Newspaper Page Text
ft: l-r-. i a v l.UvW I't:i" '.MSIIil: :n f III .. . -;!! ; "Jl ill. : -ii,, ! is Mil)'' 'I . V.I W :.'. "'Jbw tin.-. - ,(. ! -II--.,,, . : :'. '"'"' i. I I '. v ! r j v. ! .-;;. pT ttlit) I .! ., f ., ..,'...,. ... .... . vyy . -..,., "Tr-.. -mwvt i . ....... . .. .vv.... . ,. . t f i at f i L" it ii i w , . , ,:i :, -,r . I.;,,!,, t -liH i- ;.: .; fw...--.! n;,-H. V :t ...a-.,t,: . ( I.V.fi. .(J. BjN.T S . -f 1 ;,: ;.' . .. :?It50;P E R A N N U M i . : in. IP PAID IN ADVANCE, ' Z. JtAGAN, Editor and Proprietor. 1 . ij : 1 .... jl. uLy, y. 1 1 .. -i 1 t . .: i- ,;JXP0pIL0flI0i . . ...tr at- tti f m a - ' ' Ttri inn n e : ! . v 7 roia reterion'a Migasint. MY "AUNT EDITH'S LOVE. BY ftLEN LOUISE CHANDLER M0CLT0N. I. lies- " Now iu her miowy sliroiiJ nlie Her lily lid half veil her cyea '' At if she looked with vild urpriH Up t her Houl in ranidine." Ouiver. ; I was nine years old, and my. mother only twenty five, when over our house fell a grtat darkness, the bit'.cruess, and the sbadow of death. My mother was very beautiful. Sweet . Elfic Snow" had been '.tut name by which all the vil lagers called her in the hapy day of her childhood ; huppy, save that she had never known a mother's love. She had scarcely missed it, however, so tenderly had she been cared for tby her widowed father, and her elder sister, Kilitli. At fifteen, her girlish heart lud yielded it self up in passionate udoration to my state ly, noble lather,' and she Had become his wife. He was many years older than she, and the world used to call him grave and siern, but 1e was never so to her; hi fairy, his darling, his liule snow-Uby,' as he used, laughingly, to cull her. A very handsome man was my father ; his figure was dignified and noble, and lis dark, deep eyes were fuller of tenderness than any eyes lever looked into, save, well, it's no matter for the exception, perhaps, your own heart is making one also. They had ,lived together, my parents, a Kind of enchanted life; full of beauty, of love, of dreams ; leading thro' green meadows, into which no apple of discord had ever lallcnj beside the still waters of peace I was their only chi'd, and they never tired-of me, or. of each other. Day after day, iu the long, blui! summer, mother would lie on her light straw hat, and we would all go forth' to gether, into the fields and woods, and there my statety father would lie, hour after hour at her feet, and read to her old legends of knights and ladies, and tender lays of " the love that hopes, and en dures, and is patient." At last, they lold me. God was goinr to give me a baby brother or sister. I was sent to spend a few days with a friend two or three miles away, and when I came bark, I wits told I should find the sweet, new comer. 1 shall remember to iny'dylng day, how my mother drew 'me to bor, and kised me again, and again, Iter brown eyes all luminous with tears. No other child shall ever be to us like this, our first one, shall there, Guy ?' she said, with faltering voice. ' lie bent over her, and kissed her. No.'Effi e, no. little snow darling, no other ever could be. I think a first child 1s like a first love. It touches a chord that has never before trembled, and both re sweeter than anything that can ever come: again.' ' 1 went away with my heart thrilling to her murmured words, and the paxsionnte clasp of her tender arms ; with my cheek wet with her tears. '; Three days after I stood alone, toward nightfall, at the gate of my friend's house I saw a carriage whirling swiftly down the road. It stopped, and my fatknr sprang from it, in a restless, hurried man nerr very unlike,, himself, lie caught me frantically iii his arms, and strained me . to his bosom. . My own child," he murmured, poor littl lamb, poor, lonely, ' desolate little thing'; come, I must take you home with me." ' ' My child-heart gresr heavy with an undefined fear. I went away for my things, and in tho meantime, my father, had a few' moments conversation with' the lady of the house. When I came back ha lifted me tenderly into the car riage, and we. drove rapidly away. ';. Is there a new baby ?" I asked, my childish eagerness overmastering my ter rdr at his altered manner. I have learn ed since, that a great sorrow can seldom school itself to make ohoice of words. My father answered me with a startling abruptness. ,, r v , V My child,' hsftid, you are my only child still ; your, mother is dead1." ' I threw myself into his arms. I sob bod' wildly. Jly figure shook in his clasp.'and I felt other tears falling thick and fast among my curls. I do not think be had wept before. His eyes had looked tearless, his face rigid, but it did him good now. After a little while he smoothed my hair tenderly, and holding me closer In his bosom, be said. " Mv little girl must not ween so God will take care of hei, and some day if she is very good, she will g and see her mother In heaven." I saw he was struggling to regain his composure, and 1 aided htm by control ' ling myself, and only weeping very qui- 1 euy. ; When we reached home, he, hi mself, 'took off my bonnet, and hung it op, smoothed back my hair, and then, taking my hand, led, ine into the parlor. , There j upon a bier, mv, mother lay. I thought 1 had never seen her so beautiful. , The lids were closed over her eyes, her shin ing hair . lay about her face and marble shoulders, 111 rich heavy curls ; she .was clad m white, and on one fair arm lay a new born babe, like its mother, dead. Its tiny fintreis were clasped around a just opening white rose bud, and all about, both mother and child, flowers had been arranged, with surpassing taste. The radiance of the setting sun just touched the glineiing curls with gold, and illum ined the dead face with a look of saintly peace. For a moment my father gazed calm ly upon her Wondrous beauty, Theil loosing my hand from his clasp, he sank down on his knees beside her, with his arms thrown across her form. She did not look like one dead, but far more like the snow image to which he used play lully to liken her. Death had but leightened the exquisite fairness, which, in life, made her name of Effie Snow so singularly appropriate. ' " Oh, my own Effie," he cried out, m his deep agony, " would to God I could have died for thee ; my darling, my beau tiful, my lone lile's pearl. Come back, oh, sainted one, to your place in my bosom, or ask the God who has called you, to summon me hence, also." ' I crept up to him, and stole between his arms, very nigh his heart. I laid my head upon his breast, and tluin I saiJ " Don't die, dear papa ; who would take care of Katie ?" lie clasped rne fervently to his bosom. " No I will not die. . I will do the work Effie left to me, in her last moments, She bade ine live to brinr up her child, to make you fit to meet her iu iho beautiful citv, whither she was going. Katie, child, we are all the world to each other -looks like birds now. II. "Eyes not down dropt nor over bright but leit Willi the clear pointed flame of chastity, Clear without heat, undyitiir, tended by Pure vestul thoughts in the translucent lane ' Of her still spirit ; locks not wide diKpread, Madonna-wise on either side her head ; Sweet, lips wliurcon perpetually did reign The summer calm of golden charity." . Tk.N.NYSON. Three weeks after my mother had been buiicd, I entered my father's library one morning. lie was just scaling n letter, and looking up as 1 entered, he said, I hnve been writing to your aunt Edith. Your mother wished mo to ask her to come and lake charge of you. You need every girl needs a woman's gui dance grow up the true, pure woman I would see ray daughter. Your aunt Edith reared your mother, and my only prayer is that she may make you like iter. I don't know why she has ' never married, for she is one uf the noblest per sons I ever knew." Is she any like like my mother ?" I faltered. 1 could not learn to speak thone words calmly. No, Katie, very little. She is twelve years older, a great deal quieter,' a' great deal less impulsive, a great deal less beau tiful, and yet, there is a kind of family resemblance; You have never seen her since you Mere a baby." ,' l'or some reason, 1 knew, mint Ldith had never visited us. Sho used to plead her incessant cire of my aged grandTaili er, but, I know, this reason had never quite'satisfied my mother, who loved her older sister with an intense affection She used herself to go back sometimes to the old homestead, but since 1 was a year old, she bad never taken me. The year hffot,h.r ilwath, lio but tnno home to her father's funeral, and I re membered.; her saying she had tried in vain to persuade Edith to return . with er. , , . . ..... ' ,u " Will she come, do you think, father!' I asked, looking up. , 1 ' , , . " Ye. I think so, when (he knows it vs Effio's dying wish." A quick change passed over his face as he Baid these words. He couldn't yet hear the sound of thai sweet name- Effie. even on his own lips, without an underthrill of agony My mother hud been loved ; oh 1 how I thanked God in after year for the knowl edge, truly and well. Soon a letter was received in reply Mv aunt Edith would come. To her, she said, the call of Effie's wishes was a sa cred one, for no one on earth could love her bright, beautiful child-sister as she had done. She did not wish my father to r.ome after her, as he proposed j he must not leave Katie she could come just aa well alone. In two weeks she ' came. From the first moment she won my heart. She was a pale, quiet woman, with a few threads of grey, among the soft tresses of her plainly banded, brown hair. Her mouth, I always notice mouths, was very sweet in its expression, lovely: with patience it must have been years in learn ing. Her chief claims to tho possession of beauty resided in her eves) large brown eves, verv like mv mother's, save that instead of the joyous, , 1 1 - m .. : .1... 1 :..).. V A liug aiiaib j ui, tiguir. 'f liere lay in their depths the shadow of a lifetime's sorrow. They were very full of tears when she kissed ine,' as tenderly as my mother, used, and called me her Effie's child, her own darling. I saw the color slowly rise to her pale cheek when my father said, holding her hand, lou will proim&e to be a mother to her, Edith T" She kept her word faithfully, l'rom that hour I was never suffered to know the grief of the ; motherless. Her kind care was ever about me, her ear ever open to my sorrows, kaud . her heart was my pillow every nignu Dear aunt Edith 1 How many times I tired her, and yet how unfailing was her patience.' 1 thik, too, that her gentle presence, foflened my father's grief. There was something of his dead bflie in her brown eyes, and in the sweet, womanly taste which beauti fied his home, the quiet grace which lent such a charm to her every jnovcment. bix years had passed thus, and it was my fifteenth birth-day. 1 went alone as I had done, on every birth-day since my mother died, into a little dressing-room, opening out of her nuptial chamber, which was preserved sacred to her memory. Here everything spoke of her. The pic tures upon the wall were the work of her hands; the lounges were covered with cushions which she had embroidered ; on a little stand in the corner was an antique crystal vase, which she was wont to fill every morning with flowers ; and in front of 1 tho window stood the desk, at which she had written so many hours. I did not think iny father had ever entered this room since her death. I think he could not have borne it. , Even 1 went there, as I said, but once a rear. For the first time I sat down before her desk, and onened it. 1 lie first iluns which met mv eve was a closoly written sheet of naper. I irlanced at it, at first, not knowing for whom it was intended, and when 1 saw it was addressed to my father, I read on, I could not help it. It was evidently written at different times, not lontr before her death. Its contents formed a kind of letter of farewell. It said : ' My husband, my heart's most preci ous treasure, 1 leel a presentment mat soon I am going lo leave you. It may not be. and vet something to Is me, a stilt, small voice, which day and night speaks to my ear. that ere long your feet will roam alono over the meadows, will climb alone the paths of the woodland, in a few weeks my hunr of trial will come, and then think the Heavenly Father will summon ine.. They will lay a dead babe upon my dead breast, and you, my beloved one, will kneel in despair besiue me. Oh. then, I pray my God, that light from heaven may shine through the cletid upon von, and the blessed hope ol the resurrection may make rainbows of your tears. . Oh. mv husband, blessed be God, we have loved each other. No memories of harsh, unloving worJs, no shadow of unshared grief, no mist ol unsootlied tears can oouie between us, maliing the heavy sorrow of this parting heavier. JNot one thought even of bitterness, has saddened the ten sunny years that 1 nave warned, or sat, by your side, or slept in your bo som. ''Ten years, and yet it seems but the oilier duy,: that I was trimming roses in mv hair, and putting on my blue dress in mv childhood's home, because I expected my noble lover, and he liked blue dresses and roses. We have not ; grown old much since then. We have only grown together; each day dearer, more preoioue mora necessary to eaou otuer. , iinu now, I must go forth without you, oh, I feel that I must. ..Every moment the voice in my heart saye 10 more loudly.. For the first time in ten yeara we must be seper- aied, and I must go forth alone into the Valley and the shadow ol death, iiut l fear no evil. On the summits of the dis tant hills, I can see the eternal light of heaven, and I know that angel pinions will bear me , over, the deep waters that lie between. . In. my soul js no doubt, nor even sorrow, for the future years that lie betwixt us seem very short, and I grieve onlv for vou, and for our child. ,,"Iwish Edith to take care of her; and now, my husband, it will not be wrong to tell you a secret : the only one, beloved, that 1 ever kept from you. Ednh loves you. lie fore we were mar ried, I made the discovery, hut I would not so wrong her pure heart as to let even you. know it. This is why she never married ; why she was unwilling to visit us. She nevet dreamed that 1 suspeoted her secret, but I did, and oh, Guy, over and over 1 blessed her in my heart, as I saw the secret tears fall upon the bridal robes she was fashioning for me. The night before our marriage I slept, as I had done all my life, in her arms. When she thought me sound asleep, she gently put me from her, and rising, knelt down before the bed, and prayed for us. Oh, Guy, such a prayer I have never heard There was in it deathless love : wild, pas tionate tenderness ; such faith as could remove mountains ; above all, self-immolation, and the smothered wail of a break ing heart. '' ' '" '. . ' ' " Not for one moment did she grudge me your love,. ' Ehe would have died 1 to make me happy.' ; IIow T longed to let her know that I understood her, but for this, my appreciation of her spotless del icacy was loo exalted. But now standing near to death; as 1 fear 1 am,' I must tell you, the love of such a woman as Edith is a priceless treasure, a blessing unspea kable. Guy, there is no jealousy in death. I think she would make your lonely lifo brighter. Nd ' where else could you find sush a mother for our child. If you can love her. I wish you would woo and win her. Let her long enduring love have its deseived reward. I do not ask you to continuei.toi love me best. I know your heart, and it is needless. Edith is far more worthy than I am,, and thtn tdie can never lovo you more, and well 1 know the place your child wife wa3 held, must forever remain vacant. We have loved too tenderly ; there have been too many blessed in lerehanges of hope and happiness in the eolililu Dast. for any other ever to be as much one with you aj Eflie ; but Ediih, my sister, is a noble woman and I do think she would make your life brighter.- If you love her, if your woo her, so wooing, you have your wife's blessing." Formany moments I sat, holding the elter in my hand, my tears falling fast. It was such a revelation to me from the young life, so ely closed; the young heart long ago turned to grave mould; the pure soul, wailing eveu now, for its beloyed, far upon the distant bills ot heaven. A.I length I arose, and folding the letter, sought mv fe M1S rry- " Iipa, 1 said, " dear papa, here is a letter for you; which I found to day in my mother's desk. Have you ever seen it ?" "No, my child?" His voice trem bled, and so did the hand which he readied forth ' to take it. He held it, without unfolding it, aud seemed to wail for me to retire. Papa," I said, once more, as I open ed the door. ''I read it: I could not help it, for it was from her ; please to forgive ine ?" . Three weeks after, he asked me the question, which 1 had occu an me tune expecting Katharine, my child, you know the contents of that letter, would vou be willing to call your aunt Edith mother Wore than willing, my lamer; only, papa, please to lorgive me ; oui you would not love her, would you, quite as well as " " As Effie, Karharine ? ah, my child, vou little know the heart, there is no love like first love ; no light can bright eu the sttof day like its morning sun shine, j : A few moments afterward, I saw him walking in the garden beside aunt Edith It was quite late when they returned, and her face was very pale, but the lile long sorrow in ner Drown eyes uau given place to something I should have called IiaDDiness. supreme happiuess, but that it . was too holy. In a few weeks they wero married, Anot Edith looked vcryjlovely in her so ber trrev silk, with the few white roses I would twiuein ber soft hair. From that day, my father's health, del icate for several years began visibly to decline. Oh, how patietiily she nursed him. To be in his presence, lo hear him sometimes cr.U ber his wife, seemed hap pities enough for her. Day and night she hovered over linn like a guardian angel, and when at last, in the solemn midnight, his summons came, sun Knell at his bed's head, and supported him on her arm For awhile his mind seemed wandering, He talked as if bis dead .bine was once more beside him, and they were roaming over the fieldsas of old. This brook is too deep for you, my wee-thing, my suow-babv," he said, in 1 such tender tones as soften a proud man s voice when he SDeaks to one dearer than life. "Wait . ... a moment; were, 1 win. carry you, so, in my bosom, you fairy, you brown-haired little darling Again he soemeu to, think ner tireu, ana he called her to come anu niue ner orign head on his shoulder; and let him hold ber until she got 'rested. At last, he opened his eves, and reason seemed com . , l.l- II' I .L. ing DSCK 10 mm. im gropea among ine bed olothes with his hands, and said tee bly, - : " She is gone, is she not, my Effie T A shining band, with bright wings, car ried her away ; this it not ber ; this is Edith. Good Edith, dear Edith, you have been very kind to me, and God will bless you. I am going now, and I leave my Katie in your care. Kiss me, loved ones, both of vou.1 Hush, I hear them singing; and Effie ! I see her all in white; where she said tho would wait for me ; the other tide of the ever-flowing river. Father in heaven,' receive, receive, iny spirit-" There1 was one low moan : the sole to ken of the anguish of dissolution ; then, with wide open eyes, and a quick, glad cry, as if for. him the day was dawning, his soul passed, and I was left' in the sol emn midnight doubly orphaned ! Edith was a widow. .' She considered me a sacre d charge ; she 1 lived to see me happy in a home of my own, with fond hearts about me, and then she died, as she had lived, faithful to the one love of her pntient life. Do Unto Others as You Would Have ... Others Do Unto You. ; o A correspondent of the Dlair county (Pa.) Whig, furnishes that paper with the particulars of the following interesting incident of which he was an eye witness It occurred a few years ago 011 the line of the great international improvements of that State. It was one of tiinso scenes of genuine kind heartedness which fill the mind with tho involuntary conscious ness that there is something of the angel still in our common nature. ' At the point of this side of the moun tain, where occurred the transhipment of -passengers from the west, was moored a canal boat, . awaiting the arrival of the train ere starting on its way through to the East. The captain of the boat, tall, rough, embrowned man, stood by his craft superintending the labois of his men, when the cars rolled up, anu a lew moments after a party of about a half a dozen gentlemen came out and deliberate- walking up to the captain, addressed bun something alter tins wise: " Sir, we wish to go on bast, but our further progres? depends on you. In the cars we have just left is a sick man whose presenoe is disagreable. ' We nave been appointed a committee by the passengers iu tun Hint juu 'will ueuy mill man a yas sage in your boat. II he goes we re main; whtit say you?" Gentlemen, replied the captain, " I have heard the passengers through their committee. Has the sick man a represen tative here T '.' . To this unexpected interrogatory there was no answer; when, without a mo ment s pause, the captain passed over to the car, and entering, beheld in one cor ner a poor emaciated wotn-out creature, whose life was nearly eaten up by that canker worm, consumption. The man s icad was bowed in his hands, and he was .1 1 111 weeping ; the captain advanced ana spoke to him kindly, 0, sir," raid the shivering invalid, looking up, his face now lit with trem bling expectations, " are yiiu the captain, and will you take me I God help me? 1 he passengers look upon me as a breath ing pestilence, and are so unkind ! You see, sir 1 am (tying, dui on, n 1 am spared to reaoh my mother, I shall die happy. : bhe lives in liurlington, sir, and and my joruney is more than half perform ed. 1 1m a poor painter, and the only child of her in whose arms I wish to die!" , You shall go,' said the captain, 'if I lose every passenger for the trip.' 13 v this time the whole crowd of pas sengers were grouped around the boat, with their baggage piled on the path, and they themselves awaiting the decision of me captain Deioie engaging ineir pas sage. A moment more and that decision was made known, as they beheld him coining from the cars with the sick man cradled in his arms. Pushing directly through the crowd with his dying .burden, he or dered a mattress to be. spread in the choicest part of the boat, where he laid the invalid with all the care of a parent. That done, tho captain directed the boat for starting, But. a new feeling seemed to possess the astonished prssengert that of shame and contrition at their inhumanity. With one common impulse they walked aboard the boat, and in a few hours after, another committeo was sent to the captain, en treating his presence among the passen ten in the cabin. " He went, and from their midst there arose a white-haired man, who with tear-drops in his eye, told that rough, sun-browned man, that they fok humbled before him, and they asked his forgive ness. Ii was a touching scene. The fountain of true sympathy was broken in the heart of nature, and its waters welled up, choking tho utterance of all pres ent. un the instant, a purse was made uo for the sick man, with a " God speed ' on his way home, to die in the arms 0 his mother. Thd T-V ,!:;;.:oixa:podbjda;;"; -': t -' " ' !' o weaiy hours were spent - ., These scrap to find, ..; . But scissors kindly took .vn' . .. Xh place of aimd 1 ,: 7x The. Man that doiKItake1 a Paper. -,', This cobweb individual, waa- in town yesterday. He brought hit whole fami- in a two horse wagon. He still, be- ieved that General Taylor was- Presi dent, and wanted to know if the " Kamsi chaikid" had taken Cuba, and if so, where they had taken it. He bad sold ni8 corn tor twenty nve cents the price' oeing mirty-one out on going to deposit Ins money, they told hi in it was mostly Prtlllifarruit 'Pita jirtlvt linri inAnA U i,.l ... . ;b -,i than those who are ambitious without in- those some sharper had run on , him It is more tolerable to be always alone, than never to be so. ; i . : r " ' X3T A man never forgets an insult to his pride or purse a wttnan to her beau ty or love. : - . ::. ; . .:! JEP Perhaps there are few less happy. for half dimes ! His old lady Was. smoking ," cob-pipe,'' and would not.ibelieve anything else could be used...: One of the boys went to a blacksmith shop for a pair of shoes, and another mistook the market house for a church. After hanging his baton the meat hook, ho piously took' a seal on a butcher's stall, and listened to au , auctioneer, whom he took to be the preacher. He left before " meetin . was out,'' and had no great Opinion of. the sarmiut,' . One of the girls took . a lot of V seed onions'' to the- post office . lo trade them for a letter. She had a babv which she carried in a sugar trough," stopping jit times to rock it on the side walk when it cried, she stuffed its mouth with an old stocking, and sang " Barbara Allen." The oldest boy sold two " coon skins," and was on a " bust." When last seen he had called for a glass of " soda and water," and stood soaking his gingerbread and making wry faces. The shop keeper,, mistaking his meaning had given him a mixtare of sat soda and water, and it tasted strongly of soap. But he'd hearn of soda and water,' and was to give it a fair trial. Some " town fel low" came in and called for a ' lemonade whh a- fly to it;"whetTtfpoh onr' soap ed friend turned his back and quietly wiped several flies into his drink. We approacneu tne oiu gentleman and tried to got him to ' subscribe, but he would not listen to it. He was opposed to in ferual improvements, - and he thought larnm was a wicked invention and cultewation nothin' but wanity and wex- atton. None of his family learned to read but one boy, and he leached schoo while aud then went to. " study diwint ty" dustry who pant, for the prize, but wilt ndt run the race. ' ,r i ' ' 1 . B&. At a fair down East, the reporter under the head of domestic arangemehtty gives the following itemt, Best' bed comfortor Miss Susan Thompson.' ; 3T Some say that sausages are "dog cheap," in this city. However pleasant the fact may be iii a pecuniary tense, tbi tuggeslioiu it calls up, araby jio means agreeable, . .. :i , tl- 3T A wise. man being asked bow old he was, replied : ' I am in health and being asked how rich he was, aaia,""-! am not in debt." ' ' '' . " J3T The Chinese are. queer people to go to market. A friend at Canton. writes that a neighbor of his had just laid in his winter provisions a hind quarter of horso and two barrels of bull dogs; the tetter salted to keep.-. .'. ,"y u '-' -' &3T An orator holding forth in favor of woman, concludes thus : Oh my hearr ers, depend upon it, nothing beats a good. wile, "l beg your paroon, -repueu one of the female aiiditors. ,,a sdrunken Effect of Latin. Andrew Jackson was once makings stump Kpeech out west, in a small village. Just as was concluding, Amos Kendall, who sat behind him, whispered : ' Tip 'em a lit tle Latin, General ; they won t be conten ted without it." . 1 he man of the iron will instantly thought upon the few phrases be know and in a voice of thunder wound np his speech by exclaiming t " E pluri bus unum -sine quinon ne plus, ultra multum in parvo. ' ,The effect was tre mendous, and the Hoosiers' shouts could be heard for miles, , ; husband does." in viJ It ii Common Things. The grandeur of man's nature turns to insignificance all outward distinctions. His powers of in tellect, of conscience, of love, of knowing God, of perceiving the beautiful, of acting on his own mind, on outward nature, and on his fellow creatures these are glori ous perogatives. Through the vulgar er ror of undervaluing what is common, we are apt, indeed, to pass these by as of no ittle worth. But in the outward crea tion, so in the soul, the common is the most precious. Science aud art may in vent splendid modes of illuminating the apparlments of the oppuleht ;' but these are all poor and worthless, compared with the common light which the sun sends'into all ' oiir windows, which he pours freely, tmpartialy, over hilt and valley which kindles daily the eastern and western sky ! and so the common ights of reason, and concience, and love, are of more worth and dignity than the rare endowments which give Celebrity to few. Charywig, Methodist Shouting. We find the following in an exchange paper : 'Surely we have come to strange times when shouting is treated as a grave offence 1 ill Methodist church. .'At Albany,. New York, after fifteen evenings of trial, and debate, brother Bronk' wkS found guilty of shouting so. loud during the servioe as to attract attention and excite ridicule, and was duly sentenced to expulsion ; but the pastor, the Rev. Mr. Brown, took the responsibility of suspending the sen tence during the good behavior of broth er Bronk. The offending brother con fessed to the nlionting, but maintained that under the excitements of iworship-he could not restrain hit . feelings. : Mr. Bronk is in excellent and. exemplary Meihodist, and he makes appeal from the decision of hit church to the Troy Con' ference." ' - .' 1 1 i ; -. : - Never go to bed 4at ten,! leaving your wife; up till two with a tick baby 1 and loos pitciiiorKS at ner ai tne orean- fast table, because the meat is half an hour too late. ' " ' ' - ;,! '''-'- ' bond at. 1 ' When Sunday morn beamcth, ' ' '' ' ' i How sweet 'tis to stay ..... .1...., Iu bed an hour later ' "' Than on a week day, ' -' ' ' : Ji . When ths early bell chiming f(,,.;; u Says, " be at your ease, ' ' Tou ran go to yonr breakfast ' ' . As late at you please!" ,,. ,;)!,, 3T A plain man sincere and credulonn, will build upon very weak testimony; while the diffident and suspicious will scarce be satisfied with the strongest "It is the province of reason and experience te correct these extremes. i .r .1 -11 ' What are you going to givd me for a Christmas present?" asked a gay damsel of her lover. , , . , j " 1 have nothing to give .but my hum ble self," was ihe reply. "The smallest favors greatfully I rec ceived," was the merry responce of the lady. , '( . 7 r: : ;i :; Ml ! V josh, I say I was going down street t'other day, and I teed a tree bark," V Golly . Sam I seed it hollow.' I seed the same one leave. '"Did it take it trunk with it!" "No, it left that for board." - 1 : t i ' .i A Hint to Yonuo. Ladies A young gentlemen of moral character, but making no pretentions to religion, and who 111 the estimation of marrying mothert, is an unusally eligible mulch, wat recently jeered by his friends for his attentions to a young lady highly educated, , accom plished, beautiful, and ri oh. Hit father, hearing of these attentions, and that they were kindly recieved, but had been sud denly withdrawn, asked his son the cause. He replied, "You know, sir, I make) no pretention to religion, but I . cannot tole rate in a woman irreverence an ; disre spect to religion ; I heard her repeatedly peak disrespectful on that stored subject, and I wat afrtid lo trust to ber, keeping my future happiness. Southern Tm- oytenan. ,..-,.1 ,.-is'.i no., . ,.u .-..! w 1 :l 'i " ' mm 'i ,'r- 'I'i.I;; . ISPT. Whoevei hat gained the. affections of. a woman, it apt. to succeed in any en terprne wherein the astistt hira. ,... '"jy Civilisation is a chain its first links rude and unpolished, but holding to gether, and every link growing brighter and more elegant in its lorm ana amen, streatching from century lb century,' until in its full perfection it shall bind Human v to Divinity, in the grand consumma tion of millenial happiness and glory,, ;, 3" Gifts may make man a scholar but grace only can make a man a believer t is beyond the power ot tne greatest gifts to change the heart , A man may pray and preach like an spostle, And yet have but the heart or a devil, it is grace only thai can change : the heart. . Man)! have gone, laden with gifts,, to hell. ,,( 17 In Auburn, last winter, an Irish man walking along one of the streets, saw a thermometer hanging on the side of the door in front of a house. ' Stop ping a moment he looked at it, raised bis shillelah.and- exclaimed An' faith and you're the little ertyther what keeps the . weather so cowld,.are ye?'' and - with a terrific blow, accompanied with the usual Irish oath brought It in a thousand pieces to the ground. v r'r 1 '--? A. genneman naving some waw key on band asked his son, a smalt' boy to taste it, but the moment it touched the boys lip he flew, back, clapped bis bands on fit mouth, and cried out in n agony of pain, "0 papa! papal it wiUkuTmei l" Had the little fellow been inspired tr Heaven, he eould not have spoken-more truly. Kill Uiee, my little friend? Yes,, it has killed millions already, and it "ill kill millions yet, before the people will listen to the dictates of reason with reference 16 ' the use of these diabolical drinks. V ' X3T A farmer Once hired a Verronter to assist in drawing logs.1 'The -Yankee, when there was a log -tol.lift, rea erally , contrived to secure, tho ;r,u.!.t end,, for tjr.h the farmer, rebuked hire, -and told hint always to lake 'the bnt end. Dinner eftme and with' it a sugar loaf Indi an pudding;.! Johnathan sliced off a gen- rout portion of i the, largest part, -and, giving the farmer s wink exclaimed, ! wv talta iha Kill n(t " " '