tuingle with
all I know of their primitive family abode,
I weep to. think that none of those who
inhabited it Are now among the living;
and if ever I am ashamed of it or if ever
r fuil In affection or veneration fur Mm .
who raised it and defended it against sav
age violence and destruction, cherished all
domcstio Virtues beneath its r,oof, and
through the fire and blood of seven years
revolutionary war, shrunk from Pd toil, ho
sacrifice, to servo his eountrv, and to rsii e
his children to. a condition, bttrr tl.r.n hi
own, ""J. " J """ ) u,u i t iny
posterity," bo bloUcds forever the
memory of mankind: Dasml'V' trrxrif. .
a..:t ? i,;5-' .'
J ' I