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' .f .;t X 7; I. I't 3 it $ sr i '. JJ, ,W - X-.y 13 K 5 mm -8 m W w ) ft 4 '.' tM.-..r: --A -VVvr ;? 7 - V; B. CONN, PUBLISHElfci ei s,y ' COSHES MARKET ABD:H M i jv 'v Z. JIAGAN, Editor and Proprietor. .. j I ..... ., ' " I','. THE DAEZ .MOMINO i - AND ,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 held them. But Mrs. Grey took them from lierby force, exclaiming "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 stormy night. 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 girls." 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 peerless being." "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. 0 . "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' 1 ysMi fr aud hajijfjI.djj'i'4-jnerj only two names wero written in light fairy tracery "Glen nie" "Zulieme." i CHAPTER III. "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 good policy? Ever ono loves her, you know." "Well, then inc 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, queationingly. "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 IIollcu. I "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 crimsoned. . 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 magazine?" "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 edge ' 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 mother. 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!!?! J 2 . i."-...j.' Mmtnl Iidtllipct "5-.-!'- ik : 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 : ..-.'i.l....:'' 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-' .' 4-7 j -' : i it , 5 J ' I II I fV 1 . s.