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Thursday Morning. Fcl. 8, 1855
... bt OBonoi s. rai.iTK M.
Tlssad yet sweet to listen,
To the soft wind's gentle swell,
' '' And think we hear the muslo
Ourchlldron knew so well,
To gaze out on lha even,
' And the boundless fields of air.
And fuel aguln our'bojhood wish
To roam like angels thcrel
- There aro many dreams of gladness
That cling uround the post
And from tho tomb of feeling
Old thoughts como thronging fust
The forms we loved so dearly
51 In the happy days new gouo,
The beautiful and lovely, . .
So fulrjto look upon.
Those bright and lovely maidens
Whosooraed so'lbrniod forbllas, - .
r. Too glorious and loo heavenly ' .
'" Forsech a world as thlsl
: ; Whose soft dark cyesseemod swimming
' ' . la a sea of liquid light,
And whoso locks of gold were streaming
4 O'er brows so suui.y bright.
Whose smiles whore like the sunshine
Iu the spring-time of tho year
I.lko tho changeful gleams of-April
7 They follow every tearl '
t They huvo passed like hope away
All their lqvullncss has Bed
Oh! many a heart Is mourning
That they aro with the dva I. .
"" liko the bright buls-of summer,
They have fallen from thoatcm . .
Yet, oh it is a lovoly death
To fudo from oarlh like thouil
And yet tho thought h) saddening
To muse on such as they
And feel that all the beautiful
Are passing fust away!
That the fair ones whom welovo,
Grow to oach loving breast, .
' ' ' Like tendrils of the clinging vine,
. Then perish where they ret.
. And ean we thhik of theso,
In the soft and gentle spring,
... When the tree are waving o'or us, .
And tho (lowers are blossoming!
For wo know that winter's .coming , ...
With Its cold and stormy sky . '
And the glorious beauty round us .
. Is blooming but to die! .
KA BLESSIIG IN DI
BV 6VLVANU9 CODB'JR. .
"But vou are rieb enough, Lauson. Lot
"sis leave the creat city, and tcuk boiuo
aiiore quiot home.'-
. 'So, no, Lydia. Uusiness is ray very
life; I must rh:tke a litilo more money be
fore I firive it up.
"'Will you tell me, my liusbnnd, liow
5 much vou would havo now, if you were
'..to settlo vour businss all up.'
' 'O, perhaps two hundred thousand dol
lars. And think, Lauson, only think, how
sumntuouslv, we could live upon the inter
O8tof that, and havo much, too, to bestow
upou those who need our chanty. Come,
tell mo that you will leave your business at
"once. I ciui see what you do not see.
You are undermingyour constitution, and
, your nealth is fast leaving you.'
- 'Pshaw, Lydia, you croak like a raven.
" I should loso my health, wero 1 to leave my
' business. Don't say any more now, for
-vou see I am busy.'
, As tho husband spoke, he turned to tho
little ebony cscntoir which he kept in Ills
parlor, and commenced overhauling and
studying tho various papers which hy
. Lauson Watklns had soon his thirtictl;
, year, and yoang as he was, he had become
11 what the world calls rich. At an early
acre hehad entered the mercantilebusiness
and fortune had smiled upon him. lleliad
already amassed an abundant competency
but while he kad boon doing this, ho bad
- - been losing bis health. - His organization
. was one. of those which will not boar great
mental excitement. ' His brain was largo
. and active, his excitability intense, and
his mind easily worried and tortured; and.,
- on the other hand, his physical constitu
tion was slight, and of a highly neivous
..temperament. for years he had applied
himself to business without taking any re
spite, and the faster money came-in upon
him, the more and nervous did he become
in his labors. Night and day he labored
over his shipments and invoices, and grad
',. . ually but surely the joy of health was do
.parting irom mm.
' Poor Lydia Watkins saw all this. She
saw tho fearful disease marks that were
crrowinnr udoii her husband's countenance
but she could not - pursuade him to feel as
ene leu. lie laugbea at nor iears, ana yec,
v while he laughed, he felt the disease gnaw-
4ng at his vitals. As tho merchant sat
there at .his work, his anxious wife watch-
' ed him with painful interest. His face was
- ' pale in the extreme, and -the blue veins
stood staringly out upon his high
white . brow and temples. His eyes were
large and brilliant, ' but their bril-
liancy was not natural it was false, nerv
, ous light that gleamed there As hepour-
' . ed over a complicated invoice, reducing to
-1' ; his own currency large amounts of foreign
t - money, his long, white fingers worked ner
"H vously through his hair, and his wife heard
liim broatheJardO sho knew that, ho
When at a late hour Watkins. arose from
his task, ho complained of a headache; but
he had cleared ten thousand dollars by the
cargo he had been disposing of, and he
was pleased. Thut ten thousand did not
help to give him content it only helped to
spur him on to renewed exertion.
'Lydia,' said Mr. Watkins, after he had
cleared his escritoir, 'have you seen your
uncle Langrave to-day?' .
' 'No.' . -
I am afraid he Is going rather deeply in
to dangerous speculations. For a week
past I have been endorsing papers for him
to a considerable amount. He helped me
without stint wheu I commenced business,
and I suppose I must help him now; but I
hope ho will be careful.'
'Adnm Langrave is a careful man,' re
turned Lydia, 'and I am sure he would not
do .that which would make you suffer.'
'0, no, I don't think ho would said
Watkins; and here tho conversation drop
ped,, for the young man's mind , became
hurried in his business.:
Adam Langrave was an old man, and
had been the foster father of Lydia. The
girl had been left an orphan at an early
age, and her husband had commenced his
career its Langrave's clerk, and thus he be
came acquainted with the' fair, virtuous
rl whom he made Jits wito. .Langrave
had lately entertained a great project for
making money, and it was m pursuanco ol
this that he had called on Watkins for as
On tho day following tho scene describ
ed, Mr. Langrave called atWatkins' store,
and opened to tho young merchant more
fully hisproj?ct. It was a vast one, promised
golden . harvest, and atter mucli deliD-
e"ration, Lauson entered into it. It looked
feasible to him, and he promised himself a
ich return for his venture. . .
'Lydia, lam a ruined maul' -
This was tho exclamation of Lauson
Watkins, as ho entered his parlor . one
eveningabout a fortnight after his interview
with Lanjrrave. Ho was paler than usual,
and every nef vo was shaken with agitation.
Kuined! repeated his wile.
'Yes, Langrave has failed he has en
tirely, completely sunk. Every cent is
JBut you aro not all lost, oomeunng
enn be saved.'
No, not adollar. Fool that I was, I
went in with him to the amount of two hun
dred thousand dollars. I trusted to his
The young man did not finish the word.
He was excited, but ho had judgment e-
nough not to hurt the feelings of. his wife
by speaking harshly of her uncle. Ho was
for the whilo completely prostrated. I lie
blow had come upon him with a crushing
weight and lie felt it keenly.
The irentle wife moved to her husband s
side and placed her arm about his neck. -
She trembled violently, ana it was wuiioii
ficulty that she could speak.
Do not blame my undo too much, she
murmured. 'Everything is not lost. I
am left to you, and will do all lean to help
you. In vour business trims 1 could not
assist you, but in your life trials you shall
find that 1 nm not useless.- Do not des
pair, dear Lauson something may turn
up to assist you.
Tho young man did not speak, lie re
turned his wife's embrace, and that mo
ment she saw more of real, grateful joy in
Ins ovo thai! she had seen there ' betoie in
At the end of a week t lie young mer
chant's business was settled up, and ho
found himself the possessor of just tho a
mount of personal property that the law ftl
lowed him. Everything had been swept
away every cent. et thero was ono
thing that remained within his grasp.
His wife held by her own right a small
farm in tho country. It was her birth
place the place of her childhood and
her uncle ' had secured it tohor in Such a
manner that no misfoituneof herhusbandV
could ever fall upon it. Lydia begged of
her husband to hud a home on that farm.
He hesitated a moment and then consented.
11(3 had et first thought of procuringnclerk
ship, and trying once more to set himself
up in business. But the wav looked te
tious to him it seemed too hard to. gain
the place from which he had fallen, and ho
gave it up. It was too much for his pride
to occupy a menial position now, and ho
turned away from that great city weary
and sick at heart.
The homo that Lauson Watkins now re
ceived at his wife's hands, was in truth a
lovely abode. Tho farm was an excellent
one, bearing the choicest of fruit, and ca
pable of the most productive cultivation.
The dwelling was a sweet little cottage,
surrounded by great elmns, with cherry
and plum trees in front, while at a distance,
sparkling like silver in the sunlight; lay a
lakelet.iuto which scores of babbling brooks
poured their: crystal tributes. Lydia sold
her costly jewelry, and thus realized enough
to purchase a choice stock for the far, be
sides having enough left to hire a trusty
man to take charge of the grounds.
Whilo Watkins was taking this step, Ad
am Langrave went south, but where, no
one kiicw save himself. .
It was in early spring. when the fallen
merchant moved upon the quiet farm, and
the work must soou begin, lie was not a
man that could remain idle, and he took
hold to help his men to do tho work. It
was new to him, but he found itby nomcans
disagreeable. His appetite grew sharp,
and he begun to have u keen relish for his
food.' 'I he milk which came from his own
cows tasted sweet to hira. - And then to
see his little wife making butter and mixing
bread, all with her own hands it was nov
el to him,- but possessed a charm that was
gratoful. Then he saw his children a
girl and a boy playing upon the green
8 ward in the garden, and be knew, that
they were growing healthier. By and by
he set his children to studying, and he
himself heard them recite their lessons.'
Before , winter set in, the ex-merchant
had become a real farmer. His crops had
been good, and he experienced a strange
pleasure, in realizing that ho had gathered
into his garner more than provision enough
for the year to come. . .... ' . ., ; ; j '
. .LANCASTER. OHIO, THURSDAY MOKNING, FEBRUARY 8, 1855
devoted wife when she saw her husband
thus returning to himself'?, The bloom of
health was again on his cheek, his step was
firm and elastic, his spirits were buoyant
and free,' and his soul had become content
ed in his home.. - - .-i
Tlireo years passed away, and the pale,
trembling, feverish merchant, had become
a stout, healthy, rugged man. His home
was the abode of every joy a heaven upon
It was in the evening. Mr. Watkins had
heard his children recite their lessons and
say their little prayer.and their mother had
blessed them and attended them to their
beds. They had just set down alone, tho
husband and wife, when some one wrapped
at the door. Lauson aroso and opened it,
and Adnm Langrave entered the apartment.
Lydia sprang to the old man's embracc.and
she wept tears of joy to see her kind uncle
Langrave looked about him with some
thing like surprise depicted upon his coun
tenance, and as he shookhands warmly with
Lauson.ho seemed almost doubtful about
trusting his own senses. Could it be pos
sible tho dying merchant had become such
a living man? The change was to him more
surprising than it was to Lydia.for she had
watched eoch slow development of return
ing health, but ho saw it all at once. It was
in trnlh, "a wonderlul change.
tnick did Lydia prepared a 6implo re
past for her unclo.and then old times wero
talked about. Lauson told how he had suc
ceeded on his farm, and Langrave told
where he had been in the south. The
evening wore away pleasantly and agreea
bly. At length the old man remained si
lent for somo moments, and Lydia began
to tremble. ' '
'Lauson,' said he, 'how would you like
to go back to the city, and enter into busi
'I couldn't do it,' said the young man
with a slight shudder.'
'Dut X think I could raise means. .
'No, no, I am not fit for a merchant.
Mine is a constitution that cannot live by
such business 0, 1 would not give up this
sweet homo for any establishment in the
city. Ah, sir, I learned a groat lesson
when 1 came here a lesson on life. 1
know that I should have been in my grave
if I had remained in the city. I did not
see it then, hut I see it now. At first I
thought the loss of my property wasaca
Iamity.butsir, it wasablussing.ablessing in
disguise. Look nt us now and Ree if we
are not happy 'and,' continued Laufon,
with great aiiimation.'to-morrowyou shall
see my children., lou will have to rise
earl' if you would hear their first shout of
joy nnd see their hrst snulo ot gladness.
Than k (Jod Lydia,' murmured the old
man as he turned towards his niece, 'your
plan lias been blessed.'
Lauson Watkins gazed first upon his
wife nnd then upon her- uncle. He was
puzzled. His wife caught his gaze, and
with a convulsive movement sprung to
wards liirunnd threw her arms aiouudhis
neck ' '':
'Oh, forgive mo, my husband; forgive
me.'she exclaimed, whilo the tears stream
ed down her cheeks. '
'Forgive you? for . what? What does
this mean gasped the young man as he
disengnged his wife's arms liom his neck
and looked into her face.' :'
'Why, said Adam. Langrave, 'she wants
you to forgive her for Bat ing your life! Sit
down, Lydiaahd I'll tell linn all." ..
The wife sank into her chair, and then
the old man resumed: . ,
'I'll explain the wholo mystery to you
in a few moments, Lauson. You -know
how deeply you had become absorbed in
hnrrassinjj business, and how unceasingly
you devoted your timo to tho mere acquire
ment ot money, lour wife saw that you
wero losing health and strength', that you
were becoming entirely lost to her and her
children, in tho. mazy depths ot money
making. This latter burthen she '. could
havo uorno without a murmur, but when
sho saw, that you were surely making your
way prematurely to the grave, she thought
to arrest your steps. She told you her
Tears, but you heeded them not. She saw
that tho hand of the destroyer was upon
you, and that you only "plunged the nioro
deeply into the fell excitement that was
killing you. In the extremity she camo to
me, and begged of me to assist her in sav
ing you. I knew of but one way nnd 1
told my child of that. She made me
promise I would carry it into excution. It
was a sever task, but I determined toper
formic. I drew all- your money away
from you, and when I knew that I had
your last dollar in my possession, I pre
tended to fail. When I saw your misery
upon the occasion, 1 was tempted to uis
close to you the plot, but I resolved that
w"ould go through with what I had com
menced; at the same time earnestly pray
ing that it might all end for your . benefit.
'And now, continued the old man, draw
ing a heavy package from his breast pock
et, 'the deception has lasted long enough
Here are two hundred and three thousand
dollars. 1 took them irom you to save
vour life, nnd make my dear child - happy
I return them to you, believing you will
not blame me for what 1 have done.
Lauson Watkins was bewildered at first,
bnt gradually tho. cloud was dispelled from
bis mind. O Lauson, my husband, can
ynu forgive me?' repeated Lydia.
The redeemed man strained his wife to
his bosom, and whilo tears rolled down his
cheeks, he cried- i . i..
Forgive you? no, no, my angel .'of i
wife; I have nothing to forgive. - I can on
ly bless you bless you with my whole
heart and soul. ' And you, too, my gener
our friend,' he added, extending his hand
to Langrave, 'I must bloss you also.
cannot speak all now I cannot tell you all
I feel - . - T - ' -
That was an evening of joy find thank
fulness. On the next morning uncle Lan
grave was up early, but not early enough
to catch. the first smile of the children, for
he found them just coming in from the gar
den, with their hands full of flowers fpt
their father and mother.' ' " ' t
The childron-the two eldest had .
faint recollection of their Uncle Langrave
well did he love them, and all elso about
him, that ho determined to make the cot.
tnsro his home. Lauson Watkins was oik.
more a rich man, tut he did not leave fti
house witcre ne so wen learned me great.
lesson ot hie. - ne enricnea it with rare
fruits and plcasingornamcnts; and from out
hii bounty he sought to do good to his fel
lows, lie was a happy man, and they had
happy children, and all of them had one of
tho most joyful, merry, laughter loringold
uncles in the world.' m .. . -
... . . . . .
No Mother . ,
She had po mother? . What a volume of
sorrowful truth is comprised in that single
sentence no mother! We must go far
down the hard, rough path of li'e, and be
ome inured to care and sorrow in their
sternest forms, before-- we can ' take home
to our own experionoe the dread reality
no mother without a struggle and a tear.
But when it is Wid of a frail young girl
just passing from 'childhood towards the
life of woman, bow sad is the story sum
med up in that one short sentence! .Who
now will chock the wayward fancies who
now shall bear with the errors and feelings
of the motherless girl? -
Deal gently with the child. Let not
tho cup of her sorrow be overfilled by the
.harshness of , your bearing, or your uusvra
pathising coolness. . Is she heedless ofher
doing? Is she forgetful of her duty? Is
she careless of her movements? Remem
ber, oh! remember, "she has no mother!"
When her young companions are gay and
joyous.does she sit sorrowing? Does she
pass with adowncasteye and languid step,
when you would fain witness the gushing
and overflowing gladness of youth? Chide
her not, tor sho is motherless; and. the
gi cat sorrow comes dowu upon her soul
iKe an mcuuua. ,
Can you gain her confidence Can you
win her love? Come, then, to the moth
erless with your tenderest care, and by the
memory ot our own mother, already, per
haps passed away by the fullness of your
own remembered sorrow by the possibil
ity mat your own child may yet bo moth
erless, contribute as far as you may to re
lieve the loss of that fair, frail child, 'Who
is written motherless.- - .'
X5TI noticed, said Franklin, a mechan
ic, among a number of others, at work on
a house erecting but a little . way from my
office, who always appeared to be in a
merry humor, and had a kind word and
cheerful smile for every one he met. : Let
the day bo ever so cold, gloomy, or sun
less, a happy smile danced like a sunbeam
on his cheerful countenance. Meeting
himone morning I asked him to tell me the
ecret of his constant flow of spirits. 'No
secret, doctor,' he replied, 'I have got one
of the best of wives, and wlien I goto
work sho always has a kind word of en
couragement for me; and when I go home
she meets me with asmile and n.kiss, and
then lea is sure to be ready, and she has
done so many little things through the day
to please me, that 1 ennnot nnd it in my
heart to speak an unkind wurd to any
body." A Gentleman. Did you ever see a
gentleman ! We have seen two or three in
our day, but real gentlemen are very rare.
A gentleman is one who treats every body
with respect, whether black or white, low
or high, poor or rich. V He does not bow
to wealth, scrape his knees te honor, - nor
hold his tongue when ho sees wickedness
in high places. You always receive from
him a civil answer to your inquiry, and ho
kindly imparts to you any information in
his power. He. will not say a word to in
jure your feelings, or allude to a subject
to pain your heart, w hatever may oe done
ho will not manifest angry feelings, or use
unbecoming lanjruage, Ho U3es no pro
fane or indecent langnago, smokos no ci:
gars in your presence, nor. spits tobacco
juice on your floors; He is the same kind
and accommodating individual, irom one
weeks end to another. Scientific Ameri
can. , .
"Now Papa I am Rbadt." I called re
cently at the office of one of our most ac
tive businsss men, who is weighed down
with care, and whose mind is taxed to the
utmost for the public good. Whilo very
busily engaged in writing and conversing,
in came a little boy two or three years old,
lookmg as happy as the birds that enter
tain us with their sweet music, saying,
"uow papa, I am ready to say my little
prayer, and gliding swiiuy io me siue oi
his father at the table.
The father laid down his pen, put his
arm around the dear child and taught mm
to pray. Ohl how sweet and confiding
was that voice. I was filled with delight
vet with solemn awe while that child was
praying for himself, for his parents and his
little mates. . In a few minutes came the
affectionate 'good night and the father was
ready again loaitend to ins arauous auues
Such a publio servant isa public treasure"
Thb TnnEK P' 's. -Printing Presses.Pul-
pili,and Pttticoals. These are the three
great levers that govern the world, vvitn
out them the bottom would fall put, and
society would become a chaos again. The
press makes people pntriotio, the pulpit,
religious, but women sway, . all things.
There would be no going to church if there
Wore ho girls there, neither would there be
any going to war wero tho soldiers to meet
with no applause but from the masculines.
Without the sunshine shed by womon, the
rose of affoction would never grow.nor the
flowers of eloquence germinate.1 : la short
she is the engine oflife; the great motive
power of love, valor and . civilization. In
proof of this, truth io all history speaks
trumpet-tonguod. ' ' ' '
Xyllow is your husband, dear? askod
one lady of another. ' , , "'
'"Ob, he's in a very bad state," was tho
reply, " :" '.
"And' pray what kind of a state is he in?"
still persisted the other. 1 '" i :-'--"f '"'
"-In the State Prison'--' v ' ' '' '
. '."Mother, this book tells about the angry
Wfvvcs of the ocean. Now what makes the
ocean got angry." ' ' ' ', ' " ;
"Because it has been crossed so often my
. LA BOB.
This Well merited tribute to labor is
from the New York Mirror: We hare
beard among the idlers who flo-t like drift-
wnnA nn h r.,r.- .
w v. ...w . V . ' V .... , LUIILTMIDi'
nous flings at those whoe heritage is t
ihese sneer at the hard and swarthy hand
of labor, but they forge that, of all that is
utful, luxurious or beautiful on this earth,
toil has been the creator; that, from the
marble palpca to the 'white kids' of the
tailor's most exquisite walking sign, a
have been wrought out by human hand.
Much of it, too, at A fearful eost to human
hear:, far more sensitive to the dignity of
manhood than the most be-dizzened and
perfumed of these scorners of labor.
It is the toil of these hard hands, thou
pitful idler ad sneerer, that has reared
tm.. " - O
empires in the old, and planted republics
in the wildernew of the new world; that
lias hewn the rock in the quarry and built
the temples and monuments of nations; rtiat
has achieved whatever fame belongs to
genius, with sculptor's chisel, the painter's
pencil, and the poet's pen; that has wing
ed tho ocean with white sails and exchang
ed the productions of every climej that
has measured the circuit of the stars and
plumed the lightning to descend upon
wires to become the Mercury of the world.
Labor, why mm of idleness, labor gave
you being, .rocked your cradle and has
nursed your pampered life. Without it,
the woven silk and wool on your back
would be in the silk worm's nest and in
the fleeces of the shepherd's fold. For the
meanst thing that ministers to human want.
save the air of heaven, man is indebted to
toil. It is only the drones who toil not,
who infest the hives of activity like masses
of corruption and decay, The lords of
earth if they would but know it are the
working men, who an build up or cast
down at their will, and who can retort the
sneer of the 'soft handed,' by pointing to
their trophies wherever art, science,' civ
ilization and humanity are known.'- Work
on, man of toil! thy royalty is yet to be ac-
Knowieageci, as labor rises toward the
highest throne of power. Work on, and
in the language of a true poet be:
"A glorious man! and Uiy renown shall be
Borne by the wlndsand waters through all tlaas
While there's a keel to carve it on the sea,'
From time to time,
Or God ordains that Idleness Is crime!"
During the late American war, a soldier
who had been wounded and honorably dis
charged, being destiluto and benighted,
knocked at the door of an Irish farmer,
when the following dialogue ensued:
Patrick. And who the diyil are you
Soldror. My nttmo lJolu Vv ilson.T. '.
Patrick. And where the divil aro you
going from, John WiLon?
soldier. 1 rom the American army at
Erin, sir. ' : '
Patrick. And what do you want here?
Soldier. I want shelter to-night; will
you permit me to spread my blanket on
your floor and sleep to-night?
Patrick. Divil take me if I
Soldier.: On your kitchen floor, sir?
Patrick. Not I, by the Hill o' Howth.
Soldier. In your stable, then?
Patrick. I'm hanged if I do that, ei
Soldier. I'm dying with hunger; give
me but a bono and a crust; I ask no more.
Patrick. Divil blow me if I do, sir.
Soldier Give me some water to quench
my thirst, I beg of you. '
l'alnck. lieg aud be hanged, luaono
Soldier. Sir, I have been fighting tosr-
cure the blessings you enjoy. I have as
sisted in contributing to the glory and wel
fare of the country which has so hospita
bly received you, and can you so inhospi
tably reject me from your house?
Patrick. Inject you; who the oivu
talked a word about rejecting you? May
be I am not the spalpeen you take me to
bo. John Wilson. iou asked mo lo lot
you lio on my floor, my kitchen floor, or in
my stable; now by the powers, a ye iiiinn
I'd lot a perfect stranger do that, when I
have half a dozen soft beds all empty? ,
No, by the Hill o' Howtb, John, that I
won't. In the second place, you told me
you wero dying with hunger, and wanted
a bone and a crust to eat; now honey d'ye
think I'll feed a Tiungry man on bones and
crusts, when my yard is full of fat pullets,
and turkies, and pigs? No, by the pow
ers, not I, that's flat. In the third place,
yon asked me for some water to quench
your thirst;, now, as my water is none of
the best, I never give it to a poor traveller
without mixing it with plenty of wine, or
something else, wholesome and cooling.
Come into my house, my honey; divil blow
me, but you shall sleep in the best feather
bed I have; you shall have the best supper
and breakfast that my farm can fupply,
n.1. M, tlini.li linnvon a nnnn nf 1m worst:
you shall drink as much water as you
ii..c ;AaA vrnii v;t it wlih nlflntv of
rrood wine, and Drovidod also you prefer it.
Come in.my hearty come in. and feel your-
... . V -i .1 .
onlf nt hnmo I . chn 1 nPVPF DO. RflU IB1
Patrick O'Flatherty treated a man scurvily,
who had been fighting for the dear coun
try which gave him protection. '
Tub Mechanic. If there is any. man in
society upon whom we look with esteem
and admiration it is the honest and indus
trious mechanic, who by his own unaided
exertions has established for himself a ro
speclable station in society; who, commcne-
inz in poverty, has, by his. skill and assi-
mg in jwei j, , j
dnitv. surmounted evorv obstacle, over
come every prejudice, and succeeded in es-
tablishing for himself ft reputation, whose
value is enhanced for those who come after
him; And let it ever be borne in mind by
the young meohanio just entering on the
stage' of active life, let it ever live at the
foundation; And be the moving spring of
all his efforts, that this situation ho must
strive to attain.' " It can be attained by all.
Untiring" industry and a virturous ambi
iioo, never fail of their reward. They
never yet were exerted in Vain, mdevor
will be, while honesty nd justioe ar left
' The world nay lunge from eld to aw,
From aew to old again; .
Yet hope and heaven, forever tree,
Within man's heart remain. '
The dreams thai bU.-n the weary soul,
The straggles of the strong.
Are eiepe toward aease I'y goal,'
'- The story of Hone's song.
H-.po Irads the child to plant the Sower,
The Esse u sow the seed ;
!for leaves fultllmeBl to her hoar,
ut prompts agata to deed. 1
And ere upon the old men's dast
The grass Is seea te wave.
We look Uironh alien tears 1 trust
Hope's sunshine on the grave.
Oh no! It Is no littering lure,
K? tiney, wak or ' fund.
Wfeea hope w.taM bU as rest secure, '
In beUer life bjaj-l '
ffur loss nor shame, nor grief nor sla,
Her promise may gainsay f
The voice Divine hiUi spoke witLla,
And Cod did ne'er betray.
Home Music Music at home is one of
the sweetest and most natural ties binding
the family relationship in love. What is
home without mu.ic? What are many
homes ai best? places where the inmates
resort to eat and sh'p, - and then away!
deserts where the affections run to waste,
and the simoom of petty disaffections oblit
erate the streams of social joy and choke cp
the fountains of love. 'M usie has charms!'
The woild knows it; and profits by it.
The. theatre is provided with its orchestra;
the ball-room is tilled with its strains and I
the dance moves to it 'voluptuous swell;'
the concert is given and the tcutts of the
audience are delighted. Homes are de
serted for these: homes, where wealth
and luxury reign, wher;,without the bleak
winds whistle and the snow and ram beat
against the shutters that close within, all
tiie luxuriant growth that the tropical sun
eror shown npon, and the magnificence
that unrivalled art can display; yet shut-1
ting out the musical joys of contentment
and love; homes, where well-to-do in the
world sits easy, but where a restless long
ing, a cheerless spirit, wants sympathy and
life; homes, where wretchedness and
squalid want need all the aid their little
store can bring, are deserted for the thea
tre, the ball-room, the concert, to satiate a
thirst that finds no cup at home because
these homes have no music in them. To
some, the voice of a Lind, a Sontag, an
Anderson, .has more music in it than the
roiceof a wife. The strains of a Bellini,
Grisi, Rissini, Balfe, vibrate more eloquent
ly upon the heart-strings than the voice of
a husband; and the wonderful' perform
ance of Pettini, or some musical prodigy,
touches more gentle on the parents heart
than the lispingprattle of its child because
music is neglected at home. Act music at
home; go out into, the world among' its
busy cares, and unheeding votaries, and
give vent to your vexations una petulant
feelings; but, come home to the fireside.
draw your 'family' in concert around
you and sing. Teach your children to
sing with you, for, it will attnne their little
hearts for the psalm of Life; and many mo
ments may bo thus pleasantly employed,
that would otherwise be spent in frivolous
conversation or lie as dead before you,
then home will be a place of pleasant re
sort, from the cares of business a beauti
ful garden full of affections bright flowers.
Heaven will seem nearer the visual sense
of earth will dissolve in the
"Voices of nfr-liing tenderness, that blend .
With pure aud gentle musing, till the soul
Commingling with the melody, is borne.
Wrapt and dissolved iu ecsla-y, to heaven."
Be Gentlemen at Home. There are few
families, we imagine, anywhere, in which
love is not abused as furnishing a license
for impoliteness. A husband, father or
brother will speak harsh words to those
whom he loves the best, and those who
lot s him best; simply becanse the security
of love and family pride keep him from
getting his head broken. It is a shame
that a man will Fpcak more impolitely, at
times, to hii wife or sister, than. he would
dare to any other female, except a low and
vicious one. It is thus that the holiest af
fections of man's nature prove to be a weak
er protection to woman in the family circle
than the restraints of society, and that a
woman usually is indebted for the kindest
politeness of life to those not belonging to
lier household. Things ought not so to be.
The man who, because it will not be re
sented, inflicts his spleen and bad temper
upon those of bis hearthstone, is a small
coward, and a very mean . man. Kind
words are the circulating medium between
true gentlemen and true ladies at home,
and no polish exhibited in society can a
tone for the harsh language and disrespect
ful treatment too often indulged in between
those bound together by God's own ties of
blood and the still more sacred bonds of
Bkactt. J here issomethlng in beauty,
whether it dwells in tho human face.in the
penciled leaves of flowers, the sparkling
UI lace ui luuuiaiu, vi uii-w
, genius breathes over its statue, that makes
us mourn its rum. I should not envy
that man his feelings whosjould see. a leaf
wither, or a flower fall without some senli
'.Anl Ari.aivi.at Tlita lanHa mlanicl in Mil
, in'" "S""
Tl.ia fondar intrKt in the
beauty and frailty of things around us, is
only a slight tribute of becoming grief and
aiiecuon, tor nature in our auversiucs,
never deserts us.. She even comes more
nearly to us in our sorrows, and leading us
away from the paths of disappointment
and pain into her soothing recesses, allays
the aniruish oi our bieedinsr hearts, oinus
iiD the wounds that have afflicted, whis
smrs the meek pledges of better hope.and
in harmony with a spirit of still holier birth,
V lhat home where decay and death
i can never come. Yes, there s something
in beauty. . ... - .
'Dj you keep matches?" asked a wag
of a retailer..
. "O, yes, all kinds," was the reply.
' "Well then, I'll take a trotting match."
The retailer kahde 1 him a box of Bran-
dreth's Pills. " '" : ' '"' ':,"-'
. , , , - ' i,
. will not strike thee, bad man," said
a Quaker one day, "but I will let this bil
let of wood fall on thee,'.' and at that pre
cise moment the "bad man" was floored by
the weight pf. walking. stick., that the
XlnaWn had KconJtnnwn tn """ ,
WHOLE NO 1532
mi j. I jr-TT?-r, - imj ." ;r;a. i j..,
, Finals IsiruEsct. 1 "have, noticed,
says Wa-shingUm Irving, that a mnrriod
man, falling into' misfortune, is more apt
to retrieve his situation in the- world than 4
single one, chiefly because his snirita - are)
soothed by endwarrotnta and self repect
kept alive by finding that, though '), a
broad be darkness and humiliation, yet
there is still a little world of lore at home
of which he is monarch. Whereas a sin
gle man is apt to run to waste and self-
neglect, to fall into ruin like some dwertca
mansion for want of an inhabitant. I have
often had occasion to mark the forti'nde
with which women sustain the most over
whelming reverses. These daiter which
break down the spirit of sm nand pros
tiote him into the dust, seem to call forth
all the energies of the softer ex. and give
such intrepidity and eh-vation to their.char
acter, that at times it approaches to TFnb-
limity. .Nothing can bo more touching
than to behold a sou and tender female;
whohad been all weakness and dependence,'
and alive to every triva! roughnessj while
treading the prosperous paths of life, sud
denly rising in mental force to he the com
forter and supporter of her. husband under
misfortunes, abiding with unshrinking
firmness the bitter blasts of adversity. J A
the vine, which has twisted its graceful
foliage about the oak, and has been lifted
by it in the sunshine will when the hardy
plant is riven by the thunderbolt, cling a
round it with caressing tendrils and bind
up its shattered brow; so to it is beautiful
ly ordained by rrovidence. that woman.
who is the ornament and dependent on
man in his happier hours, should be his
stay and solace when smitten with sudden
calamity, winding herself into the rugged
recesses of his nature, tenderly supporting
his drooping head and binding up the
broken heart. ' '
Shall I Prt to CnAscK? An Eng
lish lady, who had forsaken her God Jtnd
her Bible for the gloom and darkness of
infidelity, was crossing the Atlantic, and
asked a pious sailor, one morning, how
long they should be out. .
'In fourteen days, if it is Uod s will.
we shall be in Liverpool,' answered the
sailor. I . I
If it is God's will!' said the lady; 'what
a senseless expression; don't you know
that all comes bj chance? :
In a few days a Urrible storm arose, and
the lady stood clinging t the tide of the
cabin door jn art agony of terror, when the
sailor passed her. . .
. 'What do you think,' said she; 'will the
storm soon be over?'
'It seems likely to last for some time,
madam.' - - . . ,-- .
-O,' slie cried, 'ptay that we. may not
be lost!' - .' ,: -.-
His only and calm reply was, 'Shall I
pray to chance?' -American Messenger, i
Ekergt. See, bow that fellow worLaf
No obstacles too great for him to' sur
mount; no ocean too wide for him to leap;
no mountain too high for him to scale
He will make a stir in the world and no
mistake. Such are the men who build
our railroads, dig up the mountains of
California, and enrich the world. There
is nothing gained by idleness and sloth.
This is a world of action and to make
money, to gain a reputation and to exert a
happy influence, men must be active,
and not frightened at shadows run from
lions or attempt to dodge the lightning.
Go forward zealously in whatever yon un
dertake, and we risk you anywhere and .
through life. Men who faint and quail are
laughing stock to angels, de ils, aud truo
men. ' .
Pcscext Retokt. Said a purse proiid
man, just getting into his carriage, with
his wife and daughter, flaunting in velvet
and furs, to a poor laborer.who was shov.
eling coal into his vault
"Joe, if you had not drank rum, you
might now have been riding in my carriage
for nothing else could have prevented a
man of your talents and education from
making money." .
"True enough," was the reply of the
poor man, and if yon had not sold rum, and
induced me and others to become drunk
ards, you might have been my coachman,
for rumselling was the only business by
which you ever made a dollar in your
RrLKS. First, never lose any time;
do not think that lost which is' spent iu
amusement or recreation, sometime every
day: but always be in the habit of being
employed. 'Second, never err the least in
tru'.'i. 1 nird, never say an ill ming - oi
any person, when you can say a good thing
ot them; not only speax cnaniauiy, out
feel so. . Fourth, never be irritable or un
kind to any body. Fifth, never indulge
yourself m luxuries that are not necessary.
r.. . . ..... ... t a? .1
sixth, do all things wun consiaeraiio-,Biii
when your path to act aright is more dif
ficult, feel confidence in that power alone
which is able to assist you, and exert your
own powers as far as they go.
As osk of the results pf Know Nothing
ism it is stated by the booksellers as a cu
rious fact, that the reading of American
History and American Geography, has
doubled within the past year judging by -the
sales of the above class of works. If
Know-Noth ingism causes men to study the-
history of their own country ana tneir own
country-men, it will have accomplished a
great deal, and we need not fear for the
acts of men coming from such a school.
The history of our country is replete with
brilliant enterprises for the cause of hu
manity, and rich iu noble deeds of patriot
ism and cannot but have a healthy influ
ence upon all who study it clescly .
donian. ' ' - .
A Ksottt Problem. The Chinese are
said to have labored for centuries under
irreat erubarresment, for not knowiag bow
to make a barrel. . they could, without
any difficulty,, make the states, sot them
up and hoop them in; and,' indeed. With
the help of a man inside, they could, put
the second head on; but how to get the
man out after the barrel was beaded-Uwt
was tho qwstion.' J. t
z r --:)